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thewritingof-therose · 3 years

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Hi! Last week, with the publishing of the 20th chapter of Hasard, I reached the 100 kudos on the fic, so to celebrate it, here’s some kind of bonus chapter where I talk a little about the conception of the story, along with comments about each chapters.

Enjoy!

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So… 20 chapters and 100 kudos already. To be honest, by the time I started imagining this story, I wasn’t really expecting to be able to celebrate that milestone of kudo on a single fic and even if I already celebrated the 2000 kudos in general this year, if we make a quick calcul based on the numbers of kudos and all the fics I’ve published, at the time I’m writing those words, it’s the same that if each one of my fic had only 20 kudos… So yeah, finally reaching the hundred on a single one makes me so happy \o/

Anyway, here’s some trivia and fun facts about Hasard and the first twenty chapters of the story.

First of all, some history:

I had the idea for Hasard in May 2018 as I was watching the tv show Lucifer (I am not up to date with it, please don’t try to spoil me this show ^^’) and I imagined one scene that just… shaped the entire story and it took me less than a few hours to know that I would write it. Even if I wasn’t sure how long it would be and that there had been some changes. And no, I won’t tell what scene kickstarted it all because she still has to come and it could be quite a huge spoiler.

Following it, my brain quickly went into developing the full story and a few things changed. On the top of my head, I can say that Maiev was meant to be more on her own, almost a complete independent Hunter that would have also been resented by the other Hunters, along with a way more black and white view of the demons. She was meant to be more aggressive against all demons and really thinking that they all deserved to die, but I softened that side of her as I shifted the world building with the presence of hybrids.

At first, the hybrids were meant to be a really rare kind and I wanted to keep that status for a few select characters because it could have brought some really good story for them. Then, as I kept working on the worldbuilding, I came to the idea that actually, hybrids were extremely common, but at the same time, the demon’s presence was still a secret from most of the world because most hybrids started centuries ago and their blood and physical attributions were weakening the more they were reproducing. So, about 80% of the world is made of hybrids of all kinds of generation (who is my way of scaling the demonic influence on their life) and the 20% left is shared with the full demons and full humans.

Full demons are simply people who don't have a single drop of human blood in them. Usually, they are born from two other full demon parents or they just appeared like that (that’s the mytho). They are extremely powerful and good magic users, but now, they are rare. It was easier to be a full demon millenia ago when they ruled over the world and the few that are left in the current world of Hasard, survived either by hiding really well, manipulating their way to stay alive, or simply because they accepted to work with the humans and they went on.

My best example of a full demon is Velen.

The full humans, are the humans who either had never gotten a single drop of demon’s blood in their bloodlines, either they purged the bloodline after making sure that there had been at least 10 generations since the last time a hybrid was born (technically, every child following it would be considered as an hybrid, but the other parent would be a full human to weaken the demon’s blood which each new generation). Full humans are rarer than full demons and they tend to be bad news as almost all of them are associated with the Priesthood (who’ll get some more explanation later.)

I haven’t presented yet one of them to give an example, but one is ready to show up in the Second arc of the story. Won’t say who to not spoil the surprise x)

As for hybrids, there are two kinds. The one born from a demon and a human, and or hybrids (two hybrids will keep creating hybrids and technically, as long as one of the parents has human blood, the bloodline will stay a hybrid one). And the second one hadn’t been introduced yet. We have characters that are that kind, but it’s some worldbuilding elements that will show up later and so, I'll keep it to myself for now. Feel free to theorize though! And usually, most hybrids will simply call themselves demons instead of showing signs of weaknesses by not being a full one.

For the title of the story, it had been extremely hard for me to find one. Ever since I started preparing everything, it had a codename and it was “Modern AU” and it stayed like that until the very minute of the publishing of the first chapter. I was already going towards “Le Hasard Fait Bien Les Choses” but I was bothered because it was French, and no matter what, I couldn’t find a good English idiom that would have all the nuances of the French one. The only thing that comes close to it would be “Fate is a funny thing” and yet, I’m not entirely satisfied with it. So, after a long debate with myself and help from other people, I came to the conclusion that I had to keep the French title if I wanted to be happy with it.

It might not help much to get people interested, and I’m considering adding “Fate is a Funny Thing” after it but I’m debating it.

I think that's already a lot, so let's move to the trivia per chapters:

A Muffled Shout In The Night

Oh boy, first chapter! I was so excited to finally start the story but I was also really stressed. I tried to give away a quick summary of how the universe was working, along with my two main characters + showing up the first supportive characters towards Maiev. Trying to present all the cast (so adding Illidari and more about Illidan) right in that chapter wouldn't have really worked so, instead, I went to show that a more "Legion-y" timeline could be expected thanks to Khadgar and Velen's presence in the chapter.

I kinda hope that I succeeded to already show Maiev's obsession towards the Betrayer through her first lines.

Though I will be one hundred percent honest with you. The end of the chapter with Illidan running away, don't expect much from that interaction. I kind of always forget about it unless I'm reading back the chapter… I only needed a reason for them to stop fighting and the chapter to carry on.

But who knows, maybe I'll tie it to something one day.

Two Black Coffees And A Meeting, Please

When writing it, I always knew that Drelanim was on the other side of the call (or at least another Hunter) but as I read the moment a few times, I realized that I could have gone for a completely different way. One that would have probably surprised everyone.

But yeah, in another universe, it's Illidan who calls Maiev because he's in front of her place as they decided to meet for breakfast there. It would have been quite nice and unexpected for the story, especially that Illidan would have gotten right away the reveal that Maiev was actually the Warden as she would have complained about the wounds of the night.

In the end, I went on with my first idea and made them meet for good in the chapter.

And, like with the first chapter… the "current problem" that he talks about to Kor'vas went nowhere… I'll more than probably get him to acknowledge some uninteresting side story for it at some point.

Memories Of A Rainy Day That Will Never Be Forgotten

For that one, one word: Ouch.

By the time I started to write this chapter, I was also preparing the Advent Calendar of 2019 and I had decided on telling Naisha's story, and I had to realize that I still had to foreshadow some elements from it to make it work. Of course, the title is fully referencing the day she died and the demon that Maiev killed right at the beginning of the chapter was similar to Naisha, putting Maiev in a stabbing mood. And it led us to another necessary addition for the Calendar's chapter: Malfurion.

(I'm also wondering how many people guessed right away that Malfurion was the one Illidan was calling…)

Brother, My Brother, Tell Me What We're Fighting For?

Even if Malfurion had more of a cameo than anything in the Calendar's story, I felt the need to introduce him to put the bases of the twins' relationship. I always knew that he was a doctor and that he was mostly helping Illidan when he was getting in trouble, and as their backstory is different from WoW and that they are both demons, I didn't want to go on the canon path for them.

I cannot tell much about it because we'll get fast to their backstory (Second arc) but here, Illidan and Malfurion mostly grew up in a world where it was them against the rest of the world. They were born during the glorious days when demons ruled the world and they saw it change through the millennia that followed. After everything, they would be devastated to lose the other and suddenly be the only one left. This is why they are way closer than they could ever be in canon (and also Tyrande isn't part of their backstory so it helped them keep a good relationship). Sometimes, they part ways for a few decades. Malfurion goes back to medical school somewhere and makes sure that he's up to date for it, or Illidan just moves with his clan to experience new things. But they stay in contact and always come back in proximity of one another.

The end of the chapter was my obligatory "shock reveal/cliffhangers" before a break. But well, I wanted to keep the Legion's existence in my sleeve for a little longer, but I realized that it would allow me to make them into a concrete threat as the story will progress + allowing Illidan and, mostly, the Illidari to be a little more presents into the story.

Actually, the chapter's name comes from a song from the occidental version of the first Pokemon movie. It's a line from the song that plays when the Pokemon and their clone fights, and i used it mostly for the brother's mentions and because it would totally be a thing said by one of the twins in their past…

A Flower Arrangement Made With Your Face In Mind

At that time, I wanted to make a chapter to develop a little more the supporting characters of the cast, and as I was taking back the writing of the fic after a four or five months break, I thought it would be nice.

So, we got a little side dish of Illidari for it and that’s pretty much the only chapter (until now) where Illidan or Maiev barely appears in it. Yet, I threw some worldbuilding and foreshadowing in it and I still like it, so it isn’t really a filler.

I’ll probably do more chapters like that in the future, but I’ll see with the pacing of the story.

Willingly Accepting Your Death Isn't As Easy As I Thought

I don’t have much to say about this chapter. I still really like it and especially Maiev and Velen’s interaction.

Along with showing that we were far from a potential romantic relationship, at least on Maiev’s side x)

A Laugh That Will Echo Through The Ages

Oh my God, that chapter! I could probably talk about it for hours but we would quickly reach the spoiler territory so I’ll see what I can tell without shooting myself in the foot.

I loved giving Khadgar some more identity and I like his relationship with Maiev. In the story, they are around 10 years apart, with Khadgar being the youngest. He’s like an honorary younger brother to every Hunter and even if Maiev won’t admit it, she’s kinda thinking the same.

If he had been in the spotlight for this chapter, it was actually because I was thinking of writing his backstory for the Calendar of 2020 but in the end, I scrapped the idea and wrote something else. But It’ll happen at some point.

You Were In My Dream Last Night, And I Found You That Morning

A simple and nice chapter to calm down from the action heavy that was the precedent. I do throw some crumbs of foreshadowing and backstory, mostly for Maiev, but we will have to wait quite some time for the full one. Even if to be honest, before I release it fully, there will probably be some people that will stitch everything from my crumbs.

Illidan’s dreams are meant to be a plot point all through the story, and I decided to start them with this chapter. And of course, we can see that it’s the first chapter where Illidan, even if he isn’t conscious of it, starts to like Maiev more than he should have at that point.

A Red Dress And Heels To Hide The Knife In Plainsight

I loved writing that one. Showing that Maiev had more hobbies than hunting demons, along with showing how you had to act to get her to do things that she would refuse to do otherwise. Most of the time, if Sira gently asks if she wants to go do some shopping, Maiev always has something else to do. Not that she hates shopping, just that she thinks there’s better things to do.

I could probably go more about Worgens and their existence, but it would spoil some part of the story :/

And honestly, I had an alternate version of this chapter where Illidan saw Maiev and Sira hurrying in the streets, followed them and he would have eavesdropped on the conversation about him. It was obviously bad because it was confirming that Maiev was at least a Hunter (which he won’t know until a while by that time) and it would have been totally an excuse for smut x)

A Warning Falling In Deaf Ears

With this chapter, I’ve been working on mixing the idea of chapters 5 (to concentrate on rest of the cast) with more of the main story. Like that, I show that there’s more than Illidan and Maiev in this universe, but at the same time, I’m still progressing their story by sharing the chapter between the two. I really liked writing Kayn like that and I think that one of my favorite things to write in this story, it’s Illidan and Malfurion interacting.

A Touch So Familiar, Yet So Strangely Threatening

I remember writing that chapter and suddenly realizing that it was going to be longer than the precedent, and i thought for a moment that I had to cut it in half, but I couldn’t find a satisfying way to do it, and it would have fucked up my outline, so I just carried on with it until I had told everything that I had to.

With that chapter, I’m trying to show that Maiev can be really crazy when it comes to the Betrayer and his followers, but I can assure that she wouldn’t wound any of the Hunters, even if they cannot really be sure about it. And the little dialogue with the B-word made me laugh and yes, Maiev already called the Betrayer a bitch to his face. In 13 years, it would have been weird that she didn’t think of it at least once.

For the rest of the chapter, I just wanted to show that Maiev and Illidan were becoming comfortable with each other + setting up a reason for her to be worried about Illidan to show him her good side.

Screaming Under The Full Moon Won't Change Your Fate

The one thing I keep from this chapter, is that I can’t wait to dive more into Velen and Maiev's relationship.

Otherwise, yeah, if Illidan were to go into a fight only wanting to use magic, he could kill Maiev without breaking a sweat. But he likes the challenge and feels like it wouldn’t be satisfying to annihilate her with just a spell, so he’s fighting blade against blades, unless Maiev is really close to kill him.

A Fateful Call That Only You Can Be Blamed For

I have nothing much to say about it. It was one chapter that I really wanted to write and publish, because it’s the one where Illidan just let his guard down around Maiev for good, and now that he won’t try to trap her into admitting that she is the Warden, it allows him to see Maiev in another light.

That anyone can guess what it is.

Oh yeah, just that I threw some good crumbs of the fact that Illidan is a self-loathing addict in my fics and that it’s one of the reasons he falls so hard for Maiev after this chapter. But it’ll be a good talk for either another chapter, or later.

Going Separate Ways For A Night But Not The Life

Nothing to say, it was a transitional chapter to show that Illidan really believes that Maiev isn’t the Warden, and that there’s more than the fight to them.

Stab Me Once, Shame On You. Stab Me More Than Twice...

A fun little chapter. Velen is more modern than most people can believe and once again, I like writing about the interactions between Illidan and Malfurion. Of course, if you go back to read this one after chapter 20, you might see that I already knew how it was going to happen from this chapter, as the 20th got his title in this one.

I just hope that people read the story from the Advent Calendar 2020 to know what happened in the middle of it.

And From There, Fate Laughed At Them

I could talk for hours about Cordana in my AU. I just love what I’m going to do with her characters and I hope that my readers will like it too.

But to give some crumbs, Maiev and Cordana have been best friends since high school and she’s the first long-time friend that Maiev had made in her life and thanks to Cordana, she met with Sira and the group, but most importantly Velen. Cordana is a hybrid of sixth generation, so her demonic attributes are almost non-existent, but she kept some supernatural ability from her legacy. She knew from a very young age that she wanted to hunt demons and protect people, and met with Velen early to prepare her future job. Once she discovered that Maiev had some natural abilities to hunt demons, she saw them as the future “Best Best Friend and Hunters” and convinced Maiev to give a go to the hunt. She was forced to move out in another city but she kept contact with Maiev and the rest of the group. In terms of strength, abilities and hunting score, she is right behind Maiev.

Otherwise, I will add that I had a lot of fun writing the conversation between them about Illidan and how he would be better than the Betrayer *winkwink*.

I didn’t make it clear in that chapter and it won’t be important, but Khadgar has a crush on Cordana.

