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yanderenightmare · 2 months

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TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omega verse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey, collaring, double-pen, gangbang kinda, tag-team

fem reader

It’s been a month since your new owner brought you home, and despite expectations, you’ve yet to be eaten by the predators you share your den with. On the contrary, the six hybrids seem to have accepted you as their seventh pack member despite you being at the very bottom of the food chain.

You’ve come to trust that, despite the look of hunger in their eyes… food isn’t exactly what they have in mind.

The hyena seems to be the only one your age. But he’s also a bit of a bully. Always goading you with ticklish poking until you stomp your feet and whine at him to stop.

He never listens to you, though – he just cocks his head, finding it funny how you try giving him orders – only grinning as he pins you instead, chewing some on the lops of your ears while squeezing your cottontail – smirking and giggling at your pouty face getting all frustrated.

Your weak kicking is so cute, and so is how you try clawing at him despite having but blunt nails – he can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles him.

It’s so painstakingly clear you’re not made to fight back, and it’s so adorable how you don’t even realize you already surrendered the moment you rolled over on your back with your belly up.

It makes him go absolutely feral when you pull on his ears and mane, begging him to stop as he laves at your slit and clit, delving his long tongue deep within your walls until the tip prods your womb. It’s course against your skin and harsh on your insides and scratches your poor clit until it’s all swollen and throbbing for him – making you sob as his feral smile teases your chubby mound with a bite – only satisfied when you cum in his mouth.

But while the hyena enjoys play-fighting with you, the rest are more prone to fight each other…

The panther and leopard are good friends, whilst the fox and wolf seem to tolerate each other – and you don’t know whether it’s unfortunate or a blessing in disguise that both pairs only want you for themselves and often end up fighting over you.

You’d say the four are the most trigger-happy of the pack – always hissing and barking at each other. But everyone knows that cats and dogs don’t get along.

The canines are a little scarier, you think. They’re rougher with you.

The wolf especially. He’s older than you, a big heap of hulking muscles that bear down over you with the daunting superiority of a seasoned hunter.

He doesn’t take lightly to you talking back to him – acting as though he’s actually offended when you so much as open your mouth if it’s not to swallow his tongue. Even if all you ask is for him to go a little slower, he’ll just growl at you – threatening your neck with fangs while chewing your collar – and otherwise ignore your cry completely. Calling you his bitch while telling you to quit your whimpering even though he’s been breeding you sore for the past hour, ramming your poor cunt so hard your muscles have all given out and left you to lie on the floor with only his paws keeping your hips upright.

He's always extra rough when you reek of cat – as though it’s your fault. Huffing and puffing as he now has to spend so much effort scenting you again.

It’s a never-ending war between them all. You go from camp to camp, getting marked again and again like territory, only for your owner to clean you up at the end of the day.

But the wolf is the worst. One time he’d gone so far as to piss on you…

But he was later scolded by the owner – bonking his head with a rolled-up newspaper, telling him he had to learn to share or else he’d have to go sleep out in the doghouse. He’d also been told he had to stop breaking skin when biting you unless he wanted to be muzzled.

It only made him all the more grumpier. Growling in your ear that the one who ought to be muzzled is you and your snitch-mouth always crying wolf like some bitch who never learns her place – that next time you go talking to the owner, he’s going to eat you like the piece of meat you are.

You come to learn that he’s more bark than bite after a while.

When you get used to him and his stamina, you stop crying and start holding onto him instead. And it’s when you’re burying your face in his neck and begging for his seed that he softens up for you.

He stops biting and starts sucking instead – laying hickeys all over your neck and chest, blushing with closed eyes when suckling your tits like a pup. You learn he’s a sucker for being called good boy and will wag his tail when you sit on his face.

He’s also the one with the most owner-sickness of the pack, always clinging to you, growling when others get close, and never ever sharing when his turn.

He only begrudgingly allows the fox to eat his scraps afterward.

You can only mew as he mounts you next.

His tempo is always a bit of a shock – a bit juvenile, but who can blame him when he’s had to wait for so long? He’s a little younger than you – eager and desperate for it every single time.

Pounding you sharply – hard and fast with howls and heavy panting – even whimpering as you hold you tighter and tighter, squeezing you free of air as he savors the feel of your wet pussy clamping down around him.

He doesn’t growl too much when you whine. Instead, he laughs – elated and frenzied – eyes manic as he sticks his tongue as far down your throat as he can – drooling uncontrollably as he sinks his knot inside you and spills his worth inside your womb.

It’s a relief he doesn’t last as long as his bigger partner.

He’ll suck love-bites on the chubs of your cheeks as he unswells – lick all the sweat from your skin and come down by the sweet taste. Laying sloppy kisses all over your body and lapping over all bruises and soreness in gratitude – looking at you somewhat sheepishly with big puppy-dog eyes as though suddenly embarrassed that he’d been so feral.

The felines are less spastic.

But they also like to lick you – with sand-textured tongues scraping at your fur and skin until they’ve made sure you’re coated with their scent. They seem to enjoy grooming more than anything, always snuggling with you.

But they get flirty, too… you’ll know when they start kneading your softer parts – blinking at you slow and expectantly until you return the favor.

They’re the same age and have known each other all their life, practically brothers, and do everything together as though they were a pair of Siamese – including when they mate with you.

They’ll lay you down on one lean chest while the other is poised above you. Purring as they take turns with you – both so gently.

The panther always has a sly smile on his face when looking down at you – his claws retracted while he sticks his slender fingers inside your mouth to play with your tongue. He says it’s one of his favorite things about you – so soft and so silky, so different from theirs when you lick his skin.

It makes the leopard pout behind you, nuzzling you tight, his cheek to your cheek, asking the other if he doesn’t like it when he grooms him.

The panther only smiles down at both of you, promising that he likes both your tongues until he proceeds to swap between which one of you he kisses.

When the leopard kisses you, he also admits he likes your tongue – whispering all depraved things that come to mind – loves how smooth it feels in his mouth and on his lips and neck and nipples and cock and balls.

Eventually, the heat gets to their heads, and their pointy ears start to droop, looking at you with such dark glossy eyes, opium-blown with pleasure and lust for more – kissing each side of your face, asking whether you won’t allow them both inside you at the same time – their pretty pleas making your head go silly, panting while nodding your head for them, bucking your hips stuck between the two while begging for both of them.

You feel their slim tails coil around each of your thighs as they sink inside your drooling heat together – their breaths deep and shuddering while they feel your tightness squeeze around them.

They coo at you – telling you how perfect you look trapped between them like that – as their pretty little double-stuffed toy. And you’re too cock-drunk to do anything but agree.

After flooding you with cum, they go back to cuddling – sleeping – the both of them purring with lanky limbs all tangled on top of each other and you in the middle.

The bear is also a lazy fellow – a gentle giant. Something you’re grateful for – you don’t think you’d survive if he ever tried mounting and pounding you like the other boys.

He’s the eldest of the pack. Twice your age. You feel the seniority in his movements – all unhurried, savoring every second with a warm smile.

He’s satisfied with having you on his lap – cock-warmed by your tight bunny-cunt while you hand-feed him berries. You feel a little safer with him knowing you have the same appetite and that he isn’t thinking about eating you.

He hums, a rusty sound that comes from his gut – telling you he likes seeing you eat – that it’s cute how you take such small bites – and the way your nose scrunches and your cheeks fill.

Sometimes he’ll tell you to hop on his lap – his massive warm paws placed on your haunches with large black claws gently denting the plush flesh found there, encouraging you as you ease up and down the great length that bulges from your belly.

The size of it makes you pant.

You’re glad he’s happy having you at the end of the day – after you’ve been loosened up by the others. You fear he’d split you in two if otherwise.

The owner collects you before bedtime after everyone’s had their share – clips a leash onto your collar, and leads you to the bathroom – crawling on all four like an actual animal. You’ll often collapse halfway there, but he doesn’t mind scooping you up to carry you instead – always with a few patronizing words leaving him while mollycoddling you, almost speaking baby to you, telling you how proud he is of how domesticated you’ve become.

There’s always a bath waiting for you – a gift for being such a good little pet, he says.

It reminds you of when you were first brought here, as he washes you with his own hands – rubbing the filth of spit, cum, and sweat from your sore limbs, messaging your flesh into nice limber softness again.

He’s always mumbling about human matters under his breath – money, business, estate – ruffling your hair when you give him a blank stare. Apologizing while saying he won’t trouble your pretty head with such complicated topics.

All you have to worry about is being his stress-relief – something clueless and dumb and dependent on him. You realize that without him needing to say it. It’s communicated through all the other things he says anyway.

He’s always whispering in your ear before bed – sweet nothings about what a good bunny you are – how you’re the cutest, softest, sweetest little thing in the entire world – telling you how much he loves you and how happy he is that you’re finally settling in – how you’ve become the most precious little housebroken pet for him.

It feels different when he touches you. The other hybrids make you feel small, but there’s a familiarity with them – something about being hunted fairly and squarely, like out in the wild.

With the owner, you’re reminded you’re a pet eating out of his palm – something tame warming his bed at night with your leash tied to the bed frame.

He doesn’t fuck you with the same intent as the others do – there’s no rut behind his cold movements. It’s not mating or breeding. It’s something else you can’t put your finger on. Something human. Something alien to you.

Something in the way he has his hand fisting your leash as he sinks inside your heat – something in how he babies you, calls you cute when you shake and cum around his cock like you can’t control yourself.

It all makes you feel like some mindless animal.

Impulsive and primitive in comparison to him and his calculated thrusts and how he only cums inside you after you’ve all but begged him to breed you.

part 1

Owner: BNHA - Aizawa, AFO JJK - Nanami, Kenjaku HQ - Ukai

Hyena: BNHA - Shigaraki JJK - Mahito HQ - Tendou

Wolf: BNHA - Bakugou, Dabi JJK - Sukuna, Noaya HQ - Sakusa

Fox: BNHA - Kirishima, Denki, Deku, Amajiki JJK - Yuji, Yuuta, Choso HQ - Hinata, Nishinoya

Leopard & Panther: BNHA - Denki & Shinso, Hawks & Dabi JJK - Gojo & Geto HQ - Miya twins, Oikawa & Kageyama, Kuro & Kenma

Bear: BNHA - Enji, Aizawa, All Might, Mirio JJK - Toji, Nanami, Higuruma HQ - Daichi, Ushijima

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut

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passcridae · 3 years

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Friday 16th April, 2021; late evening Clubs territory; the Armory Referencing; No specific tws, but it gets violent and gross.

Everything inside Sparrow’s body -- every muscle, every sinew, every tendon -- was pulled tight as a bowstring as he slunk with whisper-quiet steps through the darker, quieter abandoned halls of the Armory.

The assassin was what absolutely no one would refer to as a team player, even less so when it came to the front lines, regardless of on the battlefield or well contained within the tight confines of the Club faction’s streets. He wasn’t a part of any resistance group or vanguard, not when the leaders knew how best he operated -- and that was alone. Sparrow had arrived alone and would likely leave alone, given free reign to stalk the maze-like halls and pick off anyone and everyone he could, artfully unlocking doors to leave them wide open in his wake.

So too in his wake did he leave warm blood pooled in as many halls as he could, damp and tacky on the tattooed fingers Sparrow had loosely but skillfully wrapped around the handle of his blade. It was a long, slender thing, his dagger, designed to slip effortlessly between panels of armor and glance off of bone to where the razor-sharp edge could do the most damage. He felt more exposed without shifting, but the corners were too claustrophobic and the stone too well fit even for the smallest of his animals. A last resort, if he had to.

Sparrow could hear an indistinct cacophony echoing through the cold halls, but it was too far away for him to recognize the voices or pick out any meaning, so he largely ignored it other than to put his back to the majority of the chaos. Stalking steps rounded another corner as he kept to the shadows, and it didn’t take long for him to spot his next target: a tall, muscular woman, hand on a mace at her hip as she faced where the chaos was coming from, oblivious to the danger behind her. Sparrow smiled, fanged even in the absence of his fangs.

Two swift, bounding steps brought him close enough to his quarry to leap, knees connecting with the small of the woman’s back and one arm wrapping around her shoulders to hold himself in place, plunging his blade diagonally into the space between her neck and shoulder.

Something was wrong.

The dagger pierced, but not deep enough -- the woman bellowed in pain and Sparrow’s breath caught in his throat. A Strongarm. Flesh too stubborn to rend, muscles halting Sparrow’s blade far too far from her heart. His surprise prevented him from leaping away fast enough, and not before the meat of her hand closed around his forearm, dragging the young Shifter over her shoulder like a ragdoll.

“What’s this?” she sneered, holding him aloft with a bruising grip, Sparrow’s toes scrabbling for purchase on the stone as his nails bit and scratched ineffectually at the hand locked around his arm. The guard withdrew the blade from her shoulder as if it were nothing but an inconvenience, an annoyance, and threw it aside without a second thought. She gave him a rough shake and something like a growl bubbled up from Sparrow’s throat, low and feral. The Strongarm simply laughed, a harsh, caustic sound that echoed mockingly through the hall. “You’re too far from your friends, boy. No one will hear you if I--”

Her grip tightened with brutal effortlessness, and the bones in Sparrow’s arm cracked easily under the pressure. He cried out in surprise, tears pricking hotly at the corners of his eyes as pain shot up his arm, immobilizing him. He didn’t dare move and make the injury worse, but at this point it didn’t matter: the guard’s free hand, rough-edged gauntlet slick with her own blood, wrapped around Sparrow’s throat with a clear and threatening purpose. “I’m going to kill you, little rat. And it’s not going to be quick.”

Sparrow didn’t have the breath to respond or time to react before the guard slammed him into the wall, the back of his head hitting with a sickening crack and any air left in his lungs forced out with the savagery of it. Almost immediately his vision started to blur and tunnel, black crawling at the edge of his sight as his empty lungs ached. Held at least half a foot from the floor, Sparrow kicked half-heartedly but couldn’t find purchase, any blow he aimed at the Strongarm a nuisance at best. She laughed at his struggle, and the sound ricocheted cruelly through his head. The places where the steel of her gauntlet bit into his skin started to burn, a persistent ache that seeped into his skin with a dour purpose: poison.

