#i still cry even thinking about figuring out the beak situation

[pangur-and-grim]

okay I’m sharing a sample chapter because I think it’s funny, if anyone is mean I will cry real human tears

Chapter 9

I decided to take seducing the mad sorcerer more seriously.

His odd acts of kindness, listening to me gab about my friendship troubles with Glenda, patching my wounds, the dragon scale, it added up. I mean sure, the guy turned me into a vulture, threatened to pull my teeth out, and implanted my chest with some sort of sick torture device…. but……. hmm, maybe this wasn’t a great idea.

Still, I wanted out of this vulture body. He could transmogrify me. All I needed was a path, connecting between those points, a way to ‘make it worth his while’, as it were.

“My lord,” I squawked over breakfast. The mad sorcerer was having thick-sliced bread with jam, and I was having a squirrel that had gotten trapped in the chimney and only just begun to rot. I’d flown it down to the kitchen to eat with the sorcerer, figuring a lonely guy like him would enjoy a social meal.

“My lord,” I repeated, swallowing the scrap of squirrel intestine that dangled from my beak. “I think you should turn me into a woman.”

The mad sorcerer choked on his bread.

After some spluttering and hacking of breadcrumbs, and indecision on my part as to whether I should be smacking his back with a wing, he recovered enough to answer. “Why in the world…...? Also, you are flinging rat…. particles everywhere, from this point onward you are forbidden from eating indoors. Effective immediately,” he added, as I raced to get in one last beakfull.

“It’s a squirrel, my lord.” I said, wiping my beak on the brick oven I perched on. “They have the fluffy tails, that’s how you can tell.”

“Stop that! Stop that!” The sorcerer rose to shoo me off the oven and, confused, I circled the room and landed on a chair.

“Anyway, so the transmogrification, my lord. I figure since the prophecy is clear about bodily sex, I can swap to the other one while still weaselling out of the whole thing. Pretty smart, right?” I finished wiping my beak on my own back feathers, and then raised a talon to scratch an itch beneath my chin.

“’Thick eyelashes for a boy’…. I suppose you’re right.” The sorcerer seemed deep in thought. “And you are rather disgusting as a vulture.”

“Well, no, I groom regularly my lord,” I protested, “Look, there’s this nipple-looking thing at the base of my tail, see? And I get oil from there and smear it all over the place. Keeps me shiny!”

“Stop flaring your feathers, I do not wish to see it. I will use the needle if I have to, obey my instructions.” The sorcerer kneaded his forehead with a hand, his toast lying forgotten on the table. A trio of the small humanoid kitchen constructs had descended on my squirrel, one carting it away and the other two working with brushes to scrub the scraps of red off the brickwork. I decided not to protest.

“I have given you free reign of this stronghold because, lacking opposable thumbs and any possible allies, the damage you could do is minimal. As a human, the situation changes.” The sorcerer had his forehead lined and serious, but the lack of a solid ‘no’ made me giddy. Time for a sales pitch!

“I could cook and clean! And decorate, my lord, this place is pretty drab. That’s not even getting into the other stuff I could do.” I cocked my head in what I hoped to be a significant manner, vultures not having any eyebrows to raise.

“The other stuff? No, no, no I see that look on your face, please don’t answer, I know exactly where this is going.” The sorcerer’s eye flashed, and another little construct emerged to carry away his toast. Disappointment struck – I’d been hoping the sorcerer would eventually exit the kitchen having forgotten it entirely, leaving the crisp bread available for plundering. But back to selling myself.

“No, see my lord, I reckon I could perform se-“

“Shut up, shut up, please stop talking. Alright, I will turn you into a human woman if you agree to one condition.” The mad sorcerer raised a single bony finger.

“Oh, my lord?” Joy and relief unfolded like a flower. “And what’s that?”

“Please stop trying to seduce me.”

[juneknight]

Idling || 9

Previous drabble here.

About this: MK system/reader. I've marked this as mature for graphic depictions of violence, self-harm specifically. I do mean graphic. Proceed with caution.

Your way of contacting Jake has worked.

*

It is eerie to watch it happen. 

Marc is gone by then, and you are almost glad for it. It had nearly broken you to watch: the way that he had pulled against the bindings to try to get to you, the way he had first tried logic and then tried begging to get you to put the blade down. He had only agreed to let you cuff him to the support beam out of caution, in case calling for Jake managed to reach the man. He had had no idea what you really planned, exactly how you were going to bring Jake to the front. If he had, he never would have let it happen. 

As soon as he realized that there was nothing he could do—that he couldn’t break the bindings, that he couldn’t talk you out of this foolish plan—you had watched him disappear.  The look in his eyes grew foggy and distant while his mind turned inward, desperate to protect itself from this. From you. From this new trauma you were inflicting on him. 

And Steven—sweet, strong Steven—had stepped forward to bear the burden as you cut yourself again, deeper. 

“Please don’t,” Steven wept, testing your resolve. “We’ll think of something else, anything else.”

“Stop talking, please,” you say through your tears. “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” 

“You have made this harder than it has to be,” Steven says, voice raising uncharacteristically. If Marc had tried reason and pleading, then Steven would not waste his time. The futility of his situation—the bone deep horror and hurt he can feel from Marc—infuriates him in a way that he has never expressed to you before. “This wasn’t necessary, none of this was necessary if you had just let us figure things out ourselves!”

Your hand shakes so badly that you cut deeper than you intended. The pain makes you drop the knife. Panic floods you–you can see the meat of your arm. Nausea rises up in you, sharp and acidic in the back of your throat and your head spins. Steven’s right; this was a mistake. How could you have been so fucking stupid as to think that—in such a deep episode of self-loathing—fear for someone else was likely to be a better catalyst than fear for their own self? 

You look towards the pillar where Steven is handcuffed, apologies and pleas on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t even see him. All you can see is the ghostly figure behind him, huge and silent with its beaked head cocked in interest at you. 

Khonshu is waiting, just as eager to see Jake as you are.

You pick the knife up again. You are in too far, now. To turn back is not only to admit your own stupidity, it is to have let all of your suffering be for nothing. But as you hold the blade poised above your arm, you realize that Steven’s sounds have changed. You blink the tears from your eyes. 

The body is there, yes. Its shoulders heave with the frantic breaths Steven had been taking, but already its chest is slowing. Tears are still wet on its cheeks, still clouding the eyes—but the one in the body blinks them away, his expression gone lax and stony. 

He’s here. 

“Hi, Jake,” you say through your own tears. “Thought that might get your attention.” 

He stares and says nothing. His shoulders roll, like he is unworking the kinks in them. 

“I tried to reach you, we all did. You and Marc and Steven need to talk.”

“Deja de hablar.” His voice makes you shiver, raspy and ragged from the tears he himself did not cry. 

“I–I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he says. Mild as his attitude is, you can sense the danger beneath the surface. He isn’t straining against the restraints the way the others did, almost as if he is content to sit there all morning. You flush at both his attitude and his words. He prompts: “Did you understand that?”

“Yes, I understood,” you snap. Your head spins a little. You still have not put down the blade. “But I have to talk to you.”

Jake says nothing. He is not even looking at you, eyes distant like he is pondering a math problem. His nonchalant disregard for you and the conversation threatens to send you into a spiral. 

“Are you listening to me?” you gasp wetly. Your heart feels fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “I need to fucking talk to you!”

Jake pushes away from the pillar, the cuffs dangling from one of his wrists. He stands a little unsteadily before crossing the room in a few large steps. The surprise of him having broken from the cuffs, the fire in his eyes which promises violence has you flinching away from him. You throw your bloodied arm up to protect yourself—not even in your fear do you think to wield the knife against him, against them—

But Jake just pulls the knife from your useless hand. He moves past you to the wall, his fury palpable and having brushed against you like the first wave of heat after stepping out of the air conditioning during summertime. With one forceful stab, he buries the blade into the plaster and wood of the wall up to the hilt. Cords in his forearm pulling tight, he snaps off the handle and drops it to the floor.

The two of you stare at each other, both of your chests heaving: yours with fear, his with fury. 

He points to the table and chairs and says: “Siéntate.” 

And you do not need to ask what he means.

Next drabble here.

[kiruamon]

Part 24

Any second now. Oz stood there, eyes widened in shock and paralyzed. It would take a miracle to free himself from his current dilemma. What could he do? Run away. He had to run and find another way to get to Pip, but his useless legs were failing him again. Meanwhile, his classmate was coming closer and closer. He felt the panic inside him rise even further. And then he noticed it. A monstrous figure moving towards them at an incredible speed. His breath stopped. Thankfully, he didn't needed air to survive.

The shape grew bigger and bigger, took a powerful leap, rose into the air and in the next moment the cursorial bird in front of him was dragged to the side by his long neck from the huge weight of the predator.

A single strangled cry of horror escaped Leonard's beak as the werewolf yanked him around like a toy, causing the mirror to fall from his beak to the ground among the green grass.

Half scared to death, Oz stared in pure terror at the picture that presented itself before him. Why was all this happening? W-why did this werewolf suddenly attacked Leonard? Although he might have felt relieved to have escaped the magic of the mirror, Oz was still too confused and stunned to feel anything in that regard. The frightened entity was trembling and even his phobias were huddling together in fear.

A piercing howl of victory filled the air before the massive, hairy beast reared up - still holding their classmate's long neck in his mouth - and before letting out a deep husky laugh. "Huhuhuh. That big chicken was easy prey! My bros will be so surprised when I bring it back!" the pack member spoke excited to himself with a full muzzle and tail wagging in delight not noticing Oz at first.

Could today actually get any worse? All he wanted was to help his friend. Finding out if he was well or… or... No! He shouldn't think about the alternative… not yet. Oz was still shaking, but despite the dreadful experience he just had, a new thought managed to raise his voice loud enough to get him finally to act. He had to grab this chance! As long as the werewolf was distracted by Leonard, he could leave this place to search for Pip.

His feet still felt wobbly as he took his first step. And although Oz hadn't been particularly loud, the small movement was enough to attract the attention of his predatory classmate. Immediately, the werewolfs head shot up, ears pointing up and the two green glowing eyes fixated on him in bewilderement. Obviously, the jock had completely blanked him out during his euphoric mood. At least until just now...

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously as Oz sensed that the other was trying to figure out if he was a potential threat to him or not. The muzzle of the fur-covered monstrous wolf released its - most likely from shock - unconscious prey, which fell to the ground with a thud. One of the enormous paws rested on Leonard's now feathered back. Even under all the fur, the flawless interplay of the thoroughly trained muscles was clearly noticeable. Oz silently prayed that his classmate would not just rip his head off of his shoulders.

With bristled back fur and a low and threatening growl, the pack member approached him. "What are you staring at?" the werewolf jock asked him, his voice full of suspicion, before he clarified even louder: "This chicken is mine! I hunted it down all fair, so back off and find your own meal! I won't share with someone like you!"

In his mind, Oz could already see his pathetic life passing by. This guy would eat him for breakfast if he didn't act quickly.

What would he have not given away at that very moment? For Brian's unwavering nature. For Amira's boundless confidence. For Vicky's endless optimism. Or simply for the fact that his mind - instead of coming up with a plan - wouldn't go blank in an emergency situation like this!

What should he do? What was he supposed to say? What could he… Calm down… he needed to calm down. Oz squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, forcing himself to breathe more calmly.

He could do it. He would make it work. Hopefully... Not fully convinced by his own encouraging words, the still frightened student slowly managed to raise his head again and withstanding the urge to dodge the jock's piercing gaze. Or to run away as fast as possible. Instead, Oz looked the still intimidating looking werewolf straight in the eyes.

As carefully as possible, he raised his hands in a soothing gesture. "I-I d-don't intend t-to take any… anything away from y-you," tried Oz to reassure his scary looking classmate, which earned him a frown from the latter.

But at least the canine monster seemed to listen to him. That wasn't such a bad sign, right? The small entity gathered up some more of his little courage. Maybe… maybe he could somehow convince this guy to listen to what he had to say. For the first time, the desperate student felt hopeful again. It didn't seemed impossible anymore that he could retrieve the mirror in order to return to his friend with it. "H-honestly I-I h-have only one f-f-favor to a-ask y-you, if you cou-could just l-let me have t-the m-"

"ARGH! I knew it! You are after my chicken!" the werewolf immediately growled angrily without letting him finish his question.

"W-what? N-no!", Oz gave a startled cry. "T-that's n-not wha-what I-I w-w-wanted. I-If y-you w-would o-only l-listen to m-me, please… "

"LIAR!" Without waiting another second, the member of the Wolfpack took a step towards him. Oz heard an ominous creaking sound as the werewolf shifted his weight onto his leg causing the massive paw to break the glass of the mirror beneath it.

… Oh no…

A cloud of white smoke appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the enchanted figure of the kappa. Confused, the werwolf tried to catch a glimpse of something through the clearing smoke that hid his prey. Even Oz wasn't quite sure what was really happening right now. That was until he saw Leonard. Still unconscious, but back to his normal self! The magic of the mirror must had lost its effect as soon as the artifact was broken!

"Why is my chicken suddenly an ugly duck?" the werewolf asked, visibly shocked, before his ears flattened and a dark concerning sounding growl escaped the jock's throat. The fur was all ruffled. The canine monster gritted his sharp teeth while his muzzle crinkled itself. Oz gulped. That didn't looked good for him.

The former surprise in the predator's face was fully replaced by blind rage as the werewolf turned to Oz looking not amused in the slightest.

Oh Gosh... He really couldn't have a break, could he?

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CHICKEN! TELL ME! OR I WILL BREAK YOU LIKE THE LITTLE TWIG THAT YOU ARE!" Startled by the drastic rise in volume, Oz flinched hard. His ears rang from the roar of his opponent. He already expected to be devoured at any moment - even more so now that the canine predator had lost his original prey.

"B-but I-I j-j-just w-wa-wanted t-to...," Oz stuttered, nearly choking on his own words. He barely had the strength left in him to speak loud enough to be heard and was cut off once again.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

His fault. The words repeated themselves in his head. Over and over and over. Oz felt his knees finally giving out and he lost his footing. His hands scraped the hard floor as he fell. The angry hollering mixed with threats kept continuing. It was too much at once. He couldn't bear it anymore. All the yelling, screaming, the constant feeling of danger and fear. Not knowing how to handle it any longer. It was all too overwhelming. So exhausting. Draining. His mind went blank and Oz couldn't even manage to unravel the words of the other student. All these words were nothing more than static in his ears. There was nothing he could do but stare wide-eyed in fear at the grim face of the pack member in front of him, imagining how the other would end him in three dozen different, equally gruesome ways. Fine, maybe he couldn't die, but it would still be very, very painful…. His fingertips felt numb, though he could sense an irritating prickling in them. Why? Why couldn't he bring his body under control? Instead, the overwhelmed entity felt that he had begun to tremble even more, although he didn't believed that this could had been possible. His hands felt damp and ice-cold. He was afraid. So very afraid. From witnessing the brute strength of his canine classmate firsthand any second. Afraid of being yelled at again. Of not being understood if he tried to speak up. His chest rose and fell in unsteady motions, while his vision began blurring before his eyes.

And yes... yes... It was his fault. Completely and solely his. Just because he wasn't strong enough. Because he wasn't brave enough. If only he had never meddled with things that weren't his business. Without my help, it wouldn't have come to this, the thought crossed his mind. Pip would have surely found the magic artifact shortly after his transformation and would have changed back long ago if he hadn't picked him up. All these things had only happened because of his interference. Only because of him Pip was probably hurt now. Because he hadn't stopped Leonard. He should have protected his friend! But none of this could be changed now. There… there is nothing I can do about it anymore… nothing… Tears came to Oz's eyes as he thought about all his mistakes. He felt so helpless. And even though he didn't needed to breathe in order to live, he felt like he was almost suffocating. All the times he let others push him around. First Leonard and now this nameless werewolf. Yet all he wanted was to see his friend again. In order to help him. Was that so wrong?

Pictures of the little hedgehog, lying lifeless on the cold ground, while red blood collected in a puddle in front of the tiny body, made his chest tighten, although he actually knew that Pip should have changed back by now. But what if not? What if he was severely injured? He had to get out of here. He needed to run to him! So why? Why… wasn't his body moving? It was so frustrating! Why couldn't he move even though he tried so hard? Even though he wished for nothing more than that. His fears paralyzed him, made his legs shook, and his eyes teared up even more. Why… why was he just such an useless loser… ? "I'm s-s-so s-sorry. J-just bec-because o-of m-me… " Oz sobbed. Pip… Somebody… Please, someone had to help his friend. Someone had to make sure Pip was okay! "Somebody! Help! Please! I beg you! Please, somebody has to help my friend! He's hurt!" It surprised even Oz himself that - despite everything - he somehow managed to raise his voice loud and clear enough and that he was able to extend the radius of his message as far as he could - all over the school grounds. Even though he didn't know if his call for help would reach someone who would follow it. Or when this help was about to arrive. But maybe… maybe someone would find Pip. He needed to hope for the best... His loud cry for help seemed to stop the werewolf for a moment. Irritated, the athlete shook his furry head back and forth as if trying to shake off an annoying fly. But it didn't lasted long, and just a few seconds after Oz had fallen silent, the fierce green glowing eyes focused on him again. And this time the wide open mouth with its sharp rows of teeth approached his face without mercy.

_

To be continued. Next time we reach the final part of the story!

[the-firebird69]

And it is our ship and our ship is one on the west coast of Florida. It's sometimes normal for us to say that it's theirs it's to get us to react so you wait to see why and now I see why and our son and daughter figured it out it's the father of his son and that's been going on the whole time and sometimes it doesn't last and I've since it once he's out of the underworld it's over and that's what it is and we are ready and we will do our share but this is amazing he says I'm short and I'm Stout and I look like a turtle it says I have armor I don't feel it it says it's kind of there when you need it okay I see and it's good I'm going to have a good time this is going to be a lot of fun and you have a lot of cultural problems it's not very normal for your race that's normal for you. You're the emperor and you are the epitome of power and I've never seen anyone with so much power in my life but you're a belittle here and believe her and browbeaten and it's a horror show and I don't want this to happen continuously ever at all it has to stop these people are crazy for treating you this way not even treated as any kind of inventory and you're the best and they say that they're covering it up and they're really making their lives miserable and purpose and dying by doing it. So you're in a desperate situation and we have to come in and now we must and we're forced to we do understand something we just acquired our ships today and it is a good feeling and we do understand now why it is a really really nice ship very powerful and has all sorts of high-tech stuff and it is our tech too and we did outfit it properly and completely. And what you're looking at is completely crazy on TV it's Avatar and I know you don't remember ever seen but you recognize who they are now and they put their brains in their bodies and they have only so much time to live and then their brain is gone and his deal is different he doesn't have to worry about that and you see that it works very fast and it's very lifelike and he can handle all sorts of tasks that they do and it's just like the matrix that's more or less what it is and it's still intact but it works and they are reviewing it while they're watching it and they are going to understand it more and they do have some of it in places and to try to steal things and they get caught pretty quick it's very tough here and they don't make it look it but boy they had a lot of problems and they still do and having a lot of difficulty and those don't look like regular birds they look like actual dragons and that's what they are you think and he says they could be mutated birds some of them have a remnant of a beak and but it's difficult to say they are moving around like dragons. No these are birds and they don't have armor.

I like to thank our son and daughter and Thor Freya and mostly by toll and got his wife for this introduction it is an introduction worthy of who and what we are and we are emperors as well and empresses

Korean god and goddess and all of us too and for crying out loud why is he flatulent he says it's because of the totem so that's a lot of fun

[cotton-tails]

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

-

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

[stuckwith-harry]

Hide-and-seek

A/N: Oh, to be a chicken in times like these. (CW for discussion of death, nothing graphic.)