Cordana meant well with the message, and even if in real life, I would condone such action, here, I needed it to move things around because yes, neither Illidan nor Maiev would make the first step if it wasn’t for Cordana.

During the fight, at the beginning of the scene, Illidan totally complimented the Warden on her abilities but don’t try to make him admit it.

Last thing: my nickname is Fate. I’m the one laughing.

Games, Games, All Is Games

I don’t really have anything to say about this chapter.

Sometimes, Cowardice Allows The Survival Of The Smartest

To be perfectly honest, I regret how I handled Cordana’s week in the story because I’ve barely done anything with her but I can explain where the problem is. I knew that I wanted Illidan to discover the warden’s identity on chapter 20, and I planned all my updates around that one fact, but when it came to the outline, I wasn’t sure what to tell between the chapter 13 and 20 to reach that point and thanks to the Calendar, I moved things around that one and I ended up having the idea of making Cordana appears (She should have come in person in the story much, much later). And as I needed chapters 18 and 19 to build up to the reveal, I ended up completely stuck and making her appearance too fast and if it wasn’t for the message, she would have been useless to the story. But I realized it too late and I couldn’t rework my outline in time.

But well, i’ll give her a better mini-arc in the second arc of the story to atone for it.

Otherwise, I hope that the feel of the countdown to the reveal starting by the end of the chapter had been caught by some people x) It’s obvious to me, but well, i’m the writer.

Step By Step, Tick Tock Said The Clock

Just a build up chapter for the 20th. Even if I really like it and that I’m preparing the ground for future plotlines but I’ll let you guess which one it could be x)

I know I haven’t make it clear in the chapter, but Malfurion knew that Illidan was lying when he pretended that his problem was the Warden “may-be-may-be-not-a-hybrid/demon” but as he also know that his brother is a “stubborn motherfucker” he let it slid.

And yes, somewhere in my mind, there’s an alternate universe where Maiev accepted Illidan’s invitation and that they would spend the evening at her place. Without a reveal first.

Any Last Wish?

I don’t really have something to add to this chapter. I succeeded to write it just as I wanted.

I just had a long debate with myself as to how I wanted it to end, as I had the choice between cutting it right as Illidan is saved by the Warden (maybe not revealing her identity before the next chapter, or it would have been the last line) or just as I did, by them reaching her place first. I chose the latter because I want Chapter 21 to start with a really specific scene and I thought that it was better than a cheap cliffhanger.

The last thing I'll add, is that for the story to go well, I had to make Illidan be the first to be aware of the identity of the other, mostly because he can be the one to change his mind more easily about wanting to kill the Warden. If it had been Maiev discovering that Illidan was the Betrayer at this moment of the story, he would have died.

And now, because I'm not done yet, here’s some info about the bonus chapters that were published independently from the main story!

AC Day 8: A Morning

First calendar, in 2018, and I already knew that I was going to write Hasard. It had no name by this time, but I had written that small scene to try out a few things and see how it’ll work.

There’s a really high chance that I end up rewriting it for the main story, but I think that a few elements will change. We’ll see.

AC19 Day 24: Hasard: Naisha

Probably the worst (in terms of feels) chapter of the story yet.

Naisha is probably the character who had a story and fate the closest to canon and I wanted to keep it like that, as it allowed to shape even more the hate between the Warden and the Betrayer. Honestly, she wasn’t deserving of a death like that, especially that if the Betrayer hadn’t intervened that day by trying to kill Maiev, Naisha would have survived.

Actually, in any other universes/storylines possible, she would have survived. Unfortunately for her, she fell right into the feud and became a victim of it.

At this point of the story, Illidan isn’t even completely aware of what happened that day, and he has no idea who Naisha was. All that he knows is that he thought to have killed the Warden, only to find her, even more angry in the following week. He just knows that he had killed the wrong person, but he had no idea who. Maiev herself doesn’t know for sure that it was the Betrayer the culprit, as she couldn’t see clearly in the rain.

Of course, it’ll end up being brought up in the story :)

AC20 Day 8: Hasard: Malfurion’s Hellish Day

It should have been Khadgar's backstory actually for that Calendar. But even if I have a good idea about it, I realized that I wasn’t completely inspired and that I was missing a few details to be able to write it. So, in the end, I went desperately after another idea and thanks to Melowen, I think, she got me on the idea of writing about Malfurion.

In the end, this chapter, meant to be a funny one with Illidan and Maiev forced to be in the same place for the same job, with Malfurion, aware that it would be a catastrophe to let them discover the truth, ended up shaping the last chapters currently published.

And if you are wondering, no, Illidan wasn’t trying to trick his brother in giving him the secret identity of Maiev. He was just trying to get his brother approbation about the woman he was starting to crush on.

The line: ‘“Yeah, everyone tells me that I look like a famous actor,” Malfurion faked a chuckle, glancing at the woman.’ is a reference to my Bodyguard AU where Illidan is an actor.

Alright, that’s all for the trivia! Thanks for reading this bonus chapter, and the main story until now, and I hope you’ll keep enjoying reading Hasard!

Rose

#world of warcraft #illidan x maiev #long text

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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The Longing For A Familiar Feeling

Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: Cal sustains a grave injury while going against a Jotaz in the chambers of the tomb. You obliged to tend to his wounds and nurse him back to health.

A/N: This basically counts as a backlog because I eventually ended up getting requests on the fly. The outline has been in my notes since April lmao so here I am fulfilling my compulsiveness to have everything ticked off the list.

Though, I hope you guys will enjoy this fic as you enjoy my other stuff! Your support has been an awesome impact ever since I came back here just to write a single oneshot last January ;;w;; I’m emotional again, I should stop now. Please enjoy the fic! ^w^

Also posted in AO3

Other reference: This one

Tags: Soft! Cal Kestis, Affection Starved! Cal Kestis, Intimate! Cal Kestis

Masterlist

The Tomb of Miktrull was unexpectedly more crowded than either of you expected.

Not only did the Tomb Guardian preoccupied you and Cal, but so did the Stormtroopers, Purge Troopers, and Probe Droids!

This day just can’t get any worse, can it? You thought, imagining yourself saying it out loud through clenched teeth.

The now-malfunctioning probe droid closed in on you and you timed the exact second before it self-destructs and Force-pushed it towards that trio of scout troopers coming at you. They instantly die in the explosion.

Cal rushed to back you up after defeating the Guardian. The Purge Trooper may be dead, but there were still two more scout troopers remaining. The odds are even—which may not be so bad, at least for you.

“I hit her! W-Why did I do that?!” the scout seemed to have regretted his action for pommeling you in the stomach.

You sent a clean streak of lunges at the scout trooper, your strikes were strong enough to break his defenses—after all, what good’s an electro-baton if your enemy’s a Jedi?

Cal easily took down the scout commander, he winced when he tried to stand up straight but he hid his pain from you when he gestured on taking on the lead.

“Look, there’s the gate,” he pointed out, Force-pulling the rope and then latching it onto the mechanism.

“Be careful, there’s that Jotaz,”

“It seems to be too busy with the Stormtroopers,”

“There’s the Jedi!” a Stormtrooper pointed out and signaled some of his men to fire at you.

“Not anymore!” you blurted, immediately deflecting the blaster fire and sending it back to their direction, leading some of the projectiles to the Jotaz—however, the mindless animal thought that it was still those soldiers who were still hurting it.

All that’s left was you and Cal against the Jotaz. The fat creature roared and lumbered towards the both of you, springing itself with its feet positioned for a flatfooted kick at either of you. Luckily, the two of you were quick and then dodged in opposite directions. Cal attacked it from behind while you drew its attention in the front, dodging its backhanded swipes by sliding against the flooded floor and searing its fleshy legs in the process.

While hunched and still coming at you, Cal took the opportunity to run up on its back and pith his lightsaber into its skull. Just when the moment seemed right, the Jotaz suddenly retaliated, feeling for Cal’s next movement and smacked him hard with its claws when the creature spun to face him.

The boy was sent flying across the other side of the chamber, lying flat on his back and partially submerged in the water. You were taken aback about how suddenly this animal became perceptive—at least, just this particular one—and had to up your game. While the Jotaz asserted its dominance against Cal, you afforded that moment to finish it off; it was close to dying and so you had to do the deed, sending a flurry of attacks, denying it as chance to attack you, and a succeeding Force-push made it stagger—finally allowing you to use your finishing move against it.

“Cal!” you ran up to him, kneeling down and ignoring the water seeping onto the legs of your pants. “Cal, open your eyes!”

A metallic smell wafted in the water, even though the chamber was quite dim, there was a noticeable red tint swirling over the back of your hand underwater. The source was from Cal’s body, but you searched for the actual wound—the Jotaz had cut Cal’s back and he’s bleeding out fast.

Promptly, BD-1 popped a stim for you, you caught the green syringe and injected it into the flesh of Cal’s bicep. His eyelids shot open when the viscous green substance packed a punch in his bloodstreams. You helped him sit up and searched for something—anything—in your person to press against the wound to clot the bleeding.

Lying right next to you is the corpse of a Stormtrooper, underneath the armor plates the dead soldier wore a black, cotton undershirt; you scrambled towards the body, tore the arm plates off until the entire sleeve showed—you gave it a good, harsh tug for the seams to pop until you’ve torn a considerable length of cloth for a compress. You dipped it in the water before putting it on Cal’s wound.

“Here, just keep pressuring on this, okay?”

The ancient elevator was there at your disposal, you supported Cal on your shoulders, hobbling towards the large cylinder and used your joint weight to trigger the pressure plate. The tube rumbled and felt it rising back up to the surface.

“[y/n], I can… I can walk,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

There wasn’t any harshness in his tone, but the firmness of his voice made his point clear. The two of you managed to get out of the Imperial base and made it to the part of the cliffside where there’s a pack of Stormtroopers waiting.

Cal pushed himself, still being able to fight but only utilizing half of his power; due to his growing weakness, the most he can do in combat in banking the shots, barely engaging in melee, and he couldn’t even use much of his Force abilities even if he wanted to.

“Bleeding’s stopped,” Cal mumbled under his breath.

“Keep it wrapped then,”

The healing stim could only do so much for the wounded Jedi. Cal’s pace was slow, traversing the obstacles suddenly became strenuous for him, but he pulled himself together until both of you came out of the mouth of the cave and caught sight of the abandoned village from the top of the slope. His body felt heavy and every muscle around his wound felt like tearing, he still thinks he’s doing a good job putting up a brave face.

“Come on,” he led on, walking ahead of you.

The trooper standing by the edge was startled by Cal’s entrance, barely having a second to stance himself, the soldier was easily subdued by the boy. The trooper’s companion eventually appeared and defeated him in less than a minute.

“This way, the path’s shorter,”

The two of you circled that house and climbed up the metal bridge where two more scouts are waiting on the other side. The commander was evidently more powerful and stronger than his subordinate, but that didn’t faze either of the Jedi, another Stormtrooper heard the din of the skirmish and pulled the trigger—to which Cal had skillfully deflected and sent back to the soldier.

Cal’s deflection became a window of opportunity for the scout commander and made an underhand swipe of his baton against the redhead’s torso—submitting the boy to his knees—and when the commander was about to finish him off with an overhead swing, the Stormtrooper’s body jerked at the impact of a lightsaber lobbed his way and fell limp to the soil.

“You okay?” you extended your hand in front of Cal, he gladly takes it and you pull him up carefully.

“Yeah, I’m good,”

The sluggishness in his body was apparent, his legs dragged to the direction he wanted them to go but it’s obvious that he cannot carry himself anymore. He stumbled back on his knees again seconds after he planted his feet on the ground.

It’s not plausible, you thought. What stood between you and the Mantis is a hangar that’s probably guarded by Stormtroopers and their KX droid or Haxion Brood hunters waiting to jump on you. The only solution you can find around you is take shelter in one of the houses. You became Cal’s crutch as you led him into the bigger house in this section of the village, BD-1 spliced the door controls and the door hissed open.

The little droid spotted the fusebox and overcharged it so all of the lights in the cottage flickered to life, revealing that the house is only one, large furnished space; you settled Cal on the couch to let him relax and catch his breath, while you searched for medical supplies. For ever cabinet you rummaged, you muttered an apology—supposedly for the absent residents in the home—you’re only apologizing to the wind. You came back to the common room, dropping all the supplies you’ve collected on the table.

“It’s not much but I think it’ll be enough to get you patched up,”

Cal proceeded to undo the top of his jumpsuit, color flushed in his cheeks when he saw your eyes counting the cuts and bruises on his body. Droplets plopped back into the bowl as you wrung the towel tight, he winced occasionally whenever you carefully dabbed the towel on and around the wound.

At first, you dismissed the occasional spasms of his body as pain reactions whenever the water from the towel seeped into the wound.

“I’m gonna have to put some Bacta gel on everything, okay?”

He nodded and you proceeded to scoop a pea-sized dollop of the healing gel for each injury you see. The translucent mint green gel partially obscured the redness of the cuts and the bruises—both old and fresh. Cal flinches whenever your finger presses onto his skin, rubbing the cool substance in circling motions on his injuries, but his muscles gradually soften a few seconds later.

Her hands are so gentle… He cooed in his mind. Secretly, he wanted you to find more of the wounds just so he can continue feeling your touch.

“I’m sorry, I…” Cal stammered.

You blinked, taken aback by the apology, “What are you sorry for?”

His head hung low, his eyes jumping from one bruise to the next, his lips parted to say something.

“I’m too much trouble to bring with,” he murmured.

A somber smile curled along the line of your lips, Cal’s shoulders jolted when he felt the center of your palm press against his jaw, the muscles of his face twitched when you ran your thumb across his cheek.

“No, you’re not,” you cooed lovingly. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”

Your words somehow made all the tension in his muscles disappear, his eyebrows furrowed, and he released a big sigh as he placed his forehead against your shoulder. Initially, he hesitated but he still gave it a try—his arms snaked around your waist, locking his hold on you by clutching his wrist with his free hand, and allowing himself to savor this feeling. He buried his face on the crook of your neck and his eyelids fell when your fingernails massaged and raked his hair—this prompted him to pull you in closer to him until your thighs sat over his lap.