He was going to die here.

The mere thought sent a shock of fear and adrenaline through his body, but neither were going to help him, no surge of strength even close to enough to free him from the guard’s iron grip around his neck. Unable to shift, unable even to speak or cry out if anyone would hear him to begin with, Sparrow squeezed his eyes shut and fought unconsciousness as the world spun around him.

Suddenly, the grip around his neck tightened, then went slack. There was a sick thud as something hit the floor, and when Sparrow forced his eyes open again, the Strongarm’s head was… gone.

Their bodies crumpled to the stone floor in tandem, and Sparrow drew in harsh, ragged breaths as he scrambled away from the felled woman’s body in sheer, blind terror. He gulped air until his throat and lungs burned, fit to burst, but didn’t even have the time to be grateful before a shock of nausea gripped him. Doubled over on his knees, Sparrow had neither the wherewithal nor the energy to fight as he emptied his stomach onto the cold stone floor in a splash of vomit and stinging bile. The only saving grace was he never ate much to begin with, but the painful dry heaves that followed hardly felt like a blessing.

“Gods,” a man’s voice blurted out, disgusted, and only then did Sparrow realize he wasn’t alone -- as if the Strongarm could’ve decapitated herself. Someone was crouching next to him, and as he caught sight of the Armory armor and insignia, fear shot through him and he automatically tried to jerk away from the hand reaching for his shoulder. “Hey, hey-- relax, relax, I’m on your side.”

Sparrow froze for a moment and tried to blink the tears and fuzziness from his eyes, an unfamiliar face swimming in his vision. An armory guard, loyal to the resistance? Sparrow stared at him, slack-jawed and baffled, hardly able to believe his luck.

Maybe Miss Death was still interested enough in him after all.

What followed was a non-linear mess of memories and Sparrow fighting against the pain and unconsciousness that threatened to overtake him. The guard that’d saved him scooped him up like a broken doll -- not without the threat of additional bodily harm if Sparrow decided to throw up on him -- and carried him through the winding halls of the Armory until Sparrow couldn’t tell which way was up or if they were closer to the outside or to death. Eventually they climbed flights of stairs, and eventually the cool, evening spring air washed over Sparrow’s sweat-streaked face as they made it to the roof.

The poison was burning through his veins like hellfire at this point, and he couldn’t discern any of the sounds or shouting as his blood rushed desperately in his ears. Only one voice cut through the rest: Fallon’s definitive, commanding bark, the likes of which immediately sent a wave of relief through Sparrow big enough to prick tears at the corners of his eyes. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t the Emitter that appeared beside him, skilled hands hovering at the festering, blackened wounds at his throat to start drawing the poison from his veins; as long as he knew Fallon was there, Sparrow knew he would be safe. The feeling was foreign and comforting all at once, the level of trust he realized he had in his leader. He didn’t have the energy or the coherent thought to process it, not when all he could focus on was the stinging fire of the poison leaving his bloodstream.

Eventually the nausea subsided even if the spinning in his head remained, disorienting and frustrating. It was just clear enough, however, to recognize that a heavy hush had settled, dampening the roar of chaos into an anticipatory holding of breath.

“Wha’s happenin’?” Sparrow finally managed to croak, his tongue a dry, sour weight in his mouth.

The Emitter hovering over him glanced towards the low wall surrounding the Armory roof, then back to her charge with a grim expression.

“Mallick’s challenged the Ace.”

#solo: broken wings #or: sparrow and the terrible horrible no good very bad day #grey: if you wanna really punish sparrow--#me: YEAH I DO #i'm sorry birb boy ilu but u can't go and fight a strongarm #and yes that is geon saving his narrow ass #borrowed with mady's blessing #ty mady and geon (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆#sparrow: i like to be shoved against walls but Not Like This

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theskeleton-system · 3 years

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A Fungus Dangerclaw Masterpost

This is a post about Fungus' relationship with every Grumpus on Snaktooth;

Filbo

•definitely stumbled upon Fungus while looking for Liz

•was initially friendly toward Fungus, until Fungus took it personally and chased Filbo out of the woods, growling and claws beared

•when Fungus inevitably stays in town with the others, Filbo is rightfully so still apprehensive, but as Fungus warms up to him, he warms up to Fungus

•Fungus never learns his name, but knows the word Mayor, so calls him that (it is a constant Filbo Confidence Boost [tm])

Wambus

•would meet Fungus when they'd have come to town

•Fungus has absolutely attacked Wambus, he's the biggest man in town and Fungus believes in fighting for dominance, so he attacks him to become the Alpha of town lol

•Wambus doesnt like to make eye contact with Fungus due to this very event

•Fungus does eventually calm down when Wambus lets them rummage in the farm sometimes; it turns out Fungus is handy for digging holes to plant more crops

•after a while of Fungus trusting Wambus, she starts bringing sticks to the farm and burying them in hopes of growing crops too

•Wambus eventually decides he's adopting them. No arguments.

Beffica

•is morbidly curious of Fungus (that feeling is mutual)

•Beffica has absolutely kept Fungus in her cave out of storms, and so is probably the closest thing to a friend at first to Fungus

•she likes to paint his claws, and he loves to watch her do it, he also loves picking out the colours (pink is his favourite)

•Beffica will sit Fungus down and gossip to them while she paints their nails and brushes their fur, Fungus has no idea what she's saying, but likes to feel included and picks up on some words

•the few words he's learnt from Beff are "Squeeb", "Like", and "OMGee"

•Beffica does understand that Fungus can be dangerous, and she knows when to stop pushing their buttons

Gramble

•Gramble met Fungus in the middle of the night, when they broke into town to steal supplies

•Fungus DIDN'T attack Gramble, only because he's smaller than Fungus and therefore not deemed a threat

•when Fungus stays in town, they become enamored by the barn, and the Bugsnax there (because Fungus refuses to eat them too) and hangs out in the outdoor pen with them

•Fungus inevitably imprints on Gramble and begins following him around and bringing him Bugsnax that are very hard to catch (cheepoofs, grapesketos, lollives, scoopy banoopys) and Gramble is Confused.jpeg

•Gramble learns to trust Fungus when the first fight breaks out at the party (The "that's why your wife left you" Scene) and Fungus defends Gramble, literally standing between him and Wambus

•now Gramble accepts Fungus as family, and is just mildly frightened of them

Wiggle

•with Fungus constantly following Gramble around, it was only a matter of time until they met Wiggle

•Fungus took one look at her and was prepared to fight a bitch, but when Gramble stopped them from attacking her, they stopped being aggressive

•Fungus definitely wants that pink fluffy scarf around Wiggle's neck, but hasn't devised a plan to steal it yet

•Fungus doesnt understand how instruments work, so when Wiggle starts playing her banjo, Fungus is simultaneously frightened and interested

•Fungus begins loving listening to Wiggle's music and starts hitting the ground in percussion with the music

•Wiggle will never pass up on an adoring fan of course, and starts teaching Fungus how to make music, Fungus learns nothing, but is happy to have attention

•Fungus has ended up with the Banjo before, and absolutely tried to eat it

•(Fungus has worn Wiggle's glasses before and was fully prepared to wear them forever)

Triffany

•Triffany would find Fungus in one of the ruins, probably lost

•Triffany would be confused, but curious

•Fungus trusts Triffany quickly, as she's sensible and knows a feral creature when she sees one, so takes her time

•Fungus likes to try and help piece history together with Triffany, but obviously he has no idea what he's ever doing, so he isn't really much help

•Triffany's accent is completely foreign to Fungus, so they can have problems understanding some of her pronunciations, however, they absolutely adore her accent and loves listening to her talk

•Triffany is most likely the Grumpus who brought Fungus to town, probably to show Wambus the creature she adopted, and ask Floofty if any of this makes sense

•Fungus likes to chew on bones Triffany gives him, it helps sharpen his teeth and subdue his pure, feral rage

Cromdo

•Fungus would take a VERY long time to trust Cromdo, due to his sleezy nature

•Fungus absolutely wants whatever Cromdo is selling (because they're a hoarder) but doesn't know of the economy, only knows stick. Fungus will buy material objects with sticks and leaves or Cromdo will die

•a sick part of Cromdo wants to sell Fungus to Floofty for science, but knows that would be the second most illegal thing he's ever done (Grumpus Trafficking is no joke-)

•Fungus would probably want a tie, let's be honest

•to Cromdo, Fungus is like a cat, running around scratching the walls and knocking things off of tables

•Cromdo isn't afraid to scold Fungus, and Fungus will learn to listen in due time

•despite the tension and issues the two have, Fungus does it to show care for Cromdo, everyone knows this but Cromdo

•Fungus likes the word "Pal"

Chandlo

•Chandlo is Fungus' favourite. No questions asked.

•he found Fungus in a tree and brought him home to Snorpy, like gay people do

•"Snorp-dawg, I found a cryptid!"

"you WHAT"

•Fungus appreciates Chandlo so fucking much

•didn't attack for same reason as Gramble (small = not a threat)

•Chandlo likes Fungus because they're a hard-core survivor of the wild, and Chandlo vibes with that

•Fungus originally likes to watch Chandlo work out, finding it fascinating; but eventually starts joining in when Chandlo offers

•Chandlo just wants to keep this feral creature, that is all

•Fungus learns so many words from Chandlo, that he accidentally turns Fungus into a feral version of himself

Snorpy

•Snopry is (rightfully so) terrified of Fungus

•what is it? What's it gender? Why does it barely speak? How much sentience does it have? DOES IT WORK FOR THE GRUMPINATI??!

•but of course, Chandlo wants to keep it and Snorpy can't say no, so he ends up playing babysitter when Chandlo is gone

•Fungus, on the other hand, is enamored. Obviously-

•Fungus understands so little when it comes to Snorpy, all these conspiracies and big words and intricate connections, Fungus has no brain

•Fungus likes to listen though, and likes to look at the conspiracy board (also likes to hoard all the red string lol)

•of course Snorpy warms up to them, mostly when Floofty starts trying to steal them for experiments; Snorpy feels a newfound need to protect this gremlin from his mad scientist sibling

•Fungus just likes the attention

Floofty

•Floofty kidnaps Fungus for experiments (not clickbait)

•I mean, can you blame them? How does Fungus exist? A completely feral Grumpus in a society of modernized, evolved, civilised Grumpuses? They gotta know how Fungus works

•however, Floofty underestimated Fungus' energy, and now they're shouting at a gremlin, who is barking back at them

•Floofty loses so much sleep over keeping Fungus in one place.

•"fascinating...your survival instinct is completely intact- stop chewing my leg."

•Floofty tries to teach Fungus basic language, but learns the next day that Fungus forget everything they learnt

•Fungus doesn't know what to make of Floofty

•Is this good or bad? Friend or foe?

•if Floofty has to hurt Fungus to get what they want, they WILL be attacked (i.e taking blood or testing pain level)

•sometimes Floofty just snaps and throws Fungus into a river to "experiment" if Fungus can swim

•Fungus does like the attention though

Shelda

•Shelda is one of the only Grumpuses that Fungus shows concern and care for OPENLY

•He gives her gifts of sticks and rocks and leaves, and he'll throw a tantrum if she won't take them

•he likes to sit next to her while she meditates so she doesn't get lonely 😳😳

•the only problem with this is that Fungus is easily bored, and will start making noises and bumping rocks together

•and it's very distracting when you're trying to meditate

•But Fungus knows this and tries to behave as best as they can, they wanna make Grandma Shelda happy

•they become a part of Shelda's little fanclub, and listens to her wisdom despite not knowing ANYTHING she's saying

•he pretends he knows, nodding and agreeing all the time

Eggabell

•Eggabell, being a doctor, just wants to get her hands on Fungus to take care of him

•I mean, he's messy, and covered in mud and sticks and leaves

•he probably has the Grumpus equivalent of mange

•he DEFINITELY has fleas

•and she just wants to sit them down and clean them up

•but Fungus isn't having it, and is actually a little scared of Eggabell, as they don't know why she wants them to stay still

•Fungus will learn to trust her, and let her take care of the fleas and rabies and mange

•and when he does, he will never leave her side afterwards. He'll recognise she made him feel better and constantly want her attention

•He may get a little distracting for her sometimes, but she knows he means well

•also, because Fungus is a good listener, Eggabell airs her problems out to them, she knows they don't know what she's saying, but it's nice to rant to them while they eat a whole tree, bit by bit

Lizbert

•there isn't many opportunities where Liz and Fungus would interact sadly, however, I feel like if they did they would get along far too well

•Liz bringing Fungus on adventures around the island? Fungus showing Liz little cave systems they've found so she has shortcuts around the areas? Makes my heart ache-

•Fungus wants the hat, give her the hat Liz-

•because Liz is such a simple name, it would most likely be the only one Fungus would learn

•I can imagine Liz getting distracted from studying Bugsnax and instead studying Fungus, until Filbo or Egg reminds her she has more important things to do

•Fungus is incredibly agile, and I can imagine them scaling trees or cliffs and finding a safer route for Liz to take

•Fungus is Liz's emotional support adventure dog

The Journalist

This would be in terms of if Fungus was a character you'd meet;

•You would meet Fungus in Sugarpine Woods, but somewhere far away from Chandlo and Snorpy.

•Fungus would flee from you once spotted (sorta like the Snaxsquach, but not at certain times).

•You would then have a quest to ask around to see if anyone knew what this Grumpus was (and you would receive a resounding "no").

•The puzzle would then be figuring out how to cohearse Fungus into trusting you, which would be with sticks and rocks, making a pile of them to bait Fungus from hiding.

•Once you would have their trust, you would still have quests to complete before they move from their spot and follow you to town, this would include collecting more sticks and rocks, and finding Bugsnax so Fungus can have friends.

•They'd communicate these quests very poorly, you would probably have to rely on the quest descriptions to figure out what the objective is.