In the chicken shed it might as well still be the eighties, as though time had only gone on for the humans living in the house on the other side of the fence, but not in here, where the hens are quietly clucking and cooing and enjoying their naps, until Ginny shakes a handful of lettuce in the air like an invitation, a beckoning – then they come hurrying towards her, beaks tearing greedily at the green leaves.

When the hens have had their fill, Ginny looks over the gaggle of bickering ladies and finds her favourite amongst them, Genoveva with her warm brown feathers and clever eyes, who yells and shrieks when Ginny lifts her up by her impossibly soft belly, crouching down in the chicken shed, and pulls the disgruntled hen to her chest.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you”, Ginny tells her quietly. She fishes sweetcorn out of the front pocket of her dungarees and holds her open palm out to Genoveva, not flinching or grimacing when the sharp beak leaves little red marks on her skin as the hen gulps down her treat.

Ginny smiles.

The summer after her first year, she climbed into the chicken shed every day. She was soothed, then, by the arrhythmic clucking and the smell of fresh hay and the fact that the hens allowed her to share their company, that they did not recoil in horror at her sight.

It was her that named them, while she sat here for hours and hours with a chicken in her lap, more often than not Genoveva, who, for all her complaining, was easily the most patient of the bunch, and who nestles into her lap now, blinking slowly in the twilight while Ginny strokes her feathers, the burning inside her ribcage dull and pulsating like that of an infected wound.

Like it was her that took the damn Killing Curse to the chest.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are”, she mutters, meeting Genoveva’s sharp eyes. “Nothing in those little heads of yours except earthworms and soft hay.”

She sits there for ages and ages like she did that summer, willing the comfort of the soft animal to sink into her like warmth. When she finally gets up to leave the chickens be, she tosses the rest of the sweetcorn into the hay (Genoveva looks utterly betrayed), fills up the grains in the feeder, and climbs out of the shed with the smell of warm feathers and wheat straw still in her nose.

“Chicken-feeding duty?”, calls a voice from near the house as she swings her bare legs over the wooden fence and strolls back towards the Burrow. When she looks for the voice’s owner, she discovers Ron, sitting on the weathered bench below the kitchen window.

“What’re you doing out here?”, she calls out as she comes closer.

“Hiding”, he says dully. “Mum’s crying again.”

Ginny feels something inside her chest take a tumble. “Is anyone with her?”

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a dickhead. Dad and Percy and Bill are all in there.”

“You’re not a dickhead”, Ginny says automatically, surprising them both. Then: “Mind if I stay?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

So she sinks on the bench beside him, joining him in his grim silence. They gaze aimlessly over the soft green hills all around, the shape of the lake like a blue thumbprint in the landscape, where they whiled away so many happier, warmer days than this, and Ottery St. Catchpole’s mismatched roofs in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys.

Ron finally looks over at her. “Were you with the chickens this whole time? I thought you’d grown out of your obsession with them.”

Ginny musters up a grin. “Never. I love those stupid hens. That was just an elaborate ruse so I could hide in the chicken coop when we used to play hide-and-seek. It never occurred to any of you to look.”

“Well, you stopped growing at about five feet, I figure you fit right in.”

Ginny whacks him in the knee. In a true testament to the severity of the situation, Ron does not retaliate.

She tells herself it’s that, not how much they aged him, the few short months that he was gone.

It’s less blatant now that Mum has shorn back the unkempt mop of hair that was falling into his eyes and growing down the back of his neck like wild weeds when he walked through the secret entrance of the Room of Requirements with Harry and Hermione; now that he’s shaved the patchy stubble on his cheeks and his face has regained a little fullness. But sometimes she still looks at him and wonders how ten years have not passed since she watched him slip away into thin air at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Did anything happen?”, she asks. “With Mum?”

Ron shrugs, expression blank. “Some fool said his name again. I never noticed how rarely we actually said the twins’ individual names until we had to break the habit of saying Fred-and-George all in one go. It’s like he’s Voldemort.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh.

“I know”, she mutters. “Don’t think it’ll ever come naturally.”

He nods mechanically. “Anyway – I made a run for it. I just couldn’t do it right then, having to comfort her and everything.”

Ginny looks over at him. “Funny, you’re so good at it.”

“You just say that because I make the best tea.”

“Well, you do.”

The same way that children can recognise each of their family members by the sound of their footsteps as heard through a wall, or the rhythmic pattern with which they knocked on the door, the Weasley siblings have learned to read each other’s silences since they’ve come home. Often now, they appear at each other’s bedroom doors at all hours of the night, shaken from nightmares or too restless to sleep or, rarely, weeping.

Most nights, two or three or four of them eventually find themselves in the kitchen, where Ginny turns on the lights, and Ron puts on the kettle, and they sit there and while away the small hours in each other’s company, in silence, in quiet understanding, in murmured chatter about nothing at all.  It’s good comfort, the idea that even after everything, there’s nothing in this world that a hot cup of tea can’t fix.

Ginny shifts on the bench next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Remember when that fox got one of the hens? I was inconsolable, and you were so nice to me when we put her in a shoebox and buried her behind the house, you didn’t even make fun of me.”

“You lot are different, that’s easy. I just can’t take it when it’s our parents.”

Ginny hums in understanding. “I think seeing Dad cry was worse for me. At the memorial.”

“Cheers, thanks for bringing it up again.”

She snorts.

“You’re good with Harry”, she says softly. “D’you miss him at all?”

He rolls his eyes. “He just sleeps two floors below me, it’s not like he died.”

Ginny winces.

Ron does not miss the look on her face or the heaviness of her silence, as they have all learned to do, and asks in an unnaturally light tone: “How’re you coping with him waking up three times a night?”

He seems relieved, for a moment there, when she smirks.

“It’s not too bad, actually. At least he makes for a great pillow.”

Ron looks appalled. “What the hell happened to the camp bed?”

“Oh, we just keep that around for decoration now.” She grins, comforted by the opportunity to tease him. “And he doesn’t wake up as much anymore.”

His face lights up. “That’s good news, at least. Lead with that next time.”

“Oh, he’s just … stopped going to sleep altogether.”

“That really solves that problem”, he says darkly. “The idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s purposeful”, she says. “He’s always pretending to be asleep when I look at him, but I can always tell. And when he does doze off, I’ll just stir next to him, and that’s enough to wake him up again.”

“He’s a really light sleeper these days”, Ron says apologetically. “The worst camping trip in the world will do that to a person.”

Ginny grins faintly. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it.”

“He’s talking, then?”

“Hm-hm.” She wraps her arms a little tighter around her legs. “Which is good, I guess.”

He watches her for a minute, as though unsure what to make of her tone. “Anything on your mind?”

She laughs. “Anyone ever told you you’re turning into Mum?”

“Well, we’re here anyway!”, Ron says, ears flushing. “Spit it out, will you?”

“He, uhm –”

It has not occurred to her, until right now, how difficult it would be to pass the story on, even to someone who has heard it before. Harry handed it to her because she asked him to, and still it knocked into her like a wild animal, pouncing, the weight of it like a Hippogriff standing on her chest, pinning her to the earth.

“He told me about walking into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah”, Ron says hollowly. “No wonder you’re hiding in a chicken coop.”

She looks around at him. “It’s not Harry I’m hiding from.”

“But you are hiding”, Ron says wisely.

Ginny shrugs. “I dunno what I expected. Somehow I’d convinced myself I already knew the worst of it. Which, as it turns out, was a bit stupid of me.”

She draws in a shaky breath.

“I thought he was in on it. Ever since I watched him come back to life at Hagrid’s feet … I thought there was some sort of plan. But there wasn’t, or Dumbledore didn’t tell him, anyway. I thought he knew he was going to survive, and it turns out that, uhm – he didn’t know shit. He went there to die, for real.”

Ginny looks back at him, words coming faster now. “And I’m – I’m so angry, and I don’t know why. Or who I’m angry with. It can hardly be Harry.”

“In all fairness, I kind of felt like punching him when he told us”, Ron says quietly, and her mouth briefly twists into something like a smile. “If anything we should be angry with Voldemort, or Dumbledore, even – but they’re not within punching distance, so what are you gonna do?”

“If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would kill him”, Ginny says. “I swear, I would kill him.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable”, Ron says good-naturedly, patting her arm.

“And Harry – Harry keeps apologising, and I don’t know what for.”

Ron’s expression is pained. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

He sighs. She handed this to him, and now he is steeling himself to hand something back to her. She can tell.

“My best guess is … for not saying goodbye.”

Ginny does not look at him. Suddenly she is blinking rapidly in the fading light, sitting there as the blow rolls over her, something blunt and violent that should have broken her ribs like the impact of a Bludger; but there is no injury, only an ache that does not abate, that sits all around her, inside her. She doesn’t think it’s ever going to go away, all that hurting, writhing and straining inside her like a second skeleton.

“How could he have? We would’ve dragged him back to the castle by the damn hair.”

“Of course we would have”, Ron says robustly.

For a moment he looks like he’s going to reach out to her, hold her, maybe. He seems to think better of it in the end, and she’s almost relieved, dreading what she’d do if someone hugged her.

It’s another thing that won’t ever come easily: showing up on someone’s doorstep, weeping.

“If it’s any consolation”, he says after a while, “I think that’s the worst of it.”

“I’ve been wondering”, she mutters. “Can’t think of very much that beats walking to your own death. No fucking wonder he doesn’t sleep.”

“It’s funny”, Ron says, “I talked to him less than an hour ago, and he seems alright, almost.”

Ginny shrugs. “Isn’t he always? Remarkably functional, considering.”

Ron makes an attempt at a smile. “It’s such a Harry thing to do, though, isn’t it? Always dying for other people. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Hardly just a Harry thing, it turns out.”

It’s all shit, she thinks when he looks at her. Being the person knocking at the door, and the one listening on the other side, opening it.

“He told me about Malfoy Manor”, she says softly.

“Ah.” Ron kicks at the dirt to his feet. “Well, then you know what keeps me up at night.”

“He said – he said you offered to swap places with Hermione. Let Bellatrix have you instead.”

“And? You would’ve done the exact same thing for him.”

Ginny almost smiles. He might as well still be the boy who stuck stubbornly by her side next to the chicken fence all night, when she couldn’t bear to head back to the house, in case the fox ever came back.

“Yeah. I would have.”

It settles on her shoulders as quickly and unnoticeably as night, rapidly falling all around them: everything she would’ve done, in a heartbeat, in an instant.

“I would’ve taken the forest, too”, she says, more to herself than to Ron. “I would’ve done it all for him.”

It seems significant, somehow, that Ron does not resist this. That maybe he knows what it felt like, to Ginny, when they walked out into the courtyard and saw Harry.

That, too, felt like a Bludger to the chest: the sight of him, a kid in Hagrid’s arms, his glasses askew. How she wished it was her lying there, dead in his place.

“Those two”, Ron says abruptly. “Some day they’re really gonna be the death of us.”

Ginny almost laughs.

“So you won’t strangle him for abandoning the camp bed?”

Ron eyes her for a moment, a sort of benevolent sternness in his expression – and Ginny was right, that’s all Mum. “Yeah, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry, anyway”, she says, half-smiling. “For costing you your roommate.”

Ron sighs. “They grow up so fast.”

“And for all this, too. You were trying to hide, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right. You had to find me eventually.”

[blanska]

The Three Sergeys

My thoughts on the three pictures of Sergey and the three “angel” statues in Plague Doctor

Spoilers for the Plague Doctor comics and the Time of the Raven!

Three “Angel” Statues

The Crying Angel

In Plague Doctor #2 when Sergey is sitting at his desk and loking at the pictures, we see two winged statues. One of the has their wings up, and is covering their face, almost like they’re crying. My immediate thought was that this is a depiction of the “Rag” who I prefer to call “Softy” (because it’s the nicest thing the Bird has ever called him:P) Whenever we see Softy, he is either panicking, depressed, or at least terribly afraid of things. Most situations we see him in absolutely warrant this reaction, but still, so far this was the best way to recognize him. And in the Time of the Raven, it is Softy who is depressed and hopeless enough to be like, “sure Mr Evil God, take over, save me from existence, thank you very much”. And during the Plague Doctor series the Softy is asleep most of the time, which might be because he’s been through SO MUCH and he just can’t deal with stuff anymore. So, when i see this crying angel, I think that this must be him.

The Headless Angel

In Plague Doctor #10 Oleg’s necklaces are hanging from another winged statue, this one is missing their head. In the Time of the Raven, when Sergey has the nightmare during the ritual, the Bird tries to fight the god, but Kuthk bites his head off. So, when I saw that statue, my immediate thought was that this represents the Bird.

The Third Angel

In Plague Doctor #2 when we see the crying angel, there is another winged statue that we can’t see clearly. All I can make out is that this figure has their large wings almost folded in the front. Perhaps to protect themself, to cover themself up or perhaps to try to control and keep things together. This is pure headcanon territory. When I see Sergey in PD, in every scene I see either someone who is very much like the Bird or someone who is quite unlike him. This someone is clearly not the Softy. And I don’t see PD Sergey as a fusion of this third alter and whatever remained of the Bird, because then they would essentially be one person. And everyone can behave differently depending on what environment and situation they’re in. I seem different when I’m with a trusted friend, when I’m with strangers, when I’m working on something, etc. But here we see these different “sides” in the same setting as well: Sergey is with Oleg and Lera, wrokign on their little Plague Doctor project. And the less Birdlike side of him isn’t only present in the beggining when they first meet at the cafe (to make a good impression probably), it returns in later scenes with Lera as well. 

Three Photographs

In Plague Doctor #2 we see three pictures of Sergey on his desk. He sees the article about the closing of the orphanage he had sponsored. He’s wondering if this event has anything to do with him. In the next panel he is looking at the crying statute and immediately his thoughts turn into self-loathing.

The First Picture

In the picture to the left we see him stading possibly in front of his old mansion. Sergey himself is kinda just part of the scenery, of the composition, there’s plenty of space around him to show the building and the garden in the background. Next to him, there is a dark looming statue, one that possibly has a beak, but it’s really hard to make out. His hair is shoulder-length and is let down. With the dark shape towering over him, this might be Softy.

The Second Picture

There is no question about this one. This is the Bird in an overly-confident pose, with Margo on his shoulder, and the hairstyle we saw him with often during the Game (mostly when he stepped into the role of this vengeful villain in front of others).

The Third Picture

In the picture on the right we see Sergey and Oleg with Margo. They both seem happy and calm. They are together, just like during the Plague Doctor comics. Perhaps this represents the current Sergey, the new one, who’s trying to do things differently, who is willing to work with others (even when he sometimes sucks at it), who is willing to make compromises and keep to the original motivation for the plague doctor.

The Fate of the Bird

Don’t Turn Down the Bird

As Sergey is thinking about how everything he touches dies, he turns down the picture in the middle, the picture of the Bird. He is trying to do things differently and not follow that old and quite fucked up path. In the same moment he makes that move, he “accidentally” pushes the third picture off the desk. This made me think that if not the Bird himself - not in the form that he used to have - but someone is around who might identify to a certain extent as the Bird. It is very much a Bird move to do something spiteful when his picture is turned down. Even if he doesn’t want to break that picture or what it represents, he has to flip the finger somehow, right? :D Especially is the Softy is influencing this move. The two of them don’t have the most balanced, healthy relationship. They are very much opposites of each other, they clash, and they have a hard time putting up with the other.

A Corpse on a Shelf

While the other two statues are right there on Sergey’s desk along with the three photographs, the headless statue is in another room (above another desk with a computer. I think this guy has a PC or a laptop in every room...), on the shelf along with a charizard figurine and a dog plushie, currently used as a necklace holder. Like a relic of the past he’s trying to keep in the background and forget about. He is certainly not planning on repeating the Garden of Sinners and the Game. He wants those things to stay in the past and now he wants to do the whole plague doctor thing “the right way”.

I think Sergey - or at least some of him - has been doing a lot of introspection. Maybe this person who is unlike the Bird has been trying to manage things, find ways to work with the situation they’re in and possbily to work with each other in a more effective way. I honestly don’t know, but I want to! So, Bubble, where is the issue, where Sergey gives the readers a TedTalk about what exactly is going on in his head? :D

[magicman111]

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

[rocorambles]

Reminiscent

Pairing: Daichi x Reader

Genre: SFW, 5+1, Soulmate/Reincarnation AU, Angst (there is technically a character death, BUT THERE’S AN ULTIMATELY HAPPY ENDING, I SWEAR), Fluff 

Prompt: You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?

Summary: 5 lifetimes Daichi and you just weren’t meant to be and the 1 lifetime you finally found your happy ending together.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt. (Masterlist goes live December 1st!)  

Tagging @sawamooora  since I accidentally scarred her by making her read only the section where there was a character death without the heads up...OOPS, so I guess you can have your happy ending now~

I.

When Daichi meets you in this first lifetime, he can’t help but notice just how different you are from him and he stares at the luxurious fabrics beautifully accentuating your figure, wishing he could wipe off the meticulously and elegantly layered on makeup and see more of your bare face, wanting more than anything to know who you are beneath the graceful and well-mannered smiles and bows you grace the court with. But when he looks down at himself and sees the memories of crimson blood splattered all over his skin and robes, hears the sound of his sword piercing flesh, remembers the way your father enthusiastically thanks him for another job well done as a flash of fear races across your eyes at the corpse of proof he drags in, it’s all too apparent just how different the worlds you live in are. 

And really, that should have been it, he should have stopped himself right then and there, stopped thinking about you, stopped his gaze from trailing after you when he sees you roaming around the clan property. But his heart has different plans and here he is, a well respected samurai who works underneath your father, pining after you, a clan leader’s daughter, someone already betrothed to the son of a neighboring clan, someone much too pure and innocent for his blood soaked hands. 

He smiles when he sees your posture relax, your body slouch in relief when you think no one is watching you, no pretenses and facades to keep up when it’s just you, unaware of the brown eyes watching you. He clenches his fists so hard his nails threaten to break skin when he hears your secret anguished sobs as he guards your bedroom the night after you meet your fiance for the first time and realize you’ve been doomed to a life with a man who’ll never love you, a man who doesn’t see you as anything more than a political tool. He dreams of a life where he can whisk you away, a life where there would be no consequences if the two of you ran off to live a peaceful, happy life together far far far away from the cruel and cold world of money and power you’re both entangled in. 

But there are consequences and he lives with the constant shattering of his heart as he watches the light dim in your eyes as you continue courting your fiance, the cool indifferent look you wear on your face throughout your own wedding ceremony, the way you seem like just a shell of the vibrant young woman he once knew and fell in love with. And yet, he doesn’t do a thing, remaining faithfully by your father’s side and serving your clan for the remainder of his days.  

II.

Something jolts inside of Daichi when he sees you in the second lifetime and he can’t help but feel like there’s something familiar about you, something nostalgic about the situation you’re both in as you humbly bow before helping him dress and get ready for the busy day of meetings he has. And you watch in awe as you dutifully trail after him, making sure all his needs are attended to, amazed by just how hardworking, intelligent, and kind the young lord is, so different than the stories you had heard of royals. Not once does he ever treat you as anything less than an equal, not once does he ever lay an unwanted gaze on you, let alone a finger and you find yourself jumping to please him and aid him out of something more than just a sense of responsibility as your heart flutters from just his presence. 