It was a pleasant feeling for the young redhead. All of a sudden, his courageous Jedi demeanor morphed into that of an innocent child. This was something he lacked for a long time and he was glad to find it in you—the person who cares so much about him, the same way he does for you.

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rabble-dabble · 3 years

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The Cancer King's Court ~ The Beloved Bard

Gamzee Makara/The Beloved Bard

Okay, to understand this version of Gamzee, I need to explain how a view Gamzee’s heel turn.

I don’t believe Gamzee was mind controlled, nor do I think that he was just “evil all along”. In my point of view, his mental breakdown came about as a gradual process. Firstly, he started running low on Sopor, which he was using to suppress his mental issues brought about by his lack of a proper care taker. Second, Dave had inadvertently shattered his faith in his religion, revealing it to just be some kind of ironic joke. And, third, Tavros was murdered, leaving him without one of his closest friends. He had no one to confide in. He was desperate for purpose and guidance. So, when he looked into the eyes of Little Cal, he saw the soul of his god. He saw himself inside the soul of his god. And it spoke of its grand design to Gamzee. Guiding his actions from that point torward. Allowing him an outlet for his rage and a means of achieving paradise.

This Gamzee starts out at that exact same point. He stares into Cal’s eyes, awaiting orders from his master. However, this version of Lord English has no intention of bringing about The Dark Carnival. Some other version of him was already on the cusp of Godhood as it was. He would succeed no matter what. Might as well have some fun. The doll orders Gamzee to murder his remaining friends, deeming them all heretics who must be purged. Gamzee likely hesitates before doing as he’s told, much like I imagine he does in our timeline.

Now, Gamzee is a lot smarter than he looks. He knows that he can’t fight against outright God-tiers and expect that to go well. He needs to even the odds somehow. So, he heads to Aradia. He plays up his sorrow at Tavros’ death, which is easy enough to do seeing how it is mostly genuine, and he asks her to avenge him. Gamzee’s not well liked… but he is charismatic. He easily turned imps to his side during the game, after all. People listen to him. He can sprinkle in a few suggestions. How badly has Vriska fucked over Aradia’s life? How often has she nearly doomed the timeline? How likely is she to get everyone killed if she isn’t stopped? Aradia agrees to stop Vriska.

Now, even as a God-Tier, Vriska admitted that she stood no chance against Aradiabot during one of the walkarounds. Aradia is able to shut her down before she could summon Jack Noir. After Vriska is dealt with, Gamzee controls Eridan and makes him shoot Aradia. With his two biggest threats dealt with, Gamzee is able to overcome and kill everyone else. Rainbowdrinker Kanaya gives him some issues, but even she can only do so much. Gamzee returns and kneels before his master, asking for his next command.

The doll laughs. Lord English mockingly reveals that he had lied to Gamzee. Manipulated him for the soul purpose of seeing him kill his friends. Lil’ Cal mockingly asks if Tavros would be proud before Gamzee rips him apart in a fit of rage.

Remorseful and lonely, Gamzee tries to go to the human kids for help. He admits that all of his friends are dead, but refuses to disclose how. He’s to ashamed to lie and to afraid to confess. Rose prods the issue and eventually figures it out for herself, causing the kids to cut all contact from him. While Gamzee is quietly waiting to waste away, The Cancer King appears. Gamzee nearly bulldozes him with a hug, initially believing his own Karkat had come back from the dead. Karkat shuts him down and explains his situation. Gamzee is desperate, not only to fix what he did, but to just have some kind of cause to believe in. So, Karkat takes Gamzee to a God-Tier bed, allowing him to ascend before letting him join.

Gamzee has spent his whole life hiding behind something in order to cope with the hardships in his life. His sopor, his religion, and now his King. Gamzee fully agrees with whatever Karkat wants him to do, and actively goes above and beyond in his service to prove his loyalty. Aradia brings Karkat hundreds of sacrifices, Gamzee brings him thousands. He intimidates anyone who questions the King and indirectly influences Karkat to be more ruthless. He even went as far as making a cult out of the remains of Lord English’s cult. The second names given to everyone are the names given to them by The King’s Clowns. If Terezi is the angel on Karkat’s shoulder, Gamzee is the devil.

On top of this, Gamzee is more clingy in pursuit of Tavros. He’s pushy about hanging out with him and tends to drag him along on missions. Tavros finds Gamzee’s mote instable personality deeply disturbing, which only makes Gamzee more desperate to connect. “Would Tavros be proud of you” isn’t a question Gamzee wants to face otherwise.

He generally gets along with everyone else in the Court, everyone is all about burying hatchets and righting wrongs here, so they make more of an effort to tolerate his eccentrics. Doesn’t mean they don’t find him creepy. He’s the one person who succeeded in killing them all in an alternate timeline, and seeing him in a fight or in one of his more irritable moods makes that scarily apparent. Some members, such as Equius, even regret not making closer friendships with their own Gamzees. They never knew just how many issues he had until he became a walking pile of issues. The exception to this is Vriska. Because, again, Tavros. Tavros hates Vriska, ergo, Gamzee hates Vriska. Yet again, Aradia plays team mom until the heat cools down.

It’s actually the human members of the Court that get along with him better (who I’ve been neglecting this whole time, but I swear I’m getting to it). Rose finds him utterly fascinating to look into and actually does a decent job of addressing his issues when they meet up. Jade takes an interest in his biology, as Gamzee is weirdly hard to kill even by God-Tier standards. If you thought he was hard to take down as a mortal, you haven’t seen anything yet. This being Gamzee, he doesn’t give a shit about being poked and proded with sciencey shit. Still, his relationship with Dave gets off on an awkward note. Dave’s the guy who sent him the ICP vid after all, but they’re able to bond over crappy father figures and a hatred for Lil’ Cal.

On the field, Gamzee is unfettered and capricious. When he’s not hypnotizing or smooth talking large crowds into feeding the King, he’s leading his cult into battle and tormenting armies with his powers. He brings your worst fears to life as his army of fanatics rips your friends apart. The rest of the Court can be reasoned with, talked to. Make an enemy of the King, and the Clown won’t rest until he has your head.

He is dreaded across Paradox Space as the King’s most ruthless enforcer. He is the reason that God-Tiers struggle to sleep at night. He is the reason why some doomed timelines pray to the King for salvation. He is the King’s Prophet. He is the Cult’s Head. Heed the Beloved Bard when he asks you pledge your loyalty. He will not ask twice.

EVIL JOHN ANON!!!!

you’re making a sympathizer outta me.

BUT ALSO THIS IS JUST REALLY GOOD AND I SWEAR TO GOD YOU DESCRIBE GAMZEE REALLY WELL

and don't quote me but I felt like gamzee here was completely losing it while having control the entire time and I based that faint idea on how I drew him.

that last line is killer cold btw

#homestuck #gamzee makara #the beloved bard #karkat vantas #cancer king karkat #aradia medigo #tavros nitram #vriska serket #jade harley #the red death #the pirate queen #the beast whisperer #i hope im rememberin those names right its been a while #doodleart #submitted #anon #evil john anon #hkldlkfajdlfafnabfa THIS STORY #submission

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megashadowdragon · 3 years

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It has been called many things- the unwalkable disease, gutta (drop), podagra, arthritis of the rich, and the disease of kings (which sounded suitably dramatic for a title).

But we more commonly call it gout.

Doran Martell suffers from an advanced stage of gout, perhaps even exaggerated, since he has had his movement restricted to such a degree that nearly all motion is difficult without severe pain. (I'm not a doctor so, I can't say for certain)

Gout as a Facet of Doran's Character

We know that Doran is in constant pain, that it prevents sleep, and he finds no hope in medical treatment curing his disease.

The prince turned his chair laboriously to face her. Though he was but two-and-fifty, Doran Martell seemed much older. His body was soft and shapeless beneath his linen robes, and his legs were hard to look upon. The gout had swollen and reddened his joints grotesquely; his left knee was an apple, his right a melon, and his toes had turned to dark red grapes, so ripe it seemed as though a touch would burst them. Even the weight of a coverlet could make him shudder, though he bore the pain without complaint.

For comparison here is a testimony from a patient with gout in a single leg:

"The patient goes to bed and sleeps quietly until about two in the morning when he is awakened by a pain which usually seizes the great toe, but sometimes the heel, the calf of the leg or the ankle. The pain resembles that of a dislocated bone ... and this is immediately succeeded by a chillness, shivering and a slight fever ... the pain ..., which is mild in the beginning ..., grows gradually more violent every hour ... so exquisitely painful as not to endure the weight of the clothes nor the shaking of the room from a person walking briskly therein."

That is what Doran endures each day, constantly. Even the weight of a sheet would make the man shudder.

It is no wonder to me that he loves watching the little children splash and laugh and play in the Water Gardens. I imagine each glance must be bittersweet- imaging a time when he could run and splash with the other children, or watching Oberyn and Elia do the same. Knowing that now, his mobility, his autonomy has been taken from him, just as his siblings have been taken, leaving him unable to move, and unable to act.

Doran must be quite aware of how the children view him, and he takes special care to put them at ease, even at his own increased pain.

Then nought would do but he must say farewell to several of the children who had become especial favorites... Doran kept a splendid Myrish blanket over his legs as he spoke with them, to spare the young ones the sight of his swollen, bandaged joints

That splendid Myrish blanket sounds heavy with adornment (or even fabric) knowing that even a light coverlet's pressure pained him before this must be agony. It is my opinion that this blanket is as much for Prince Doran as it is for the children. He invites many children to the Water Gardens, a virtual safe haven free from class differences, a near oasis, the Prince entertains them, and it seems he must speak with them and come to know many of them. So much so, that he must say good bye.

Prince Doran carefully guards his image, this is part of the reason they left Sunspear nearly two years ago- he was getting sicker and needed to retreat from the whispers that filled the Shadow City. In the Water Garden's he is better able to project strength and wellness- his people clearly are unaware of how far his gout has progressed.

That this performance also extends to the children speaks to some form of painful self awareness on Doran's part- he doesn't want to expose his legs and upset them. I think he also doesn't want to see the children's faces and face their questions if they saw his legs.

Mobility and Autonomy

Something as simple as walking, is a thing we often take for granted. Doran can't get up to pour a glass of water, he needs help sitting up each day, he cannot support his weight enough to stand. It's paralyzing, it shrinks your perspective down to minute motions where every move is weighed by how much pain it will cause.

I think we can see this same restriction in his political moves as well- a painful reflection of his limited physical autonomy.

Hotah slid his longaxe into its sling across his back and gathered the prince into his arms, tenderly so as not to jar his swollen joints. Even so, Doran Martell bit back a gasp of pain... Hotah bore him up the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun, to the great round chamber beneath the dome

The Prince of Dorne had to be carried from his seat, in the arms of his guard, up the steps of a tower to his bedroom. For a man in such a medieval martial society, that frames its conceptions of strength over acts of physical strength and war, which scorns physical disability, this must be a humiliating experience.

A Thimble of Poppy

It's after this day of bad news, of constant increasing pain, that we finally see a true crack in Doran Martell's armor. First the letter, which brought news of his brother's death, then his nieces repeated threats and calls for war (Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene), and humiliation from each we see him ask for a thimble of milk of the poppy. I'm not certain why, but these words (even after watching Maester Caelotte worry over possible poisoning) were very sad to read.

Doran has reached a wall, a point where he doesn't care anymore about keeping a clear head and frame of mind. He just wants relief, that constant spike in every joint, to be muted and fade to the background for a while.

Treatment

It seems that his gout has grown quite worse in the last few years:

Two years ago, when they had left Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the Water Gardens, Prince Doran’s gout had not been half so bad. In those days he had still walked, albeit slowly, leaning on a stick and grimacing with every step

Although gout has been treated in our own history for more than 2,000 years, it does not appear that the more advanced medicine of westeros (compared to our medieval history) has developed even basic treatments.

Since the time of Hippocrates we have known that gout was linked to lifestyle, and since Galen we've known that there are genetic factors associated with its development. For both of these periods gout was treated with a flower called the Autumn crocus- a powerful purgative (colchicine) was derived from it.

Strangely, there doesn't appear to be much help for it in westeros.

Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?” The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?” “Shall I fetch a draught for the pain?” “No. I need my wits about me

In my opinion, this implies that the treatment automatically given is milk of the poppy. A pain reliever which would impair Doran's judgement- and milk of the poppy seems to fit (barring a more specific remedy we haven't heard of).

We also have reference to:

the maester helped Doran Martell to bathe and bandaged up his swollen joints in linen wraps soaked with soothing lotions

Although, I don't expect Hotah to be knowledgeable about the exact methods the maester uses to treat Doran- Hotah is in the third best position to know how the Prince is being treated (after Maester Caelotte, and Doran himself).

Lifestyle

Doran does not appear to have been given treatment options regarding his lifestyle.

A serving man brought him a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste. He ate a bit of it, and drank a cup of the sweet, heavy strongwine that he loved. When it was empty, he filled it once again.

This is, perhaps, the worst dinner Doran could have eaten in regards to his gout. Yet, it also is terribly mundane (by which I mean- likely a meal consumed regularly and not an indulgence). It is a staple meal- flatbread, cheese, and hummus. Simple, and certainly not King's Landing fare. But it is loaded with sugar, salt, and alcohol. All things which make gout worse- much worse.

We have another example:

He had decided to break his fast before he went, with a blood orange and a plate of gull’s eggs diced with bits of ham and fiery peppers

This is just as bad- sugar and meat- another food which exasperates his condition. One of the first lifestyle changes used as treatment was the elimination of alcohol, sweet foods from the diet.

It doesn't appear that Doran is remaining sick with gout to raise his popularity (as it was in our own history)

Gout (Everyone's Doing it These Days)

"The common cold is well named – but the gout seems instantly to raise the patient's social status", and to another in Punch in 1964, "In keeping with the spirit of more democratic times, gout is becoming less upper-class and is now open to all ... It is ridiculous that a man should be barred from enjoying gout because he went to the wrong school."

Nor does it appear that the gout is being used to ward off other more serious diseases (the gout seems extremely concerning)

In earlier times, attacks of gout were also seen as a prophylactic against more serious diseases. According to the writer Horace Walpole, gout "prevents other illnesses and prolongs life ... could I cure that gout, should not I have a fever, a palsy, or an apoplexy?"