•After enough errands, Fungus would make a happy noise and start following you around. Then, if you walk into town, you approach Filbo and he takes Fungus off your hands.

•When you return to Snaxburg, it's in anarchy as Fungus has gotten out of control. Your next objective is "survive". Eventually, through sticks, rocks and leaves, you calm Fungus down enough for them to live in Snaxburg without killing anyone.

•However, some side-quests would involve Fungus, and the other residents having to deal with them now.

I had this neat idea that all this is optional, you don't have to even do the main quest for Fungus because they weren't supposed to be part of the expedition and know no one. So why interview them, not like you can anyway. You can escape Snaktooth with all the normal residents and leave Fungus on the island, then their fate would be left unknown (but man I'd feel guilty for it 😟).

#this shit became an essay im so sorry #i guess i needed to info dump #four hours of writing...#watch this flop #and then watch me cry lol #Bugsnax #Grumpus #Grump-sona #Grumpus OC #Fungus Dangerclaw #i hope you guys like this though 👉👈

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pallaswords · 3 years

Text

With No Light of My Own

Original Work (Based off of a homebrew D&D campaign)

Words: 938

Trigger Warnings: descriptions of physical violence, abusive sibling relationships, allusions to parental abuse

Title Inspiration: The Moon Will Sing - The Crave Wives

For this prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial I knew immediately that I had to pretty up this bit of writing from December of 2019. I solidify my D&D characters and process events that happen in the campaign by writing “missing scenes” and the like (much to the delight of every DM I’ve done this for) -- this is one such case.

So, without further ado, here’s a drabble about my silly little lesbian high-elf Cleric of Selûne that I totally didn’t post to the wrong blog at first nope not at all.

She hadn't wanted to go out alone, but everyone else had business to attend to and she needed to get Troozee back before he ended up stuffed and mounted as a taxidermied trophy by a member of the hunter’s guild. Pseudodragons weren’t exactly common, and he was her responsibility as she’d hatched him. So, out she went to the temple of Bahamut.

She was just within eyesight of the temple when two large figures stepped in front of her. She was slightly taller than the both of them, but she was a waif compared to their muscles.

"Thought you could hide from me, fucking bitch?"

Shit.

Xenia turned to face Mikhail, hoping that her expression didn't show the fear she felt heavy in her stomach and her feet, rooting her in place. Judging by his sneer and bark of laughter, she was failing miserably. Just as she always had when faced with his anger.

"Now, darling sister, my friends and I are going to take a walk with you. Come on," he snarled and grabbed her upper arm, hard, and pulled her into movement.

They wound through the streets into a quieter part of town. He tugged her abruptly to the left and into an alcove between houses.

She had been steeling herself for a punch to the face, but she hadn't expected the sweeping blow to the legs. She crumpled.

Mikhail laughed, and for the first time she was actually afraid of him. This was not the petty squabbling of children over hidden or destroyed books. No, there was a look in his eyes that she hadn’t seen there before. It reminded her of their father.

This could very well be her end.

No. Her eyes narrowed as she glared up. He will not have the satisfaction. I am stronger than him.

She reached out her hand, magic the colour of moonbeams beginning to swirl, when his boot stomped down on her wrist. She couldn't hold back the high shriek of agony at the fragile bones cracking and crunching under the weight.

"Not making that mistake again. Fucking magic, what a waste. Too bad you were never good with actual fighting, or else this would actually be fun," he picked his boot up, laughing, before kicking her in the side. The steel toe of his boot met her ribs and oh gods did it hurt. She let out a gasping wheeze at the pain, but her glare held.

He laughed again and reached down, grabbed her hair, and lifted her up by it. He let her go but before she could fully get her bearings or balance, his fist slammed into her face, the sheer force making her stumble back into a wall.

"Not gonna fight back? What, your fucking moonbitch goddess —"

The world went hazy for a moment, but when it righted itself, she had her hands around Mikhail's throat. He sneered down at her. They both knew she didn't have it in her to kill him, or even apply pressure to choke.

But she did have something in her. She summoned the last dregs of her magic that she could afford on this.

"No, Mikhail." She spat his name out as if it were poison as she cast.

Bruises that mirrored her own bloomed across his skin and he screamed in pain.

"You can call me what you like. You can beat me. You can threaten me. But you will not slander my goddess in front of me," she snarled before pushing him away. He stumbled and fell to the ground.

She glared over at his two companions, who froze.

"You will speak of this to no one. Understand? And you," she turned back to her brother, who was staring up at her as if she were some feral thing worthy of fear. "You will leave me and mine alone, and I'll do the same for you, out of the kindness of my heart. I have more important matters than the likes of you."

She spat, saliva and blood landing next to him, before moon-white sparks danced around her, healing the worst of the damage.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave."

Xenia stepped over her brother and looked again at his companions. "Honestly you can do better than this waste, he's a complete ass and will only use you to gain whatever he wants. Your choice, though." She breezed by them and back into the streets, slight ache in her wrist and side, and a pleased grin on her mostly healed face.

She made her way back to the temple and quickly found Troozee with Father Morris.

"Damn," Troozee laughed in her mind. “You get mugged or some shit?”

"You… good?" Father Morris asked cautiously. "You need me to fuck someone up? Cause I will fuck up whoever did that."

"I’m fine," Xenia smiled as Troozee landed on her shoulder and wrapped his tail around her neck. "Just a bit of a… Never mind. It’s settled."

She paused to scratch Troozee under the chin, causing the pseudodragon to chitter contentedly.

"You should see the other guy, though." The smile pulled at the faded black eye and split lip, but it was worth it to see Father Morris’ eyes widen. He let out a shocked laugh and offered to heal the rest of the damage, an offer she gladly took.

Oh, hard times were on the way, she would have to be absolutely idiotic not to realize that. But gods the vindication in seeing Mikhail afraid of her after all the years of torment… that was going to stick with her.

#Xenia Malak #Flash Fiction Friday #original fiction #dnd fiction #dnd writing #D&D writing #D&D fiction

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dead-night-harringrove · 6 years

Note

You ever thought of about feral werewolf Billy who watches Steve from afar but to afraid to get close because of other humans, but one day does get close to him.

It hadn’t been two months after moving to Hawkins, Indiana that Billy abandoned ship. There are no other wolves in Hawkins, aside from the naturals. Despite being a small town, the actual region of Hawkins is massive and he has plenty of space and time to reflect and regret.

He was bitten a year before, and he’s shifted outside of the full moon far too many times to count. It’s cathartic; the feeling of the earth beneath his paws, the smell of pine and maple filling his lungs, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue when he hunts. Billy always shifts and runs after a bad run in with Neil, but now he’s shifted and plans on never going back to that house as long as he’s alive.

Billy always lingers though, and he wonders if Max knows it’s him. Sometimes she looks at him as if she knows, even as he dips into the woods away from prying eyes. He’s spent time near the other children too, always watching. Since he’s left, he notices more bruises on Max’s body that she tries to hide. He notices how she no longer bravely goes out to meet with her friends, but instead sneaks to their houses. He notices when Sinclair sees a cut on her lip and cries with her. Billy notices when Lucas’s eyes look up and meet his in the forest edge, and he pulls away and runs.

Mostly, he lingers in the woods near Steve’s house. He still holds a deep guilt over the night at the Byers house, over how far he’d taken his own actions and the primal rage that even his wolf had cowered away from. Billy hadn’t been able to shift for days after the fight, unable to coax his wolf out of wherever it was hiding within him.

Usually, his wolf is like a second voice in his head, a constant stream of animal suggestions and solutions to his day to day life. When he’s angry, his wolf begs for bared teeth and torn throats. When he’s content, the wolf wants companionship and warmth. When he’s sad, his wolf wants to howl and lay down for days. Only on the full moon does his wolf become the savage, blood-thirsty beast werewolves are usually portrayed as. To suddenly have the continuous commentary of his other half completely disappear because of his human actions, it was a little disconcerting and threw him further into despair than he’d like to admit.

So, he watches and wonders what he can do to make it up to all of these people he’s wronged, to make it up to Steve. He wants, more than anything, for Steve to hold him and tell him that he’ll be okay, that he’s not a monster, that he’s got a life worth living for.

It’s on one of the nights he’s outside of Steve’s house, digging idly into the dirt with his claws out of boredom, when he hears a low cry that builds into a scream. Billy’s barreling towards the house before he can even think about how easily he abandons his distance. There isn’t a trace of anything human in his voice as he barks outside of the door, scratching to be let in. Steve screams again before going quiet, and Billy hears footsteps coming from within the house. When the door swings open, he yelps as he gets a firm hit to the face with a nail bat. Any train of thought he had previously flies away from him as his ears start ringing and he feels blood dripping off of his face and matting his fur from where the nails had impacted. Billy crumples in a heap on the ground, trying to collect himself but failing as all he can register is pain, pain, attacked, threat, submit, run, pain. He wants to run, he wants to abandon the town and forget he was ever human and forget about humans, but he can’t move. Distantly, he hears Steve curse and then there are hands on him, trying to move him gently and he whimpers as his body takes its sweet time regenerating his injuries. Slowly, he’s finally able to stand up and think and Steve is leading him into the house and running into what Billy assumes is the kitchen. It’s confirmed when the other boy returns with a bowl of water and a plate of random leftovers. There’s no mercy to be shown for the pizza slices, old ham, and some type of pasta piled high onto the plate. He makes a mess of the water bowl, lapping at it and drooling all across the expensive floor as he lifts his bloody face up. It’s mostly healed now, and Steve notices immediately that the wolf he’s let into the house after a panicked attack is most certainly not a normal wolf. It’s not a giant beast, but it is larger than any wild wolf he’s seen around before. Not to mention, it’s eyes. They’re so blue, with flecks of green and gold that remind him of the ocean. He’s been to the beach a few times when he was younger, and always remembered the humbling smallness he always felt when standing before it. He’d felt the same way when staring into Billy Hargrove’s eyes, deep and endless and so very blue.

“You’re the blue eyed wolf the kids keep talking about, aren’t you?” he asks, not expecting a response. The wolf looks at him, licking its lips and just watching him. Maybe he’s going insane; he’s talking to a damn wolf that he just let into his house despite the fact it could be rabid or anything. He’d hit it thinking it was a demodog, and then panicked when he’d realized it was a furry, earthen friend who was probably just alarmed by his usual nightmare screaming. Maybe it had thought he was prey. Given the fact he nailed it square in the head, quite literally, and it was still going and had healed up now, he’s quite certain it’s no normal wolf. Between the eyes, the abnormal size, and the healing, he’s not sure what it is. It’s not trying to eat him though, so that counts for something. When he goes back into the kitchen with the bowls, it follows him with it’s tail and head ducked low, ears tucked against the back of its head and it’s watching him with what he might call sad eyes. He knows it’s a submissive gesture, and he leans down and holds his hand out. It gently nudges its cold wet nose into his palm, and he pushes his hand back over its head, scratching behind its ear. The wolf’s eyes actually widen for a moment before closing in absolute bliss, leaning fully into the touch. It’s making circles beneath his hands, and flops over and Steve is reminded he loves dogs as he scratches its side and its back leg starts scratching at the air in a frenzy.

Billy’s absolutely stoked. Having never been pet before, never been treated like a dog in this context, suddenly he understands why dogs absolutely love being scratched all over their bodies. He’s been in his wolf form for about three months, only shifting back into his human skin overnight because his body just can’t retain one or the other form for 24 hours unless he’s consciously forcing it. Needless to say, he’s definitely gotten some itches in places his wolf legs simply can’t reach and Steve’s hands are hitting all of them.

Before long, Steve is closing the front door and locking it. He leaves another plate of leftovers out and refills the water bowl, and Billy is internally panicking as he realizes he’s stuck in the house. Steve pets him on the head again, making a comment on how he must have been a pet wolf that got loose because he was so tame and Billy would have laughed if he could have. Then, before Billy can really do anything else, Steve is walking up the stairs and into his bedroom. He leaves the door open, and all of the lights on. With a sigh, Billy settles in for a long night.

He’ll have to get up early after he reverts back into his human form and sneak out before Steve gets up, because he’d rather Steve be confused by how the wolf he’d let in just disappeared than have to deal with Steve seeing Billy Hargrove in his house.

It is worth noting that nothing ever goes according to plan in Billy’s life. He jolts awake to the sound of someone letting out a sudden scream, and he unintentionally growls and bares his teeth as he looks around in a panic himself. His eyes lock on Steve’s, and the pieces are all clicking back together as he remembers the night before and realizes he’s sitting on Steve’s floor, very much unclothed and covered in blood and dirt, teeth bared like a crazy person.

Obviously he hadn’t gotten up early enough to leave. The sun is barely rising and Steve is inching towards the phone mounted on the side of the wall in the living room. Billy’s eyes widen as he realizes what Steve is doing, and within an instant he’s right beside the phone and also blocking the way to the door. Steve visibly swallows, eyes glancing around like a nervous deer trying to find an escape route.

“W-what did you do to the, the wolf that was in here? Did you break in? Did you let him out?” he asks, voice unsure. Billy’s not sure how to deal with the fact that Steve is talking to his human form with more hesitance and threat of danger than he did unknowingly to his wolf form. It’s a little concerning and heartbreaking that he’s counted as more of a threat than a potentially deadly wild animal. Unintentionally, he lets out a whine. He’s spent so much time living as his wolf, they’re now one and the same. Trying to separate himself is proving to be a little difficult for his still sleepy brain.

Steve’s own brain falters as the sound that leave’s Billy’s mouth is less than human and far too perfect of a noise to be just a mimic. He remembers how familiar the wolf’s eyes had been, and his own eyes widen as he also remembers how quickly the wolf had healed from being hit with a nail bat, and how large it had been.

“Holy shit...” he says, and they just stare into each others eyes for a while. When Billy finally speaks, his voice is hoarse from not being used in a long time.

He says, “Please, don’t...don’t tell anyone... I’m sorry, for everything. I’m sorry for the fight. I’m sorry for how far it went that night. Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want my dad to know I’m alive.”