You feel honored by how much he entrusts you with when it’s just the two of you in his room and you patiently listen when he throws his disciplined manners out the window, grumbling and ranting about the power-hungry ploys of his fellow royals, the way greed and privilege have corrupted them, how he can’t trust anyone anymore. But when he wonders if he needs to change, to adapt in order to thrive, you surprise the both of you with your vehement outburst as you blather on about how he’s perfect the way he is. And then there’s silence as the two of you look away, both your faces heating up at the hidden message in your words, a message so incredibly inappropriate considering both your positions and the time you live in. But before you can open your mouth and stutter out an apology, you freeze at the warm smile Daichi sends your way, heart racing at the heartfelt, but quiet thank you he utters in response. 

Of course nothing happens after that. This is real life after all and Daichi is far too respectful of his family and their reputation, far too noble to smear his clan’s name with taboo affairs, far too kind to hurt his future bride despite the fact that he’s never even met her yet, doesn’t know the first thing about her other than her name, to pursue something just for his own pleasure, his own satisfaction, something that could potentially harm so many others. And you understand. After all, these are the reasons you fell in love with him, and you’re just happy to be able to remain by his side for the rest of your days despite the lancing pain in your chest every time you see him with his wife, with his future children, living a life where you just exist on the sidelines, watching and longing for something you know you’ll never have. 

III. 

In the third lifetime Daichi meets you in, he can’t understand the regrets of a missed opportunity he feels when you introduce yourself to him, welcoming him to the neighborhood with a basket of freshly baked goods. He knows he should smile, graciously accept your kind (and delicious smelling) gifts and he does, but as he bites into the still warm cookies after you leave, the image of the gold wedding band around your finger is branded in his mind. 

In a small rural community like yours, you’re bound to run into each other, especially since your farms are right next to each other and he thinks you look ethereal each morning with the sun rising behind you, a soft golden glow framing you as you gather eggs, milk the cows, and water the crops. But there’s a sense of bitterness he can’t explain when your husband joins you, a hulking stoic figure besides you as he helps you on the fields, and he turns his back on the two of you to tend to his own chores. 

There’s nothing “wrong” with your spouse, nothing Daichi can truly fault him for and if he’s honest, if Ushijima wasn’t your husband, he’d have only respect and admiration for the man. He certainly can’t complain about how he treats you and something bittersweet churns inside of him when he sees Ushijima’s usually stern face soften whenever you’re around, when he sees the way Ushijima’s broad shoulders relax whenever you affectionately hold his hand. And although he internally chides himself at night in private when he dreams of what it would be like to be in Ushijima’s shoes, he can’t help but feel relieved, glad that you’ve found someone who loves and treats you well. 

But he laughs the silly thought away. Of course you had found someone who loved you. Why wouldn’t you have? And yet that night he dreams of your face, dressed in a beautiful silk robe better suited for the historicals eras of Japan, seated next to someone he somehow knows is your husband, but there’s only loneliness in your eyes and he wakes up with tears in his eyes, unsure why he’s crying, why he’s hoping you never feel alone ever again. 

IV. 

Daichi should be scared of you when he meets you in the fourth lifetime, but although he’s certainly wary of you, staring at you with his beady eyes from the branches high above your head, he can’t help the curiosity he feels when he sees your small furry body try to leap and paw at him despite how far the distance between the two of you is. And despite all his natural instincts, he feels himself relaxing, cawing teasingly at you as you tire yourself out, fluttering down a few branches closer to you when you give up and just sprawl out on the floor, tail flickering back and forth in interest as you watch him draw nearer. But before he can get any closer, he hears a human voice calling for you and the two of you lock eyes before you rush back to your owner and even after your body squeezes through the little cat door that had been built in the front door, he can’t help but watch your home closely, wondering if he’ll see you again. 

To his delight he does see you again, every single day as a matter of fact. On sunny days, he spreads out his wings and swoops down to meet you when you lazily curl up at the base of his tree and sometimes the two of you just lay there together, basking in the warmth of the beautiful day, sometimes the two of you take a stroll together, you trotting down the sidewalk as he flits from tree to tree beside you. He’s learned that rain and water in general don’t sit well with you and on gloomier days he glides over to the outside of your favorite window, peering through the glass and cawing warmly when you jump up and curl up on the windowsill, his beak and your nose pressing against the glass across from each other. 

But time is limited, especially for a crow like himself, and as you grow bigger and stronger, he begins to lose his appetite, begins to struggle flying for as long or as well as he used to. And although neither of you can speak to each other, there’s an intuitive understanding as you tone down your playing and spend his last remaining days just laying side by side, his feathered body curled up in the warm plush of your fur, your body and tail wrapped protectively around him until he passes away peacefully. 

V. 

Daichi only has himself to blame for the fifth lifetime being a complete loss. You had caught his eye in a way no girl ever had before when he saw you skillfully racing across the court at the Tokyo training camp. He can’t explain exactly what draws him to you. Sure, you’re attractive, but he’s been around other beautiful girls before, hell Shimizu is the manager of his team and even she’s never captivated him like this. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen many talented female volleyball players up close before? But that can’t be it. No other female player in the room even remotely peaks his interest. No...it’s something deeper than that and he swears it feels like there’s an invisible thread tying the two of you together. 

He watches and watches until a lanky arm is thrown over his shoulder, a sly voice purring in his ears. 

“Sa’amura. My, my, my. I thought a country bumpkin crow like you would have better manners than to gawk at our pretty Tokyo girls like a creep.” 

Daichi scowls at the messy haired Nekoma captain, but his face heats up when he realizes how strange he probably looked just staring at a gym full of female athletes. But before he can spout any excuses, Kuroo hums in interest as he follows Daichi’s gaze to see who he had been looking at so intently. 

“Well well well. I guess birds do attract each other. You have some good taste, Sa’amura. She’s a great player, although I personally think she would have been a better fit at Nekoma than Fukurodani. She moves a lot like a cat, doesn’t she? But if you want to get closer to her, try talking to Bokuto. They’re both pretty close.” 

A cat? Daichi wordlessly waves goodbye to Kuroo who’s strolling away before turning his attention back to you. And he’s surprised to see that there’s something eerily correct about Kuroo’s observation, something about your feline movements that nags at a deep unconscious thread inside of him, and it’s unnervingly easy to imagine you with a tail swishing back and forth behind you, to imagine you with soft ears and claws. But when he blinks, there you are, completely human once again, celebrating a point your team had scored, no cat appendages anywhere in sight. 

He doesn’t take Kuroo’s advice, never approaches Bokuto to learn more about you, and he leaves training camp without even exchanging one word with you. But from time to time for the rest of his life, he’ll dream of you, dream of a friendly cat he feels like he used to know and he’ll wake up with a pang of regret, wondering what would have happened if he had the courage to talk to you all those years ago. 

VI. 

Daichi groans, nursing a hangover as he groggily sits up in bed and turns off the ear splitting alarm. Thank God for humans and their habits, his brain not needing to work at all as he methodically brushes his teeth and throws on his uniform. But as he makes his way to the precinct, he pauses at the corner of the street, intrigued by the sight of a newly opened cafe. There’s technically coffee at work and the smarter and financially responsible choice would be to just wait and drink the free caffeinated liquid, but something draws him into the quaint storefront and before his mind can even catch up to his body, he’s already pushing open the door and walking towards the counter. 

He hears your voice ring throughout the small store, telling him you’d be with him in just a moment and he takes his time to peruse the menu, the soothing scent of coffee whetting his appetite and making the pastries in the glass case look even more appealing. He’s narrowed down his options to either the chocolate frosted donut or the coffee cake when he sees you approaching from the corner of his eyes and he smiles only to freeze when he sees your face.

“Do I know you-”

“You look familiar-”

Both of you start and stop talking at the same time and there’s an awkward silence before you both burst out laughing. As you prepare his order, both of you throw out possibilities of where you may have met before, but nothing pans out, and you both shrug your shoulders as you hand over the paper wrapped pastry and piping hot coffee. It’s a big world with tons of people. Perhaps both of you had met someone who looked similar to the other. But as Daichi sips his coffee and as you wait in the cafe for your next customer, neither of you can stop thinking of the other, wondering if you really hadn’t met before. 

And maybe it’s that curiosity that leads Daichi to regularly return to your cafe on a daily basis, that leads you to always perk and brighten up when he walks through your door. Daily morning coffee runs before work is how it all starts, but pretty soon you’re seeing him at all times of the day. Sometimes he pops in to order a sandwich and some chips for lunch. Sometimes he’ll plop down at one of your small tables, plugging his laptop into an outlet as he works for hours on end even on the weekends. And sometimes, when there’s no one else in the store, when you’re technically closed, you’ll join him, sharing a new dessert you’re testing for the menu with him and chatting away into the wee hours of the night. 

So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Daichi nervously enters the cafe right before closing one day, making sure no other customers are around before asking you out on an official first date. And even though you knew that the day where you two would discuss what your relationship exactly was would come soon, your face still heats up. But you eagerly nod, fingers instinctively interweaving with his when he hesitantly reaches to hold your hand and as the two of you walk hand in hand to the restaurant he’s chosen for dinner, you both can’t help but feel like your hands fit perfectly together, like you were made to be with each other. 

Romantic candlelit dinners become more frequent casual affairs after a while and the two of you find yourself cuddled up on a couch in comfortable clothing, eating a meal the two of you had cooked together more often than not. You make fun of Daichi’s bachelor closet, dragging him to go shopping and ignoring his squawking when you pay for all his new clothes while he’s still changing in the fitting room. He teases you for how flustered you get when you see him in his cop uniform, purposefully striking a cheesy pose in the doorway only to bend over in a belly bursting laugh when you just wordlessly gape and stutter at the sight. 

But the change that both of you love the most is never having to sleep alone again and your bodies slot together perfectly like two puzzle pieces when you curl up with each other in bed, letting sleep, body warmth, and rhythmic breathing lull you both into the best nights of sleep you’ve ever had. 

Well, usually that would be the case.

Daichi grumbles as you insistently shove his body until he begrudgingly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and batting away your hands that keep on nudging him awake. He looks at you in confusion and maybe the slightest hint of irritation at being woken up at such an ungodly hour of the night, but the bright smile you flash his way softens him and he internally groans about how weak he is for you as he stumbles out of bed, sleepily accepting the bundle of clothes you throw at him and haphazardly throwing them on. 

He lets you drag him out the door, shivering a bit as the cold night air wakes him up and he holds you close to him, his cop instincts keeping him alert as he continuously scans the area. You live in a safe neighborhood, but it is the middle of the night and he’d be a hypocrite to not be aware of his surroundings when he’s always warning people not to be out by themselves late at night. But the two of you make it to what he assumes is your final destination unscathed and his jaw drops in disbelief when he sees that you’ve brought them to the neighborhood park. 

“You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?” 

You giggle at his outburst, slapping his arm in mock anger as you pull him to sit beside you on one of the benches. 

“I checked the weather and tonight’s supposed to have the clearest skies for stargazing! And you and I both have off tomorrow, so it seemed like perfect timing. Don’t be such a grumpy old man.” 

And how can Daichi possibly be angry when you’re practically radiant, the soft glow of the stars illuminating your features as you stare up in awe, holding his hand and snuggling into his side as your free hand points at the different constellations you recognize. But the two of you freeze when you hear rustling nearby, letting out a sigh of relief when only a stray cat stalks out from behind a bush and you both watch in amusement as it regally walks towards your bench before plopping down with its stomach bared right at your feet. 

But just as Daichi is about to reach down and accept the invitation to pet the furry creature, a loud squawk echoes throughout the area and suddenly the cat is leaping to its feet as a crow swoops down and hops around on the ground just a few feet away. And the two of you watch in amazement as the two creatures play with each other, paws lazily batting at the bird while wings spread wide and teasingly brush against a whiskered face in a practiced friendly dance. 

It should be just a light hearted scene, maybe heartwarming at most, but to the two of you it’s more than that and your hearts ache, tears streaming down both your faces in a strange combination of soul crushing sorrow and gratitude for the present. But why is it so sad? Why are you both crying? The two of you shakily laugh, apologizing for your strange behavior as you hurriedly try to wipe the salty streaks away, but they don’t stop, only growing worse and turning into body wracking sobs as pain, loss, regret, and unrequited love built over what feels like multiple lifetimes slam into both of you all at once. 

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. 

But like magic it all instantly fades away when the two of you find yourselves tightly wrapped in each other’s arms, your body somehow now in Daichi’s lap as you bury your tear stained face in his chest, his arms wrapped around you in a bone crushing hold as he buries his face in the top of your head. And the two of you just stay like that for a bit as the calming breeze swirls past you, as the creatures and sounds of the night begin to fade away, as the morning sun begins its ascent into the sky, all the while exchanging words of love with each other, words of gratitude for finding each other. 

And when the tears have finally all been wiped away and the sun is shining brightly down on both of you, the two of you share a smile before Daichi is ushering both of you back home, jokingly whining about immediately going back to sleep once you both return home, both of you animatedly bantering as you walk away, ignorant of the way the cat and crow lay curled up beside each other, both their eyes never straying from your retreating figures until you’re out of sight. 

Neither of you ever discuss that night again. Neither of you ever try to understand and explain the chaotic overwhelming mess of emotions that had bombarded both of you. But every now and then, even after the two of you exchange vows, even after your shared home is filled with children’s laughters and voices, the echoes of that night follow both of you in your dreams and you wake up with tears in your eyes and a lingering ache in your hearts. 

But all it takes is a quick glance to your side, the reassurance that both of you are together, right where you belong, to completely snuff out any negative emotions and you let the comforting warmth of love lull you back into slumber, smiles gracing both your lips as Daichi holds you just a bit closer and tighter to him, as you snuggle just a bit more until you’re firmly tucked underneath his chin.  

[teshamerkel]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 5] (17 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Nia talks to Maggie about Tobias’ past and makes a decision of her own.

-

Nia watches the alcove where Tobias vanished, hearing the charmander settle into his nest with a rustle. After a few moments of quiet, she looks to Maggie for some explanation for the emotional display that just happened, but the meganium is clearly elsewhere, eyes a thousand miles away and expression pinched with worry. Nia sets her book to the side and rises to her feet, approaching the older Pokémon.

“Maggie?” She murmurs, resting a hand on the older woman’s leg.

The meganium jolts out of her thoughts, looking down at the riolu. For fear of Tobias hearing her concerns, Nia just frowns and tilts her head, hoping her question is clear. The meganium seems to get the message, and nods her head in the direction of the doorway into the hall. Nia nods and follows her, and the two of them walk away from their quarters.

“What—“

“Hold on, dear,” Maggie says. Nia obediently shuts her mouth again, wondering where the meganium is taking her.

They end up back at the staircase without a word, and climb it upwards, past two more floors, and then finally step out onto...a mail floor? Open patches of foliage let in fresh windy air and a flood of sunlight, and Nia sees a large white pelican Pokémon land on one of the wooden platforms, a few letters visibly clamped in his beak.

She follows Maggie past the bird, and they only stop once they reach another landing spot. Maggie walks up to the edge and sinks comfortably onto the wooden planks. Nia follows her lead, sitting next to her and enjoying the way the wind whips at her fur. The sun is nice and warm, too, and they have a breathtaking view of the forest from above. The blue sky looks endless, and she’s only a little nervous about how high up they are. 

“Sorry, dear. Tobias would have a fit if he heard us talking about him like he wasn’t there,” Maggie says, just loud enough to be heard over the breeze. She sounds unbearably fond.

Nia looks over at her, noticing for the first time how...old Maggie looks. She’s seemed so full of life ever since Nia met her, but now she just looks worn. Sad. The creases under her eyes seem deeper.

“C-Can I...can I ask what happened down there?” Nia asks.

Maggie smiles, the slightest bit. “I’ll tell you what I can. Most of it isn’t my story to tell.”

Nia nods, remembering the way Tobias looked when he’d first returned to the room. Pale and shaken, eyes swollen from crying. He’d looked so vulnerable. So different from the scathing, aloof Pokemon she’s become accustomed to over the past few days.

“I met Tobias around, oh...eight years ago, when he was only nine.” Maggie starts. “I was far from the guild at the time, on a trip to buy herbs from a little town at the base of a mountain range. Isolated place, but lovely. That’s where I met Tobias.”

Maggie smiles, and it looks bittersweet. “He was such a tiny thing, refusing to speak to anyone. And he had been…hurt. Badly. The healer there told me they’d found him unconscious just outside the village. I asked what they planned to do with him, seeing as he was alone, and they didn’t have an answer. So I offered to bring him back to the guild with me.”

Nia looks up at the meganium with open admiration. “You took him in, just like that?”

Maggie smiles. “I did. From what the healer told me, he had nowhere to go and I figured he would do better someplace different, far away from whatever memories lied in those mountains. I thought I would have Arlo raise him in the nursery, but in the course of our trip home that feisty little charmander stole my heart. He’s been with me ever since.”

Nia suddenly understands the clear familial affection between the two, the intense fear on the meganium’s face when Tobias talked about hunting down those outlawed Pokémon. “So...is it a bad idea for Tobias to become a Seeker?” She asks.

Maggie hesitates, looking thoughtfully at the blue sky. “No. Not bad. He’s always been drawn to battling and training, and I think it would actually do him well, to get out into the world. To meet other Pokémon and grow. Here he is allowed to stagnate, to wallow in his anger. In some ways, becoming a Seeker would likely be the best option for him.”

“So you’re only discouraging him because…he’s going after those criminals?”

Maggie sighs. “Tobias is a stubborn one, and once he sets his mind to something, it’s nigh impossible to change it. If my guess as to what those three did is correct, then I understand why he feels the need to hunt them down. But they’re S-rank Pokemon. It would take years for him to become strong enough to defeat them. Even then, it would be incredibly dangerous, and he could...”

The meganium trails off, her voice beginning to shake even as her posture remains tall and strong. Nia shivers at the implications of what the outlaws could do. What they’ve already done.

Maggie clears her throat. “I just fear that he will become too wrapped up in his search for revenge. That it will consume him. Or that he’ll become too discouraged when they cannot be found. That he’ll give up on everything.”

Nia doesn’t know what to say to that, frowning as she watches a tan bird Pokémon with a crest of red feathers land lightly at the next port down. What a tricky situation. On one hand, it sounds like becoming a Seeker would be great for the temperamental charmander. Maybe give him an opportunity to vent and learn. On the other hand, his motivations for pursuing such a path in the first place are incredibly dangerous. Potentially even fatal.

“I know I can’t stop him either way,” Maggie says, almost as if speaking to herself. “So I suppose all I can do is support him and pray to Virizion that he stays safe.” Nia reaches out to lay a comforting hand on the meganium’s side. Maggie smiles down at her, looking grateful. “I’ll miss him terribly. Tantrums and all.”

Nia laughs.

There’s a moment of quiet, and then Maggie speaks again, voice only a bit forced in its cheeriness. “So! I believe we got distracted in our chat earlier. Have you made any decisions regarding what you would like to do here at the guild?”

Nia pulls her fluffy tail into her lap, stroking at it as she considers how to answer. She has been giving her options a lot of thought—and even considered a few other paths that sounded interesting, such as a nursery worker or an archivist. But it seems like Tawny and Alistair were right. Her two best options for finding answers are still the same as she’d been told at the very start.

“I’m leaning towards becoming a researcher,” Nia says, hesitantly. “I want to find out everything I can about humans and my past, and how to return to my old life. So that seems like the best option. Tawny and Alistair recommended it to me.”

Maggie hums. “Seems like a sensible choice. You’re quite a clever, curious sort.”