My Takeaway:

I took a course on the intersection of disease, medicine, and history a while ago as a fun class- after reading this chapter again (Hotah I AFFC) I don't find him boring or lackluster anymore. If anything, Doran is incredibly human, and extremely relatable once you break him down.

He lives very much inside his own mind, I imagine wherever he is, Doran is always in the Water Garden's in his own head, seeing himself, Elia, and Oberyn shouting and splashing, as they were never able in childhood.

(Note: This is all said in the context of this one chapter, I haven't reread the next in the Dorne storyline yet.)

comments : I am not a medical student, so probably take my words with a grain of salt. Based on the source I listed below, it’s very universally known that sweets, alcohol, and meat (even sugar from fruit) exacerbate gout. The “drops” (Uric acid that builds into crystals in joints) is worsened by large amounts of sugar. (Like in the strongwine that Doran enjoys)Cherries do have sugar, not as much as other fruit, but I think they might have been referring to a combination of cherries and allopurinol which is used to reduce the amount of uric acid.Some older treatments of gout (that originated in the 19th c) basically attempted to purge the body of uric acid through urine. To my knowledge they use other methods today, but it must have been at least mildly effective (I remember reading about negative effects of such purgative treatment- so I’m not entirely sure).

#asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire #doran martell #asoiaf meta

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weaselbeaselpants · 4 years

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Rewritten Alastor notes (TW: NSFL, Cannibalism, Vore, animal abuse)

This is unexpected I know, but I’m suffering from a major headache and I need something to do.

Alastor the Radio Demon in my non-existent Hazbin repaint. Things he has in common with his canon self:

Human soul of a man who died in the 1930s. Was a cannibal in life.

Tried (and succeeded) to corrupt a bunch of lesser demons.

Respected by the big-bads of Hell, like Valentino and Vox. Feared among them as well because he creeps even them out.

Deer + wendigo motif still very much still at play.

Still asexual, though I wouldn’t recommend putting him on any pride flags.

Gets along with Charlie and loves antagonizing Vaggie.

Treats Nifty and Husk as goons and/or pets.

His weird hair tufts emote along with him like ears. I don’t know if they are ears though. I think Viv has the right idea not confirming what the frack is up with his anatomy.

Can’t ever stop smiling. Ever. That aspect of Al’s design is something real special that I think Viv has the right idea implementing. A character who can not stop smiling makes for a lot of terrifying and hilarious reactions. Just look at Sans near eternal smile.

Inexplicably likes pineapple pizza. Funny out-of-character gag.

AGAIN: CONTENT WARNING ESPECIALLY FOR ANYONE WITH TRIGGERS TO THE STUFF ABOVE. KEEP READING AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Changes made to his character:

I do not mind Hazbin being crass and vile and offensively-over the top as long as it has a good grasp on what the joke is (like Helluva Boss :>). My Hazbin thesis is that all of the characters are “demons” in as much as they’ve done bad things or were bad people, but are not maniacal or sadistic + there’s hope for some of them. THEN there’s Alastor who absolutely lives up to the demon-reputation and did genuinely evil things in life. Alastor’s the kind of person who absolutely should be purged but has escaped because those who are supposed to be for justice aren’t threatened by him.

He isn’t involved in voodoo or has any affluent Creole background. With all do respect that aspect feels just a little too lifted from Dr. Facilier. My Alastor’s background is American “mutt” with an Algonquian-native grandmother.

His sin in life - and in Hell itself - is Gluttony. Taking a page from the OG Wendigo mythos, which describes them more as pulsating, gorging Elderitch abominations, Al’s MO in the show is to consume everyone and everything there is.

Alastor’s demonic powers are presented as a wave of high frequency radio static that messes with a demon’s psyche so much it physically hurts them. Al then scoops up his victim’s souls to power his microphone and everything that demon had in it’s possession beforehand crumbles or becomes his.

Angel is afraid of him. Unlike in the canon cartoon, Angel is the one who recognizes Alastor and knows he’s dangerous, not Vaggie. Turns out, Angel had a run in with the Radio Demon sometime during the mid twentieth century (so when they were both pretty young in demon years). Angel tried to steal Al’s microphone but Al flung a nasty radio-frequency in Angel’s face, taking out one of his eyes. Angel was present during Al’s first attempt to take over Hell, so he immediately knows Al’s bad news and Alastor never misses the opportunity to mess with Angel in season 1.

Alastor is a shape-shifter. In what is probably the most grizzly detail about my take, he technically self-mutilates in order to re-imagine himself ala the Hellraiser Cenobites - which he does quite a bit to hide from Charlie’s parents.

Technically, Al is naked. What looks like a suit is actually his flesh. Look closely at you’ll see that he’s all stitched together like a crude taxidermy piece. Beneath his “skin” are his bones; which all look like mechanical radio parts and move independently of another. Sometimes Al tears them out if he thinks his “wiring needs to be reworked”, which is Al for ‘feeling an emotion’ and he doesn’t like that.

The motif my Alastor is supposed to invoke is everything about him was “stolen” and crudely pieced back together: he collects and traps other demons inside his microphone; he eats by unhinging his mouth and swallows in one gulp. Alastor’s anatomy invokes a lot of vore imagery as well as Ero Guro. Despite being ace, there is a sexual (but not arousing) edge to his character, which leads to a lot or horror and humor.

Alastor does not like that he was human. He’s even in denial of it and insists “I was always a demon. I simply had a nightmare that I was a man. Now I’m awake and the nightmare is long gone”.

Alastor’s human name was Edward; he was a sad, pathetic little man whom everyone walked all over. Edward wanted to be a radio host but was denied that position cause he ‘couldn’t smile’. Edward was deeply disturbed and fixated on ingesting human meat (a condition called ‘wendigo psychosis’). Despite committing murder and then eating all his victim’s bodies, he can’t recall most of the process and was frightened by his behavior, knew what he was doing was wrong. BUT he never went about treating his addiction with meat; he’d have “cold periods” where he didn’t kill and thought he was ‘fixed’ only for his psychosis to resurface.

Alastor’s demon self aims to be all the things that he wasn’t in life: happy, fulfilled, complete, confident, cheery, and satisfied. Al relishes in his self-made creepy image and no doubt took his demon name from a famous Alastair from his youth.

Al’s character arc throughout the ‘show’ (there is no show, why am I treating this like genuine pitch bible blah) goes as follows:

For the first season leading up the the finale and beginning of season 2, Al pretends to be Charlie’s friend until he backstabs her and takes over her hotel to harvest the ‘redeemed’ souls so he can restart his broadcasting-takeover that was just barely stopped years before. Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel intercept him however and destroy his microphone - which holds all the souls - causing him to loose his power. Charlie personality terminates his physical form leaving only his ‘heart’, which Lucifer makes Charlie eat so that Alastor will forever be under her control. The downside to this is Al’s soul+heart+person exists within Charlie now, and he of course speaks to her within her mind, trying to discourage, belittle, threaten or taunt her plans and feelings throughout the second season. Season 3′s opening would be about the main cast trying to get Vaggie out of Heaven once they learn it’s as corrupted as Hell. Charlie needs Al’s expertise, so she vomits him up. Al agrees to help her but is obviously not happy and vows to get his freedom back. In the second half of season 3, the main characters have to lay low while the angels partake in spiritual warfare against Lucifer. So Charlie and co. escape to the human world disguised as humans. Though an agreement, Alastor comes along and aquires a foreclosed motel for the demon’s to live (he intends to trap mortal souls while he’s there, though Charlie intercepts this too).

Angel and co. end up discovering Al’s human identity (something he tried to cover up any evidence of having in Hell) and invite his now elderly human daughter to the motel. It works too well however, and the fright of seeing his daughter again triggers an all out anxiety attack in Alastor causing him to merge with the motel. Charlie has to traverse his insides to try and get to his crumbling psyche which would be very Akira-inspired.

Meanwhile, inside Alastor’s mind we see his demon form finally baring a frown and freaking out as the pathological spirits of his victims sing to him in a radio booth about the life he’d chosen and the lives he took away from them. (Yes, this is absolutely taken from Bojack Horseman)

Once Charlie cuts to his core+Al faces the fact that there never was another demon responsible for his actions, it was always just him, Al relinquishes his hold on that motel and his physical form become that of a baby deer, whom Charlie nicknames ‘Deerlastor’. Deerlastor doesn’t appear to have any of Al’s powers, memories, or personality but Angel and the other demon’s Al’s abused insist on killing it, sure that this is just another one of Al’s weird forms. Because of Alastor’s absence, it takes a lot longer and harder for the main cast to get back to hell and help Charlie’s dad’s stop the (previously human) angels who want to wipe purge ALL of hell.

To take out the main ‘enlightened’ angel that’s in the middle of trying to purge ALL of Hell, the demon’s need a power of their own. Deerlastor agrees to sacrifice its body and because of that, Alastor pops out from the deer’s body and head on collides w. the big bad angel-villain, eliminating both their souls. Alastor gets no proper redemption arc kids, he just gets to be the one to take out the main villain.

Edward/Alastor’s daughter’s name was Lavinia and she was the closest thing to genuine ‘love’ he had in his life and the only person who obviously looked up rather than ignore or abuse Edward. When Ed was arrested and confessed to his crimes, his daughter wasn’t allowed to see him and the knowledge that her father was a cannibalistic serial killer haunted Lavinia all her life.

His crimes were not sexual. This is NOT AN EXCUSE for what he did though because -

- two of his victims were children. Yep.

Unlike the rest of the filth-spewing demons, Al doesn’t appreciate racism or sexism. He thinks himself a feminist for his day...despite also having killed women and children. Keep in mind he’s also from the 30s, so he’s as “progressive” as people could be for back then, AND he believes that his partial native ancestry means it’s okay to call himself a ‘wendigo’.

In reference to an oooooooooooold ref sheet Viv made for Alastor back in the day, Deerlastor gets shot in the head and dismembered a lot but always gets up like nothing’s wrong.

Alastor does not like electroswing. He likes jazz, doowop, twist, show jingles, and lots of American Folk ballads. You know, the stuff they’d jam the radio’s with back in the 30s.

Big influences on my Alastor are They Shoot Horses Don’t They?, American Murder Song, My Friend Dahmer (a graphic novel), Llamas with Hats and Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk.

(Ima thinking of renaming my Hazbin gang to better distinguish them between the canon. Alastor’s the only one who won’t be renamed though, just probably spelled a different way. (Alystar, Alaster, Alastar))

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rewritten #the radio demon #rewrite #TW: GORE #tw: cannibalism #tw: child abuse #tw: animal death #tw: ero guro #tw: vore

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nyeh-sureiguess · 4 years

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CB Theory: Aku Aku’s Guardianship (and the Brothers’ Human Past)

Out of all the characters in the Crash Bandicoot series, I've always found myself drawn towards Aku Aku and Uka Uka respectively. Not only for their unique designs, characterization, and outright whimsical concept (the spirits of two recognized witch doctors immortalized through floating wooden masks? Sign me up!) - but also for the possibilities their characters open up within the franchise's lore.

Below would be one of those possibilities that I like to theorize about; the very reason why Aku Aku devotes himself to protecting our little orange marsupial alongside the archipelago they reside in.

As a disclaimer, I'd like to state that what I'm about to describe will all be grounded in fiction (we're talking about a denim pants-wearing bandicoot around here) and are purely on headcanon territory. I'll be tackling some massive "what if" scenarios that have little to no evidence canonically but are fun to think of personally.

With that out of the way, allow me to go on a full-on I'm-desperate-for-more-lore-and-overall-content-of-these-masks-and-therefore-I'm-making-this-up-as-I-go-to-satisfy-those-needs ramble.

Let's start with Aku Aku. He's a being of high intellect, for sure - usually filling in the role of an advisor to the rest of the characters when they find themselves faced with tricky situations. This aspect of his could only be rivaled by his power, as he not only grants protection to other beings when summoned but has also shown the capability of sealing other mystical entities (such as his brother) away when he sensed that the world would be in peril otherwise.

So with these in mind, why in the world would he go and devote his guardianship role to Crash? The dude's another failed animal experiment from none other than Dr. Cortex; someone who had been planning a worldwide takeover for god-knows how long. Surely with how ancient Aku Aku is portrayed to be, he would have some previous experience encountering Cortex's other specimens (Ripper Roo, Dingodile, Pinstripe- you name that boss battle) and know of how dangerous they are. Heck, Crash himself is unpredictable right from the get-go. His life cycle had only just started by the time he had washed up on the beach and his first-ever conscious decisions are to flail around, breaking boxes and any enemies that happen to cross his path. Sure, he has a good heart. That's something that we come to know throughout the game, as he actively goes out of his way to choose the greater good and stop Cortex from fulfilling his evil plots. But something like that requires the luxury of time that Aku Aku didn't have when Crash decided to spin right into one of his crates on that fateful day.

So what was Aku Aku's thought process upon meeting the bandicoot and deciding to be his protector?

I like to think that it was first out of obligation. Aku Aku's crates seemed to exist alongside the others found within the island, far before Crash had come into contact with any of them. Perhaps - when his spirit was first incarnated into the mask, he made it so that any living creature in dire need could summon him when needed (even if this proved to be a little impractical, given how rarely any of the other creatures break his boxes). So that takes care of their meeting encounter on the beachside in the first game and one could even argue that this logic stretches into the second game, given his absence from the bandicoot duo.

What I'm far more interested in would be the reason why he stays in the third game and beyond.

We're talking about an all-powerful being here who could travel anywhere in the universe in the blink of an eye (and even across universes, taking Twinsanity into account), and for whatever reason, he decides to stay with the bandicoots in their own household, watching over them even as they do something as mundane as figuring out new yoyo tricks and watching Uncharted 4 on their laptops.

So why?

To answer that, I have to take a moment to talk about an aspect in Aku Aku's life that we all barely know about: his human incarnation. He couldn't have been a magical floating mask for the entirety of his life, after all. So let's say that centuries ago, he was the witch doctor of one of the tribes on the archipelago, appointed by the chief leader to be at his side and care for the rest of their people. A powerful yet humble witch doctor, at that, as he would never abuse his power for the sake of self-gain. Let's say that - aside from his position in the tribe, he lived a relatively normal life and even had a family to care for, including his twin brother, Uka Uka, who had also been a witch doctor in their village (but we'll get to his part later down the lane).