Steve inches closer as he speaks, and looks into the wild eyes of the boy in front of him. They’re enchanting, and sad, and Steve finds himself believing the words Billy says. He remembers a quote he’s seen in his English Class, printed on a poster on the teacher’s wall. “To look into the eyes of a wolf is to see your own soul,” a quote he believes some guy called Aldo said. What was his last name? Leopard? He can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter anyways.

“I won’t. Tell, I mean. I won’t tell anyone. You’re a, you’re a..?” He asks, trailing off.“A werewolf?” Billy supplies, somewhat amused but mostly surprised at how calmly Steve was reacting. He’s entirely surprised when Steve smiles, seemingly enchanted by the new knowledge he has. “Yeah, a werewolf. You’re a fucking werewolf. Holy shit! That explains the eyes... Can I watch? If that’s, ah, not weird for you. I mean, not any weirder than waking up to, uhm.” He pauses, eyes glancing down for the briefest of moments before tearing their way back up to his face and Billy is absolutely delighted by the tiniest blush that takes over Steve’s face. He’s also reasonably embarrassed, because he did kind of hit Steve with a whirlwind of experiences within the past 24 hours and now he’s leaned up against the wall, completely bare and keeping Steve from leaving.

“You can watch, yeah... I don’t plan on sticking around for too long though, just... I’ve gotten attached to being wild. It’s much better than being human, tied down to expectations and society. I’m not leaving Hawkins though. And, uh, can you do me a favor?” Billy asks, and Steve tilts his head, listening. He’s intrigued by everything Billy’s said so far, and realizes that lycanthropy might be the best thing that could have possibly happened to a person like Billy. Maybe the rage of the beast combined with Billy’s rage just cancels it out, because this is the calmest he’s ever seen the younger boy. Of course, Billy’s also been listed as a runaway for the past three and a half months, so if he’s been shifted as a wolf for all of that time it makes sense he’d have mellowed out. Nature is terrifying, but beautiful when it wants to be. It’s the perfect place for all of Billy’s chaotic energy to be let loose.

“Are you listening?” He hears Billy laugh, and snaps back into the present. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. What were you gonna ask me?”

Billy’s serious expression returns, somewhat stormy and angry, and Steve hangs onto what he says this time.

“Keep an eye out for Max. Don’t let her get as angry as I did, she deserves better than that.”

Steve isn’t sure what he means by that, but he recalls how distant Max has become from the group lately. He recalls Billy just a few minutes prior telling him he didn’t want his father to know he was alive. Thinks to himself that maybe there are a few more pieces to the puzzle than he’s already collected and makes a decision to talk to Max the next time he sees her.

“I will. And, I mean, I don’t fully forgive you because what you did that night was fucked up on so many levels. But, if you ever get tired of sleeping in caves or whatever it is wolves and werewolves do, or if you ever just need a place to stay and want to be human for a bit, my house is always open. My parents are never home, and it’s a lonely house. Or, you know, if you ever just want belly scratches again,” he says, smirking wickedly as he finishes speaking. Billy blushes, nose twitching as he glances down at the floor. Steve tries not to look much further below Billy’s shoulders.

“I mean, if you’re offering, I doubt I could resist,” he eventually shoots back, a grin pulling at his lips. Steve snorts, then stretches and heads into the kitchen.

“I’m gonna head out now, I have to travel a little further out since the full moon’s in a few days. I mean, if you want to watch now? It’s quicker travelling on all fours...” he says, and Steve nods as he follows Billy out to the back door and into the yard. There’s nothing but forest on this side of his house, and he glances over at Billy when he takes a sharp breath.

It’s a painful, disgusting, and hypnotically beautiful transformation to watch, and Billy cries as he shifts. Steve is at his side in a moment, and Billy leans into his touch when he places a hand on his back. He can feel the bones reforming underneath his skin, a sick slide of flesh and muscle shifting to make way. Billy collapses once he’s fully shifted, breathing heavy and body twitching in the aftershocks.

It’s fifteen minutes before he finally stands up, content to just let Steve run his fingers through the thick fur on his neck and and over his head and ears.

Billy turns back to look at Steve once he’s at the edge of the forest, and then with a leap he disappears.

#harringrove #werewolves #werewolf billy #i love werewolves and i have a weak spot for werewolves with domestic dog traits #guilty pleasures are loving pats and chewing shoes

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terrialaimo · 4 years

Text

Cat Spraying No More Free Eye-Opening Useful Tips

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Off Cat Spray

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What Is The Difference Between A Cat Spraying And Peeing

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#Cat Spraying No More Free Eye-Opening Useful Tips #What Color Is Male Cat Spray

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Two

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome aboard, Thirsty Crew! It is another random fandom Saturday, where we return to the Commonwealth. Spoiler warnings for essentially every early Brotherhood questline. Tagging @toxiicpop naturally, as is my custom. Enjoy!

Part One

“Well Danse, you’re not going to like my answer.” Cade said finally. Danse noted with confusion that the knight-captain was smiling. Surely his suffering couldn’t be that funny? “You’re fine. It’s not a wasting sickness or an infection. Or rad poisoning.”

“What is it then?” The paladin asked, hating how his voice wanted to shake. He wasn’t a child .

“You are being emotionally affected by that civilian.” Cade replied simply.

Danse scoffed. “Excuse me, sir?”

“This is the first time you’ve come to me with a civilian-related issue, Paladin. Which leads me to believe this is the first time you’ve had an issue with civilian relations.” Knight-Captain Cade flipped through his clipboard. “You’re a model soldier, Danse. This changes nothing. You lost over half your squadron from skirmishes, you were in a certain-death situation earlier in the day and you reached out for comfort in the anonymous because they would not judge your actions. There’s no shame in that. But…” Cade trailed off.

“Fraternizing with that civilian obviously transferred some type of illness via the exchange of saliva.” Danse filled in bleakly, staring down at his hands and waiting for Cade to prescribe him one of his infamously terrible-tasting medications.

Cade made an annoyed noise. “ No , Paladin. Christ, you can be thick sometimes. Your alleged ‘ symptoms ’ are just manifestations of…listen to me, Danse. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re mentally and physically sound. All scans are coming back negative. Granted, I would have preferred for you to keep your mouth to yourself instead of swapping the bodily fluids of an unknown, but you mentioned that this woman was in a stasis, in a Vault , no less. As far as potential partners go, obviously there are worse paths to take. This wasn’t your first time kissing someone, correct Paladin? You’ve done that before?” There was no judgment in Cade’s tone, merely mild teasing.

Danse did his best not to be offended. He just couldn't comprehend why Cade was treating him like this was a joke. The nights he spent at the police station were sleepless. More often than not he got back into his power armor and just patrolled the perimeter of the property, tried to keep the fire barrels well-supplied in case of another feral horde descending upon the location.

He also checked across the river frequently for lights at Graygarden, not just the dim thrusters of those robots but actual lights , some proof that she might have returned. Rhys had caught him squinting into the dark more than once and Danse was a terrible liar, always had been. He knew the knight and scribe must be conspiring because when Haylen would return from her chats with the various supervisory bots, she would make a point to loudly relate any tidbits she might have gleaned from the odd machines across the way. Ones that related to Backhand, anyway.

Civilian Vega.

Danse just couldn't fathom why everyone was so entertained by his strange behavior. Behavior that he couldn't explain. Why was no one concerned about this? This was highly irregular! “I know my body, Cade. There's something wrong with me!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, quickly getting himself under control again. “Look, I told you everything I’ve noticed out of the ordinary. Are you certain there’s no disease I could have picked up?”

“Paladin Danse, you are fit for duty. Dismissed.” Knight-Captain Cade said curtly. At that, Danse knew better than to try and argue, simply shutting his mouth and saluting. “Did the civilian accept your proposal to join the Brotherhood?” Cade asked out of the blue while Danse was putting his uniform back on.

Surprised, Danse shook his head. “I woke up to a note that said she would think about it, sir.” A look of understanding crossed Cade’s face and Danse wished that the older man would just tell him what the hell was going on instead of being cryptic. It would serve him right if he got some kind of deadly disease after surrendering to his urges and fraternizing with a civilian. But Cade said he was alright, and the knight-captain wasn’t known to lie to his charges. Danse just wished he could understand why he felt so miserable.

...

His answer came in the form of an out-of-breath squire over a month later.

Danse hadn’t even noticed the boy hanging off the arm of his power armor, so total was his distraction, until he heard a frantic yelp when he tried to go through the doorway to the outer deck. The squire dropped to the floor, sketching a salute at the paladin. “Paladin Danse, sir, Proctor Ingram requests your presence on the ground!” The squire relayed, looking very pleased with himself.

Danse nodded, unable to hide his grin when the squire quickly climbed back up on his arm. “I take it you’re to accompany me, Squire?”

“The Proctor said that I’m to defend you at all costs, sir!” The boy answered, saluting again.

“Proceed, Squire.” Danse sidestepped through the door to the outside of the massive zeppelin, feeling the stiff breeze whip over the loading scaffold. He was still leery about squires being on their warship, all of them were very young. But Elder Maxson insisted that they 'learn under fire'. “Vertibird or jump?” He asked cordially, entertained by how large the squire’s eyes went.

“Oh I dunno’, sir. P-Probably the vertibird.” The small boy answered, puffing out his chest a little from the power of being offered a choice. Danse headed for one of the docked vertibirds, nodding to the engineer piloting it.

There was nothing quite like flying. Danse had grown to love the sensation over his many years of service. The powerful roar of the dual propellers, the swooping feeling in his stomach when the aircraft disengaged from the Prydwen…and nothing could match raining fire and death upon their enemies via minigun.

The flight was over much sooner than the paladin would have liked and he disembarked from the craft, the squire proudly attached to his shoulder as he made his way across the airfield. Due to her modified power armor frame Ingram towered over the scribes and aspirants, which made her very easy to locate in a crowd. “Proctor Ingram!” Danse called, his brow furrowing when he heard an odd noise. It seemed to be coming from the cluster of soldiers behind Ingram. She just looked worried, beckoning him to hurry up.

“Danse, we have something here that I believe belongs to you.” She said once he was within earshot.

“Something of mine, Proctor?” Danse queried, confused.

“It’s a dog!” The squire said helpfully.

“Yes, but more than that, it’s a dog that’s guarding the paladin’s laser rifle like it’s the most important thing in the world.” Ingram corrected the squire, scooping up the small child and placing him on her own shoulder.

Danse’s mouth went dry. “My…my laser rifle, ma’am?”

“ Yes , Paladin. What, you gone deaf all of a sudden?” Ingram asked testily. “You know, the one that you named via screwdriver chisel. Pretty sure I’d recognize that weapon anywhere.”

Danse felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach. The odd noise was howling . The crowd of aspirants and scribes parted before him to reveal a dog that was very different from the usual wasteland mutts. His brown and black coat was glossy, pointed ears flat against his skull as he bayed and carried on. He looked like the spitting image of a pre-war German Shepherd. At his feet was Danse’s laser rifle. The stock of the rifle was coated liberally with slobber, but there was no mistaking the messy scrawl of ‘ Righteous Authority ‘ on the side of the barrel.

The dog caught wind of Danse and those pointed ears pricked up, the animal whining and barking at the paladin who just stood there, frozen. He had given that rifle to the civilian. He had given that rifle to Backhand . The dog barked at him again, spinning in a tight circle and then facing off towards the coast.

“Did something happen, boy?” Danse found his voice, crouching to get on the dog’s level. He didn’t really care that he probably looked like a complete lunatic , talking to a dog. The mutt howled mournfully, putting up an absolute racket . “Where is Scribe Haylen?” Danse asked, picking up the rifle gingerly.

“She and Knight Rhys are out on a research patrol for Proctor Quinlan. Paladin, what’s going on?” Ingram asked curiously.

“I’m not sure. Only one of us knows and he’s not exactly talking.” Danse replied wryly, nodding towards the dog who had taken off across the airfield the second Danse picked up the gun. “Keep your comms cued in case I need an evac. I’m going to see where this leads, Proctor.”

The dog kept looking back to make sure the armored man was following him, halting and barking furiously if Danse fell too far behind. “I’m coming, dammit.” Danse grumbled, worried at the animal’s urgency. “We don’t all have four legs and light bodies, mutt.”

He was led along the coast, the dog giving the actual beach a wide berth. The sand was crawling with mirelurks. It ensured there was no shortage of field rations, but at the cost of one’s nose. Danse followed the mutt’s lead, wishing that he’d had the presence of mind to pick up his helmet before leaving the Prydwen. There was nothing quite like being armored except for your most vulnerable spot.

Past the high, crumbling walls of what Danse dimly recalled Maxson pointing out as Fort Independence, the dog bolted through the main gate of the fortress. The paladin had to take a moment to regroup, startled and confused at the sight of a massive mirelurk queen corpse. Acid still bubbled thickly on the ground around it amongst the piles of dead hatchlings and broken eggs; the air stank of brackish water and mirelurk droppings.

Fort Independence had been turned into a hive for these filthy creatures. No wonder the Minutemen had abandoned the location as a lost cause. Having a beast that size able to rise from the ocean to savage their fortress any time it desired?

There were burn marks on the creature’s thick shell, laser rifle marks. Oh no . Danse’s eyes snapped up to the doorway the mutt had vanished through. “Dog?” He called cautiously, trying his hardest to keep his emotions under control. For some reason he didn’t care to examine he felt panicked, his heart pounding in his chest as he ducked to enter the archway. He followed the dog’s sad whines to a shadowy corner across the corridor, where he found the crumpled body.

Danse stood there silently for a moment, then dropped to one knee and propped himself up with the rifle. “Dammit.” He swore softly, reaching a gauntlet out to raise her chin off her chest. The dog whimpered, licking her face. Danse shooed him away gently.