Nia feels herself flush under her fur. “S-So you think that would be my best option?”

Maggie turns to look at her. “Did you have something else in mind?”

“W-Well...” Nia doesn’t even know why she’s bringing this up. She knows she could never do it, but... “Tawny did say that a, uh, Seeker would actually be the best way to go about looking for my past.”

“But?”

“But I could never do that,” Nia says with an awkward laugh.

“And why not?”

Nia stops avoiding the dinosaur’s gaze. “What?”

“Why not?” Maggie asks again, sounding genuinely confused.

“B-Because!” Nia stammers, gesturing to herself. “I’m me! I don’t know anything about this world and I don’t know how to fight—not that I even want to—a-and exploring sounds way too intense for me. I was practically useless when Tobias and I got stuck in that dungeon! I’d probably be too scared to do anything, a-and...yeah.” She trails off lamely.

“It sounds like you’re talking yourself out of it,” Maggie observes. “You can always learn more about this world and how to fight. You’re a fast learner.”

“Y-Yeah, I guess, but…”

“Perhaps you should give it more thought,” Maggie says, a hint of a smile at her lips. “You might surprise yourself if you try it out.”

Nia looks down at her paws, thoughts even more muddled than before. Despite Maggie’s encouragement, she doesn’t know why she keeps thinking that becoming a Seeker is an actual possibility. A researcher would really be more suited to her personality. And yet, the idea keeps popping into her head. Sure, it would be the fastest way for her to get more information, but still! The Pokémon world sounds terrifying for Seekers!

...Terrifying and, admittedly, more than a bit exciting. In the span of four or five days she’s already seen so many different kinds of Pokémon and heard of so many amazing phenomena just within the walls of the guild. She can only imagine what kind of incredible things are out in the rest of the Pokémon world! Nia doesn’t know exactly what kind of person she was as a human, but she wonders if maybe she always dreamed of something like this, of having the chance to take crazy adventures. Her heart races just thinking about it, even as nervous butterflies fill her stomach.

God, she has no idea what to do now.

“Don’t look so worried, dear,” Maggie says, amused. “You can always try out one path and switch if it doesn’t suit you.”

“I guess,” Nia says, looking out at the sky again. The forest seems to stretch on forever beneath them, wild and vast. The riolu finally admits to herself that some part of her itches to explore it.

__________________________________________________

Nia and Maggie spend a while longer at the port area before making their way back downstairs. Tobias is still sleeping, so Nia sits near Maggie as she works and pulls out her book, a text detailing different Pokémon types, where they tend to reside, and what their individual weaknesses and strengths are. It’s...fascinating. Weird, but fascinating.

The riolu doesn’t even register the time flying by until Maggie nudges her on the way to wake up Tobias. It’s lunch already? By time the charmander is up, yawning and blinking blearily at Nia with much less animosity than usual, she realizes just how hungry she is.

“Thanks, Maggie,” Toby slurs, stretching. Nia stands up and does the same, wincing at how stiff her tail feels. Was she sitting on it? Yikes.

Maggie responds with a light brush of her vine across Tobias’ head. “Of course. Would you two bring me something back?”

Uh-oh. She’s not coming with them? Nia looks over to Tobias, expecting to see him glaring back at her. Instead, he just glances at her with mild annoyance instead of boiling hatred. That’s a step up, she thinks. “Sure. C’mon.”

He turns to leave, and Nia shoots Maggie an uncertain look before hurrying after the charmander. The walk down to the cafeteria is almost as awkward as the first day she arrived here. Nia wants to fill the silence up with some sort of conversation, but she knows that she’ll get shut down unless she picks something the charmander actually wants to talk about.

Oh. Duh.

Nia works up the courage to ask, “S-So, uh, what do you have to do to become a Seeker?”

Tobias sends her a wary look. “Why do you wanna know?”

Nia shrugs in return, not daring to mention that she’s thinking of becoming a Seeker herself. “Just, uh, curious.”

For a moment Tobias is silent, and Nia thinks he’s not going to answer her. Then he surprises her by saying, “You have to apply to the Seekers organization with at least one other teammate. Then you start preliminary training and take on missions to raise your rank and get rewards.”

Nia blinks at his back, shocked that she actually got a civil answer out of the charmander. “Oh. Who’s going to be your partner?”

Tobias doesn’t answer her, and Nia wisely decides not to push her luck.

They make it to the cafeteria, and although Nia is tempted to follow Tobias into his chosen food line, she instead joins a different queue to try and give the charmander a few minutes of space. She steps into line behind a graceful-looking green deer Pokemon and grabs a tray.

To her surprise, the deer sends a cursory glance over her shoulder, and then does a double-take, large ears perking up. “Oh, wow! You’re Nia, right?”

Nia tries not to lean away from the sudden enthusiasm. “U-Uh. Yes?”

The deer turns around and grins at her with bright eyes. “I was hoping I’d run into you soon! I’m Andyn, a Seeker here at the guild.”

Nia tries not to be overwhelmed by how adorable this Pokemon is. She even has a flower tucked behind her ear! She’s probably around Nia’s age, though, so the riolu tries to sound casual when she smiles and replies, “N-Nice to meet you.”

“There’s so much I’ve been wanting to ask you about being a human and how weird it must be to wash up here all of a sudden—you’re the talk of the guild these days!” The deer laughs at Nia’s stricken expression. “Don’t look so freaked out! It’s a good thing.” The line moves forward, but Andyn simply steps back to keep up with it. “I’m just grabbing something to go, but you totally need to eat with me and my team sometime! ‘Kay?”

Nia doesn’t know what to say, clutching the tray close to her chest, so she just nods. Andyn giggles again and turns to collect her meal from the cafeteria Pokemon—some sort of orange, fiery-looking...chicken? 

There’s a horrible KFC joke in there somewhere, Nia just knows it.

The chicken Pokémon hands Andyn a cloth bag of food, and the deer accepts it with a nod of thanks. She smiles again at Nia before bounding off. The riolu turns to order her own food, fighting off a giddy sort of feeling in her chest. Andyn seemed really nice! Maybe they could end up being friends in the future.

By the time Nia has her food and sits down across from Tobias, the charmander is already busy eating. He’s cooking a few small berries in his hands, blowing a plume of fire over them like a tiny blowtorch. Nia watches in fascination, nibbling on a juicy blue berry.

When the charmander finally crunches down on the browned berries, Nia takes a chance and asks, “H-How exactly do you do that?”

Tobias pauses to give her a look. “Do what?”

Nia points at her own mouth. “Breathe fire. Like, I know it’s a natural thing for your type, but how does it, uh...feel? Do you breathe it out from your stomach or your throat, o-or..?”

Tobias blinks at her, brow furrowing. For a moment, Nia’s sure he’s about to snap at her. But then he just rolls his eyes and says, “You’re so weird.” Before Nia can feel embarrassed, he continues, “I don’t know the exact science behind it, but the flames come from an organ near my stomach. You’d have to look in a textbook to find out the exact name. We just call it a flame pouch.”

Nia, awed just to have the charmander talking to her in something other than insults, nods.

“It feels...kind of like forcing out a breath of air,” he continues, clearly searching for the right words. “Voluntary. But also natural. It’s hard to describe.”

Nia nods. She has no doubt it’s a complex feeling, when having to really think about it. Like trying to explain to someone how blinking feels.

Idly, the riolu wonders if maybe the charmander seems so much less irritable because of his decision to become a Seeker. Maybe he’d been a lot more unhappy about his position and the unanswered questions of the outlaw trio than even Maggie had realized. He certainly seems less angry now than the entire four days she’s been here. Nicer.

“You gonna respond or just stare like an espurr?” Tobias snaps, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Okay, maybe not that much nicer.

“S-Sorry,” Nia says, looking back to her food and picking through the berries. “That’s really interesting. I can’t even imagine what that feels like.”

She glances up in time to see Tobias lifting a brow at her. “Why would you? You’re a fighting type. You can do things that I can’t, too.”

Nia perks up at that. “I...guess that’s true. And I could use moves, a-and uh...aura abilities if I just practiced, right? And had a teacher?”

“I mean, yeah,” Tobias says, looking confused about her sudden interest. “All Pokemon can. Some are naturally stronger than others, some are better strategists, but any Pokémon can fight.”

Nia takes a moment to soak that statement in, chewing thoughtfully on a berry. Any Pokémon can fight. So...even her.

“A-and fighting is...different for Pokémon, right? You guys do it like, for fun. And it’s not, like...um...”

Tobias must see where she’s going, because his snout scrunches up in clear distaste. “No, I already told you we don’t go around maiming each other, jeez. Most battles end with a knockout and non-lethal injuries, even between outlaws and Seekers.”

Nia feels herself relax ever so slightly. She’d already read as much from some of the books she’d checked out of the archives and saw evidence of it herself when she was in the dungeon with Tobias, but she’ll take all the reassurance she can get that battling is normal for Pokemon, at least to a degree. Maybe...maybe she could make this Seeker thing work. She just has to scare off the feral Pokémon in mystery dungeons and stuff, right? And she wouldn’t have to take on any outlaw work...

Tobias looks at her strangely but doesn’t comment on her silence. He simply goes back to his food with a huff. The rest of the meal is quiet, but not uncomfortably so, and when they go to leave, Tobias stops by one of the queues to ask for a specific blend of food items.

Nia blinks at how many of the little purple berries he requests. “Th-That’s...a lot.”

Tobias rolls his eyes and takes the bag of food, not answering as he leaves the cafeteria. Nia follows him back up to their quarters. When Maggie greets them both with a warm smile, Tobias jabs the sack lunch at her with a blunt, “Here.”

The meganium takes the offered food, peeking inside. Clearly delighted, she chirps, “So many bluk berries today! Thank you, Tobias.”

The charmander grumbles something about the meal coming that way before moving over to Maggie’s desk and grabbing a stack of dried herbs and a mortar and pestle to grind them up. Huh. Tobias is definitely coarse and filled to the brim with anger, but the more Nia sees of him when he’s not ignoring her or sending sharp comments her way, the more she thinks that maybe he’s not that bad of a Pokémon.

Of course, just as she’s thinking this, Tobias glances up, catches her staring at him, and growls, “You could get off your tail and help, you know.”

Nia jumps, bustling over to Maggie’s desk to grab a second mortar and pestle, as well as some herbs. “S-Sorry!”

She sits down on the ground near him and listens carefully as Maggie points out which herbs to grind together into medicinal blends. The riolu has a pathetic first attempt at using the unfamiliar bowl and rod of stone, and Tobias looks like he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh at her or set her on fire for her failure.

Maggie reassures her, and she tries again.

__________________________________________________

Nia wakes up the next morning to Tobias’ voice, loudly and angrily ranting about something in Maggie’s main quarters. She lifts her head and blinks at the charmander’s empty nest, ears twitching.

“—can’t form a Seeker team by myself! That’s ridiculous! I’m strong enough for E-rank missions at least.”

“Tobias,” Maggie’s voice sighs, much quieter. “You know that you can’t be the sole member of an exploration team. It’s safety protocol.”

“It’s stupid, is what it is,” Tobias growls, slightly quieter.

“Have you tried speaking with anyone in the guild about creating a team with you? Or perhaps about joining an existing one?”

There’s a moment of silence, and even Nia can feel its weight in her half-awake state.

“Yeah. No one wants me,” he rasps, just loud enough for her to hear. “You know I don’t get along with anyone here anyways.”

“Maybe if you just tried talking to them—“

“Maggie, they already decided. They decided years ago. I’ll talk to August and find some other way to start a team.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Maggie sighs. There’s so much heartache in that simple breath. After not hearing Tobias for another minute or so, Nia decides to get up, rubbing at her eyes as she steps into Maggie’s quarters. The floral Pokémon is reading through a slip of paper, but looks up as Nia yawns.

“Good morning, dear,” Maggie says, using a vine to stroke back the messy fur on the riolu’s head.

Nia takes a moment to relish the feeling, her eyes slipping closed. It’s...soothing. Something about it feels familiar and comforting, and an unexpected jab of homesickness hits her in the chest.

Taking a shaky breath, Nia glances around to distract herself. “Tobias is gone?”

“Mm.”

“He…can’t find a partner.”

Maggie stills. “You heard that, then. Sorry for waking you.”

Nia shakes her head. “I-It’s fine. Can he form a team if he can’t find a Pokémon to be his partner?”

Maggie doesn’t answer, and that tells the riolu everything she needs to know. The meganium sets aside the paper she’d been reading, rubbing at her face with a vine instead. “That boy’s pushed away just about every Pokémon in the guild. It doesn’t surprise me that no one wants to form a team with him, with how he treats them.”

Nia looks up at Maggie, head tilted. The older Pokémon sounds so uncharacteristically frustrated.

“He needs to learn to act like a decent Pokémon, show some patience and empathy,” she goes on, shaking her head. “He’s kind, really he is, but he’s just so caught up in his own emotions and his own grief, always thinking that other Pokémon are out to get him. I thought he’d heal more than he has over the years, maybe learn to let others in, but...” she trails off.

For a moment, Nia wonders if Maggie has forgotten that she’s here, standing quietly at her feet. But then the meganium looks at her with tired eyes.

“Apologies, Nia. I’m just worried about him. Ignore this old Pokemon’s ramblings.”

“I get it,” Nia murmurs. “Have you looked into some sort of grief counseling for him?” She doesn’t know exactly what went down in Tobias’ past to make him so bitter, but she can take a few guesses. If her namesake Pokemon discovered a new form of emotional therapy, surely Pokemon have something like grief counseling figured out, too.

Maggie looks surprised that she would know about something like that, or maybe just that she would suggest it. Then, she sinks to the ground, nodding. “He refuses to talk to anyone about it. I’ve tried reading books about coping methods and applying them myself, but he’s still so…hurt. So lost.”

Nia frowns, turning to look thoughtfully at the doorway and out into the hall. Lost. She thinks she can understand that feeling, at least in some way. She thinks back to her and Tobias’ most recent conversation in the cafeteria. They’d almost had a civil interaction with one another. She’d asked a question and he’d answered without biting her head off. Kind of. And the more she thinks about it, the more appealing the thought of becoming a Seeker is.

Maybe...she could help.

“I could be his partner,” Nia whispers, trying the thought out loud.

Maggie’s head snaps up, antennae raised in surprise. “Come again?”

Nia cringes under the meganium’s bewilderment, but offers up the idea once more. “I-I could be his partner?”

“Now hang on, dear, I know you’re just trying to help, but this is a big commitment you’re signing up for. You know how Tobias can get—he’s not an easy Pokémon to get along with, let alone to have as your partner.”

Nia frowns. She’s not just doing this as some sort of self-sacrificing need to be helpful! Okay, sure, maybe she does want to help a little bit, but she knows what she’s getting herself into here. Barbed words and remarks, someone who she needs to be able to trust with her life but hardly trusts not to shove her down the guild’s staircase when she asks too many questions. Someone who probably hates her guts.

And yet...Nia can’t help thinking that maybe this is the answer they’ve all been looking for. If Nia is going to become a Seeker and find the answers she needs, she’s going to need a partner who knows what they’re doing and who will push her to get better. Tobias needs a teammate willing to put up with his attitude, and Maggie wants her adopted grandson to try something new and conquer his past. This could be the solution to all of their problems.

Of course, it could also go horribly, terribly wrong.

When Nia comes back to the present, she has a hand at her chin and feels Maggie’s gaze boring into her head. “Do you think it’s a terrible idea?” Nia asks, looking up to the meganium. “Honestly.”

Maggie looks conflicted. “For Tobias, any willing partner is a great thing. As much as I would miss him and fear for his safety, becoming a Seeker could help him in so many ways.”

“But?”

“But...” Maggie reaches out a vine, placing it on Nia’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze. “I would worry about you. Tobias is a good Pokemon deep down, but he is sharp and sorely lacking in sympathy. I fear you would be miserable as his partner.”

Nia feels her ears pin back, eyes flicking away to stare at the floor.

“You two would spend almost every day together, sometimes all day and night,” Maggie goes on, tone serious. “And as much as I want to believe that someone like you could help him soften up, I wouldn’t want your own feelings to be a casualty in the process.”

Maybe...maybe this is a bad idea. Nia can hardly handle the charmander now without crying or cowering away, and she’s only been interacting with him in short bursts for less than a week. Could she really handle him as her partner? Someone to be around constantly? Does she want to? Obviously he wouldn’t want her as his partner, but he seems pretty restricted in his options. To the logical part of her brain, it kind of sounds like the worst plan in the world.

And yet, something in Nia recognized the vulnerability in Tobias’ eyes when he came back from the outlaw board with shaking hands. She can’t help recalling his frequent soft spot towards Maggie, as much as he tries to hide it. Their somewhat civil conversation in the cafeteria earlier. Her small sense of victory the one or two times she’s gotten him to look anything near amused instead of constantly angry at the world. The desperation in his voice when he was speaking to Maggie just minutes ago about needing a partner.

Maybe she trusts her gut too much, maybe she lets her heart rule too often over her head, maybe she’s even got some sort of savior complex. But before she can overthink it, Nia looks back up to Maggie with determined eyes. “I’m going to ask to be his partner.”

Maggie’s face goes slack with surprise, and then—to Nia’s shock—she starts to laugh, throwing her head back.

“Wh-What?” Nia asks.

“Nothing,” Maggie says as her laughter dies down. She looks down at the riolu with a fond expression, seeming much more at peace. “I simply agree with your decision all of a sudden.”

Nia tilts her head, and the meganium smiles. “Dear, I haven’t seen you look so fired up the entire week you’ve been here. Your mind is made up, and I bet that I have as much hope to change it as I do Tobias’ own stubbornness. Maybe you two will be better for each other than we think.”

Nia doesn’t know how to respond to that, but at least she feels reassured that Maggie is on her side. Next, she just needs to convince Tobias.

[ravensbug]

Beautiful

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Ship: Lin Beifong x reader

Request: No

Prompt: “It’s beautiful”

Summary: You’ve been stuck at home ever since you broke your leg. Lin refused to even let you go to the precinct to work at your desk. Seeing as you had nothing to do at home you decide to paint, seeing as it has been years since you’ve done so. Lin comes to visit to see how you're doing and admires your paintings. She visits more often to see how they’re going.

You picked up the two-inch brush and primed your canvas with turpentine. You decided you were going to use oil paints today, rather than the watercolor you’d been using for the past week. It was a change of pace since oil paint took much longer to dry. It allowed for more complex ideas and significantly more details.

You were always fond of painting animals, either from memory or when they would sit outside your window. You mostly painted birds, but there were a few cats and dogs scattered throughout your list of paintings.

Switching to a different brush, you situated yourself in a more comfortable position in your chair. Painting was much easier when you were standing, but your broken leg didn’t allow you to do that. It was more like Lin wouldn’t allow you to. She would scold you if she came over to find you standing while painting.

You really wished you two could spend more time together, but being a cop was a time consuming job for the both of you. More so for Lin, being the Police Chief and all.

Her visits were always nice. She would usually come with food, knowing you spend all day painting without a break. Of course she wouldn’t have eaten either, so she couldn’t judge you too harshly.

Today you decided to paint a raven, by far your favorite bird. Even though it’s feathers were all black, you were able to put so much color and detail into them. Of course feathers were still a pain in the ass to paint. If even one was off by size, color, or even shading you had to repaint it.

But that’s what made oil paint so much better than watercolor for this. If it didn’t look right then you could fix it. The paint didn’t dry right away. It was a nice ‘cheat’ as you would call it, even though it wasn’t cheating.