Let's say that - one day, Aku Aku's wife bears a child. Someone to help carry on their legacy of practicing medicinal magic, ideally. But the child themselves is born with mental disabilities, ones that have shown to only worsen as they grew up. The child found it difficult to communicate properly, to control their movements outside of impulse, and with the limited resources their world was faced with at that time, no one in the tribe seemed to understand what was wrong. Aku Aku would try his hardest; trying to use his magical abilities to help the child in any way he could in hopes of "fixing" him and finding himself at a loss whenever he was unable to.

Now here enters Uka Uka.

I imagine him to be the more practical of the two, wanting things done immediately even if it entails harsher, extreme means. He was matched with his twin brother in terms of their magical prowess, with the difference between them being his lack of empathy towards others. He seems like the type to charge the tribal folk with favors in exchange for his services, that coupled with his malicious demeanor being the reason why the chief hadn't appointed him as the witch doctor of the tribe despite being on par with his brother. This event struck jealousy within him, soon spiraling into an unquenchable need to knock his brother off his perch at every opportunity he got in order to show who the better between them truly was.

That child was his opportunity - because if there's one thing that Uka Uka was also good at, it's making people believe every word he said, as ill-intended as it were.

Uka Uka claimed that the child's behavior was the result of the ancients cursing their family bloodline, aligning his statements with spiritual beliefs that the people of the tribe shared. He linked the ancients' frustration to his brother, saying how they were being punished for how unworthy Aku Aku was to handle such a high-stakes position and even citing instances of the other's failures in saving lives (as he often spent too much time trying to work around the use of force and violence). He further claimed that the curse could be spread across the entire village unless the source itself was purged, that of, the child.

Aku Aku was outright against the notion, still holding onto the belief that he would one day be able to cure the young one of their problems. But it was already too late then; his brother's words had naturally stricken fear into the hearts of the rest of their people, and it was out of their own selfish greed that they pushed for the child to be executed in order to free their village from the wrath of the ancients. It came down to the point that Aku Aku found himself helpless as the chief took the matter into his own hands, having no other choice but to follow through with Uka Uka's theory in a means to appease the restless people.

This was the breaking point in the twin brothers' relationship. The grief of losing a loved one so unfairly made something snap in the witch doctor that day, the result of which being an all-out battle between the two. With how evenly-matched they were, however, the battle had only succeeded in slowing draining each other of their energy until they both reached their final breath. In was in that very breath that they had used the remainder of their powers to seal their souls away into the mask forms, allowing their spirits to live forever and their fight to continue on for the centuries to come. Aku Aku later found the redundancy in fighting and decided to lock his brother away in the temple, keeping his malice hidden away from the world (insert his speech at the beginning of Warped here. His fear of his brother's return stems from how he's well aware of the lengths Uka Uka would go to achieve ultimate power - meaning that countless of innocent lives could be lost in the process).

That brings us back to the main concern of why Aku Aku decides to stay with the bandicoots.

I'd like to imagine that, to some degree, Crash reflects some similar characteristics of that child Aku Aku lost all those years ago. From his inability to properly communicate (outside of actions and limited words and sounds) to even the childlike innocence of the mutant when looking past his chaotic exterior. He learned from his previous mistake of trying to fix the little one of his faults and found value in just being with him; accompanying him along his journey of righting Cortex's wrongs and slowly adapting to the unique way Crash acted (which could lead to why he's shown to understand Crash's gibberish throughout the years).

In doing so, Aku Aku was not only providing the world's only hero with the necessary means and power of stopping an evil scheme - but was also hoping to fulfill his role as a fatherly figure; something that he had once failed to do years ago.

TL;DR: Aku Aku decides to be Crash's guardian as the bandicoot reflects the behaviors of a son he had lost back in his human life due to Uka Uka's doings.

#crash bandicoot #crash bandicoot fandom #crash bandicoot theory #crash bandicoot headcanon #cb #cb theory #cb headcanon #theory #headcanon #aku aku #uka uka #past lives #past life #Aku Aku is a sad dad he's trying his best

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effervescentdragon · 4 years

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4, 7, 19,23?

Hiii lovely! Thank you for the asks, let’s do this! ^^

4.Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

They only ever called him Celebrimbor, and condescended to him, thinking themselves generous in allowing him to step away from his perceived tragic past. They wondered constantly, but never asked outright, filling in the blanks on their own with imagined tragedy and pain, and felt themselves justified in feeling proud of him, of how good, how trusting, how skillful he was, how he persevered in the face of imagined horrors he had to endure. They felt proud of themselves, for figuring out what his tragic past entailed.

(His Mother’s hugs; his Father’s kisses; his Uncles’ laughter; his Grandfather’s pride.)

He never gave them reason to think otherwise.

(Tyelperinquar will always be his Father’s son. Curufinwë Atarinkë was many (awful) things, but he was no fool, and he tried to teach his son not to be one either. He succeeded, if only partially. He should have tried harder with Tyelpë. He should have been better. He should have been worse.)

So. This is from a Silvergifting oneshot that I have been writing since roughly July. Tyelpe won’t really - cooperate. I’m proud of it because it’s dramatic, and it’s about names, and families, and skewered perceptions people have. And I just like it. Hope you do, too.

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Oh lord. Long sentences. Abundance of synonyms and Thesaurus abuse. Going off on tangents and getting lost in streams of thoughts of unreliable narrators. Well-researched characters and headcanons (that I’m ecstatic to share). Not that much plot - more character studies. Uh, to sum it up, perhaps - long and complicated, but maybe worth it in the (mostly angsty) end? I don’t know if others would agree - let me know, maybe?

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Oh, definitely. First of all, “and” in a stream of consciousness. I avoid doing the word count for “and”, bcs it just makes me wanna hit a wall repeatedly. I also use “for” a lot as a substitute for “because”, bcs I’m mostly writing Silmarillion ff and I try to match the tone of the original narrative. And the phrase “.. when (they/he/she) were but youth.” I overuse it AF. Trope (if it could be called that) I use too often is “this character has a lot of unresolved feelings so let’s do a huge flashback/inner monologue so everyone gets their thought process”. It always makes the fics waaaaay longer than I had planned.

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

So, this can go two ways.

The actual story I have had in my mind the longest and that is probably never going to be written is an MCU AU with Infinity Stones, but set during and after WW1. It contains, amongst other stuff, Steve and Peggy in Casablanca and also digging in the ruins of Alexandria Library; Bucky, Nat and Clint fleeing SSSR through Belgrade and Budapest; Bruce being lost as Hulk in Manchuria; Thor laying waste to Norwegian fjords to save Darcy and Jane; Loki stuck in a Maian Temple; Coulson using Greek mythology codenames; a fuckton of research on modes and duration of transport and state of colonies in early 20th century; and a Stucky HEA. And other stuff.

The story I’ve had on my mind since I started writing again, and the story that is being written since I had the urge to pick up a pen again, is a Glorfindel/Erestor love story, that spans, well, all the Ages?, with a special focus on all that’s happened in Gondolin on one hand, and their relationship after Glorfindel gets sent back on the other, in a parallel sort of way. Not to spoil anything, but Erestor is hurting very badly, and Glorfindel doesn’t remember stuff. It’s a sort of a ‘personal purging of demons’ fic for me, because I draw heavily on my own experience of waking up from a coma and not remembering a lot (which will also come up in an unrelated fic I’m writing for @finweanladiesweek! Check that out, it’s gonna be amazing!) at first. It contains confused and jealous Glorfindel, tragic Ecthelion, angry Erestor, morose Maedhros, little-shit Maglor, lovely and tragic Elrond, pretends-to-be-all-knowing Galadriel, best-buddy Egalmoth, understanding and funny Celebrian, badass-af Ereinion, and those are only characters I’ve mentioned so far. It’s going to be a long one, and a long time coming, so.. be patient with me?

Thank you so, so much for asking me all this @saecookie <3 I enjoyed the break from studying while I was writing this, and it made me feel - hopeful and excited for the future. You’re a treasure, thank you again!

#wow this got long #i am kinda... verbose #saecookie #asks #meta asks answered #writers asks #ASK ME ANYTHING #thank you for this <3 #effervescentdragonrants #effervescentdragonwrites #meta writers asks #silvergifting #glorestor #mcu #stucky

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yanara126-writing · 4 years

Text

Atonement

Edér and the Watcher have a long needed talk after the events at Cayron's Scar. When the Watcher shares her history, she gives Edér a few things to think on, and maybe even a spark of hope.

Read here or on Ao3

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

It was dark and well after dusk already. The nights around this time of year were cool, but not unbearable, so Edér didn't bother with finding his cloak first. He wished the others a good night and stepped out of Brighthollow. He stopped for moment, breathing in the crisp air and looking over the keep. It’d come along nicely since the day when they’d first come here. The houses in the courtyard were no longer ruins, but functioning buildings, housing the people that’d come to the reborn keep. It was beautiful, at least for his simple tastes. Though he could probably do without the creepy adra fingers around the chapel. Really, he kept waiting for that thing to just close it's hand and crush the little thing with everyone in it.

He sighed once and made his way to the chapel. He was in no hurry; he knew she’d be there. She always was, when they were in Caed Nua. Sleeping at the foot of the Eothas statue she had so lovingly repaired and dedicated herself. It seemed to be the only place she could sleep peacefully these days, no matter how uncomfortable that stone had to be.

He stopped in front of the chapel again and let the sight sink in. No matter how often he came here, it still made him a little unsettled. He’d told the Watcher that he’d remained steadfast in his beliefs and that was true, but still doubt gnawed at him. That he’d been wrong and Woden right, as always. And so the burning candles here and in the temple back in Gilded Vale both relieved and scared him.

He slowly drew in a breath, held it and released it again. Then he drew his hand through his blonde hair, just like his mother had always told him not to. He was here for a reason. It wasn't technically his turn, but everyone else had already been half dead on their feet, so he’d offered. Not that anyone was still keeping track anymore. Someone was always there to do it. To carry her back and put her to bed. In the beginning they’d tried to convince her to stay in the first place, but seeing as how that way nobody got any rest with her screaming and sobbing all night, they soon stopped trying. To prevent her waking up with a stiff neck every day, they always came to carry her back, once she was asleep. Well, it was mostly Edér and Kana and now Maneha as well. Pallegina had refused to enter the chapel and no one thought it worth arguing over. Aloth had tried taking her back once, but only succeeded in giving her a very rude awakening on the hard ground and breaking his own nose in the fall. He’d agreed that perhaps practicing a few calming spells might be the better option for him. Zahua had offered recently, but as much as Edér liked the guy, he did not trust him with the sleeping Watcher.

He stepped forward and pushed the door open. The warm light of candles spilled out the door, lighting up the night and giving a clear view of the inside. She was here, but not asleep and curled around the statue's feet as he’d expected. Instead she knelt in front of it in prayer. She looked up shortly when she heard him come in and then went back to praying. He remained standing in the door and felt awkward. Should he wait? She didn't seem like she was going to fall asleep soon and watching her just felt wrong. He felt like he was intruding on something private and personal.

He turned around and was about to leave, maybe come back a bit later, when she spoke. Much more softly than he was used to from her.

“Stay, please.” He hesitated a second, then stepped in and closed the door behind him. He knelt down next to her keeping as quite as possible. The church of Eothas had always been more forgiving in that area than he’d heard from others, but his mother had made very sure that he knew how rude it was to interrupt someone's prayer. He briefly thought about joining her in prayer for a bit, but decided against it. If Eothas really was still listening, she deserved his whole attention. Gods knew she needed it. Or maybe they didn't and wasn't that the issue?

“Thank you.” For a second he wondered if he’d imagined it. She hadn't moved, her robe was still bunched around her knees the same way and her priest's cloak was still gently falling over her shoulders like before.

“Well, if a priest tells you to stay in church, you better do,” he answered with a slight grin.

“You know that's not what I meant.” She still didn't move, so he turned back to the statue and let the smile slip. Did he know? Sure, there’d been plenty occasions where he'd helped her out, but that was the point of traveling in a group. They’d never felt the need to exchange words of gratitude before and he really couldn't think of anything recently that would change that. She seemed to sense his confusion or at least grew tired of the silence, because after a while she continued and he turned his head to her again.

“For everything. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn't for you. And all I've done in return is put you and everyone else in danger. You have no reason to follow me, no duty to uphold. I owe all of you, and you in particular, a great debt.” He sighed long and hard. The war had taught him many things. Mostly that life was too short to drown in misery, so he did his best to just take things as they came. But sometimes it became a bit much. Especially when it concerned her. In the last few months Edér had grown rather protective of her. Though she was certainly capable enough on her own, he couldn’t help himself. With her certainty and confident faith, she reminded him of Woden. And so, he never liked it when she got like that. He much preferred her conviction fuelled rants and childlike delight to her gloomy moments. They’d been getting more frequent lately, which was understandable but still emotionally exhausting. He turned around and sat down with his back against the statue's pedestal. Maybe it wasn't Eothas' attention she needed right now.

“Is this about the abbey?” It had to be. He was far more bothered about what had happened in the crater, but he knew, that had hardly been a question for her. They would have to talk about her lack of self-preservation at some point, but this wasn't that point.

She put her hands into her lap and lowered her eyes. He could see her swallow hard and start rubbing her fingernails against each other, a gesture he’d learnt to identify as a nervous habit. He sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot today, but after the last few days he could forgive himself for that.

She opened her mouth only to close it again and chew on her lip. It took her a few tries to shape her thoughts into words and he waited patiently.

“I drowned them. They asked me to let them go, and I drowned them. All because of a sense of duty to a goddess that isn't even mine.”

“One of them asked you, the others were already so far gone they jumped us every chance they got. And even that guy was rambling to his dead wife before he managed to scratch together his last bits of brains. Releasing them wouldn't have helped them.” The floor was getting more uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just the topic. “Remember that guy I told you about? The one with the roasted chickens? In one of his fits he bit a child’s fingers off. The night after he bashed his own head in. You really think that’d have been better?”

A light rattling could be heard. The sunstones of her prayer beads were clanking together, she was shaking so hard. He leaned forward and gently put his hands over her's. The rattle stopped.