“G’boy, Dogmeat.” Backhand suddenly choked, her hand twitching at her side. Danse barely kept from recoiling. He’d thought she was dead! “S’ a good boy. Shh, m’fine.” The pool of half-coagulated blood she was resting in seemed to contradict that statement, never mind the chest and shoulder of her combat armor being partially dissolved to reveal the acid-ravaged skin beneath. Danse noticed her glasses cracked and bent beside her on the ground. She’d fallen hard, then. “It’ll be over soon, pup. You go back to Preston, okay? He’ll take care of you.” She winced in pain. “Ah, shit. Didn’t even make it to the…to the…” She paused, her breathing jerky. “The airship. Told those guys at Cambridge that I was…”

“Backhand.” Danse addressed her firmly, tipping her chin up. Her head lolled to the side and he watched as she tried to open her eyes, struggled to focus on him.

She squinted. “Well well, f’it isn’t the paladin!” She actually mustered up a smile, despite her grievous injuries. “Never got the chance to join you guys…today was the day I’d hoped…” Her voice hitched. “Didn't expect that big cunt t' come out the fuckin' sea. Garvey said the place was destroyed by a...monster. I...I think m' dyin', Paladin. Sir.” She admitted, her shaky words making Danse feel sick to his stomach for the second time that day.

He glanced around wildly for something, anything that could help, and his eyes finally landed on an ancient first aid box attached to the wall. When he moved to stand though, she started crying. Gasping sobs that shook her body and made Danse's hands strangely clumsy and indelicate; he ended up ripping the whole box off the wall instead of just popping the lid. He swore under his breath while he fumbled the box open, nearly crushing the precious Stimpack inside it. “Listen to me, soldier.” He tried his hardest to keep his voice steady, kneeling and taking her chin in his hand again. Her eyes were full of tears, wide-open and staring blankly forward. “ Soldier , stay with me.” He jostled her head and she jerked, groaning in pain. “Just listen to my voice, you're going to be alright but you need to stay awake.”

Danse pulled up the remains of the plaid shirt she had on beneath her armor, cringing inwardly at the state of her skin. It looked like she'd been bathed in the acid, patches and holes eaten away in her stomach and shoulder to expose raw tissue. The fact that she had regained consciousness was a miracle in and of itself. “Danse, m' gonna' die, need you t' find my baby,” she slurred while he uncapped the Stim and carefully injected the majority of it into the intact area of her stomach. He kept some in reserve. If her heart stopped he would need to buy the time to get out of his power armor to do compressions.

“Still with me?” He asked, taking her hand. “You're not dying. The Brotherhood needs you, civilian. I doubt you want your second military career to start with a sternal rub.”

“Give it y’best shot, kid,” Backhand coughed, squeezing back on his gauntlet. “Y’dun't scare me.” She squirmed after a minute or two, struggling to sit up a little. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”

“Be still , let the meds do their work.” Danse ordered. “Once you’re stabilized I’m bringing you straight to the Prydwen. No more sidetracks, understand soldier?”

“Not gonna’ look too good if I show up draped across your arms like you’re The Paladin From The Black Lagoon .” Backhand pointed out. The dog curled up beside her, not seeming to care about the blood and mirelurk muck on the ground. “How did you find me, anyway?”

Backhand’s eyes were focusing better, Danse noted. She was coming out of it. “That dog of yours has a hell of a nose. Mutt carried the rifle I gave you all the way to the airport and put up a fuss until Proctor Ingram fetched me.”

Backhand’s fingers dug into the ruff of fur around the dog’s neck. “What a lifesaver you are, Dogmeat!” she praised, scratching the animal behind his ears. “I’ve got a bit of brahmin meat all wrapped up in my pack just for you.” She squinted up at the paladin. “Sir, can I trust you?”

“I mean, if you have to ask me civilian, you probably don’t.” Danse grunted.

“Dogmeat didn’t rip you apart, which means you’re good people. But can I trust you?” She leaned forward a little, fingers scrabbling at one of the handles on his breastplate. “I found a way in,” she whispered.

Danse felt lost. “You found a way in...?” He repeated after a beat.

“Into the Institute.” Her tone was still hushed, like someone could be listening in.

Danse raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And just how did you manage that?” He didn’t mean to be quite so suspicious, but news of the Institute was slim and none around these parts. It would be just like those shadowy bastards to feed the Brotherhood bad intelligence.

“You don’t believe me. I’ve got...I need… sir , I need to deal with people who know what the hell they’re doing. I need resources.” Backhand sounded desperate. “You said the Brotherhood of Steel safeguards technology to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Well kid, this could be some of the baddest tech you tin cans could get your gauntlets on. Interested?”

“Maybe.” Danse allowed, quickly continuing with, “First things first civilian, we need to get you some legitimate medical attention. Stimpack plugged the holes but you’re far from out of the woods. If you don’t consent to being brought aboard the Prydwen, at least let me bring you to the airport where one of our scribes can look you over.” Danse hoped he didn’t appear as panicked as he felt. She was deathly pale, freckles standing out prominently across the bridge of her nose and here she was babbling about the damn Institute instead of focusing on staving off her imminent shutdown due to blood loss and shock. Normally, any information about the Institute would take absolute priority, regardless of how patchy or suspect, but at this point in time Danse was entirely disinterested in the matter.

She clung tighter to the handle on his power armor and Danse gathered her up carefully, doing his best to adjust his grip so he didn’t chafe or pinch her exposed skin with his plating. The laser rifle was slung over his shoulder. It would be difficult to carry her and fend off any attackers, but if it came down to a no-win situation he could call for a vertibird. “Follow, Dogmeat.” Backhand said weakly, clicking her tongue. The dog whined, bolting forward to stick to Danse’s leg like glue. “Good boy, it’s okay.” She assured him.

“That’s a very… unusual name, civilian.”

“Hey, I didn’t pick it,” she retorted. “He came with the name, s’ the only thing he answers to. I would have gotten real stereotypical and named him Rex or some German shit.”

“I would have thought Champion. He is a very handsome animal.” Danse suggested. The small talk was a tactical choice. He could easily monitor her speech for slurring or further signs of cognitive failure, indications that she was going into a shock state.

She puffed out a breath. “I’d have taken you for the type to call a dog Oscar Mike. Did you seriously name your rifle, by the way?”

Danse shrugged as best as he could. “It allowed me to be a much more effective soldier. Righteous Authority just seemed…appropriate.”

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard for naming a weapon.”

“Excuse me, civilian?”

“You heard me.” She grimaced. “Not everything needs to be so noble . You oughta’ name it Mirelurk Masher. Feral Fryer. No! Feral Fricassee . Sounds fancier.” She squinted when she grinned. “Oo, what about Chattanooga Choo-Choo? Pennsylvania Six Five Thousand?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The paladin asked, legitimately confused at this point.

“Glenn Miller, you uncultured twit. Try to keep up.” She chided.

Danse mouthed Chattanooga , the word strange to his tongue. Dogmeat barked, as if to agree with his mistress. “Oh no you don’t, mutt.” The paladin grumbled. “I’m not about to be mocked by something that slobbers more than its body weight.”

“Gosh, you sound a little defensive sir.”

“Me? Defensive? I…” Danse paused, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a mirelurk that seemed to have noticed them. “Hold tight if you can.”

“Why am I oh fuck-! ” Backhand gripped the handles on his chest as Danse pulled the rifle forwards with one hand. “Little warning next time, Danse!” The paladin began to stammer out an apology, trying to keep an eye on the quickly-approaching crustacean, but Backhand interrupted him by unbuckling her old army helmet and plopping it onto his head. “Go forth!” She proclaimed over Dogmeat's loud growling.

Danse snorted. “Not exactly up to spec, but it’ll do.” He hoisted her up a bit higher to get her out of claw range, tucking her frame into the crook of his elbow and brandishing Righteous Authority .

“Worst knight in shining armor ever .”

...

The news that Paladin Danse had returned with the dog (and a civilian ) spread through the base like wildfire. He was relatively certain this might lead to some disciplinary action, possibly for an abuse of resources.

He still found one of the medical scribes. Backhand started protesting that she needed to ‘ report in ’ and he silenced her by passing off her helmet. “I’ll talk to the Elder. You let the scribe look you over. Keep your mutt close so he doesn’t distract the squires.”

Paladin Danse feared no man. His elder could be difficult, there was no other way to say it, but he had been a competent soldier when he served with Danse. The paladin was fairly confident that he could convince the other man of Backhand’s usefulness, with or without the wild tale of a way into the Institute.

It was easier said than done though, as he stared at Arthur Maxson’s back. “Elder,” he intoned respectfully, saluting with his fist on his chest.

“Paladin Danse. I’ve heard a troubling rumor.” There was always an undercurrent of danger when Maxson spoke. He was a young elder, with a fuse to match someone of his age and pride. Maxson appeared to already be in a bit of a mood. Danse knew he would have to tread carefully here.

“What is the rumor, Elder?”

“A civilian. A woman, carried boldly into our compound in your arms, with a dog at your leg. We simply bring strays back to our camp now, Paladin?” Maxson snapped.

“Permission to explain myself, Elder.” Danse understood that this wasn’t his friend he was talking to. It pained him to resort to such formality but he knew it would only infuriate Maxson further if he broke protocol.

Elder Maxson grunted, his shoulders rigid. He still hadn’t turned to face Danse, continuing to stare out the window. “Permission granted.” He finally muttered.

“That civilian is the one who came to the aid of my team at the police station. The woman from the Vault. She is… familiar with power armor and military protocols.” Danse was a rotten liar, and he wasn’t much better at telling half-truths. “She had expressed interest in joining, but her circumstances prevented it at that point in time.”

“What was she doing at Fort Independence?” Maxson asked.

“A reconnaissance mission for the Minutemen while en route to join us, it uh…there was a mirelurk queen.”

Maxson whirled and Danse was startled to see how nervous he looked. “A mirelurk queen? ”

“Yes…Elder.” Danse replied slowly.

“The acid from one of those creatures could knock us out of the sky, Paladin. Cripple our operations. It was so close to here and we didn’t even know.” Maxson pounded his fist into his palm. “I’d thought our teams of knights were doing thorough sweeps, but I guess I was wrong.”

“You’ll have to speak with her, but from what I could tell it emerged from the ocean. It may be a deep-sea animal that wanders inland when it needs to lay eggs.” Danse suggested. “With all due respect, I doubt our knights could easily overlook something of that size, Elder. I would advise sending out a research team to document the creature before it rots away.”

“An excellent idea, Paladin Danse.” Maxson’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “What was it that you needed to ask me?”

“The civilian would like to join our ranks, Elder.” Danse inhaled, bracing himself. ��I am formally recommending knight status.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he clasped his hands behind his back. Danse could feel the proverbial ice he was treading on grow thinner beneath him, so he hurried to say, “Elder Maxson, she’s already trained. It would just be a question of familiarizing her with the advances made in power armor technology. When we engaged in combat together, she followed orders and displayed considerable skill.” Which you would know if you read my field reports .

“That’s all well and good, Paladin Danse, but you of all people should know that we don’t let just anyone suit up around here.” Maxson snapped. “You vouching for her will certainly be taken into account if she reports for duty, and should I deem her worthy of joining our ranks, you will be relieved of your duties with Gladius to take up your new mantle as her sponsor. Any mistakes she makes will have swift and dire consequences. For both of you.” Maxson was not a subtle man. The threat in his words was blatant but Danse refused to be cowed, simply nodding and then saluting again. “I’ll be counting on you, Paladin. Don’t disappoint me.” Arthur finally let a little warmth seep into his tone. “It’s good to see you again, Danse.”

“It’s…It’s good to see you as well, Arthur.” Danse floundered a little, always caught off-guard when Maxson swapped back and forth. He wanted to shout I’ve been here for over a goddamn month, Arthur! Don’t act like you didn’t know I was around! but instead he asked, “How have you been?”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s a heavy burden. As ever.” He paused. “It seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Danse.”

“Proctor Ingram and Proctor Quinlan have been keeping me busy.” That wasn’t a lie, between resource and research patrols the paladin had been stretched thin. Danse shifted warily when Maxson sighed.

“I had assumed that was the case.” Arthur murmured. “I wasn’t sure if our conversation from before you departed was still grating on you.”

Conversation? That’s a lofty term. “With all due respect, Arthur, you told me that my squadron had been assigned to an almost certain-death reconnaissance mission and then proceeded to dismiss me from your private quarters without my uniform.” Danse was a bit stunned that Maxson had even brought it up, honestly. “It’s not a… conversation I enjoy recalling.” What the hell is wrong with you, Arthur?

“Mind your tone , Paladin.” There was the Elder again, all sharp words and protocol.

“I meant no offense Arthur, I just…” Danse’s words trailed off at the irritated look on Maxson’s face. “I-I apologize for my overstep, Elder Maxson.”

“See that you remember your place. I won’t be so lenient next time.” Maxson saluted curtly. “Ad Victoriam, Paladin. Send me the civilian.”

“Yes, Elder.”

Danse wasn’t a man prone to fuming or brooding , he found these useless time leeches that clouded one’s judgement. It was much more prudent to be the bigger individual in most circumstances. Unfortunately in this instance, that was easier said than done. He was so angry he could hardly see straight and he knew that he certainly wasn’t going to be able to think straight until he cooled off.

He made his way out to the scaffolding. Entirely forgoing the vertibird this time, the paladin simply walked off the edge of the deck and plummeted to the ground. The Prydwen was a fair distance up but the drop was easily managed in power armor. Mostly, it was irresponsible because he didn't exactly have the jet mod to correct his trajectory lest there be some errant scribe wandering around in the drop zone beneath him. Danse hit the dirt with a teeth-rattling impact, the force creating a shallow crater that he emerged from unscathed. Some of the fury had eased out of his body just from the hard landing and he took a steadying breath.

A squire running by stopped to stare up at him with their mouth open and Danse seized the opportunity to ask, “Has the civilian been moved?”

…

Backhand straightened up when the paladin entered the old airport waiting area, noticing his tightly-clenched fists immediately. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Danse was pissed . “Whoa, I take it this elder guy was not in a gaming mood?”

“What makes you say that?” The armored man asked curtly. The confusing part was that he didn’t seem to be replying sarcastically.