The downside was that the paint didn’t dry right away. Kind of redundant, but you couldn’t do too much work all in one day. The paint had to dry so you could add some details without the colors mixing. Things like eyes would be done last to avoid any chance of the paint getting wet.

You took a small amount of the general paint colors and painted over your sketch. You could still see the sketch, but there was a light layer of colored turpentine now covering it.

Turpentine was very important for oil paints. The paint refuses to attach itself to the canvas without it. It also serves as the cleaning agent, as water only moves the paint around everywhere.

You took some of the grey and began with the beak of the bird. Starting at the top was important to avoid smudging. You also had the background to worry about, but that would come last. You would rather be able to remove the excess paint covering the raven than paint over the background and have layering issues.

Once you were satisfied with the color and shading of the beak you moved on to the head. Black paint would be what you used for the most part. The eye, and the shading around it would come last, but it was still black.

You painted the small feathers that stick out from its head as well as the ones that cover some of the beak. The paint was nice and smooth, so you could get fine lines out of it when you needed to.

You painted down the neck and stopped before the wings began. It’s important to know that with oil paint you work from dark to light, rather than from light to dark. Lighter oil paints, like white, can never truly be covered once added. You avoid this by always adding less white until you get the desired shade.

Once you added the small details to add definition to the head and neck you began work on the wings. The most painstaking part of the painting. You started with the left wing first, which was at an angle. Less feathers to paint and it allowed you to get a technique figured out for this painting.

Because of the background you had chosen, a cherry blossom tree, you decided that the highlights on the feathers would include some green and even a hint of blue. It created a contrast that was noticeable, but wasn’t ugly.

The top of the wing was much easier to deal with as it was made up of smaller feathers. Since the wings were both tucked in you could get away with only using vague highlights to show off the small feathers. You knew you would come back to them eventually, either later while painting or when you finally decided you needed to fix it. For now it looked fine.

Moving down to the individual feathers you painted them one by one. Not just plain black either. Full shading on each feather before you moved onto the next. And if the previous feather didn’t look right after you finished another you would go back until it looked right. This was tedious and sometimes annoyed the hell out of you, but making these feathers look right was your main priority.

About halfway through the first wing you threatened to rip the canvas in half. The feathers weren’t cooperating like you wanted and there was the nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that you could never get them right.

Oh the perks of being able to paint. On one hand it relaxed you and kept you from thinking about being stuck in your apartment all day. On the other it pissed you off to no end when you couldn’t get something exactly right.

You eventually gave into your frustration when you threw the brush at the painting. It didn’t ruin anything thankfully, but it made you feel better.

Sitting back in your chair you couldn’t help but scold yourself for being stuck in this situation. You were always careful when it came to using your cables and zipping around the city or down from one of the blimps. But as life would have it you still weren’t careful enough.

Your fall wasn’t life threatening in any way, thankfully. Lin wouldn’t have known what to do if it had been. It was maybe fifteen or twenty feet from the ground when your cable suddenly snapped. There was training for these instances and you knew what to do.

You had used your other cable and attached it to a nearby building. It helped angle your descent to not have as much of impact which was the key to why you weren’t injured anymore. But you still managed to land awkwardly, catching your foot on a small hole in the street and breaking plenty of bones.

The adrenaline of the whole situation caused you to not feel anything, which was for the better. You tried standing up, but when your leg refused to hold your weight you knew something had happened.

Lin ignored whatever they had come to do in the first place and ran over to you. You weren’t crying, but there was a sense of sadness or disappointment around you.

No matter how many times you and the doctor told Lin you were going to be ok she never really believed it until you got home. You would have a cast on for six months or more if you tried to use the leg. You knew it would be more because you were stubborn as hell.

You didn’t want this to stop you from working, even if you were stuck at your desk for those six plus months. Lin, however, refused to let you come to work. She personally walked with you back to your apartment after you had come to the station the day after getting injured.

Lin would rather you be in a wheelchair than crutches, but she knows she can’t control everything you do. She remembers that you can handle yourself even if you’re more vulnerable now. She spends more time with you because of that, but neither of you complain.

Once you were done reminiscing about how you got to where you were right now you took a deep breath. Art wasn’t easy, you knew that. Being out of practice wasn’t much help either.

You picked up the brush from its spot on the floor and cleaned it off. The floor had some paint on it, but it was nothing a rag couldn’t clean up. At least it wasn’t a spill.

After another deep breath you went back to the feathers. Taking that short break to let out your frustration worked well. Whatever was stopping you from figuring out had left your mind. You could see that it was simply how wide the feather was. A stupid mistake that you scolded yourself for.

Finishing the wing became much easier now. It wasn’t faster because even though there were less feathers as you went down they also got longer.

You noted that you might have to change the shading after getting an idea. It was only a maybe though. Making it seem like there were flowers above the bird and out of view was hard, but not impossible. You would come back to that idea later.

The body in between the wings was left unshaded. Plain black was enough since your light source would make it shadowed anyway.

Now came the second wing. It would have to take much more time and patience for you to do this one, as you could see more of it than the other wing. Thinking you had plenty of time left in the day to finish the painting you started on the wing. You only stopped when you heard the lock of your door turn.

Were you startled by it? Yes, you definitely were. But it could be argued that Lin was more startled by having a knife floating inches from her face as she opened the door.

“Lin! Spirits you scared me!” you guided the knife back to the counter.

“I’m glad you’re prepared for intruders,” She seemed unphased even though you knew better than to think that.

“C’mon. You don’t need to be the high and mighty Chief of Police here,” you smirked. That was one of the things she had started to do around you. Let down her guard. It was rare for her to do that and you felt appreciated knowing she did that around you.

“I brought you dinner.” she lifted the bag of food in her hand. It was for both of you, but she wouldn’t say that out loud.

“You’ve been working on that all day haven’t you?” she placed the food down on the counter and walked over to you. She studied the painting while waiting for you to respond.

“Apparently I have,” you sighed. “I don’t even know the time.” You leaned over and looked at the clock. Seven in the evening.

“Well you got off early,” you smiled at Lin. It was rare for her to get off anytime before eight.

“Wanted to see how you were doing, that’s all,” there was a small grin that showed on her lips. You wondered if she left early on purpose just to see you.

“So what did you get us this time?” You added the us last second. You two had eaten dinner together so much in the past few weeks that it was the new normal for you two.

“Kwong’s,” she answered.

“No way! You didn’t?” You got up out of your chair and hobbled over, without your crutches. You were excited, who could blame you?

Kwong’s was something you had only a few times in your childhood, saved for ultra rare occasions, like your graduation.

When you made it over to the counter you saw that Lin had indeed gotten you two Kowng’s.

“How the hell did you get Kowng’s? They’ve been filled with customers for months.” Lin turned when she saw that you were now next to her. You knew your question wouldn’t be answered because of the scowl on her face.

“You have crutches, please use them. I’d like you back in the station as soon as possible,” she scolded you. It wasn’t her usual tone that she gave newbies at the station or even vets who were on her nerves. There was worry rooted deep in her voice. She cared about you, you knew that.

Lin walked over to where your crutches rested and grabbed them for you. She handed them to you and you reluctantly took them and put them under your arms.

“I’ll get the food ready, you go sit down. Use your crutches this time,” she told you.

You stuck your tongue out at her as you made your way to the table. If anyone else had done that, they would have been dead. But you weren’t anyone and you figured that out when you got injured.

You had speculated that Lin had liked you after the fourth day of her bringing dinner, as an excuse to see you. She would always say she was checking in, lying to herself about why she came to see you every time.

Once you had confirmed it, which was hard to do, you tried to get her to admit it for a while. You knew nothing could make Lin blush, let alone laugh, so when you were able to do both, that was the confirmation. That happened almost a week ago. Her hesitation to tell you frustrated you to no end, much like the feathers on your raven had.

Lin placed the take out boxes on the table and grabbed plates from your cabinets. Once they were on the table you both served yourselves some food.

Talk was usually minimal when you two were eating. You occasionally asked about what was happening at the station and Lin would usually tell you. She would grumble about it of course, because everyone there seemed to think her advice or orders didn’t matter to them. You would always listen, only sometimes saying things back to her about whatever she was grumbling about.

Today there was a strange call in and Lin couldn’t even finish telling you what happened before you were laughing your head off. You laughing brought a smile to her face because it was the first good thing that happened to her today.

When you two finish eating Lin is the one to clean everything up. You protest by trying to get up, but your leg seems to have a mind of its own and sends a wave of pain up your spine. You winced and sat back down in defeat.

Lin gave you another glare, but it was still soft. No anger was present, she couldn’t be angry at you. She would have done the same thing if it was her with the injury. Nothing would have stopped her from continuing to work in the station. Well you probably would and Lin would listen to you.

That was another thing that Lin would let only you do, argue. She would shut everyone else down immediately. Of course when she had tried to do that to you, you didn’t cower away like everyone else. You stood your ground against her and she admired that about you.

When she finished cleaning up dinner she moved to grab her coat and leave. You didn’t want her to. It was always what she did. Come in, eat dinner, and leave. It was nice and all, but you felt lonely cooped up all day.

“Could you stay? At least for a little while?” you asked. You sounded more desperate than you wanted, but it was how you felt.

Lin had stopped putting her coat on and looked at you. You felt like you made a mistake, but it was too late to go back now.

“We don’t have to talk or anything, I just don’t want to be alone.” You really sounded desperate now. You scolded yourself in your head for it.

“Sure,” she hesitated. “Of course.” She didn’t know why she hesitated to answer. Of course she wanted to spend time with you, that’s why she came over with dinner all the time. Bringing dinner was just the excuse though.

“You can continue painting if you want,” she suggested. You thought about it and then shrugged.

“I think I’m done working on that for today. It’s already made me frustrated enough,” you glared at the painting like that would do something.

“Are you having trouble?” she asked in disbelief. She was walking closer to the painting again, looking it over for a second time.

“Yeah, feathers are a lot harder than you think. It still doesn’t look perfect.” you had come over to the painting, on your crutches, and stood next to Lin.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she told you. “It’s beautiful.”

It was your turn to blush for the first time. You didn’t know if Lin wanted you to blush or not, but that wasn’t important. What she said was. She had always complimented your art when she came over, but it was always “This looks nice,” or a simple “Wow”. Her calling your art beautiful was like her holding your heart in her hands. Surprisingly soft for someone compared so closely to the element she could bend.

“T-Thanks,” you muttered.

“It’s been awhile since someone’s seen my art let alone compliment it,” you explained. Like that was the only reason for you to be flustered.

“I don’t understand why you ever stopped.” She looked at some of your finished watercolor paintings that were hanging by clips in front of your window.

“I never had the time when I was always at the station. I tried for a few months, but it just became stressful rather than relaxing,” you explained.

She had stopped and looked at one particular painting that stood out from the rest. It was the only non-animal painting you had. Still watercolor of course, which made it even more brilliant in Lin’s opinion.

She recognized it in a second. It was the view of the city from her office. You had painted her office. She smiled as she looked over the picture. She couldn’t see any mistakes. You truly strived for perfection in this painting.

“Oh,” you realized which painting she was looking at. “I was really missing the station that day. It made me feel better having some part of it here, even if it was a painting.”

Lin felt honored that you had chosen the view from her office as the part of the station you wanted to paint. She felt so gullible right now. Both of you felt that way.

“Thank you for always coming over,” you had said this a few times before over the past weeks.

“I honestly don’t know what I would do if you didn’t. I’d probably go crazy,” you laughed. That wasn’t entirely true. You would have found something to do, it wouldn’t have been as nice as having dinner with Lin, but it would be something.

“I’m sure you could’ve managed. Plus, there’s no one else checking up on you, so how am I supposed to know how you’re doing?” she raised an eyebrow at you.

“You could let me work at my desk,” you suggested.

“That’s not happening as long as you have that on your leg.” She pointed to the cast on your leg.

“I am perfectly capable of handling myself,” you argued.

You shouldn’t have argued. You knew that as soon as a sly smirk appeared on Lin’s face.

You had been leaning on your crutches while Lin had been talking to you. She knew that’s what you were doing and took advantage of that. She simply kicked one of the crutches out from underneath you and sent you falling to the ground.

“Shi-” You couldn’t react in enough time to find something to stop you from falling. You didn’t need to find anything because Lin wasn’t actually going to let you hit the ground.

You felt the wire wrap around your waist and hold you in your almost fallen position. You looked up at Lin who still had that smirk on her face.

“Y’know you really are mean,” you said jokingly. She grabbed your arm and pulled you back up. You leaned on her for support since you had dropped your other crutch while falling.

“I try,” she smiles. “Comes with the job.”

“Yet you rarely are to me.” you continued to lean on her.

“Because I don’t need to be with you. You actually listen to what I say,” she told you. You weren’t the only person who listens to her, Mako occasionally does, but that’s only after she scolds him.

“One, you’re my boss and two its kind of hard to ignore what you say,” you explained. Was this you admitting how you sometimes got lost in whatever she was saying? Yes it was.

“Everyone else has a pretty easy time ignoring me,” Lin counters. She took what you said as a compliment, in a way. She wasn’t sure what you were trying to say, so she couldn’t tell herself that it was really a compliment.

Your words were caught in your throat. How exactly could you tell her that you got lost in her voice. That sometimes your heart flutters around her the same way you know hers does around you. You really couldn’t explain in words. So you didn’t.

Did you regret moving in to kiss her? No, not one bit. Hell you were glad you finally did it because you knew Lin had been dodging around her feelings for weeks.

Her arms snaked around to hold you by the waist and you wrapped your arms around her neck. It felt so good, it felt perfect. You wanted to stay like that forever. But unfortunately both of you still need air to breath so you have to stop.

“You…” Lin began before pausing.

“Oh don’t act coy with me. You don’t think I’ve figured out why you come here so often?” You watched embarrassment flood her face.

“Not that I would have wanted it any differently,” you smiled. That made her feel better.

“Am I not allowed to worry?” She asked. She looked at you and the shell, the armor, that she wore to keep her emotions hidden was off. She was out in the open, her heart in your hands.

“You are. I’m glad you do,” you were still smiling. Of course you wanted her to worry, it made you feel loved.

“I still want to go back to my desk though,” you complained.

“What am I going to do with you?” she sighed.

“Love me?” you gave her a cheesy grin.

She rolled her eyes and kissed you again. Mostly to make sure you weren’t going to ask to go back to the station. You were hers to protect and she was going to make sure that you stayed here until your leg healed. Even if she didn’t bring dinner every night.

[purplesauris]

Hibernation

This is a prompt fill for day 19 of @witcher-and-his-bard winter prompts! Just as a warning, I will say there is implied character death, but NO actual death. 

Read it on AO3 here!

They were thoroughly snowed in. This was Jaskier’s third winter with the other witchers, and a storm had raged so fiercely the night before that none of them dared to venture outside. Instead, the witchers had cleared the main hall as best they could, pushing bookshelves against walls and using the small area to train. Jaskier had perched himself atop one of the rickety bookshelves, half watching, half writing as his witchers had spun and lunged around each other, sweating in the warmth of the room. This was a rare treat for Jaskier, who wasn’t one for sitting in the cold while the others trained. Vesemir, for all his years, moved as quickly as any of the others did, spinning between them and constantly changing who he targeted. It kept the others on their toes, and they flowed together like water, laughing when someone got knocked down and snarling when the edge of a dull blade slammed into them particularly hard.

When the sun comes out two days later, the witchers scatter like leaves in the wind, working to clear the courtyards and walkways again so that they didn’t have to dodge books that Lambert threw just to fuck with them in training. Jaskier gets the main room back into its regular messy disarray while they toil outside, heading out with steaming cups of tea when he can see even stubborn Lambert shiver. They all smile at him, taking a cup and clutching it with red fingers, huddling together and stomping their feet. 

They’re all talking, even Vesemir when Jaskier perks his head up, glancing at something in the distance. None of them seem phased, used to Jaskier’s wandering gaze and whimsical wonder about the snow covered trees. 

“Umm, I don’t mean to interrupt, terribly sorry, but- what in the devil’s name is that?” Jaskier’s tone is still polite, but Geralt glances up when he hears the scared warble and sour spike in his scent. He follows Jaskier’s gaze, raising an eyebrow, but he catches sight of what Jaskier is asking about at the same time his medallion gives a faint hum. Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir’s hands go up at the same time, clutching the medallion and eyes raising to the sky in unison. 

“DOWN.” Vesemir booms, leaping away from the group at the same time Lambert lunges for Geralt. Eskel is the closest to Jaskier and grabs him in a tight hold, crushing him against his chest and crouching low as a wall of orange blazes bright around them. Jaskier stares in abstract horror as enormous, wickedly sharp claws rake over the shield that Eskel has thrown up around them. He feels Eskel shudder with the effort of keeping his shield intact for another blow, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut in fear. He hears the faint tinkle of glass cracking, feels a breeze and listens as Eskel’s shield shatters around them. 

Whatever the beast is, it flies straight toward them, and Jaskier opens his eyes wide to take in what might be his last memory. Its skin is leathery, with a horn that juts proudly from the point of its beak and sweeps back toward its neck. Jaskier faintly recognizes it as a forktail, something Geralt has fought hundreds of times. What is it doing here?

Faint orange shimmers around them, Eskel slowly rebuilding his shield, and just as the forktail dives, claws outstretched, Lambert and Geralt dive into the way, Geralt throwing a blistering wave of fire and Lambert throwing his hands up as Eskel’s weaker attempt solidifies rapidly into a full shield once again. Together the two of them combine their strength, holding the shield as Geralt uses another molten blast of Igni to send the forktail screeching away. Vesemir joins Geralt in watching the beasts retreat, and only when Vesemir turns to nod at them do Lambert and Eskel drop the shield. Eskel groans, letting go of Jaskier and stumbling back a couple of steps. Jaskier isn’t sure whether his hands are shaking because of the near death experience or the cold, but he doesn’t want to spend the time figuring it out. 

Instead, he turns and throws his arms around Eskel, squeezing him tight and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lambert grouses behind them, rolling his eyes. “Oh sure, give him attention.”

Jaskier releases Eskel only once the scarred man gives him a quick squeeze, then he moves to Lambert and does the same thing. Lambert, for all his bravado, squeezes Jaskier just as tight and blushes when Jaskier plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Jaskier grins at the sigh of a witcher blushing, but then Geralt catches him gently by the waist and steals the last of his breath with a very sweet, very thorough kiss. Jaskier is sure that Lambert will say something, but they all seem relieved that Jaskier is safe, and Lambert has already gotten his hug. Jaskier doesn’t move away from Geralt when they finally pull apart, knowing he won’t get very far anyway. Jaskier stays pressed against Geralt’s side as they all turn to Vesemir, who’s still watching the skyline with a hand rubbing along his jaw in contemplation. 

“The snowfall must have taken its source of food. Geralt, Lambert, follow the scent and track it down. We don’t need it snatching up any livestock, or one of us.” Vesemir doesn’t say anyone in particular, but they all know that the draconid was after one person this time. 

“Fuckin finally, something to do around here. Let’s go before it gets dark.” Geralt nods, arm tightening around Jaskier for a moment before Eskel comes to guide him back inside. Both Lambert and Geralt work quickly to don their armor and collect what potions they'll need for the fight, and Jaskier stands by the door, waving them off when they finally head out. 

Once the doors to the keep closes Jaskier bites his lip, whispering to himself. “They’ll be okay, right?” 