“They chose to serve their goddess, and in return I drowned them.” He gripped her hands a little tighter with one hand and used the other to carefully lift her face, firmly looking her in the eyes.

“They chose their fate. It was cruel and they didn't deserve it, but it wasn't your fault. You let them fulfil their duty and gave them a new chance on the wheel. They would’ve drowned with or without you, but at least now they were the last ones, right?” He smiled and did his best to put the same warmth into it he remembered from the temple back home. From before the purges.

It seemed to work at least a little, since he could feel her hands relax just a little and saw her shoulders sag. Her lips twitched a little upwards and suddenly he became aware of his own tension leaving him. He squeezed her hands again before letting go, leaning back and stretching a bit.

With some shuffling she got off her knees and sat down properly as well. She was still chewing on her lip and started fiddling with the prayer beads.

Now that he wasn’t busy with a distraught friend anymore, he noticed how dark it actually was. The stained-glass windows never let much light pass through, even less at night, so the only source of lighting were the numerous candles that never seemed to go out or burn down. He'd always liked those. Still, the chapel was very different from the temple, a lot smaller for one. It probably hadn’t always been dedicated to Eothas, but time had erased all evidence of what else it could’ve been. The temple had also been more open, though not quite as open as it was now. Still had a ceiling.

“...I was apprenticed to an Ondra priestess once, you know?” she mentioned suddenly, in a tone so casual she could’ve been talking about the weather. Well that was... huh. He was so shocked, he forgot to be uncomfortable for a second.

“I never... I never thought you'd be...” He really didn't know how to react to that. “Is Ondra like, different in Aedyr?” he settled on asking. She smiled wider and wasn't that worth the cold ass and stuttering?

“Not really no. And I'm not, that's why I didn't stay, really it was just for a few weeks. The idea of just forgetting your issues didn't seem right to me in the end. Lord knows, I would have had enough of them. But the nuns of the convent raised me too well for that.” Her smile became sad again.

“Frankly, you lost me at 'apprentice’.” He really should've taken the coat, then he'd at least have something to sit on, because he had a hunch that this was going to take a while.

She sighed deeply. “It's a rather long story, really.”

“I’m not going anywhere for a while.” He'd come to give her some peace and if he had to sit on a cold stone floor for a while, he would without complaint.

She remained silent for a while and Edér sat and waited unmoving and patient. He might’ve seemed like dim-witted country bumpkin to some, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be thoughtful when he chose to be. When she started talking it was first haltingly, becoming more and more fluent the longer she talked, as if a dam had finally broken after years.

“I grew up in the city of Mithlon. It's the religious centre of the Aedyran Empire. Almost all big religions have their headquarters there. My parents worked as secretaries in some temple or other, I don't remember. The thing is, I had... issues as a child. I was... violent. Angry all the time. I don't know why, I just was. That didn't exactly endear me to my parents. And then came the point when I completely lost their love. I pushed my sister out the first story window of our house. For no real reason, I just wanted to hurt her. My parents grabbed her and ran with her to the nearest healer. When they came back, they packed a few of my clothes in a bag, brought me to the Eothas temple and left me there. They said only the god of redemption could help me now. I never saw them again. I don’t even know if she lived.” She fell silent after that. He desperately tried to think of something to say, to end the painfully heavy silence.

“Well, I'd say he did help you,” He said with a rather awkward smile. No matter how hard he tried to reconcile the picture of a raging and violent child with the compassionate and faithful young woman in front of him, he just couldn't imagine it. Sure, she had bad days like everyone else, but even at her angriest, she always did her best to settle things the non-violent way.

“There was a time when I didn't think so,” she continued, while looking up to the statue and moving her fist in the eothasian prayer sign. Three spots, for Eothas’ three main incarnations. The heart for Eothas' compassion, the shoulder for Gaun’s tools and actions and the forehead for the Dawnstars' unity. “I became better with time. I was put into the children's Sanctuary, a place where all children who need it are welcome. It's mostly used by the temple's apprentices and a few orphans. The nuns and monks were patient with me and slowly I got... less angry. But I still didn't feel like I belonged. So when the time came to decide on a future for me, I never even considered just staying and becoming an apprentice myself. Still, the temple life was all I knew, so I looked into different faiths. Magran seemed the obvious choice.” Edér blinked at that, as he had a sudden epiphany. “Is that why you argue with Durance so much?” He furrowed his brows and made a face. “You know, aside from the obvious reasons.”

She smiled a little. “It’s part of it, yes. He isn't entirely wrong about the Aedyran view of Magran, though. I've been with the Magranites only a few months, but they were indeed a bit... strict. A lot more disciplined than I've seen in the Dyrwood. That's partly why I left again. That and the fact that they called every bad thing happening to anyone a test. Just like he does.” She sighed, looking like all energy had left her. A testament to how much the last few days had really taken out of her. Usually she would have started fuming with righteous anger and gone into a long speech about unnecessary violence at even the mention of Durance's practices.

“When I returned to the temple, I was... disappointed. And scared. That they'd send me back there and make me stick with a decision I regretted.” Her next words were laced with a strange melancholy Edér couldn't exactly pinpoint. “I still had a lot to learn back then.”

“Of course they didn't make me go back. I got my old bed back and was asked to take up my old duties, meaning chores mostly and the occasional messenger job. After a few weeks I decided to seek apprenticeship at the Galawain temple. I was accepted, but again, I didn't stay long.” She laughed a bit and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. Or maybe just not at him. “They were... a tad bit obsessed for my tastes. The hunt this, the hunt that... You'd think the priests of the changeling god would welcome a change in perspective every once in a while. But no, if you can't shoot it while waxing poetically about the importance of strength it isn't interesting for them. So, I left once again. Even more afraid of returning than before. But, again, I was welcomed back with open arms.”

A fond smile found it's way onto her face and Edér couldn't help but return it. He knew the feeling of nervous anticipation and following forgiveness well enough. Oh, how often had he returned home bashful after a prank gone wrong, yet his parents had always made sure he knew he was loved after they’d given him an earful. But her smile soon faded again and the fatigue was back.

“After that, I just wanted away. I felt like a burden. And so, when a giftbearer stopped by the temple on the way to one of their settlements by the coast, I decided to join her. The idea of sacrificing my memories and burdens seemed appealing at the time. I took my still packed bag and left with her in the morning. It was quite a way and all the while I watched her do her duty. I tried to ignore it, to finally stick with my decision, but my doubts grew every day. It wasn't just the bad memories she wanted to take from people, but also the good ones. The last things they had of loved ones. ...The memories of the bad things they had done.” She lowered her head and pressed the bracelet of her prayer beads to her forehead.

“I wanted to forget, but in the end I couldn't go through with it. When we reached the abbey, I thanked her for her teachings and turned around. But I couldn't quite go back either, so I spent days just wandering the coast. That was the first time I was ever really alone. Looking back, staying away from everyone and everything at that time was probably not the smartest decision I ever made. I started obsessing over the idea that I wasn't enough. That what I was trying to do wasn’t enough. That I had to do something more extreme. So, once I got myself properly I worked up, I went and found the nearest Rymrgand temple.”

“Wait, there's a Rymrgand temple in Aedyr? I’m not an expert, but isn't Rymrgand worshipped in the White that Wends?” Focusing in on the neutral information was much better for now. He would have time to have a small mental breakdown over these revelations later.

She furrowed her eyebrows and crossed her arms with a piece of her usual fervour. “You’re not wrong, but for some reason Rymrgand is like Skaen in that way, if you just look hard enough you can find him anywhere. And that's the thing, I don't understand why! As much as despise Durance's way of thinking, as silly as I think Galawain's hunting shtick is, as harmful as I believe Ondra's suppression tactic is, I understand their believes. I get what they expect from their actions. With Rymrgand there's just no point! The whole faith is based on the inevitability of the all-encompassing end and the virtue of patience and Rymrgand doesn't do jack shit anyway! So they're all wasting their time praying to a god who has no intention of listening or acting either way!” She huffed loudly and threw her hands into the air before settling down again.

Thankful for the return of her fire, Edér decided to keep her going for a bit if helped her emotional state. “But faith is supposed to be selfless. Only praying to a god because you want something is against, well I think pretty much every religion. Except maybe for Skaen, that guy's just weird...”

She took the bait for a religious discussion he was not at all prepared for and started gesticulating wildly, launching into a passionate speech as she always did when someone dared question her faith. “The point isn't how you live your faith, it's why you take it up in the first place. What you work and pray for. What you hope to accomplish with your god’s help. Technically that's different for everyone, but there are constants. All the gods stand for something and for that we rally under their banners. The Ondrites wish for oblivion for the world from it's pain, the Magranites seek to purify and sift out the ones they deem unworthy, the followers of Skaen avenge their own suffering. We Eothasians, we want to bring hope to people and help them find their redemption if they need it. We all want to help, no matter how misguided some are. But Rymrgand doesn't actually do anything! All he stands for is the unescapable death of everything and fair enough if you're looking forward to it, but Rymrgand teaches that everything ends in due time, so you're not even allowed to do anything about it! Rymrgand's faith literally stalls itself. All you can do is sit, pray and die over and over until the end which comes whether you do that or not! And they are entirely aware of that! The high priest of the temple told me immediately after I stumbled in, and he seemed so proud of it too!”

Edér didn't think she'd taken a single breath throughout the speech. With her head almost as red as Durance's she looked much more like her usual righteous self. He hoped that it would be enough to not let her drown in her past again, but thought it better to get it over and done with now, instead of letting it fester another 15 years. Perhaps he wasn't as smart as Aloth or Kana, but nobody could say he hadn't learnt from his own mistakes.

“So, what’d you do then?” The redness receded again, but the energy stayed. She was still more solemn than suited her, but he could see her determination to finish the story and maybe, finally put the past behind her.

“Well for one, I left immediately after the high priest finished his grand introductory speech without so much as a goodbye,” she said and frowned. “Not one of my proudest moments, I admit, but at that point I was so disillusioned and broken, that I couldn't have dealt with more bullshit, without throwing myself off the next cliff. I trudged back home after that. I don't remember much of the journey, but I know that I stumbled back into the convent in the middle of the night and almost hammered Ydona's door in.” She smiled softly staring into the air behind him, with a warmth Edér knew was reserved for very few people. He could claim with no small amount of pride to be one of them, though he was starting to suspect, that her smile for Aloth was still on another level. A matter to meddle with later. And he’d definitely have to, Aloth was more likely to become an animancer than admit his feelings to anyone about anything and the Watcher respected his personal bubble too much to do it herself. Iselmyr would be a helpful accomplice in that endeavour. But later.

For now he had to ask: “Ydona?”

The smile didn't fade, but her eyes focused on him again. “The subprioress of the Abbey of the Dawnstars, where I grew up. She manages the Sanctuary and is for all intents and purposes my mother. She has the patience of a saint and with all the kids she has to keep under control, she needs it too.” She paused and frowned a little. “Actually, with the saints we had recently, maybe that's not the best analogy.” Edér couldn't help but snort at that. “Yeah, I don't know if ‘patient’ is the word I'd use for Waidwen.”

She chuckled before continuing again. “Well, Ydona always had more patience for us than we... than I ever deserved. And I needed it that night more than maybe ever. I must have looked like a Cean Gwla after days of travel, little food and less sleep. When she saw me, she shooed me inside, made me some hot soup and then stuffed me into bed. I spent the whole night and following day alternating between sobbing into her chest and sleeping like the dead. I assume she had someone take over her duties when I was asleep, because she stayed with me the whole time. It took me another night to finally calm down, and then I told her everything. Everything that had piled up over the years. And she just listened.”

She paused and her smile widened suddenly. “A bit like you right now, actually.”

He just smiled back. No words were necessary here.

“Anyway, after I was done crying my soul out, she asked me what I wanted to do now. Truthfully, I had no idea,” she said with a slightly distant tone, like the idea of not knowing one's path was a foreign concept, that needed to be contemplated. Edér was more than a little jealous of that.

“So, I spent the next weeks following her around like a lost puppy. I helped her with her duties and was, essentially, her secretary. Those were some of the most peaceful weeks of my life,” she said with a contented smile. “After a while a letter from the Abydon temple arrived. Ydona had me read it to her. It took me a while to realize, that that was probably no coincidence. Especially considering how suspiciously descriptive the letter was.” She chuckled.

“It made me think, as it was probably meant to, and after giving it some thought, I asked to join Abydon’s clergy. And coincidentally Ydona had something to do at local temple anyway, so she escorted me there. It was only a day’s journey, but I appreciated it. There, master Waylon welcomed us and I was initiated as an apprentice. I spent the next five years in that temple.”

“Was it like the little one they have in the White March now?”, Edér couldn’t help but ask. Abydon was the only other god besides Eothas he’d ever been interested in. Not enough to actually seek him out, especially since he would’ve had to go down to Defiance Bay for that, but the honest simplicity of a hard day’s work had appealed to him nonetheless.

She thought about it and then nodded. “Essentially, yes. Just a lot bigger, with more people. That makes it both more crowded and yet more personal at the same time. Not everyone there is a priest candidate, the majority are normal students. They call the temple the Crucible, because it’s not only used as a temple, but also a place of learning for many different crafts, though blacksmithing is certainly the most popular one. The actual apprentices of Abydon are taught separately, so we got a bit more attention than the average student. I liked it quite a lot actually, master Waylon was a good teacher and a personal friend of Ydona, so he knew of my problems and made sure I acclimated well. It was exhausting, but satisfying. It was the first time in my life I was actually happy.”

“Since you’re wearing Eothas’ colours and not Abydon’s, I’m sensing a ‘but’,” he quipped and leant forward to put his elbow on his knee and placed his chin onto his palm.

She smirked and mirrored his posture. “How well you know me, oh wise man!” They laughed together and she leant back again, reclining onto her hands. “You are of course right. I was happy and maybe I could’ve been content there in time, but I was still missing something. Abydon just wasn’t my calling, though I didn’t quite know what was. I thought about it long and hard, if I learnt anything in my time there, it was patience and persistence. The conclusion I reached was incredibly simple. I wanted to give back what was given to me. I wanted... want to help people find redemption and hope, like I’ve been helped. No matter how many tries it took me and no matter how often I failed, I always had a home and family to return to and I was forgiven, even if I didn’t always realize it. The priesthood of Eothas is my calling.” She smiled at the statue so brightly, Edér was almost convinced Eothas would come back to life through her willpower alone.