“Because you’re all tense? You’ve got total gorilla posture right now, look like you want to pulverize a wall.”

“You’re mistaken, civilian. I’m fine.”

Backhand grunted but decided that it would be in her best interest to change the subject. “What do you guys do with holotags?”

“I…Excuse me?” Danse cocked his head to the side. “You picked up a set of holotags? Where? When?”

“I told you, I did a lot of salvaging. More than one set. Soldiers in gear with that crest.” She pointed at the mark on the chest of his power armor. “Some tapes too, but I…I stopped listening to most of the tapes I find a while ago.” The sounds of Shaun gurgling and making happy noises in the background while Codsworth rambled about how exciting it was to be an official part of her family sprang to the forefront of her mind every time she reached for a new tape. “They’re in my pack. I wrote down where I found each one, too. I know how this shit works, sir. Next of kin will want everything they can get.”

Danse looked like he’d been punched in the stomach when Backhand had collected every little envelope in her gear and passed them to him. He cleared his throat several times before managing to say, “I…thank you. These…they were good soldiers.”

“I’m sorry, Paladin.” Backhand said quietly.

“There was nothing anyone could have done,” he muttered, sounding like he believed exactly the opposite. “These are from the recon team before us, Squad Artemis. They were the second team that’s been issued out here, and they went dark so fast. My team…” Danse paused. “Well, it’s a good thing you came along.”

Backhand knocked her metal-plated knuckles on his chest armor, making him raise his eyes again. “Don’t look so sad, huh?” She said softly. “You and I both know the risks.”

“Of course.” Danse’s voice was quiet, the tension gone out of his shoulders. He seemed exhausted now. “When you’re able to move, the elder would like to speak with you as soon as possible. He was thrilled that you killed the mirelurk queen,” he continued in a monotone.

Backhand squinted and got to her feet, happy that her legs barely shook. Dogmeat barked, prancing around her legs and almost tripping her up. “Oh Jesus, you furball.” She rummaged through her pack again, dragging the carefully-wrapped packet of brahmin meat out. “I know, I promised. You’ve been very patient.” She laughed, scratching Dogmeat behind his ears before ripping a chunk off the steak and tossing it to him. “Don’t suppose you grabbed my glasses when you came to scoop me up, didja’?” She asked the paladin hopefully.

Danse clicked open the side compartment in his left gauntlet, shocking her when he actually pulled her glasses out of the space. “They are badly damaged.” The armored man warned as he handed them over.

“Doesn’t matter, two half-functional eyes are better than none!” Backhand shook some of the crusty gunk off her frames and plopped them back onto her face. “You’re much uglier than I remember.” She teased, startled when the paladin chuckled.

“Oh, very funny civilian. Come up with that all by yourself?”

One vertibird ride later Danse ushered her onboard the massive airship, promising a stern-looking man ( Lancer? Captain Kells? Lancer Kells? ) the tapes Backhand had from Squad Artemis to quell his questions for the time being. The paladin then took his leave after showing her the command deck. It also appeared to double as an observation deck, with a semicircle of thick windows that looked out on Fort Strong, the open ocean and Fort Independence.

Elder Maxson seemed… young . Backhand got the feeling he’d been thrust into the position and now he was trying his hardest to make someone proud. His appearance, despite his obvious youth, was rather imposing. He was tall, almost as tall as the paladin though not as broad, and sported a thick beard with a long scar over his cheek. Sharp blue eyes peered out at her from beneath his heavy brow. He looked, for lack of a better term, stiff .

That was why she found it so strange that the first words out of his mouth to her were an admission of praise. “Civilian Vega, the paladin has informed me that you performed far above and beyond a normal individual’s level of expertise while out on field maneuvers.”

“I performed to the best of my abilities, sir. As did the paladin.”

“Tell me civilian, what’s your opinion on Paladin Danse's performance?” Elder Maxson queried, watching her narrowly.

Backhand was a bit unbalanced, the question striking her as incredibly odd. She was the one trying to join up, not the paladin. “Sir?”

“You heard me, civilian.”

“He...it’s been ages since I’ve given an oral report, sir, I apologize.” Backhand straightened herself out, her arms rigid at her sides. “The paladin seems incredibly skilled. Dedicated to your cause. I haven’t met anyone else from the Brotherhood except the surviving members of Recon Squad Gladius but they are a fine example for your…organization.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course, they’re the exception instead of the rule.”

“Absolutely not. But Paladin Danse and his squadron have been through hell. Before this last maneuver there were seven of them. Good soldiers died on that mission, soldiers we could ill-afford to lose.” Maxson cleared his throat. “You believe that the paladin is competent, I assume?”

“I’ve seen no evidence to indicate the contrary, sir.” Backhand could already tell that her and Maxson were not going to be on great terms, so she silenced the part of her brain that queried what about when he charged into that room full of synths, hollering about the Brotherhood with his guns fucking blazing?

Maxson sighed heavily. “That’s good to hear. Paladin Danse was always an incredible... soldier . I’d hoped his edge hadn’t dulled while in the field.” He squared his shoulders, fixing her with a suspicious look. Those icy blue eyes made her nervous and that pause had been a little too long, but Backhand had dealt with many a young, posturing officer in her day. “The paladin has graciously suggested that you be immediately pushed up to knight, due to your prior experience. I’m curious as to what that prior experience is . Gunners?”

“No sir. The United States army.” Apparently Danse hadn’t told his superior that much about her. Maxson looked irritated, like he suspected her of having a laugh at his expense. “I was cryogenically frozen in a Vault for two hundred years. One of the incentives offered to kids to get them to enlist was being bumped up the waiting list on Vaults if they were honorably discharged.”

“That’s quite the fantastic story you have.” Maxson snapped. “Had I known I’d be letting you aboard the Prydwen to listen to lunatic ramblings, I’d have forbade your entry and had you escorted off our compound. Do you take me for some kind of bumbling idiot?”

“No one knows better than I do how wild and crazy this is. I’ve lived it, after all.” Backhand retorted dryly. “I have pre-war power armor training. I have pre-war military training. I woke up in a goddamn refrigerator to an absolute nightmare and quite frankly, I’m a little exhausted of having to prove myself to every Tom, Dick and Harry that comes along. But you do what you have to. Put me through a combat exercise. Pit me against one of your tin men. I can guarantee not to disappoint in or out of power armor. Sir .”

“The paladin has clearly lost his mind if he believes the story you’ve fed him.” Maxson scoffed, turning his back on her. “I can't say I'm surprised though, he's always been too trusting.”

“I took down a mirelurk queen, sir. I need no paladin to validate my story with a carcass that big.” Backhand could feel her satisfied grin settle into a furious smirk. “There’s a Vault out by Concord.” Triumph surged through her as Maxson slowly rotated enough so he could look at her over his shoulder. “I’d invite you to check it out, but I’m sure the Commonwealth would eat someone like you alive. Send one of your squishy scribes to the location if you really feel like this is a worthwhile usage of resources.”

“I’m a bit perplexed by what you mean when you say ‘ someone like you .” Maxson growled, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“A wise man once told me that a leader who permits his pride to impede his decisions is doomed to failure, sir.”

“ Civilian- ”

“Sir, I have intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth. I lived here. This was my home before everything went to hell. If there’s a chance that I can be useful, even after everything has been destroyed, if there’s a chance I can use what I’ve learned over my time serving…I would ask that you give me that chance.” She wasn’t begging, but she was sure it would sound like she was to this blustering child.

“ Christ , you’re serious, aren’t you? By your account I should already have you fitted for power armor.” He mocked her, obviously off-kilter.

“I don’t know why the paladin suggested knight status, aside from faith in my capabilities. He offered me initiate ranking when he first asked me to join.” She could hazard a guess that initiate was maybe a step or twelve beneath knight.

“Initiate is the only rank he’s allowed to grant. It evens out to your army’s recruit or private.” Maxson explained grudgingly. “Only an elder can grant higher ranks.”

“I guess all roads lead to Rome around here, huh.” Backhand muttered. No wonder this guy acts like a brat, every promotion on this bucket passes through his hands .

“ However , when suggestions are made by my paladins, lancers, proctors, et cetera, I listen. Because I value the input of individuals who have years of experience and dedication.” Maxson faced her fully again, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the floor. “You understand that if I grant you the ranking of knight like Paladin Danse has suggested, you would have a probationary period where the paladin will accompany you on fieldwork.”

“That’s understandable, so yes I understand.” Backhand replied, barely resisting the urge to raise her eyebrow. This kid really seemed to think he was impressive. “If I mess up, I assume he’ll put a bullet through my skull to save you the trouble, sir?”

“Your flippant attitude is noted, civilian.”

“Will there be any sort of disciplinary action for the paladin if I screw up, since he’s sponsoring me?” Backhand had noticed an uncanny pattern of trouble following her like a little black rain cloud, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin Danse’s career if something went awry.

“No.” Elder Maxson said after another suspiciously long pause. “It’s hardly the paladin’s fault that he’s determined to fatten our ranks.”

“Have you tried recruiting the locals? I’m sure a lot of the Minutemen would-”

“The Minutemen .” Maxson interrupted her with a snort of disbelief. “Did they sincerely send you out alone to clean out that mirelurk nest?”

“To be fair, I was only supposed to be scouting the area. A one-person job.” Backhand grimaced. “There was a large gap in the wall facing the open water and I had a few landmines, so I-”

“ Mines? ”

“Yes sir, mines.”

“Christ.”

Part Three

#paladin danse #paladin danse smut #Fallout #Fallout Four #thirst party saturday #video games #behold all my weaknesses in one post #paladin danse/f!sole #paladin danse/sole survivor #Combat Veteran!Sole #because screw you bethesda I said so #this is so long and I'm not sorry #enjoy!#also Dogmeat #Elder Arthur Maxson #You little punk

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coeurdastronaute · 7 years

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Giant: Ch. 13

Sunshine on my back Is the only kind I lack Sunshine in my brain Is the lonely kind of pain

Come spring, the city was unrecognizable. The entirety of it was filled with people who ditched their parkas and winter garb in favor of soaking up the sun and the breeze and all manner of beautiful weather that made its way to the city. Gone was the slush and the salt, gone was the humdrum days of grey skies and chills that made bones ache and skin crack. Replacing it was that breath of life that is felt through every subway tunnel and sidewalk, that everyone has a bit of a different rhythm to their hearts again. It was the perfect kind of day.

And then Kara got the call.

Her beautiful lunch with her sister interrupted by a rogue alien, infected again. A running theme that was beginning to really mess with her schedule and enjoyment of the season.

“I’m going to be late,” Kara complained, hurtling through the air as fast as she could. She picked up the alien and hurled him away from the city as best she could.

Eyes red, mouth snarling, she thought she knew him. He looked like someone from the bar, someone who she once bumped into on her way to the bathroom or something. Now he was just like the last one, and very, very angry at her for trying to stop him from destroying buildings and hurting people.

“Are you away from the city yet?” Alex crackled in her ear. “You got tossed pretty close to downtown.”

“Working on it,” she grunted, wrapped up in a tussle with strong arms grabbing her before she broke out of it.

“Watch out for the--”

The words were cut off as Kara was tugged and thrown into a building. She flew through a few walls before standing and brushing herself off. Supergirl nodded an apology sheepishly before disappearing in a blink.

“Alright, we’re taking this to the sky,” she sighed, delivering an uppercut as he stood on a car and began tossing a mailbox.

The fourth or fifth rogue alien attack in about as many weeks, Kara was getting enough practice, and she was getting enough bad press for destroying things, despite her attempts not to, and her explicit attempts to take the fights elsewhere, she was getting enough sassy Lena’s to last her a lifetime as they always seemed to fall on date night. There wasn’t credit for trying when it racked up a bill like that for the city though or miss the third reservation in a row.

Each incident was the same, each one involved a rabid, unintelligible, enhanced creature, each one involved a public event and space, each one involved Kara blasted across the street, and with nothing to show for it except a growing sense of resentment for her kind.

Well up above the buildings, pushing farther away from any passersby and busier sections, she circled and fought the most recent red-eyed, feral alien, doing her best to end it quickly, and hopefully with better results than the most recent ones where they finished themselves in an explosion. If she wanted answers, she needed to disarm and capture, which proved much more difficult than earlier imagined.

The sound of explosion distracted her, earning a swift elbow to the back that sent her flying across the sky in a lazy arc toward the ground. It was a far away explosion, it was not one that came from the thing attacking her, which brought about a whole new host of problems.

“What was that?” she coughed after hitting the dirt on the edge of town. Nothing but fields surrounded her while the alien approached.

“We have back up on the way to you, just make sure he--”

The second explosion was so close, Kara was knocked back down to the ground as soon as she stood, ready to finish it. It took a moment of laying on the ground for her to regain her senses and catch her breath. The divot she created molded to her frame, and for a second, she was ready to stay there and keep it as a home.

“I lost another one,” she grunted, dusting off the dirt as she stood and took off toward the other noise. “What was the other explosion? Another alien?”

“I’m not sure. We’re not picking up on any similar signatures to the ones we’ve encountered,” Alex explained. “Get down there quick. I’m on my way to the scene.”

With a burst, Kara pushed herself toward the pillar of smoke, already exhausted and sick of the day. It was one of the worst Tuesdays she could remember, in her opinion, and it wasn’t even three. It was the explosion, or the fight or the missing lunch. Mostly the missing lunch, she decided as she sped through the air. Or potentially missing dinner plans. Naked dinner plans, if Alex wanted another brainstorming session, which Lena would not be okay with. If she was late again, Lena would start without her. That was the threat, and it was a darn good one, in her own opinion.

Before she even got there, Kara could sense it was different than anything she’d ever encountered before. There were screams and crying, there was a distinct smell that was not chemical, or even alien, but rather quite plain. Smoke poured up into the sky, blocking buildings as it filled the day and made it feel like a storm.

Lena’s voice distracted her from her grumpy mood, instantly changing it to worry as she dodged through the skyscrapers toward the sirens and noise. Everything else drowned out when she heard that. Everything else was a secondary stimulus.