It feels silly to worry about them, especially when it’s a single forktail and there’s two of them, but Jaskier’s stomach is in knots and he has a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

                                                           -*-

They’re gone for 6 and a half days. Jaskier counts every minute that goes by, working as best he can to keep up with the excess chores while they’re gone. Every night he falls into bed exhausted and wakes up crying, Eskel sitting on the edge of his bed and petting his hair. By the third day Eskel makes himself a bed on the floor, holding Jaskier’s hand so that he’ll sleep through the night. Jaskier tries to get him up into the bed, but Eskel refuses and makes himself comfortable on the carpet. 

Jaskier is in the main hall, sweeping and trying not to mope when the door creaks, pushed by a heavy gust of icy wind. Jaskier feels magic shiver over his skin, and he runs to pull the door open, catching the witcher that sags into his arms immediately. Jaskier hoists him up, arms trembling only for a moment as he lugs the freezing, heavy witcher over to the fire and deposits him in a chair. He calls for Eskel then Vesemir, yelling as loud as he can and knowing they’ll come running. Lambert’s ankle is twisted savagely to the right, the angle all wrong, and Jaskier’s heart thunders in his ears. He’s covered in blood, but it’s frozen and Jaskier can see that the skin underneath has begun to turn blue. Jaskier strains to pull the chair closer to the fire, needing to get him thawing as quickly as he can.

“Jaskier, what is-” He doesn’t look up from where he’s coasting shaking hands over Lambert’s face, checking for breathing and using the warmth of his fingers to melt the snow sticking to his face. Lambert stares glassily, eyes half wild and none of his awareness fully on any of them. “Go get water, not the hot, the cold. Towels too.”

“But-” 

“Jask. Go.” Eskel’s voice is firm, and he does as he’s told, hurrying to go find a bucket of water that hasn’t been too close to the fire. While he’s searching for clean towels he hears a snap and Lambert howling in pain. That has him scurrying back with whatever towels are cleanest and the water, hurrying back to Lambert’s side. Lambert’s ankle is back in the right orientation, he can see that much, and Eskel is beginning to strip away layers of his armor as the blood melts and releases. Once he’s got Lambert naked in the chair Eskel has Jaskier wipe him down, getting any remaining chunks of ice off of him with the cold water while he pokes and prods, searching for any more broken bones. Thankfully, his ankle seems to have gotten the brunt of it, and Eskel forces a dose of Swallow down along with a shot of mahakam spirits.

Lambert coughs as the alcohol burns down his throat, but Eskel gives him another, and soon Lambert begins to shiver. Jaskier lays a towel over Lambert’s lap when Vesemir finally comes in, shrewd eyes assessing the situation before he moves to add a few more logs to the fire. It roars hotter than before and Jaskier is beginning to sweat, beads dripping down his face. At least he thinks he is until Lambert weakly reaches up, using an icy finger to wipe away a tear that’s escaped. “Crying over me, little lark?”

“Who would cry over you?” Jaskier says weakly, sniffling and wiping at the tears that have been steadily falling down his cheeks. Lambert huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes for a moment as he shifts, hissing at the pain that shoots up his leg from his ankle. 

“You did good, Jaskier.” Vesemir’s voice is soft, and the bard sniffles, leaning into the hand the old witcher lays on his shoulder. “He didn’t make it, did he?”

Lambert shakes his head, jaw clenching, and Jaskier looks up between the two of them. It takes a few moments for Jaskier to understand, and he shakes his head, slowly at first, and then faster until he’s dizzy and can’t think right and he has to take a seat next to Lambert on the floor. 

“We cornered the forktail, but the damn thing screamed and brought an avalanche down on our asses.” Lambert glances over at Jaskier, hesitating before he reaches to take Jaskier’s hand and hold it tight in his. “Geralt was closer than I was, and he blasted me away from the worst of it with Aard. My ankle got crushed by falling rocks, and it took me a while to make my way back here.”

“You left him there?” Jaskier looks up at Lambert, fury and sorrow and heartbreak etched across his face. “H-he must be so scared. What if he’s still out there?”

“His body is.” Lambert squeezes his hand tight, and Jaskier looks up to see tears glimmering in his eyes too. Eskel comes over, crouching by the two of them, and places a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and Lambert’s knee. Vesemir moves to stand behind Lambert’s chair, not touching anyone but sharing in the moment as Jaskier begins to weep. His shoulders shake with the effort of his sobs and he curls up, pressing his forehead against Lambert’s hand and feeling his heart break in his chest. It splinters and stabs at every part of him, and Jaskier isn’t sure how he’s going to piece it back together. No one says anything else to him, letting him cry and scream and deny that Geralt is gone. 

The fire has burned low and Lambert is sufficiently warm by the time that Jaskier speaks again. Eskel is meditating beside them and Vesemir has retreated to deal with his grief alone, but the two still with him perk up to listen.  “We have to go get his- body.” 

Jaskier’s voice breaks again and he chokes back more sobs, looking up to find Lambert staring back, eyes fierce with grief. “We will.”

Lambert has Jaskier and Eskel help him hobble up to bed and get a fire going, never objecting when Jaskier crawls in beside him and Eskel makes himself comfortable on the floor. Jaskier shivers despite still being fully clothed, and Lambert wraps an arm around him, closing his eyes and holding the bard until he falls asleep, spent. 

                                                          -*- 

Jaskier is already awake, cloak draped around him and boots on when Lambert wakes up that morning. Lambert takes one look at him and begins to get dressed as well, regardless of the way his ankle twinges. Another dose of Swallow has his pain melting away and his ankle as strong as before, and they wake Eskel to get ready as well. Jaskier bounces from foot to foot as they head down the stairs, frowning when Lambert stops to gather jerky, water and some other emergency supplies. He isn’t sure what it’s going to be like outside getting back, but Jaskier isn’t going to be able to push nearly as hard as they can and Lambert knows this. 

Despite the fragility of Jaskier’s humanity, he ends up being the one to urge the others on, fists clenched in his gloves and cheeks flaming red in the cold winter air. Lambert remembers his way easily, and there hasn’t been that much snowfall that their footprints have disappeared, so Jaskier can follow along even without supernatural senses. The trek only takes them a day to get out to where the avalanche has dumped snow and rocks into the countryside, and Jaskier sleeps fitfully under the trees for an hour or two at the max. 

They pick their way through the snow around rocks after Lambert insists they eat something when Jaskier cries out. He takes off running, throwing snow up around him with two witchers on his heels. They nearly bowl him over when he skids to a stop, staring at the carnage around him. Off to the left, pinned between two rocks is the carcass of the forktail, blood frozen in sheets across the snow. Somehow it didn’t get buried in the avalanche, but Lambert and Eskel are looking around with wide, astonished eyes as if Jaskier is missing something important. All the trees around them are missing branches on the side facing the clearing, and if there were any trees in the middle of the clearing they’ve found, there aren’t anymore, just jagged stumps poking up through the snow. 

“What?” Jaskier demands, breathless and heart pounding in his chest. 

“It’s a Quen circle.” Eskel whispers, sharing a pained look with his brother. 

“A what?” Jaskier is lost, and he looks around at all the destruction and the body of the forktail. 

“When our shields break, they don’t just go away. If we concentrate hard enough, we can use the momentum of whatever hit us and feed it into the shield. It causes an explosion matching the energy of whatever hit the shield last.” Eskel’s voice is cowed by awe, and Jaskier thinks he’s beginning to understand. 

“So this-”

“He somehow held out long enough for the whole damn avalanche to crash down on him before blowing his shield.” Lambert confirms, pride shining in his voice.

“Could he have survived?”

“The blast? Maybe, but I don’t know how long he held out before letting go, and if he was weak enough…” Eskel is still looking over the clearing, trying to gauge the power of the blast fully.

“It was long enough for me to crawl away. I never heard his shield break..” Lambert takes another glance around before stalking for the middle of the clearing. “C’mon assholes, lets sweep the area and see if we can find him.”

“Right.” Jaskier’s voice is thick in his throat, and though he’s shivering and can hardly feel his toes he gets to work. They work their way out slowly, each taking a third of the area and walking along their set path. Lambert and Eskel have both gone over their chunks twice by the time that Jaskier has gone through once, but Jaskier doesn’t have witcher eyes or their sense of smell, so he takes his time. He gets to the edge of the clearing where the trees have survived the blast relatively unscathed and is about to turn back when he’s blinded by sun reflecting off the worn silver of a pommel. “Guys! I- I found him.”

His voice drops to a whisper and he walks a few steps into the deeper snow. By the time that Lambert and Eskel join him he’s elbow deep, tossing handfuls as fast as he can. The snow is light, thank Melitele, but there’s a lot, and it takes the three of them to uncover him. He’s surrounded in a shell of ice that Lambert has to use the handle of his dagger to break through to finally get to him. Geralt is curled up in a tight ball, chin tucked against his chest and swords still in their sheaths on his back. Snow sticks to his armor and clumps in his hair, and he’s paler than Jaskier has ever seen him. His lips are blue, snow sticking delicately to his lashes, and Jaskier lets out a shaky sob at the sight of him. He reaches to brush snow from Geralt’s hair and cries out as the scent of singed leather and skin fills the air. 

Eskel takes Jaskier’s hand, yanking his glove off to look at the damage. Two of the fingers on his left hand are red and blistered, and the fingers on his gloves have disintegrated in the spots that Jaskier came into contact with Geralt’s body. Eskel grabs some bandages from the pack, glad that Lambert thought to bring them. They don’t have any salve with them, but Eskel wraps Jaskier’s fingers anyway and gives him one of his gloves. 

Jaskier doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, but Lambert and Eskel share a glance and Lambert sighs heavily. “I’ll take the first round.”

“First round of what?” Jaskier doesn’t know what they’re going to do since no one can touch him, but Jaskier watches as a pale orange sleeve envelopes Lambert, encasing him in a shimmering full body shield. The younger witcher hoists Geralt’s curled form up into his arms, grunting at the weight and the constant hissing of Geralt coming in contact with his shield. 

“Get the fuck going.” Lambert hisses, and Jaskier stumbles up and away, back toward the keep in the distance. They make it back in half the time it took them to get out to the site, Jaskier refusing to stop. He insists that if Eskel and Lambert have to exhaust themselves maintaining a constant shield and passing Geralt between them the least he can do is keep up. They’re almost there when Lambert stumbles, shield flickering and arms shaking. He sets Geralt in the snow, panting, and Jaskier touches his shoulder. “I can’t keep it up anymore.”

“Let me.” Jaskier says, stepping up and crouching beside Geralt’s prone form.

“You can’t use signs, and you don’t have a witcher’s strength.”

“No, but you two can. Do you have enough strength between you to keep me covered?”

“I don’t know for how long.” Eskel chimes in, looking just as ragged as Lambert. 

“Then we’d better hurry. Ready?” The brothers share a look before nodding, and Jaskier feels the intimate press of magic as their shield falls into place. Jaskier lifts Geralt in his arms, adjusting his grip and then setting off up the hill toward the keep. Jaskier can feel Geralt in his arms, a raging inferno that constantly pings at the shield around him. Jaskier pushes on regardless of his thighs burning and his knees going weak. Lambert and Eskel bolster their shield when they finally get into the courtyard, waving Vesemir off when he moves to help. Jaskier’s gaze is set singularly on the doors of the keep, and he hardly notices when Vesemir’s magic adds a layer to the thinning shield that Lambert and Eskel had been holding for the past hour. 

“Put him by the fire.” Jaskier can’t feel his arms anymore, hasn’t been able to for the past half hour, and he’s clumsy as he sets Geralt down, nudging him a bit closer to the fire. Vesemir kneels down beside the two of them, and Jaskier hears the tinkling of glass as the shield around him falls away and Jaskier sags, collapsing onto the floor. Lambert and Eskel jerk forward, trying to catch him, but Vesemir holds a hand out for them to stop. “He’s just exhausted.”

“What about Geralt?” Vesemir looks him over, hands protected as he assesses the damage. After a while Vesemir sits back on his heels, sighing and standing up. 

“He’s alive.” Jaskier stirs at those words, arms quaking as he tries to lift himself off the floor. Vesemir hoists him up into a sitting position, and Jaskier tries weakly to grip his hand. “I don’t know that he’ll wake, though.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what he’s done to himself.” The admission is startling; Vesemir has been alive longer than any of them, has trained countless scores of witchers, but what he sees here has him baffled. “It seems to be a form of meditation, but this here,” Vesemir gestures to the shield that flares up whenever his hand strays too close. “I don’t know how he’s managed to do this, let alone maintain it.”

“But he could wake up?”

“If he can find his way back to us.” Vesemir nods, not wanting to give hope where there is none but trusting in Geralt to do the impossible, as he’s done many times before. Lambert and Eskel are able to wrestle Geralt’s armor and equipment off him, leaving him just in his regular clothes. The armor is near ruined from the cold press of all that snow anyhow, and they won’t be able to properly repair it until they go down the mountain in the spring.

                                                         -*-

They take turns peeking to see if he’s moved as they go about their chores for the next month, and every night Jaskier sets up a bedroll and tucks himself as close as he can get without being burnt. They operate without him truly here during the worst month of the winter, struggling to keep up with the work that needs to be done with a pair of hands missing. Jaskier spends most of his time when he isn’t working sitting next to Geralt, talking or singing or just sitting nearby, staring into the fire and sniffling softly as he cries. They keep it roaring constantly, hoping that the heat will help. Geralt’s color comes back slowly over the course of the month, until all the snow is melted off of him and his lips are the same dusky pink that Jaskier remembers.

Jaskier is tucked away for the night, staring at Geralt’s face and wishing he could trace the straight line of his nose or even kiss his forehead and not get hurt. A couple of tears splash onto his cheeks, and he’s so tired of crying, but every time he looks at Geralt prone on the floor he feels his sorrow choking him, tearing and clawing at his chest in an effort to get free. 

“Come back. Please.” Jaskier whispers, scooting a bit closer and reaching out a wavering hand. He feels the heat of the shield and stops just shy, fingers poised to touch his cheek. He waits a second, then drops his hand, resting it on the floor between them and laying his head down to sleep. He smiles when fingers interlock with his, squeezing gently. Jaskier’s sleepy mind doesn’t comprehend the touch for a moment, but when he does his eyes fly open. “Geralt?”

Geralt is still curled up, but he’s reached a hand out and clutches Jaskier’s own hand like a lifeline. The red hot barrier around him melts away slowly, starting at his fingertips, and  Jaskier watches in mute shock as Geralt blinks sleepily and yawns, stretching out and sitting up. “You’re on the floor.”

“You’re on the floor.” Jaskier replies wetly, using the heel of his free hand to press at one eye. He gives a broken sob and crawls into Geralt’s waiting arms, tucking his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck as sobs wrack his body. Geralt rocks him, petting his hair and murmuring sweet nothings as Jaskier’s fingers curl in his shirt. Eskel and a very sleepy Lambert find them that way, Jaskier curled up asleep in Geralt’s arms and Geralt staring into the fire. His eyes are haunted when he looks to his brothers, and he presses a finger to his lips to keep them quiet. 

“How did I get back here?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to wake Jaskier. “All I remember is the snow, and then the blast.”

Lambert plops down on Jaskier’s bedroll, dragging Eskel with him and grumbling at being awake for questions. “We carried your fatass back. Wasn’t easy either, we couldn’t touch you without using Quen, and by the time we got back Jaskier had to carry you the rest of the way inside.”

“He can’t use Quen.” Geralt points out, Lambert rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah no shit. Eskel and I had to hold together a shitty ass shield around the lark to keep him from getting burnt to a crisp. Mind telling us what that whole ‘burning anyone who touches’ shit was?”

Geralt is silent for a while, as if still shaking off the cold, before he answers. “A safety net.”

“But how?” Eskel chimes in, glancing at Lambert to tell him to be patient. 

“It’s- Quen. Just hotter.” Geralt seems uncomfortable trying to explain, as if he isn’t quite sure how it works himself. Geralt sighs, shushing them when Jaskier stirs and nuzzles into his neck, seeking warmth. “How long was I out?”

“Almost a month, give or take a couple days. Really scared the shit out of us, you know.” It’s the closest Lambert will get to saying he was worried, but Geralt hears the meaning all the same. Eskel waves a hand, as if wiping away the past month of worry.

“Just glad to have you back, wolf. Took a while." It sounds like a statement, but Geralt can tell they want to know more and he feels it's only right to share what he can.

"The strain of holding all the energy in the shield was… It's- I'm not sure how to explain. Imagine holding a shield against a bomb, and then multiplying it by a hundred."

"That's… near impossible, even for me." Eskel frowns, trying to imagine holding that much energy for as long as Geralt did. 

"I didn't think it would work." Geralt admits, glancing back toward the fire. "Channeling all the energy back out through the shield to release it put me into an immediate meditative state. Most of my major organs shut down and my heart nearly stopped. I used the- safety net to draw energy into my body again. Just enough to keep my heart going and kickstart my major organs until the snow melted or you guys came back."

"I think that's the most you've ever said." Lambert jumps when Jaskier speaks, but Geralt doesn't seem surprised and Eskel hides his reaction much better. 

"You weren't awake to say it for me." Geralt replies, and Jaskier chuckles quietly.

"Could you show me the shield again? On just your hand?"

Geralt grimaces, reaching out and concentrating. The same barrier as before spreads across his hand, but it's weak, and Geralt lets it drop quickly. "It's usually for emergencies only."

"Think I could try?" Eskel seems almost excited about doing something different with his signs, and Geralt lifts a shoulder to say why not? 

"If anyone can figure out how I've done it, it would be you."

[noyasboxdye]

Let me love you- MatsuHana

*******************************************************************

Notes: I’d been sitting on this idea for a while bc I didn’t know how to attempt it but it’s here now :)

Pairing: Matsukawa & Hanamaki

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of sex, tiny make out scene (its like 2 sentences though), toxic relationship 

*******************************************************************

Hanamaki was so deeply in love with Mattsun he couldn't help it, he truly couldn't he wished he could but when it came to things like this the universe was never on his side. He and Mattsun were technically in a relationship, but it wasn't the kind that he wanted, nor what he would typically go for. To put is simply they were fuck buddies. It had been like that since March of their 2nd year. After a full year of pining after each other they had finally gotten together if that's what you could even call the course of events.

Hanamaki had talked to Mattsun about how he wanted to be in an official relationship several times before, but it was always the same answer which was that he wasn't ready. Which wasn't entirely true. He wasn't ready for a relationship with him he didn't want a boyfriend- not that there was anything wrong with him having one he just didn't want one. Especially not Makki.

Makki didn't know about this. He thought that everything he was saying was true. So, he gave him time, and more time, and more time, and more time. He was more clueless than the new kid in a friend group who's been friends for years making an inside joke from 3 years ago.

His friends would always try and tell him to get out of the relationship. He was always being told that Mattsun was using him and that he was nothing but a good fuck or a way for Mattsun to get his dick wet, but he would always brush it off and give the same excuse that Mattsun would give him. "Oikawa it's fine he's just not ready for a relationship, stop worrying so much!" he would say as an attempt to calm the boy's thoughts and suspicions, but excuses like that can only work so much.

It would always be the same routine one of his friends (usually Oikawa) would tell him to leave the relationship, he would give the excuse, the words would get to his head, him and Mattsun would fuck, he would ask, and then get the same excuse he's been getting for almost 2 years now. "I'm sorry love I am, but I'm just... not ready for a relationship. I hope you can wait for me though because I really do want to be with you." Mattsun would say with those same sad yet amused eyes and that same pity filled face.