“When I understood that, I went to Waylon to tell him about my plan to leave. He didn’t seem particularly surprised, now that I think about it,” she trailed off a bit, frowning, but quickly continued again. “He accepted my decision and made me an offer. If I stayed another half year, I would be allowed to take the final exam with the blacksmithing students and earn myself the proof of a finished apprenticeship. That way I could return home with an achievement this time. And since I saw no reason to hurry, now that I’d finally found my way, I accepted.” She looked at him with a mischievous smile, as if she was about to share some incredible joke. “My final work-piece was a hammer.”

Edér snorted. “Well, I hope it was better than the one you made in the White Forge, or that proof is a pity-proof,” he teased good-naturedly.

The Watcher gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you, my hammer was perfect! Obviously, since the Eyeless actually came.” That remark killed the light atmosphere with the memory of the recent horrors and they sat in an awkward silence for a few seconds.

She cleared her throat and launched back into the story and Edér was glad he didn’t have to face this particular issue quite yet, though he certainly would later, when he’d had time to let it all sink in properly. “Anyway, I passed the exam and then made my way home. I hadn’t told Ydona of my plans and apparently Waylon hadn’t either, because she was visibly surprised when I arrived. I held the same speech for her as I had at every temple before, requesting apprenticeship. She didn’t even let me finish and just hugged me. She gave me a set of initiate robes, that fit suspiciously well, and I was officially moved into the apprentices’ quarters. Meaning of course I could actually take my old bed back.” She was clearly trying to make up for her earlier remark with those jokes, but as forced as they were, they still did their job and the air got a bit lighter again.

Her eyes suddenly became glassy and her face took on a serene look. For a second Edér thought she’d gone into a watcher’s trance, but then she continued speaking. “That night was the first time I ever prayed and actually meant it, with all my heart, and it was the first time He ever spoke to me. Do you know what He told me?” She turned to face him and he saw not the flaming priestess, not the suffering Watcher, but just a young woman filled with calm, undying devotion.

He stayed mute and just blinked at her dumbly. Her smile grew wider and somehow even softer. “He said: ‘Welcome home.’” She faced the statue again and Edér was certain the candles on the altar shone brighter. The light gleamed and flickered, throwing shadows on the statue’s face. It seemed alive in that moment.

“I want to tell Him the same, when He returns,” she said, still looking up to the stone face above them. It was a statement of absolute certainty, lacking any sense of doubt that it would happen and for the first time in fifteen years, Edér felt like he could share it.

The spell broke as suddenly as it had come and the moment was over. The light was as dim as before, the statue just stone and the Watcher a normal mortal like him, who knew the future no better than anyone else. Edér found himself staring at her, unsure if what had happened had been real, or the product of the last few, very stressful days finally catching up to him. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, that it startled him when she continued.

“He didn’t speak to me often, of course. I was ordained only two years before the Great Silence started, and before that I was just one acolyte of many. But He always answered me when I needed Him most. That’s why I was so confused when He stopped, all of us were. Though it took us a bit to even notice. News of... the Godhammer took a few days to reach us, so most, myself included, blamed themselves at first. In the beginning I wasn’t too shocked. After all He didn’t always answer and we’d heard rumours of Readceras, though not much, so maybe He was just busy. When the silence persisted, I thought maybe I’d displeased Him somehow and spent quite some time meditating on what I’d done. When I found nothing, I went to Ydona and confessed my issues to her, she admitted the same problems and we became suspicious. Slowly the other priests and acolytes came forward and then the news reached us. It was... a turbulent time.” She sighed deeply but gifted Eothas’ stone incarnation one last loving smile, before turning to Edér again.

She frowned a little and asked: “What were we talking about again? I’m afraid I’ve gone on a bit of a tangent.” He shifted around a little. Now that his focus wasn’t completely occupied, he noticed how cold and sore his butt had gotten. “I think we started off with you explaining how you were an Ondra acolyte once. Seemed like you had to get something off your chest though, so don’t worry about it.” He sent her a lopsided grin, while trying in vain to get some feeling in his lower half back.

“Ah yes, I remember. Well, now you know my full life story I guess. I suppose it’s only fair, with how much you’ve told me about yourself,” she said, looking tired, but also relieved. “Thank you for listening to my rambling. I think, I just needed to spell everything out for myself. Get it out into the open.” A pang of guilt shot through him at her words. He himself hadn’t managed to muster the courage for that yet. He’d come close with her, but his deepest doubts were still tightly locked away. He pushed the feeling out of the way; dwelling on it now wouldn’t help anybody. Maybe they’d find something on that battlefield and the problem would solve itself. Hopefully. And besides, right now his curiosity outweighed any sense of shame.

“You know, I always wondered how they thought about Waidwen elsewhere. When they crowned him, a few of our priests went to Readceras, but with the war starting soon after, there wasn’t really much time for an opinion to form. You know, aside from ‘fuck this guy’.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. She’d already relived a lot of painful memories today, not to mention the shit that’d gone down just in the last few days; poking at the wounds even more for the sake of his curiosity, was hardly sensible.

Thankfully the Watcher didn’t seem to mind his intrusiveness. Her face took on a thoughtful look and she gnawed on her lip, considering her answer. “Well... that’s a bit of a loaded question. The thing is, most of us, at least at my temple, didn’t even know about him, until Readceras was lost. The rebellion itself only lasted a few days from when it really started, so when we heard about him, the borders were already tight. The Fercönyng forbade every contact with the colony, or not colony, under threat of permanent exile. I know of some who left anyway, but most were... hesitant. Eothas never mentioned anything before. Even afterwards, He never answered any questions regarding the situation in Readceras, in neither direction. That left us rather confused on what to do. A lot of debating was going on, especially when the war started, but before anyone could decide on anything, it was already over again. Since the Great Silence started then, we had little choice, but to assume Waidwen was telling the truth, but there’s still a lot of debate over what exactly happened then and what Eothas’ purpose was. So, the only universal opinion on him in the clergy is ‘Huh?’.” She gave him a helpless shrug. “Although I believe the Fercönyng would probably agree with your assessment,” she chuckled after a short moment.

Edér laughed with her. Mostly because he didn’t know what else to do. Her reply had given him a lot to think about, for example that apparently Eothas hadn’t told anyone of His intentions, not even if He had any intentions at all.

Once they’d grown quiet again, Edér moved to get up, joints cracking. “Well, thanks for the answer, it’s... something. But this old man needs to take a walk now or my bones are gonna get stuck in that position.” He groaned and stretched his arms out, cringing at the sound. He really wasn’t twenty anymore.

“I’m pretty sure I’m sure I’m older than you,” she told him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah yeah, keep showing off, elf!” He was sorely tempted to pull on her pointy ear, but ultimately decided against it. With how tired he was, he probably wouldn’t have been able to avoid her retaliation.

At the door he turned his head to her again. “I’m gonna come by before I turn in for the night, alright?”

She nodded, moving to her knees again. “That’s fine. I’ll just finish here and then we can go back.” He highly doubted she’d be going so much as being carried again, with how her shoulders had started dragging and her excessive blinking, like her eyes didn’t want to stay open anymore, but he let her pretend.

With one last look back, Edér left out the door and stepped into the night. And immediately regretted not bringing a coat once again. He shivered once and the goldpact knight on night watch around the corner glanced at him with clear judgement for his bad choice in clothing.

Edér ignored him and started his round around the courtyard, the fresh grass crunching under his boots. While he’d been in the chapel, Belafa had risen further and the sky was bright with stars. Edér couldn’t help but stare. The night sky had always been beautiful, but with the Watcher’s words at the back of his mind he could look up for the first time in fifteen years and hope. Nothing had really changed and yet something had finally broken loose. Maybe it was silly, but seeing her complete and utter trust in not only Eothas, but also His return, had restored some of his own trust, if not in Eothas, then in her, and that was enough for now.

He walked past the double doors of the keep and to the training grounds. At this hour they were empty, but some poor sod had forgotten his sword. Edér picked it up and started swinging lightly at one of the practice dummies. The repetitive movement was almost meditative and gave him the opportunity to process the story he’d just heard and loosen his muscles. As shocking as it’d had been at first, he found it made more sense than expected. Her rather impressive knowledge about and at times seemingly personal grudge against the Magranites. Her steadfast defence of Abydon, even in the face of another god. And of course, the hammer. He was in no way an expert in blacksmithing, but even he’d been able to tell, it was a perfectly functional hammer. He’d been impressed at the time, but hadn’t given it much thought.

After a few minutes Edér let the sword sink and leant it against the wall for it’s owner to find it again. Walking along the keep’s outer wall, he made his way towards the forum. From there he turned around and slowly started making his way back. The wind was starting to pick up, making the night even colder and his fingers were adamantly reminding him that he wasn’t a pale elf.

Back at the chapel Edér carefully cracked the door open and peeked inside. This time his suspicions were proven correct. Soft breathing could be heard from inside and when his eyes had grown accustomed to the darker light, he could see the Watcher slumped over the statue’s pedestal, a cleaning rag still in her hand.

Making sure his steps were as soft as possible on the stone floor, Edér entered the church. With an exasperated smile he gently pulled the rag from her fingers and placed it on the altar next to the candles. The priest technically in charge would take care of it in the morning. When he moved to pick her up, she didn’t stir and just continued snoring quietly. The strain of the last few days, months truly, had finally caught up to her.

Once he had the Watcher safely tucked into his arms, Edér allowed himself a pause to just feel her breathe and remind himself that she’d done the impossible and survived the collapse of Cayron’s scar. When she’d broken through the ice shaking and hacking, they’d all nearly broken down with joy, but with the following events there’d been no time to really let her miraculous survival sink in. Now seeing her calm face in the dim light of the candles with nothing else pressing on him, Edér could finally feel himself relax.

Leaving her behind down there had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, but he’d known that arguing would’ve been useless. The look she’d worn then, he’d seen it once before, on Woden’s face when he’d left for the war. Edér hadn’t been able to stop him either. So instead of wasting time, he’d made a promise to himself. He’d honour her sacrifice and continue her legacy, and that started with getting himself and the rest of their team safely out. He’d basically had to drag Aloth by the scruff of his neck.

Her survival changed nothing about his promise. Edér already knew, he’d follow her to the ends of Eora if he had to. In these last few months, he’d felt more at home than since before the war. He hadn’t expected much, when he’d joined her in Gilded Vale, after all, what could you expect from a lunatic running around Gilded Vale completely covered in Eothas symbols and staring at corpses. But since then he’d grown attached to the lunatic. He’d failed his brother, one way or another; he wouldn’t fail his honorary sister, even if he wasn’t certain yet what success would look like.

When his arms started getting heavy, Edér noticed how long he’d been staring and shook his head. Obviously he was as exhausted as everyone else. Time to get both of them to bed. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and carefully manoeuvred them through without hitting her head on the frame. With sure steps heading back towards Brighthollow he found it in himself to thank Eothas. Whatever had happened, whatever was still going to happen, hope had found him at last.

#Pillars of Eternity #The Watcher #Edér #watcher wednesday #fanfiction #writing #talking #childhood memories #friendship #backstory #sibling love #religion #because the pantheon of this game is pretty cool #guilt #Caed Nua #bad sleeping habits

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stained-carmine · 4 years

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Stepping foot into his office—the office he had just inherited from his father—Eliyah slowly sauntered over to his new desk, running his fingers along its wooden surface. Placing a hand upon the chair, he let out a soft exhale as he pulled it back. Taking a seat, azure eyes would gaze ahead aimlessly.

He’d done it. He had succeeded his father and become the head of the High Council of Aciernha’s merchant guild, just as he had promised he would.

So why didn’t he feel accomplished? Why was there still a void in his soul? A chasm in his heart that had yet to be filled. Glancing around, he took in his surroundings, committing every detail to memory.

As he sat in silence, the soft patter of rain drops could be heard against the window. Turning his head to the darkened scenery beyond the glass, he somberly stared out the window as the fall of the rain grew heavier, until it became a downpour, droplets relentlessly pelting against the glass with no end in sight. With a sigh, he turned away from the dreary weather and focused his attention on the desk at which he sat.

Sorrowful blue hues would linger upon the scuffs and scratches that marred the wood. Running his fingers along the indentations, he thought about his life thus far. The choices he had made, and the circumstances that had brought him to this very moment.

“Is that true?” A girl’s voice called out, snapping the boy out of his daze.

“A-ah...Y-yes, my father is the head of the High Council of the merchant guild. He runs the guild and keeps everything functioning properly. Without the guild, there would be no one to manage trade in and out of the city, as well as to maintain the city’s market prices. The guild is very important to the health of the economy.” Keeping his eyes glued to the ground as he spoke, he wouldn’t notice the young noble’s look of disinterest that came over her as he began to explain the inner workings of the guild.

“Mm...I suppose so.” She said with a small frown. Letting out a soft sigh, she shook her head a little. “No, that is not what I meant. I meant is it true that you are to succeed him one day?”

“Ah, y-yes...it is. When I come of age I am to begin my apprenticeship working under him. I will learn all I need to know in order for me to succeed him and become the next head of the High Counc—”

“Is that what you want?” She said firmly, a serious gaze turned towards him.

“Eh?” Lifting his head, wide eyes stared at the girl for a moment, gaze wandering until his eyes met hers, causing his heart to skip a beat as her crimson hues stared into him. For some reason, her eyes were so powerful to him. He was by no means assertive, so her commanding gaze subdued the meek boy with ease. His eyes averted once he noticed their gazes had locked, cheeks flushing faintly as he tried to calm his nervous heart. “I...uh...” He stammered as he tried to find the words to answer her.

The young duchess remained silent, frowning slightly at his anxious reaction, but paying it no more mind than that. This boy had always been a nervous wreck, ever since the day they first met. Though he was getting better at conversing with her, he still had a long way to go, and his progress had been a slow crawl. He could still hardly look her in the eye, his gaze averting whenever she turned her crimson orbs his way.

The girl’s eyes narrowed for a moment, taking on a somber light as she recalled her brief interactions with the children of the other noble families of Aciernha.