“You’re going to be okay,” Lena promised, quickly tying together a broken piece of bench with a sweatshirt to keep someone’s leg from moving, the break already appearing through the skin.

Kara caught a glimpse of her and lost her a second later in the tussle.

The crowd all scattered, the wounded groaned, smoke kept rising out of the community center. Kara hovered over it all and did her best to look for Lena in it. She scanned through the bombed out building, looking for bodies inside while the fire raged. There were too many faces, too many voices.

“Everyone get back!” Lena yelled from somewhere, directing others. “Let them through! We need a medic here!”

Like a finely tuned pitch fork, her voice was all Kara let herself make out in the chaos despite what needed to be done.

The fire burst up through the roof. Kara gave up her search and hovered, blowing out the fire, diving into the hull of the explosion, putting it out quickly and with little more incident. The sirens arrived and the hectic grew more chaotic, but it didn’t stop Kara from straining her ear to find Lena. She ducked into an alley and changed before running out in her normal clothes.

In under fifteen minutes, she’d gone from fighting an alien, to coming to help an explosion, to absolutely losing her wits because of a girl she thought was supposed to be at work. It was the worst Tuesday in history, and it wasn’t even dinnertime.

“What’s going on, Supergirl?” her sister barked in her ear.

“I don’t know, but Lena is here somewhere. The fire is out, but--”

“We’re on the scene. There’s surveillance--”

“Hey, don’t worry, sweetheart,” Lena cooed. Kara tilted her head and fluttered, sprinting through the street, pushing through cops and medics and dazed civilians. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“Lena!” Kara yelled, trying to hop up and find her girlfriend.

There were dead, there. There were seriously injured, and she couldn’t think of a thing except finding Lena. She wasn’t dead because she was speaking. That was something.

Soot covered her face, the sleeve of her shirt was ripped, her stockings torn to hell. Something wrapped around her arm. Blood slid down her temple and cheek, but despite it all, there stood Lena Luthor with a child on her hip, directing emergency personnel.

“Lena,” Kara breathed, running toward her.

“Kara!” she gasped as she handed over the child to her mother. “What are you--?”

“What happened? Are you hurt? What’s--”

Hands flew everywhere, checking her all over as Lena wrapped her arms around her girlfriend, diminishing her ability to do research. She inhaled deeply and refused to move, unable to do much else other than cling and try to catch her breath. All she needed was this, just Kara, and she didn’t even realize it until she got it.

“Are you okay?” Kara worried, holding Lena’s face in her hands. She fret over the cut on her head, on the dirt on her face. She never stopped moving with so much to see and fix and worry. “I was going crazy. I couldn’t find you…”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she mumbled.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Kara reassured herself as much as Lena. “What happened?”

“I was at a lunch meeting, across the street,” Lena shook her head and tried to look back at the restaurant, somewhere behind the fire trucks and SWAT vans and herd of people. “There was an explosion. I tried to help. I knew you’d come, but there was so much screaming.”

Lena hugged Kara again, wrapped her arms around her tighter, grateful that the whirlwind seemed to make sense finally, that she had an anchor. She felt Kara kiss her cheek, felt her cling to her just as tight. There, while the world churned on all sides, they rooted themselves and remained still. Neither could pull away because the world was literally erupting, and they could stave it off with a moment of perfect. Just a second, even.

“Ouch!” the CEO hissed a few minutes later, when the real world imposed itself. “No, I’m fine. Just a… scratch.”

“A scratch?” Kara furrowed and tugged the remaining sleeve away revealing a large gash on the offending bicep. “How did you--? I thought you were at a restaurant.”

“I… went inside. I caught it on an exposed board or scaffold or something. There were people that needed help getting out, and I was there, so I--”

“You ran inside!” she yelled, eyes wide as she sputtered with her wrath. “You ran inside a… a…. A… a burning building that just blew up? You ran toward a bomb?”

“You do it all the time,” she shrugged, looking at her arm. “I doubted they were going to blow it up twice anyway.”

Nonchalant and completely ignoring the pain in her body, Lena hoped that if she played it off, she could forget the way there were fixed eyes on the first person she came to, and how amidst the fire and burning, she’d been absolutely terrified. If she pretended, she didn’t have to worry about hoping she’d done things right when it came to holding pressure on an exposed wound. She didn’t have to think about the sticky blood drying on her hands.

“I’m not even going to-- you--- how is it-- Lena!”

“I’m okay. Just a cut.”

“We’re going to the hospital,” Kara shook her head, swallowing her anger, making a note to have a friendly conversation with her girlfriend about the difference between her steel-like skin and Lena’s very human, very weak set. As soon as Lena wasn’t bleeding, Kara was going to- going to- well she was going to give her a piece of her mind.

“I’m fine. Other people need it more. I’ll wait.”

“I’m not aski--”

Another explosion echoed from across the city. Kara quickly tucked Lena under herself out of reflex while she tried to locate the source. The screams continued despite the fact that it was a few blocks away.

“What’s going on, Kara?” Lena whispered, mouth agape as they both looked toward the pillar of smoke that began to make itself known.

“I don’t know. But it’s bad.”

“Do you think it’s…” the question paused, halfway through, caught in her teeth. Lena didn’t want to think about who was responsible, but deep down, the growing sense of dread in her gut burned dully.

Torn between the two, Kara met Lena’s eyes and looked at the blood on her arm. A very old worry crept over her, a very old fear flashed in her head as she remembered what it must look like to her girlfriend.

“Go on,” she smiled and kissed the hero. “Be safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go,” she nudged her slightly.

“Please go home. Don’t go anywhere else. I mean it. Home. Call your doctor for a house call. Home, Lena. I can’t-- I can’t go-- I can’t think if you’re… out here.”

“I’ll be fine. Go on. Don’t worry.”

“Go home. And not into another burning building,” Kara yelled and pointed at the arm as she sprinted toward an alley again. “I love you!”

With a small smile, Lena stood there in the swirling pool of people as Kara disappeared. An instant later, Supergirl flashed through the sky, off to save the world once again. Lena pressed the wound on her arm a little tighter as it bled and saw that date night might be a little postponed.

The front page picture, the one that flashed on every station was one that made Lena a little uncomfortable. She was still not unaccustomed to having pictures of herself and Kara in the paper. It was always just a thing that happened from time to time, and it was always so frivolous. Coming out of dinner, Lena yelling at a soccer match while Kara laughed at her, getting coffee, watching a show with Lena’s friends, having a beer with Kara’s. They were column inches. People were tempted to pick apart their relationship. They worked hard not to be examples, but just private, as private as they could.

This one felt more intrusive than the rest. Blood caked on her cheek, clothes torn, Lena looked like a mess. Kara held her face and let her grab at her clothes, and at once, Lena looked very human and very lost and very strong. Kara looked very relieved, as if she hadn’t breathed since she heard the noise. And there it was, captured forever, used for hope, for humanizing effects, for an example to the city, and it made Lena twist anxiously. It was very much a moment she wanted to never have to remember. It was very much a day she hoped to forget.

The picture that ran after it was the same type. Lena carrying a child with flames coming out of the building she just left. Or it was the one where Lena helped place someone’s leg. Similar taglines ran, ones about her fixing her father’s mistake, atoning for sins. They ran his pictures soon after Lena’s, showing the grainy image of him with the leader of the group taking responsibility for the attacks. Soon the news knew the truth that Lena long since knew, deep in her heart of hearts. Lionel Luthor executed a systematic attack on the Alien Safe Zones in the city. After school care for Alien children, an orphanage, a clinic, a community center. Lena knew he used the enhanced alien attack to lure away Supergirl.

Deep into her own glass of vodka, Lena worked her way through it all, following breadcrumbs while absently watching the news with nothing but a deep, deep furrow and frown.

Late, late, late into the night, Lena sat on the couch and watched it all happen over and over and over again. Different angles from cell phones, surveillance footage, news feeds from soon after. It all blurred together and boiled down to numbers. Over three hundred wounded. 172 confirmed dead. They flashed across the screen as well, haunting her more than the pictures of herself or the things they were saying about her name, that they accused her father of doing, that she knew he probably did.

The group responsible for the attack showed themselves on a recorded video sent to the station. The pundits hypothesized about the targeting of rumored Alien-Safe Zones while Supergirl was seen doing her best to race around town and help and save everyone. Lena knew the truth with no facts at all.

It wasn’t until very late that Lena even allowed herself to get sewed up and sent home. She dialed everyone she could, set up registries, set up phones and help and tents as quickly as she could anything. It wasn’t easy, with her head swirling and arm bleeding, but she did it because Kara didn’t stop, and Lena was inspired. She did it because deep in her gut, she knew that her father had a hand in it, and the guilt was eating her alive.

The later it got, the more anxious she grew. Kara ran herself ragged with the bombs, helping, saving, failing. The coordinated attack was too well planned, too basic, too simple to fail.

Lena ran her hand over the stitches on her forehead, wincing at them slightly. She gave up on the news and opened the balcony door, stretching her legs and staring out at the city, still littered with flashing emergency lights. Candles filled one of the parks just a few blocks away, like a sea of stars in the middle of the spring night. She figured that possibly if she called, her hero would come home, but she had no voice left.

For a moment, she considered calling the Agent sister. For a moment she considered marching down to headquarters and finding Supergirl herself. For a moment she considered that nothing she could ever do would dig her name out of the hole her family seemed set on digging. For an instant, she realized her name was synonymous with death and hatred and those were heavy things for someone who just wanted to live a quiet life and do quiet, good things. It was insurmountable.

But, as she picked up her phone and paced back through the apartment, she couldn’t make herself do it. She saw her father’s picture on the news and she was both afraid and angry. Gone was the smile of the man who chased away monsters from her closet. There to stay was the visage of a monster Lena couldn't recognize, who wanted to hurt the girl she loved.

The city was quiet, even through the open door, but quiet as it was, it almost hid the soft landing of a certain girl. It didn’t hide the collapse of her body on the floor. Lena doubled back quickly.

“Kara!” she uttered, rushing to the body that tried to pick itself up but failed. “I’ve been so worried.”

“I couldn’t save them all,” the hero confessed, hollow and defeated.

Kara’s eyes were Lena’s favorite sight. They danced, they were like life, personified, they were music and dancing and whatever laughter must look like if it could be seen. But gone was the bright sky that usually sat there, replaced instead by deep, lifeless seas, full of pain and ache. Pure ache.

“I tried… I…” she swallowed and shook her head. “I… couldn’t... “

“Shh, shh,” Lena stopped her as her head slumped slightly. She knelt beside her girlfriend and tried to hold her up. “It’s okay.”

Blood covered Kara’s hands, covered her torn suit, covered her neck and chin and hair. Lena ran her hand along her cheek as she helped her stand, holding her arm over her shoulder. Kara hissed against the jostling but tried to help anyway. Her body was spent, gone well beyond repair and beyond use, exhausted from holding up buildings and sprinting.

“You did everything. You did what you could,” Lena promised, half carrying her girlfriend into their apartment. She groaned under the weight, but grunted them through as best she could.

She didn’t stop in the living room, she didn’t stop to turn off the television, she didn’t turn off the light, she didn’t stop until she sat Kara down on the edge of the tub in the bathroom. Neither said much more, neither knew how to fix it.

Slowly, Lena knelt and tugged off a boot, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises forming from going head to head with an alien, as well as swallowing a few bombs into her own body to shield everyone as best she could, as well as surviving a few building collapses. It’d been a long day for the hero, and her body wore the wounds.

Never before had Lena seen her so lifeless, so gone, so despondent, so… beaten. She sent about her work, tugging off the other. The cape went next, tossed on the pile before she started the shower. Even when Kara tried, she was little help, her muscles completely spent and useless, her brain just as frazzled.

Still, Lena went back to leaning between Kara’s legs, resting her hands on her thighs, keeping her rooted there while the water heated up the room. The hero could barely keep her head up, could barely stay awake despite the wide open, lifeless eyes.

“You saved hundreds, thousands of people today, Kara,” she promised, though the hero’s eyes wouldn’t meet her own. “I am so proud of you. I am in awe of you.”

She got no response, and she almost expected it, but Lena knew that words and calm and love was all she could provide, and it would have to be enough.

Kara’s hair was no longer the color of the sunshine or gold, but a dingy, grey-grit colored matted mess. Her face was all debris and dust. Lena didn’t care, she kissed her cheek and undid the suit, careful to push it from her.

Kara stood with Lena’s help, who did not flinch when the water hit her own clothes as she stood beside Kara in the shower. She ran her hands along her bare skin, over cuts and bruises that plagued her skin.

“I love you,” she whispered as she tilted Kara’s head back and washed the dirt from it, let it stain the tiles in a mess of dingy water.

It was hard work, but Lena did it because it was Kara, and she did not ask for anything, she was not weak, she was not allowed to hurt. Lena didn’t know how to fix it, but she knew how to love her wholly. Her fingertips skated along the contusions and bruises.

The water was hot, steaming up the bathroom. Kara stared at the ceiling vacantly as Lexa massaged her scalp with shampoo. She didn’t seem to notice as little kisses came to her bruises with tiny whispers and apologies. Her skin was sealed, safe and clean with prayers and thanks and graciousness, but Kara couldn’t get her mouth to work, nor did she deserve it.

Her muscles barely worked enough to hold her up for the shower. Nearly shaking with the effort, the exhausted hero could do nothing at all, completely powerless.

“You can’t save them all, Kara,” Lena reminded her as she wrapped a warm towel around her chest. “You save who you can. You try again tomorrow.”

“I can’t save them all,” she repeated, tasting the sentence, though it provided no kind of fix for her addled brain.

Somehow she realized she was sitting on the edge of their bed. She could not be sure how it happened, only that her girlfriend was shivering and soaking wet. Her arm turned pink as blood dripped and mingled with the water.

“You’re hurt,” Kara realized as Lena tugged a shirt over her head, tugging her hair out of the neck of it, squeezing it dry with the towel.