Hanamaki was walking down the halls of his high school heading towards the gym after grabbing his clothes for practice when he noticed Mattsun standing near the classroom door doing what looked like laughing and talking to someone, which he assumed was Iwaizumi. Oh, how wrong he was, he felt kind of- who was he kidding really dumb after seeing the boy of his dreams kiss his classmate. Her name was Yayoi she was the epitome of Mattsun's type short, brown hair that wasn't too long, blue eyes and perfect skin, an hour glass figure that most girls would die for.

He looked so happy with her he was basically glowing. "He never smiled like that with me" Hanamaki says tears threating to spill. Pulling himself together he blinked back his tears and walked down the hall after giving Mattsun a few minutes to say bye and start walking towards to the gym too. Noticing that he was going to be late he rushed towards the gym doors and ran into the locker room.

"Hey Makki where were you." Mattsun said grabbing the attention of a certain fluffy haired 6'0 captain. "Sorry my locker was jammed haha." Makki said awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh okay." Mattsun said going back to changing Hanamaki taking notice of the arrangement of hickeys going down his neck all the way down his body his eyes stopped at his first row of abs, he couldn't bring himself to look further down knowing that if his heart would probably beak even more than it already was.

"Alright come on we're already late coach is going to mad at us." Oikawa says grabbing his water bottle and heading out the door, dragging Iwaizumi and Hanamaki out with him. "What are you looking like that for Makki?" Oikawa says, "I'll tell you later- we're still going to your house after practice, right?" Makki said noticing Mattsun walking towards him and shifting as he becomes uncomfortable. "Yeah- Iwa-chan wants to come though- is that okay?" Oikawa said noticing Hanamakki's discomfort. "Yeah it's fine." the pinkish brown-haired boy said.

**Timeskip**

"Matsukawa can you go get the broom please." Iwaizumi yelled slightly. "So, can you tell me now?" Oikawa said to Hanamaki as they were walking out of the gym to fill up their water bottles. "Tell you what-", "From earlier Makki how did you forget already." Oikawa said his tone becoming slightly impatient and whiny. "Oh! Yeah uh it's not really anything big just Matsukawa doing the same shit he's been doing for months now." Makki said brushing off the event he saw take place.

"What do you mean like he rejected you again or something else." "No uhm I was walking to the gym and I saw him with a girl and... and they kind of... kissed." Makki said tilting his head up to try and stop the tears from falling down his face. "What do you mean they kissed?! I thought he told you he was gay!" Oikawa said his voice raising more and more as he spoke.

"Uhm yeah heh he did but I guess he just lied or something. Honestly, I could just be misunderstanding the situation... I didn't stay to watch the entire thing." The boy says trying to coax Oikawa into calming down. "Well are you going to talk to him about it?" Oikawa says a look of sympathy on his face taking notice to how sad his friend looked.

"No- I don't really have a reason to Oikawa. We're just fuck buddies it's not like we're together or I'm even in a kind of place to asking him about that." The boy said. "Makki you can't keep letting him walk all over you like this." Oikawa said his heart starting to feel heavy as he saw the tears threatening to slide down his friends' cheeks.

"Oikawa it's fine! I'm fine, he's fine, everything... is fine." He said the tears finally making their way down his cheeks despite his efforts to stop it from happening. "Well obviously it isn't fine if you're crying Hanamaki!" Oikawa said as anger started bubbling up inside him at the thought of someone hurting his friend.

"Hey what happened?" An all to familiar voice said from behind the crying boy. "Mm look what the cat dragged in..." Oikawa said giving Matsukawa a sour face. "Oikawa don't. I said it's fine." Hanamaki said as he tried to wipe his tears away in a way that the taller boy wouldn't notice.

"One second Makki come here. Now." The shorter boy said sounding like a mother scolding her child in a store. "What Oikawa.", "Okay one don't act like that I'm not the one who broke your heart. Two talk to him about what happened. And if he brushes you off again leave him." The skinnier boy said crossing his arms. "And if you don't do it then I will for you because this crying everyday bullshit you're doing is getting old. Now go!" he said pushing his friend towards the earlier left boy.

"Hey, sorry he dragged me away uhm did you still want me to come over or no." The darker pink haired boy said rubbing his arms in discomfort. "Yeah sure. I'm ready now so we can leave if your ready." The slightly tanned boy said. "Yeah I'm ready, and when we get to your house can we talk about something please."

**Timeskip**

Matsukawa and Hanamaki both enter the house as it finally dawns on Hanamaki that he has to do this, he needs to leave Matsukawa. Not because Oikawa said to do it or because Oikawa would do it for him but because he finally realized that it isn't healthy what they're doing especially for him.

He's constantly giving and giving to Matsukawa and he never gets anything in return other than a quick fuck and he's tired of it. He's given Mattsun chance after chance to give him what he wants and needs but he just won't do it. It's draining to give everything and get nothing back in return.

Walking into the tanned boy's room and sitting down on the bed putting his bag down next to his feet he takes a deep breath trying to mentally prepare himself for what's to come knowing that the other boy won't take it well.

Mattsun sitting down next to him and giving him a kiss Hanamaki immediately loosing control over his body and kissing back. "Mmm I missed you." Mattsun says turning his head to deepen the kiss not even giving Makki the chance to respond.

"Wait- wait we-... we can't. We need to talk first remember." The smaller boy said trying to compose his self and catch his breath. "Alright what did you want to talk about.", "Do... do you have girlfriend?" he said finally getting a hold of himself.

"What do you mean." The taller said before getting cut off by the other. "Stop it Matsukawa. You know what I mean do you need me to actually explain it to you?" the pink tinted haired boy said the frustration and anger finally starting to settle in after months of dealing with his behavior. "Well yeah I don't know what you're talking about."

"The girl! Matsukawa the fucking girl you were with her before practice before you even try it. You both kissed and maybe I'm misunderstanding the situation, but I don't think I am considering you smiled at her after you did it." Anger seeping into his words the more he spoke. "Why?" the later said rolling his eyes.

"What the fuck do you mean why? We're fucking practically everyday and you ask why I'm worried or caring when I see you kiss another person?! A girl at that!" Makki says his voice slightly cracking as tears threaten to fall down his cheeks once again. "That's all you're worried about really? No, me and her aren't dating Makki. Now come back on the bed I missed you." Matsukawa says trying to change the subject once again.

"No, Mattsun it isn't just that. It's everything-you." Makki said the brunettes smirk faltering as he feels his heart drop. "What do you mean me.", "I mean you Mattsun! It's you, I can't even fathom-... look I don't want to argue with you because I still want to be your friend, but I refuse to let myself continue to be toyed with by you." Makki said grabbing his bag not really wanting to be in his room much less his home any longer.

"How have I been toying with you Makki?" Hanamaki face going sour looking at the boy with disgust. "How have you been... maybe lets start with the fact that we've been doing this... what ever this is since last year and it's become basically a routine at this point for me to ask you out and tell you I want to be with you and you tell me you aren't ready for a relationship! You're toying with me and I'm over it I'm leaving if you're going to continue to try and fuck me then lose my number."

Makki finally walking out of the door his head held high as tears stream down his face. Biting his down on his bottom lip to stop the sobs from making its way past his lips. Speed walking down the road and turning the corner to his house as he quietly wept to himself.

Entering his house and taking off his clothes as soon as he got in his room heading straight for the shower. Turning on his playlist after texting Oikawa that he did it, turning on the do not disturb for the rest of the night.

Taking time to himself the entire night doing a face mask and whitening his teeth while he finished remaining homework. Finally laying down and coming to the realization that he would never get Matsukawa the way he wanted and felt he needed. Crying for a few hours before falling asleep for the night wishing the boy would let him love him the way he wanted. His worries all going away in that moment waiting to sneak up on him the next morning.

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part Ten)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood, mentioned death, injury, gun violence

Context: The SRS have finally arrived, in time for Halloween.

A/N: This is a little bit late, but it's slightly Halloween themed, so I hope that it's still alright! Spot the reference I "accidentally" left in there😉😅

Masterlist

Eerie music plays from hidden speakers as the costumed crowd ambles by, children screaming and laughing as scare actors jump out at them, the variety of zombies, witches and mummies, not to mention vampires, too, astounding, movie characters and even some book characters making appearances around every turn, familiar and unfamiliar lines being spoken to cheerful bypassers. Painted masks and faces litter the mixed throng of people, the twinkling, orange-cast lights throwing the crevices of each visage into sharper definition, ghoulish grins becoming longer, twisted grimaces becoming even more painful, the many slashers roaming the Boardwalk now covered in a blacker blood than before, each fake knife, axe and machete lathered in the stuff. A sickly sweet odour lingers in the air as sweets and chocolate are passed around, often accompanied by a smoking joint, or sachet of some other high-class substance, the strong reek of sweat providing an unpleasant undertone as the stifling costumes heat their wearers despite the late October chill.

As a child, I used to love Halloween. There was always something enchanting about it: you could become anything, or anyone you wanted for the night, and no one would question you on your choice, or look at you oddly because everyone was doing the same. A cheery atmosphere always seemed to hang over the annual event, the leading pumpkins that glittered along the streets and the creative decorations building up the necessary excitement over the weeks before the 31st; a fun game of mine had been to run down the streets of my hometown and count every pumpkin we could see, separately, and see who had the highest tally at the end of the day. Once the winner had been decided, they'd get first dibs on the treats handed to us at each door when we later went Trick-Or-Treating, a rule which drew many arguments to the table when we eventually compiled our loot.

Now, as I watch the roaming children, all I can think of is how easy it is for the supernatural to wreck havoc on this night, given that the spiritual veil is much thinner than usual, and no one suspects anyone of the authenticity of their outfit until it's too late. On his night, the SRS always have their hands full, meaning everyone is deployed, not just the normal Hunters: the retired Soldiers still capable of fighting, Clean-Up teams and A.R.O (Aftermath Recon Operatives) Soldiers all made to help out with the bloody massacres that occur all over the country. The holiday has a morbid side that no one sees, and there's always a high body count the next morning.

Beside me, Marko pushes and shoves at people that come too close, the vampire loudly criticizing any costume made to look like his species, his "improvements" just a little too specific to be joking ones, not quite realising that I'm not listening to him. Instead, I'm scanning the crowds, looking out for the tell tale uniform and tactics used by the SRS Clean-Up teams, eyeing any suspicious person keenly until they prove to me they aren't a threat, often earning me harsh stares from their companions. The two of us look out of place in our "normal" clothing, neither of us dressing up, as we forgot that it was, in fact, the 31st, meaning a costume would've provided a good disguise in case we do come across any dangers. Even as we walk, I bite at my lip, feeling very exposed in my current state, my fists clenching at my sides as I try to stop myself from fidgeting too much, knowing that a nervous disposition is a great disadvantage in a fight, should one break out.

"Hey can we get something to eat? I kinda want some food." Marko suddenly asks me, not waiting for my reply as he pulls me over to a nearby sweet stand, the vampire excited by the prospect of buying the sugary treats.

Uneasy, I stand and turn back to the crowd, watching each face closely, my gut starting to feel odd as I notice something odd about a certain few members of the crowd. Eyes widening in realisation, I grab the back of Marko's coat and drag him away from the stand and into the alley behind it, ignoring his protests as I clap a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet." I command him in a low voice, giving him a warning look as I slowly take my hand away from his mouth.

"What are you doing?" He hisses at me, eyes narrowed.

"They're here." I respond, looking out at the crowd as I try to figure out what to do, thinking over my options until I notice that someone has spotted us over here; someone who I've already identified.

As I watch, they start to make their way over to the stand, casually wading through the people around them as they try to look inconspicuous, though the mere sight of them makes my pulse hitch.

Thinking quickly, I grab the front of Marko's jacket and pull him closer, pressing my back to the wall as I lean closer to his face, ignoring his shocked expression.

"Kiss me, quick!" I order him, wrapping my hands around his neck as he splutters slightly.

"What?"

"Do it!" I growl, pulling him closer.

Still shocked, the vampire leans in and presses his lips to mine, carefully kissing me until I yank on his hair, silently asking him to be a little more rough, to which he responds by shoving me harder into the wall, his hands gripping my hips much tighter. Groaning slightly, I momentarily forget why we're in this situation, letting myself enjoy the rough kisses as he ravishes my mouth with his tongue, only opening my eyes again to look briefly over his shoulder at the Boardwalk, noticing that the person is no longer there. Knowing this, I let the kiss come to its natural end, before pulling away.

"Thanks..." I say, awkwardly, blushing as he reluctantly lets me go, the vampire clearly wanting more as he allows his hand to linger at my hip a little longer than necessary.

"No problem." He wipes his mouth, grinning at me as he regains his composure, "What did you need it for?"

"One of them was coming over here, and it was the first thing I could think of." I admit sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Right." Marko lifts an eyebrow, smirking, "How did you know it was one of them?"

I laugh, dryly, gesturing with my head for him to follow me back out into the crowd.

"Well, back in New Orleans, the head of the SRS realised one Halloween that our Soldiers need a disguise for this particular night, without being too conspicuous, so that they fit in but can also be recognised by each other. She decided that the mask of a plague doctor would be fitting. She said it works for us, because we're ridding the world of a "plague", just as they were." I roll my eyes, "Obviosuly, this makes them very easy for me to spot them, seeing as I used to dress up the same way."

"Oh, right." Marko nods, understandingly, evidently sending some mental explanation to the rest of the vampires, who are stationed around the Boardwalk.

"You can tell them apart, because they have a golden cross engraved just below the right eye on the mask, so we don't get mixed up with others." I clarify for him.

"Good to know." He frowns, "Did you say she decided? As in the head of the SRS is a girl?"

I nod, a little annoyed by the question, but knowing where he's coming from.

"Yep. Her name is Valentine Fletcher. She's the best fighter we've ever had and has the largest body count of all. Not even the Generals around the world come close to her efficiency, she's just too good. I've met her once, and she was also one of the most stuck-up princesses I've ever come across."

"I guess that's why she's the leader, then." Marko chuckles, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

"Excuse me." An unfamiliar voice interrupts us, a hand placing itself firmly on my shoulder as I turn around to face the person. My heart drops as I take in the eerie black beak-shaped mask, the golden cross glittering under the right eye as they catch the lights, the cloaked figure keeping a strong grip on my arm.

"Can I help you?" I ask, getting ready to run as Marko notices the cross, too.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could come with me." The Soldier says, though the tone in her voice is much more demanding, informing me that there is, in fact, no choice.

"I'd rather not." Without a second thought, I slam my arm into her elbow, snapping it inwards as she lets out a surprised cry, allwoig me time to duck under her and and push past her, sprinting away into the crowd with Marko hot on my heels.

Five loud gunshots sound behind us, the Soldier having shot at us with a hidden gun through the crowd, screams and shouts of fear and panic suddenly tearing through the air as the atmosphere suddenly becomes too real, the bullets smashing into the ground behind the two of us terrifying the costumed Boardwalk-goers. Instantly, the crowd around us starts pushing and shoving each other, the heaving current of people now pushing us along as they scramble to get to safety, arms flailing and legs kicking as they go, slowing our progress significantly. Growling in frustration, I pull Marko to the side, intending to reach the alley again, wincing when there are two more shots behind us, though I make it to safety without a scratch. It's only when I hear Marko's laboured breathing that I realise he wasn't so lucky.

"Shit, Marko, are you going to be alright? Can you keep moving?" I ask him, being to figure out where he was shot as he starts to sway on his feet, eyes drooping closed as the pain starts to eat away at him. Grimacing, I swiftly scan the area, spotting a large bin a little way away, which I drag him over to.

"Get in there and close the lid, you'll be safe." I tell him, opening it and giving him a leg up into the reeking interior, helping him settle as quickly as I can, before I go to move again, "I'll be back."

With one last look at him, I firmly shut the lid and start running down the alley, taking as many winding corners as I can, hoping to throw them off as I start to hear pounding footsteps behind me, shouts and calls seemingly coming from everywhere as I start to breathe harder, my pulse pounding in my ears. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, giving me the speed I need to get away from my pursuer, the air rushing harshly into my throat as I turn down another backroad.

A sudden gunshot, followed by a spike of agony in the back of my knee brings me to the floor, my body crashing into a discarded car as it rolls awkwardly to a halt, groans of pain swiftly starting to leave me. Gripping at the new wound on my leg, I try to force myself upright again, only to be kicked back to the ground again by a cloaked figure, who keeps kicking until I'm cowering on the ground, blood pouring down my face. When they are finished, they reach down and force me into a standing position, half-dragging me out of the alley and to the car park conveniently placed by the mouth of the road, where a circle of similarly clad people are waiting, the forms of three kneeling people visible in the dim light of the streetlights. Pulling me over to them, my attacker throws me to the ground in the centre of the circle, manhandling me onto my knees, drawing a small cry of pain from me.

Looking around at the three kneeling people, I feel my heart stop as I instantly recognise them: David, Dwayne and Paul, the three of them bloodied and beaten, burn marks littering their faces from the holy water that was most likely used on them. Horror and guilt flood me as I see them, David's head coming up so he can make eye contact with me, his blue eyes filled with hate and anger.

"Are we all here now?" Someone asks, their voice unfamiliar to me.

"No, there is one more." A voice calls from a little way away, Marko soon being forced onto his knees beside Paul as he is dragged into the light. The vampire is pale now, dark circles appearing under his eyes as his vampiric features break through, his body trying to keep itself from shutting down as he slowly bleeds out, the bullet wounds still oozing the crimson stuff out onto his shirt.

"Ok, that's everyone, we can get started." The person speaks again, this time sounding more decisive.

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n), you have been arrested for conspiring with the enemy, and for shooting a senior officer, willingly, instead of a vampire that was held hostage. Do you accept these charges?" Someone else says, the voice somewhat familiar, though I don't remember where from.

Knowing it is pointless to resist, I lower my head to my chest and reply.

"I do."

"And you are aware of the punishments that these crimes bring upon you?"

"I am."

"And they are?"

I take a deep breath, my muscles tense as I try to ignore the pain in my body.

"Execution on the sight of capture." I recite robotically, knowing them well.

"Good, you remember some form of honour." They sneer, before addressing the rest of the gathered Soldiers, "Are there any volunteers among us who would like to carry out the deed?"

"I do." My blood runs cold at the sound of the voice, my head lifting to look up at the Hunter that has stepped forwards.

"Elijah Forsyth, you wish to perform the necessary execution of (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?" The first speaker questions, confirming the name to me even as they take off their mask.

Instantly, the cold blue eyes lock with mine, the dark-haired Hunter giving me a poisonous look as he limps over to me.

"I do."

"Then it shall be so. Do what you must."

With those words, Elijah steps over to me, drawing a gun from his belt and cocking it deliberately, maintaining eye contact as he lowers it to my forehead.

As the weapon is brought to my skin, I keep my chin up, refusing to feel bad about the actions that brought me here in the first place. Without a word, I accept the fate that will befall me.

Part Eleven

[thecringefailintherye]

Oliver! (1968) Live (re) watch!

i have already seen oliver!, but not in ages, so i decided to watch it again, enjoy

very long post warning

fuckin hell these opening credits are LONG

i love the fact instrumentals of songs in the movie are playing

i have chocolate popcorn, apple lucozade and oliver! on, life is good

yes i know mark lester is oliver ive seen this like 20 times can i watch the film now

OH ABOUT FUCKING TIME

god is love

IS IT WORTH THE WAITING FOR IF WE LIVE TILL 84 ALL WE EVER GET IS GRUELL

i forgot how much of a banger food glorious food is

LOOK AT BABY MARK LESTER 🥺🥺🥺

ads in middle of movie be like

its harry secombe!