Hands kept pampering her, and through her addled brain, Kara felt them trying to heal her. Her brain didn’t keep up though. It just recieved all of the input, her heart was far too heavy, her cheeks wouldn’t stay dry.

“I’m fine,” she shook her head, using the same towel to fix the problem.

Kara wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. She just listened when Lena told her to lift her leg and pull on her pants.

“You’re bleeding,” she stated again, unable to look anywhere else.

“I’m fine,” Lena dismissed it. “Lay back. Get in.”

The sheets swallowed her whole, and Kara welcomed it.

“I have to… I should get back-- Alex needs-- We were…. Those people… and the-- your--” She fought a second later, all of the thoughts swirling and attempting to make themselves priority.

“I know. Lean back,” she ignored the complaint.

Safely tucked into bed, Kara just stared at the roof and grew afraid to close her eyes. She listened to Lena change, listened to her turn off the television, lock the doors. She didn’t know how to breathe.

Lena took extra care to re-wrap her arm, the stitches pulled out under the effort of carrying her girlfriend, though carrying was generous. She guided forcefully and with help, but it was enough to tear them.

Quietly, she tugged off her wet clothes and slipped into something else before getting into the bed beside her girlfriend. A pile of clothes rested atop a very battered suit, all forming a puddle in the bathroom.

In the dark, she scooted closer, as close as she could and only rested her chin on Kara’s shoulder. She breathed in the smell of her body, of her safe, of her alive, of her breathing body.

“I love you so much,” she finally murmured into the bicep. “It will feel better in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Kara whispered, her voice hoarse and gravel.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You ran into a bombed building,” Kara remembered in the dark.

“Learned from the best.”

In a movement, Kara rolled to her side and stared at her girlfriend. It took all of her effort, it took everything she had in her to do it. She felt a hand rubbing against her back, trying to soothe her, though it wasn’t a tough battle. Just being alive was tiring enough at that hour.

“You can’t do that,” she finally insisted. “You run away from danger. Do you understand me?”

“We don’t have to talk about this tonight.”

“I thought you were in it.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, beautiful,” Lena soothed, cupping her cheek in her palm. She ran her thumb over chin and lips which both shook as they fought against themselves. “No you aren’t. Someone bad did bad things, and you helped make it not as much of a tragedy.”

“It wasn’t good enough,” she sighed and ducked her head, closer to Lena, who just kissed her, let Kara use her as a teddybear and hold onto her tighter. Her head rocked from side to side as her back grew with deep breaths. “I tried so hard. I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

“You did more than anyone could ask.”

“I’m sorry. What if just… me, existing means that these things happen?”

“No, Kara, don’t you dare apologize. I’m here to fight for you,” Lena promised, kissing her face, kissing her temple, kissing where she could reach, holding her closer. “I’ll fight for you. Always. I’m here for you. You’re not alone.”

In the dark, Lena ran her thumb along the back of her hero’s neck as Kara dug her nose into her girlfriend’s collar. Kara hid herself away in Lena as best she could, just looking for some way to breathe, just looking for some way to exist with what she’d seen and done.

“Don’t disappear on me, please,” Lena whispered. “I’m right here. I’ll be right here.”

“‘I’m sorry,” Kara repeated, digging her hands into Lena’s back, keeping her closer than most nights.

Completely entwined, completely tangled, Lena finally felt the heavy body of her hero fall asleep, completely spent. She played with her back, she tried to breathe, but gave up on it in favor of Kara’s slumber. Completely on top of her, the weight was stifling, but reassuring.

“I’m right here,” she whispered once more, for good measure.

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writevswrong · 7 years

Text

FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART NINE

Nessian Part Nine by L.J. LaFleur

The sun did not rise, the moon did not set. I stared out the window letting all color drain from this world. He feared me, I could see it in those beautiful pools of hazel. He feared me, but not as much as I fear myself. The monster I’ve become. I burned him. I marked him.

I ignored several knocks, unsure of who was on the other side of the door. My sisters, maybe? It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t answer. More knocks, but I didn’t care. Faintly I heard their voices, their pleas. Drowning, it was like a wall of water blocking them out. I was drained from last night, tired from lack of sleep but too scared to close my eyes. Who else would I hurt? Who was next?

“Nesta,” he pounded on the door, his voice breaking through the thunder clouds that stained my mind.

I ignored him.

Cassian huffed, “Nesta…let me in. It’s been two days and you haven’t eaten.”

Two days? I haven’t slept for two days?

Another knock on the door, “C’mon Nes…let me in.”

I dropped my head into my fragile palms, “go away, Cassian.”

“Nes…” He murmured, scratching at the door with his thumbnail.

“Please. Go. Away.” My hushed voice cracked at the end. Burning tears leaked out of me, “please,” I could only whisper. Quickly I wiped away the fiery tears, retreating within myself like I had for the others.

The door crashed open, splintering into pieces as Cassian stormed into the room. A large metal tray balanced on one hand, filled with delicious looking cakes and scones. Desserts from foreign lands and fruit that looked like dragon eggs. My growling stomach gave me away. Damn, him.

“Must you always kick my door in? I asked you to go away,” I jutted my chin outwards. I braced myself against the window frame, feeling nauseous from the lack of food in my system.

“I don’t care.” He declared, setting the tray on the leaf patterned bed spread. “Eat.” Cassian pointed to the platter, his hands completely healed. His forehead creased as his scowl grew.

“Leave me,” I shot back, straightening my spine. Although he was healed, I could still see the melted flesh from before. Bile rose to the back of my throat as I shuddered.

“Eat,” he ordered, his demanding eyes darkened as he watched every move.

I clenched my jaw before clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Who made this?” I sniffed displaying a displeasing face as if it were poison. When really, it smelled absolutely delectable. I eased closer, mouthwatering instantly.

Cassian’s tone didn’t soften, nor did his facial expression of angst. “It doesn’t matter. Eat, Nes.” His muscular arms crossed against his rust colored tunic. Raven leather cords fell down his chest, unveiling a portion of his tattooed collarbone. The hazel traps for eyes caught mine, “unless you have another appetite that needs feeding first,” his bewitching voice suggested. Cassian’s left brow rose, as he licked his lower lip. A growing smirk made my knees weak momentarily.

I moved away from the bed, invading the space between us. “Stop calling me Nes,” I snapped, shoving him backwards into the emerald wall.

He let out a soft grunt as his back slammed into it, an inkling of a smile rising on his lips. “You cruel beautiful creature,” he taunted, running his fingers through that luscious dark hair. The corners of his lips edging upwards.

“Don’t call me that,” I growled alongside my stomach. The dragon egg fruit, I would start with that one. I turned my back to him, scanning the items on the tray once again.

An unfamiliar sensation glided against my lips as I took in the spread. All the colors of a rainbow—except for red. How obvious I must be for the kitchen staff to have caught on so quickly. I dipped my bony finger into a fluffy white substance before licking it off.

Cassian’s stare lingered on my finger. “It isn’t Nes. Now cruel beautiful creature won’t do? I said beautiful.” He waited as I dug into the fruit, “Fine. How about malevolent monster? That better?”

I dropped the juicy oblong fruit, suddenly losing my appetite. “Monsters are made, not born,” I whispered to myself. “Monsters are…”

“What did I do now?” Cassian asked exasperated, uncrossing his arms to wrap a hand around the post of the bed. He gripped it so tightly that the wood groaned in response to his touch.

The gray in my eyes retreated, leaving only the lonely darkness behind. “You could never love someone so selfish, so spiteful.” I repeated his words, unable to look at him for verification.

Cassian’s jaw dropped slightly, he reached for my elbow with his free hand, “let me explain.” His muscles tightened as I rejected him with my palm.

I finally faced him, feeling the blood drain out of me. “You said it,” I sneered, now unable to look away from him. The hurt, anger…the mix of emotions swirling inside of him that no one could see but me, filtered to his eyes.

“Yes, but…” Cassian started, reaching out his arms of steel towards me as I backed away from him.

“As selfish, as spiteful as I was—am.” I paused, waiting for my voice to thicken, “at least my heart won’t be shattered by a bastard.” I made my mark.

Cassian’s siphons flared, along with the fire within him. “Is bastard all you have? Or should I wait for a better insult?” he waited only to receive silence. “Finish eating,” he nearly barked.

“Bite me,” I muttered.

A saucy grin developed on his luscious lips, “you’ll enjoy it when I do.” His left eye squinted slightly, his tongue gliding against his lower lip again. I could feel my nipples perk outwards, cold chills racing down my neck. I wanted his lips, I wanted him all…

“Leave,” I snarled, interrupting the seductive inner thoughts that drummed through me.

“I think I’ve done that enough,” he replied coolly, stepping forward, not making a sound.

He was using the same tactic as me. Winding me up, invading my space. “Get out, Cassian,” I pushed him again, this time he stood firmly. The rising heat between our skin amplified.

“No. Eat.” Cassian whispered, his lips nearing mine. I wasn’t sure if he was commanding me to eat the tray of food he brought up—or him.

I didn’t realize my body had already reacted, lifting myself towards him. “Will you leave if I do?” I questioned, nearly shuddering as his hand slid up my arm—grazing my skin until bumps arose.

He leaned in further, closing in towards my mouth. Our lips hadn’t been this close since…I couldn’t think of the day. I didn’t want to remember him almost dying...yet again.

“Nope. I’ll still be here,” he lifted my chin with his calloused fist, his scent enrapturing me. “You can bet your ass that I will stay by your side,” his husky voice whispered my name, “Nesta.”

The way I sounded on his tongue, I could feel the earth shake beneath me. “I’m not the one who needs protection.” The intensity between us continued as I glared directly into my weakness. Crumbling before him, his rough thumb circled against my chin.

“I won’t leave you,” Cassian breathed heavily, “get that through your head, woman.”

“You’re merely a winged beast.” I paused, debating the next attack. I searched into him, diving into his soul. Deeper and deeper, I looked into him—seeing only that he spoke of the truth. And I can’t let that be true.

I took a deep breath, releasing the arrow from my tongue. “And one that failed at protecting not only me but my sister too.” I could have sworn the hurt within him unraveled as he released me. If I said this enough, would he go? Would he be safe—far, far away from me? Would he realize that I’m unworthy of his love? Unworthy of him?

“Your insults are the most exciting thing about my day.” Whether he was being honest or not, I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell being this close to him—it was distracting. Cassian tilted his head, studying me. “Do you sit here all day practicing them?”

“Leave,” I replied calmly, while the bones within me twisted with longing.

Cassian tipped his head towards mine, “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine. I won’t stop you then,” I slammed my fist into his abdomen.

Cassian groaned as he backed away from me, holding his gut. “Playing hard to get, are we?”

I retreated to the bathing room, “no. It’s called stay the hell away from me.” Forcing my already laid out clothes on. A shade of dirty cream for pants and an azure hued tunic, trimmed with golden swirls similar to the traditional Illyrian tattoos. I stared at the boots he gave me, wanting to wear them desperately but knowing all too well that I couldn’t. I shook my head as I strapped on a different pair.

“I already told you…” Cassian began but before he could finish, I felt the flames wrap around my wrists, burning into the decorated sleeves.

The anger within me rising. “Fine!” I yelled back, not wanting to hear him risk his life anymore. I patted the flames, flustered, I rolled up my sleeves.

“Good! It’s gotten through your stubborn head.” He paused, waiting for me to return to the bedroom.

I walked out of the bathing room to see Cassian lazily laying across the mattress, taking up the majority of it as his wings stretched out. I had never seen such mammoth wings before. He flexed his muscles beneath that rusty tunic, a flutter of his wings as he adjusted to make room for me. The almighty bulge in his onyx trousers caught my attention next. I ignored his taunting gaze, retreating towards the bed, only to silently dismiss him as I sat down.

“Where are you going?” He asked cautiously, sitting upright. Cassian’s lips nearly grazed my shoulder, the heat of his breath stunned me like lightening.

“To see Az.” I commented, a curt smile bracing itself against my full lips as I watched him transform.

A low, throaty snarl escaped his lips as he shifted on the bed.

“Training,” I replied, grabbing the plate of scones. Cursing as I walked away, I threw one at his head, hitting my target. Cassian’s low laughter rang in my ears—pissing me off even more. “Feral beast,” I muttered as I scarfed down the blueberry scones.

“You’re late,” Azriel commented as he adjusted his leather cuffs. He waited on the roof top, overlooking the busy city. Darkness coiling around his armored shoulders. I wasn’t sure why he continued to wear his battle gear and I really didn’t want to know. Handling my own demons is difficult enough, throwing in the entire Night Court’s problems too—I wasn’t sure how well I could handle it.

“Cassian.” I replied, stuffing the last buttery scone into my mouth.

“Ah,” he raised his wings, stretching them to their full length. Absolutely majestic, but nothing like Cassian’s.

I nodded with my full mouth, setting the empty plate on the outdoor table.

Azriel moved through the shadows to stand beside me. “Ready?” he reached out his scarred hand, beckoning me towards him.

“As I will ever be,” I answered with a hard swallow.

Azriel gently layered his arms around me, “hold on and don’t forget to breathe.”

We disappeared in a sea of black, swallowed whole by whispering darkness. I could hear them. Closing in around me, they sang my name. “Nesta Archeon, The Cauldron Thief.”

“Breathe,” Azriel whispered into my sharply tipped ear, a slight squeeze around my waist for reassurance that he still held me. That I was still alive.

“Come back to us, Cauldron Thief.” The voices snickered.

I shifted in Azriel’s shoulder, daring a peak. Nothing.

“You swam among us. You walked through darkness. You danced in the deep. Until you found, your way to victory. Come play with us,” the voices echoed before a cold breath entered my ear, “come play with me,” a single hollow voice sung to me.

Light blinded us as we entered the House of Wind. I nearly fell to my knees before Azriel caught me. Out of breath, I sucked in as much air as I possibly could.

He held my shoulders, leaning down as he peered into my unsteady eyes. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I responded standing upright, adjusting my tunic for a distraction.

In case you missed the previous parts...

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT

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