AMENNNN

oliver gets bullied the movie

look at this poor kid

MOREE????????

oh yes oliver i love this song

O L I V E R

poor kid

without any bannister yikes

the one who named him........O-L-IV-ERRR

oh were outside now

olivers just been kicked out oh shit

but on the plus side he has a cute ass hat on

BOY FOR SAY AL

look at oliver 🥺 he deserves better

SOWERBERRY MORE LIKE SHITTERBERRY

theres a severe lack of thats your funeral and i shall scream

noah claypole more like noah clayprick

“perhaps... if i had a tall hat?” BABEY

HES GOT HIS TALL HAT ON YES OLIVER

oliver said dab on them haters from your old gaff youre a funeral advisor now and theyre still homeless

DONT INSULT HIS MUM FUCK YOU NOAH

YES OLIVER KILL HIM

yes stuff the nine year old in a coffin and sit on it well done

"OLIVAH ??" "Yes im here: ((("

ITS MEAT!

oliver deserves better man 

im gonna cry and were like 25 minutes in.

ik its not mark singing but whoever it is CAN SING WTF

i want to give him a hug

OH SHIT HES RUNNING AWAY

hes in the lettuce

LONDON YOU MADE IT !

yes oliver trains exist

DODGER!!!

whach you starin at aint ya ever seen a toff

the beak

look at lil jack wild

me more hintimate friends

cockney accent™️

the artful dodga

CONSIDERR YOURSSELF AT HOEME COSNIDER YOURSWLF OEN OF THE FAMILY !!!!!!!!!!

im sorry i love this song

look this scene is awesome, but it would be COMPLETE with charley oh wait he was demoted to extra and everything interesting abt him was given to dodger

he should have gotten the nobody tries to be ladeeda or uppity bit I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

this cast is BIG

okay i am a Charger Enthusiast but do we all agree there is something oddly homosexual about oliver and dodger in this song

note how dodger is scared of the police FORESHADOWING

ive taken to this SO STRONGITSCLEARWEREGOINGTOGETALONG

how many extras is this ???? yall better be gettin paid

its dodga comin up

this set is sraight out of the book i love it

CHARLEY MATE IM SORRY THEY MADE YOU AN EXTRA 

“oh not again” does dodger just always show up with random workhouse kids 

ah yes fagin the character whos still a negative jewish stereotype

more and more big cast

THESE SAUSAGES ARE MOULDY! (am i going to freak out whenever charley does anything because i love him? yes)

stfu drink your gin

is this a laundry?? no fam 

THE BEST FUCKING SONG IN THIS MUSICAL

IN THIS LIFE ONE THING COUNTS

sorry if i dont add to this until pick a pocket or two is done bc its a straight banger

this song is EVERYTHING 

hard at work lol ok

did he make those himself??? no

couple a wipes

EMBROIDERED THEM??? no

petition for all oliver twist adaptations to refer to charley as master bates like the book and for him to have actual lines and not have his actor switched at least three times

i dont even now who charley is at this point because his actor is switched many a time im just gonna say purple blazer kid is charley

anyway charley bates supremacy

whos bill sikes??? NO

fuck bill all my homies hate bill

rum tum tum is a banger

go bed now

take your hat off in bed dodger

movie fagin has rights

fagin leaving where will he go

BET IS THAT YOU

FUCK OFF BILL NO ONE LIKES YOU 

NANCY NANCY HES HERE !!!!!! bet deserves everything and more ily 💖

NANCYYYY!!!!!!

its a fine life more like its a banger

wheres all of bets lines gone

bet 🤝 charley (being demoted to extras)

its not funny anyore bet.. bet girl please sing youre the best fucking thing about this song

such a happy song about domestic abuse

THERE SHE IS THATS MY GIRL BET I FUCKING LOVE YOU

bullsye rights!

i hate how this movie made fagin more symathetic but he’s still a “greedy jew” stereotype

oliver?????

at this moment fagin knew he fucked up

nancy you deserve better than bill

oh hi dodger forgot you existed

and the rest of you except oliver

ah yes charley “sausages” bates i missed you

THESE FUCKING KIDS THEY ALL LOVE BET AND NANCY MY HEART

im a regular gent i am. no dodger you arent

why is “permit me to assist you across the road” so fucking funny

pov dodgers back on his bullshit so you have to pretend to be a horse and cart for him

not “sir artful” 😭😭😭

anyfink for youu

WHAT FISTICUFFS???!!!

i feel sorry for the child extras man theyve prob had to film this scene like ten times

THESE KIDS CAN SING

 the boys dancing with eachother is too fucking wholesome i love this

again, movie fagin rights

weed riissk lifee and limmbb

you promised we could go see the angin!!!!!

ats on boys time were off

THIS IS MY FAVOURITE SONG

HOW COULD WE LET HOW COULD WE FORGET OUR DEAR OLD FAGIN WORRY!!

mate that aint single file did you not hear him

am i the only one who can hear london bridge is falling down in the back??

our pockets hold a watch of gold that chimes upon the hour!!! a wallet fat an old mans hat!!! the jewels from the tower!!!

WE KNOW THE NOSEY POLICEMEENNNN

dodger and charley (i am SURE charley is purple blazer kid even if havent seen this film in ages) are GETTING INTO THIS

oliver 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

movie fagin rights pt 27238227

DODGER OLIVER COME ON!!!!!!!!! alright dude chill

ARE YALL SEEING THIS SHIT, I WAS RIGHT, I TOLD YOU THAT THE LAD IN THE PURPLE BLAZER WHO SINGS “a wallet fat an old mans hat” WAS CHARLEY BATES AND GUESS WHAT HE FUCKING IS. I WAS RIGHT, PURPLE BLAZER KID IS CHARLEY YOU CAN LEAVE NOW

no dont were only an hour in

three kids on the back of the omnibus what will they do

dodger and charley said be gay do crimes

ah shit now look what youve gotten us into dodger

IT WASNT EVEN OLIVER IT WAS CHARLEY AND DODGER GO AFTER THEM

are dodger and charley straight up framing oliver for a crime they commited while also helping him escape

yes they are why are we surprised 

i hate to break it to you dodger but hiding oliver in a meat sack doesnt work

OLIVERS ON THE ROOF????

charley and dodger got oliver into this mess and they are not going to get him out

WHY DIDNT YOU LOOK AFTER HIM????? right calm down fagin

how could i help it :((((

no bill!

stan nancy

“two other boys stole it” no shit

BROWNLOW !

run bitch run

right intermission time now

AND WE’RE BACK!

entr acte

who will buyyy

strawberry girl is carrying this

oliver owns my heart pt 278983728938728

this is a banger wtf

okay its done now right

right?????

UHH BILL???? DODGER???? BITCH WHY TF ARE YOU HERE

have bill fagin nancy and the boys been stalking oliver???

NO SHE WONT FAGIN!

shit.

fuck bill

this scene is far more sadder when you think of how the boys have just seen the only woman they see as a mother figure been hit to the flo or, im not crying, you are

as long as he needs me :(

FUCK YOU BILL

rose maylie is that you?!

look at lil oliver!!

BILL FUCK OFF

i hate bill

“look at his togs! he’s got books too!” charley and dodger are my emotional support kids

anyway have i mentioned i hate bill, bc i hate bill.

I REALLY REALLY HATE BILL

even fagin aka the guy whos keeping these kids as pickpockets has more morals than bill

WE STAY CALM!!

no bill i havent heard a dying chicken

act one was just childish antics now we have THIS

fuck bill

YOURE TELLING ME THE BOYS WATCHED THAT????

jack wild is a banging actor. he genuinely looks terrified 🥺 

this film.. 

a mans got a heart hasnt he?? yes you do!!!

a full song dedicated to movie fagin rights?? did i ghostwrite this?? probably

banger

ithinkidbetterthinkitoutagain!

villains theives and nine year olds

MR BUMBLE?????!!!!!!!!!!

fuck bill pt72898376728909878199

bill youre traumatising him

cmon nance do something!!

also completely forgot abt this but uh does monks exist in this i forgot bc we have had no mentions of him yet

nancy tell him who bill is!!!

bullseye deserves better

uhm what is going on

bill sikes more like bill yikes

oliver what are you doing

BILL TERRIFIES ME

FUCK

omg oom pah pah????

leave oliver alone bill hes like nine

oh banger

OOM PAH PAH THATS HOW IT GOES!!!!!!!!!

just asking are nancy and bet lesbians bc they look it

COULD IT BE OOM PAH PAHHHHHH

god i love this song

IT SHOOOOOWSSSSSS

its the same oom pah pah

“She was from the country but now shes up a gumtree she let a fella feed her then lead her a long” foreshadowiinnggg

OOM PAH PAH! OOM PAH PAH! OOM PAH PAH!

nancy is so fucking smart

getting the whole pub singing and dancing to smuggle out oliver? clever

fuck

bill.. no.. bill.. bill????

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKC

BILL GET OFF HER

NANCY NO

HE STRAIGHT UP COMMIT MURDER AGAINST THE NICEST CHARACTER

BROWNLOW DO YOU NOT HEAR NOTHING

nancy deserved a better death than to be killed by bill fuck bill

EVEN BULLSEYE HATES YOU BILL

ARE THEY ACCUSING BULLSEYE OF MURDER

FUCK YOU BILL

movie fagin rights + fuck bill combo?

youre telling me fagin had an ESCAPE ROUTE??? AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HOUSE THING??? THE WHOLE TIME???

BILL DONT KILL THE CHILD

BILL

fuck, well. #

“WHAT DO I DO!?” “LIVE UP TO YOUR NAME, DODGE ABOUT”

ten quid says dodgers been caught

oh no all fagins shit is gone

BILL DONT KILL THE CHILD PT 2

FUCK YOU BILL

GOD I HATE HIM

OLIVER MATE ARE YOU OK

never have i been so happy to see a character die

rest in shit bill

hi dodger thought you got caught n went to australia 

god, this film is so fucking good.

reviewing the situation 2.0 goes hard

MOVIE. FAGIN. RIGHTS!

FAGIN YOU CAN BE A GOOD MAN YOU KNOW YOU CAN

DODGER??????????

IM TOTALLY NOT CRYING RN

FAGIN NO DONT TAKE IT

FUCKING PLOTTWIST

IT MADE IT LOOK LIKE FAGIN WAS GONNA GIVE THE WALLET BACK TO DODGER BUT NO

once the villain you’re the villain to the end

i completely forgot abt this scene since i’ve been reading the oliver twist book and in that dodger gets arrested and fagin gets hanged but here they get away?

god this is bittersweet

I THINK WE’D OUGHT TO THINK IT OUT AGAIN!!!!!

thats where the film should have ended, i get olivers the main character but it ending on dodger and fagin walking out into the sunset is such a pleasing ending man

oliver gets his happy ending abt time

YES CONSIDER YOURSELF AND BE BACK SOON (THE BIGGEST BANGERS IN THE FILM) CREDITS SONGS!!

well.. that was a journey and half

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 6: Just Pull It Out

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 6. Pre-Httyd 2. Astrid has a little accident that ends in a trip to Gothi's. Hiccup has to help her treat his betrothed injury.

Rating: Teen and up/Mature

Characters: Astrid, Hiccup, Gothi

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 1 848

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Stop, please”

Whumpee: Astrid

Author’s Notes: Did a little Hiccstrid, because why not.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

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

"Ah, FUCK!" The swear Hiccup doesn't quite appreciate, but when he sees the reason why Astrid bellowed a shout loud enough to even scare the Terrible Terrors out of the treetops, he understands.

"Oh Gods, that doesn't look good." He states what she considers the obvious as he kneels next to her, having jumped out of the saddle the second he and Toothless had landed. Lying eyes on the injury now present on her person after the crash, he can't help but wince.

After crashing with Stormfly, there is now a branch sticking out of her thigh, the area surrounding it already an angry red. It's not bleeding, but that is because the branch is stopping the bleeding for now.

Astrid pushes herself up in a sitting position, gritting her teeth as she does so. Hiccup helps her. He would tell her to stay down until he's gotten a better look at it, but he knows her well enough to know she wouldn't listen to him.

Stormfly comes over and chirps apologetically at her Rider.

"It's okay, girl. Accidents happen." Astrid tells her dragon, petting her on the beak reassuringly.

"Okay, okay..." Hiccup mutters to himself as he tries to figure out what to do next.

He's not about to pull the branch out himself, lest the love of his life bleeds to death right here in the forests outside of Berk The best thing he can do now is stabilize it to the best of his ability, so it doesn't move on the way back to the village. Gothi needs to take a look at this one.

Astrid is patiently awaiting Hiccup's analysis of the situation, trusting his judgment on things medical as well. Ever since Dragon's Edge, Fishlegs has been their healer, but amongst the remaining Riders, Hiccup is second best.

She trembles because of the pain her thigh is in, but she keeps up her tough façade. She's a warrior and she's experienced injury before. No use crying over a minor accident such as this.

"Bud," Toothless comes when he's called, having been watching from the sidelines, and gives Hiccup access to their saddlebags.

"I'm gonna need to stabilize it," Hiccup tells her and takes out what he may need to get this done.

Grabbing dressings from the bag, he turns to the task at hand and gets to it. Once he's sure it's stable, they can go to Gothi to get this wound looked at and treated.

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

Flying to Gothi's wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, but Astrid didn't complain when Hiccup helped her mount Stormfly, as she was adamant in flying on her own dragon, and they took off towards the village.

Thankfully, it wasn't for very long, and soon enough, the two are in Gothi's shack, Astrid limping over to a stool with Hiccup supporting her on the way.

"Careful," A pained noise leaves her when Hiccup lowers her on her stool, telling her to mind her wound.

Sauntering over, staff tapping on the wooden floor, Gothi is at the perfect height to take a look at the affected area without needing to even lean down. Leaving her staff against the wall, she moves Astrid's thigh in a better position for her to see better and Astrid bites back a grunt.

She takes a good few moments, undoing Hiccup's work first, before coming to the conclusion that it actually looks quite good for an injury such as this.

Throwing two handfuls of sand on the floor, she tells the two as such.

"Oh, that's good to know," Hiccup says, sagging in relief.

"Okay, but how do we get it out?" Astrid asks. She would very much like to have that branch out of her body now.

"Eh, well..." Hiccup tells her, knowing what is to happen next. They all know it as, obviously, it needs to be removed somehow, but how to go about it is the question. Hiccup, having been Fishlegs' study buddy while the Ingerman studied under Gothi, knows a thing or two at least. This won't be pleasant.

Gothi writes in the sand what needs to happen next, how they're going to pull out the impaling object, see what the damage is now, and stitch accordingly. Astrid didn't look forward to step one, but she knows it needs to be done.

At Gothi's age, however, she doesn't quite have the strength to pull it out herself anymore. That leaves the perfect man for the job to be Hiccup as Astrid's pain response won't allow her to pull it out herself. It wouldn't be smart either, considering there are people around that can do it for her.

So with the hook of her staff, Gothi grabs Hiccup by the back of the neck to pull him down on a second stool.

"Ow, okay! Okay! I get it, I get it!" Taking a hint, Hiccup settles on it opposite to Astrid, his hands soon washed and clean of grime, his armbraces missing, and ready to pull a branch out of his future wife's thigh and hope they don't realize too late that a major blood vessel has been hit, causing her to bleed to death right after. Or about as ready as he can be.

Gothi gives him the all-clear and Astrid braces herself, holding onto her seat and her back leaning against a table standing behind her.

"You can do this. You're Fearless Astrid Hofferson, you can do this. This is nothing!" She says to herself, hyping herself up for what's to come. Hiccup waits for her, gaze meeting hers while his hands hover over the object.

After she feels like she has been sufficiently hyped up, Astrid wears her battle face and nods in determination.

Hiccup nods back, slightly less certain, and gently grabs hold of the shaft and her thigh. Just that already gets Astrid's leg to jerk in response, but her expression doesn't change, so Hiccup commits to pulling it out. There is a tiny, secondary branch annoyingly poking his palm as he does so.

The pain multiplies tenfold immediately and a hurt yelp leaves her, leg jerking further in response. Hiccup would tell her that it's going to be okay, but he's too focused on the task at hand to be able to.

He can't let her noises of pain deflate his resolve to help her. Out of the edges of his vision, he can see her trembling, can see her face change from one of determination to one of agony and he tries his best to ignore them in favor of doing a good job.

Not the easiest thing to do. That thing is really in there and he's afraid to use too much force and end up hurting her more.

Meanwhile, Astrid thought she could do it. She really thought she could take the burning agony, but it turns out to be too much, and her sense of dignity as a warrior has to step aside to let her want for it to stop through.

"STOP! Stop, please!" So she shouts and Hiccup immediately listens and lets go. Which he gets a smack on the head for from Gothi. She's all for patient comfort, but that branch could've been out of her already if he hadn't listened.

Hiccup gives her a non-apologetic look as he rubs the back of his head before looking back at Astrid.

"You okay?" He asks, to which she silently nods, breathing hard. She feels embarrassed for screaming like that.

"I'm fine, just... Just pull it out." She tells him, averting her gaze.

"Are you sure? We can wait a moment, let you take a breather." He suggests, but Astrid shakes her head stubbornly. The sooner it's out, the better, Gothi is right.

So he gets back to it and this time he wants to focus more on speed than care.

He still won't just rip it out of her, but he'll try to make it take less time than it did earlier.

And on the second try, it finally slides out of her with difficulty and a disgustingly meaty sound.

Dropping the considerably sized stick, Hiccup takes the cloth their healer hands to him and presses it against the wound. Blood is pouring out of it now and the cloth is quickly stained.

But the flow and the amount causes Gothi to believe that a simple couple of stitches will be enough. Another something Gothi makes Hiccup do. Either as punishment for his hesitation earlier or, perhaps, something else entirely.

Ah well, which Viking couple doesn't bond by stitching up each other's wounds?

If anything, Astrid is happy it's Hiccup treating her and not their healer. Gothi is great, but she isn't the most tender person around. At least with her own fiance, she knows she's in gentle hands.

Within the next hour, Astrid's wound is cleaned, sewn up, and dressed. All that remains is a healing broth with painkillers and she's all ready to go back home.

Hiccup helps her get there, acting as her support once more.

"And you're sure you're going to be okay?" He asks her as he helps her sit down on the step leading to the front door of her home.

"I'll be fine, Hiccup. You don't need to keep asking me that." She responds with fake irritation. The tired smile on her features speaks of how his concern for her warms her heart.

"Eh, I think I'll keep asking, just in case." Hiccup retorts, to which her smile widens.

"You want me to talk to your parents... or?" At this his mood changes slightly. The Hoffersons approve of their relationship and their engagement, but they make Hiccup nervous. Astrid blames her father's and her mother's tendency to be rough with him. In a "we love you and therefore you must endure our rough love" kind of way. Astrid definitely gets her way of showing affection from her parents.

"I'll talk with them. You take care of Stormfly because I don't think I can do that today." She offers to take the responsibility of telling her parents herself, so long as he cares for her Nadder in return, to which he agrees.

"Consider it done." Hiccup tells her and gets right to work, first removing his armor as it isn't really needed for this. Besides, it's getting late. He won't be doing much flying with Toothless anyway.

Astrid watches him take it all off and leave it with the Night Fury, who puts a foreleg on the pile so no mischievous Terrors will think to steal any of it while his Rider's back is turned to them. Toothless lies next to Astrid as she sits.

Though Astrid can be stubborn when it comes to her independence, it always feels nice to have Hiccup care for her. He does it in such a genuine way that she can't help but love.

The crutch Gothi has given her lands on the ground next to her as Astrid decides that her parents can wait. She's just going to take a moment to watch him work instead.