Ivalinne had always been somewhat of an oddity among her peers, not only for the strange color of her eyes, but also because of her uncharacteristically rough behavior. She didn’t quite fit in with the other children. She was too rowdy for the girls, who would rather remain indoors, playing with dolls and dressing up in their mother’s old clothes, than running through the gardens that dotted their families’ estates. As for the boys, they were hesitant to even play with a girl like her, thinking her to be like their sisters. Needless to say, they were surprised to see that she could not only keep up with them, but also give them a run for their money.

Her gaze lowered to the ground as she recalled one incident from when she was younger. One of the boys had challenged her to a race of sorts, to see who could find the other faster. Of course, she was the victor by a fair margin. As she gleefully boasted over her victory, the boy yelled at her, accusing her of cheating, to which she insisted that she didn’t. From there, it quickly devolved into a shouting match that resulted in the boy taking a swing at her. Fortunately, an adult had stepped in and put an end to the fight before anyone was hurt, but ever since, the other noble children kept their distance from her. It didn’t bother her much, she never really felt welcomed by them in the first place. The way they looked at her and whispered to one another about her odd behavior, it was clear they viewed her as an outsider, something different from them. Whether it was because her family’s superior status to the other noble families, or if it was because her eccentricities, she didn’t care. If they couldn’t judge her for who she was—if they couldn’t look past her status or appearance, things which held no bearing on who she was as a person—then she had no interest in them. She wasn’t going to pretend to be friends with people whose company she didn’t enjoy, it just wasn’t her.

Letting out a sigh, she purged those thoughts from her mind. This boy who sat here before her wasn’t like those noble brats who shunned her for her quirks. After all, he wouldn’t have continued to come back if he didn’t enjoy her company, right? Turning her gaze back to him, she interrupted his stutters with a firm voice.

“Is that truly what you wish to do?” The boy flinched as she spoke, mouth agape, unable to counter her words. “You say that is what your father has told you, what he has decided for you, but do you truly want that?”

“I-I...” He whimpered weakly in response. He didn’t know what to say, how to answer her inquiry. He had never questioned it, whether what his father had laid out for him was what he truly wished to do with his life. At a loss of how to answer her, and paralyzed by her gaze, all he could do was stare back in awe of her, this girl who had such a firm grasp on her own identity.

Seeing his dumbfounded expression, her features softened as she smiled at the boy. “...You should make your own choices, choose your own path. It is your life, you should live it how you wish.” She said as she turned her gaze out towards the vibrant flowers that surrounded them in this magnificent garden.

“To have the freedom to do as you please, to go where you want, to be anything your heart desires...” The young duchess paused as she closed her eyes and inhaled, taking in the medley of floral aromas that filled the air. Letting out a gentle exhale, her lips curled into a smile as she turned to face the boy.

“Is that not one of the greatest pleasures one can achieve? To see the world beyond the confines of this infinitesimally small garden? To reach out and grasp your dreams, to make them a reality, and to not be shackled to the will of another...is that not something you yearn for as well, Eliyah?”

Exhaling, the young man slowly opened his eyes. Somber blue orbs gazed downward, focused on nothing in particular, his mind still fixating on her smile as the words she gave him on that day so many years ago replayed within his head. A smile he’d never get to see again.

Letting out a sigh, he turned his head away, as if trying to avert his eyes from the past. It still hurt, even three years after her passing, the wound was still fresh, still so raw. When would his heart begin to mend? He thought fulfilling his promise to her would bring him closure—that keeping his word would change something, make him feel a little less broken.

But here he was, still hurting from her loss even after succeeding at that goal. Was there something missing? Something he had overlooked? Had he made the right choice? Regrets weighed upon his heart, tugging at the wound. What ifs would play out in his mind, fantasies that hurt to indulge in. The thought that maybe he could have done something that would have changed the outcome, that perhaps if he had chosen a different course of action, maybe she’d still be here.

Resting his arms upon his desk, the young man placed his head upon them. “Ivalinne, I have done as I promised you...so why do I not feel fulfilled?” He muttered to himself, words that sought no verbal answer. “...What would you say to me if you were still here with me now?” A solemn frown creased his lips as he listened to the sound of the rain against the window, the only sound that broke the silence.

Eyes lowered slowly in the wake of that suffocating loneliness that pressed against his soul. If only she were here. The light to guide his path. That warm, bright smile that gave him the courage to stand on his own. How dearly he missed it. Closing his eyes, he would imagine it, what that vivacious girl would say to him if she could see him now.

“...” Lips parted as it dawned upon him. The answer was so clear when he stopped to think about it. That unruly girl would surely be upset upon seeing that sad look in his eyes, as if he had lost hope for the future. Along the way, through the struggle to come to terms with his loss, he had forgotten that to succeed his father was not the only thing he promised.

“...Of course.” He mused aloud, lips curling into a faint, somber smile. “You would most certainly chastise me for being so melancholic. No doubt you would selfishly demand that I cheer up immediately, saying that I am not allowed to look so miserable in your presence...” A soft, self-pitying chuckle escaped him as he lifted his head. “...I was so fixated upon the first promise that I had forgotten about all the rest.” Gaze lowering as he spoke, he recalled the day he had made those promises to his beloved. “To be happy that it happened, and to not let the sadness and grief of that precious time coming to a close change us...” As the memory of that moment surfaced in his mind, faint traces of tears began to accumulate in the corners of his eyes. “Oh how I miss you...I am sorry, I had nearly forgotten my own words to you, Ivalinne.” Wiping the tears from his eyes, he took a deep breath, reaffirming his convictions. “I am not yet done here, I still have to fulfill my promise to you...”

Shifting in his chair, Eliyah turned to the side and reached for the leather bag which sat at the side of his desk. Opening it up, he retrieved an unlabeled notebook from within—the one he had recovered from the late Duke’s study in the spring. Flipping through its pages, he came to the notes concerning Anton Rozka’cer’s suspicions regarding Cyril of Falorre. “...I see now why you chose not to act, Anton.” He said as he glanced over the entry that detailed the man’s concerns over the Ardenian noble. Written in his notes were the late Duke’s speculations on the matter—theories that lacked the evidence to prove them true. To act upon his intuition at the time, when he had nothing to back it up, would have been a risky move. One that would have caused tension between the two cities. Strained relations would have been a detriment to Aciernha’s economy. In the worst case scenario, refusal based upon idle speculation could have resulted in war. It had been a precarious situation that required a delicate hand. The Duke had done all he could with the information available to him at the time.

But now things were different. What Anton had needed to prove his theories true had made itself known. The son of Arledge who had been hidden away, the woman who the Duke of Falorre had bribed to keep quiet about the child, the manipulation of factors to ensure he would be chosen as the man Ivalinne was to wed. The rotten stench of that man’s evils couldn’t be hidden any longer. With his passing, the web of lies had begun to unravel. How deep did it go? The corruption of the Falorre House. The informant that Anton had hired had confirmed what the Rozka’cers had been told, but couldn’t find evidence to support the Duke’s theory. Cyril had hidden his secrets well. No doubt this was merely the tip of the iceberg, that there was much more to uncover. An arduous journey lied ahead, one that required a careful approach, else what Anton tried to accomplish by agreeing to the engagement, the continuation of amicable relations and peace between the two cities—what the Rozka’cer family died protecting—would be thrown into jeopardy.

From here on out, the real struggle began. He had once sworn to uncover that man’s evils, to bring to light all of the awful deeds committed by Cyril of Falorre. Now, he was in a position to do so. No longer a mere child, powerless to change the world around him, Eliyah could finally bring about the realization of those dreams to honor her memory. He wasn’t helpless anymore.

Now, he could change the world.

Setting the journal down upon his desk, the newly appointed head of the High Council of Aciernha’s merchant guild pulled out an empty notebook. Retrieving a quill from the holder that sat upon the desk, the young man dipped the pen into the inkwell as he opened to the first page of the book.

Azure hues would gaze upon the blank page before him. A somber light reflected in his eyes for a moment as his courage wavered. Doubts arose in his mind as he thought about the daunting tasks ahead of him. With the Rozka’cer Dukedom no more, the duty of governing Aciernha had fallen to the guild in the absence of its leaders. With his succession, the responsibility of keeping Aciernha afloat landed squarely upon his shoulders. His once simplistic life of playing in the gardens of the Rozka’cer estate with his dear friend were long gone.

What lied before him was a treacherous path covered in thorns, one that seemed endless from where he stood. Would he really be able to do it? Was he up to the task? Was this the right choice to make? And would she be proud of him for what he was about to do? Gripping the quill a little tighter, Eliyah would swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. I cannot give in to my insecurities now, not after coming so far... He thought to himself as he closed his eyes and focused his mind upon the memory of her smile. No, I must not falter in pursuit of this goal. I owe it to her, to Anton, to Aciernha... Reopening his eyes, azure hues burned with determination. I shall keep my promises to you, Ivalinne. I swear it upon my very life.

With his purpose renewed, the young man inhaled deeply, before letting out a calming exhale. Putting pen to paper, he uttered a single phrase to himself to steel himself against the challenges that awaited him in the future, a quiet affirmation of his chosen course, and the resolution to see it through.

“Let us begin.”

#Eliyah #Ivalinne #A Shattered Heart #Narrative #Drabble #World Building #Spoilers for Ivalinne's story #Spoilers #Long Post #1900th Post #PART 4 #ONLY TOOK ME 6 MONTHS OF WRTIER'S BLOCK

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true-neutral-earth-elf · 5 years

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Tdp Crack Theory/fan lore: Avizandum and the Seven Cakes of Xadia

Avizandum is actually a very popular protagonist in Elven folktales, like Jack and Hansel who both appear in various stories irl. Their appearance is unknown and will often be attributed different features, and genders, depending on the story origin.

At some point after entering Xadia and getting past Sol Regem, Rayla and Callum find themselves getting roped into a production of the most popular of these stories, “Avizandum and the Seven Cakes of Xadia.” Callum is singled out to play the daring hero by the eccentric director, while Rayla works with the special effects. Zym watches the whole thing from beneath one of the bleachers, occasionally sneaking some elven equivalent of popcorn from the distracted children.

The story opens with Avizandum sitting upon a rock, pondering the meaning of existence. A cloaked stranger approaches them, asking why it is that they sit there staring into space. The hero shares with the stranger their confusion. Why are they here, what is the purpose for which they were born (“Elves are, apparently, quite fond of stories depicting existential crises,” Callum notes). The stranger listens carefully, then calmly answers, “Dear child, that is quite the conundrum! If you are, indeed, bent on finding the answer to your query, then this I shall offer you.” The stranger tells them of the Seven Cakes of Xadia, magical goodies concocted by the wisest of the archmages many centuries ago (“What kind of preservatives were those things pumped with?!”); each one granted the consumer absolute knowledge of a single part of life. The stranger hands Avizandum a map made of riddles which would direct them to each of the cakes. Avizandum considers the offer (“guess the only trait everyone can agree on, is his need to take time to think,”), to which the stranger prompts him to decide, “My child, I have a long journey ahead of me and little time to waste; yay or nay?” They accept, and go on their way to find the first cake.

The first cake, a red jelly filled delight which almost seemed to pulse, contained the knowledge of body. Avizandum had to endure a hike through the mighty dessert and traverse the tallest mountain, and suffered from starvation, dehydration, and sleep deprivation until they came to the place in which the cake was kept. They now knew what it meant to hunger and want for nourishment, which they had taken for granted living a comfortable life.

From there our hero began the search for the second cake, which granted knowledge of the world. The elf ventured through a vast grassland, inhabited by ferocious creatures of darkness and was constantly berated by violent lightning, hail, and wind storms. It was in that place that they learned of true terror. They found the second cake, which was filled with dry nuts, berries, and was decorated with edible flora, hidden away in an underground cabin with a heavy door. Avizandum now knew what it truly meant to feel safe, secure, and what peace that brought to the mind.

To a small, old town was where their journey led them. The elves of this place were cold to the adventurer as they knew not of this being’s character. Avizandum felt out of place amongst the close knit townsfolk; an outcast in the crowd. Loneliness, that draining specter, haunted them. But then, a child, of all living things, befriended them; the little one showed Avizandum the ways of the village and convinced their kin to open up to, and accept their new friend. Eventually the subject of the third cake came up, to which the townsfolk were thrilled to answer all questions of. They brought forth the cake and shared it with the adventurer. A welcoming scent wafted forth from the soft, warm, buttery cake; eating it reminded the hero what it meant to love, be loved, and accepted. The cake granted knowledge of companionship, friendship.

The fourth riddle guided Avizandum to a grand manor, in which a contest of streangth and wit was being held. The master of the manor had promised the competitors that the winner of every contest could claim any prise from his treasury; the fourth cake being amongst them. The hero struggled greatly with each challenge, and met defeat with anguish and despair. But their competition faired no better; they were on equal footing. So, Avizandum began training harder and harder, gaining recognition amongst their peers. They took each victory in stride and shared their celebratory spirit with the others. Finally, they had succeeded in every challenge laid before them and claimed the cake as their prize! This cake provided knowledge of achievement, what it was to fight and be respected. (“Interesting prospect..”)

The elven hero was puzzled by the fifth riddle as it did not give way to a location, but appeared to urge them to reflect on themselves (“Finally, something they’re really good at.”). Avizandum chose a place beneath a mighty tree and recalled the events of their life. Their memories came forth like water through a damn, first the recent uneventful ones, then the sorrowful ones, the fearful ones, the ones that filled them with range, and, worst of all, the regretful ones. The hero began to weep from the the bombardment of emotions until there was nothing left to weep for. Within that time the daylight had faded to night, Avizandum gazed up towards the full light of the moon. “Who am I,” they wondered, “Am I as pitiful as these memories doth testify? Or is this only part of what makes me a reality?” They thought back on their memories, but, this time, examined each and every one separately; carefully, they considered why these memories impacted them so much, why that one person from before said claimed something about them, how a certain event caused the others to occur, and it had shaped them. Avizandum closed their eyes and whispered into the night, “All this life I have lived and all has become a part of me. Though, I know and regret much of it, I shan’t purge it from my mind! No. I shall do better. Be better. Many more mistakes will be made, but I will face and accept them as a new part of me. I shall reach for my full potential!” Their eyes fluttered open, and right in front of them was placed the fifth cake. Avizandum took joy in slowly eating the cake, appreciating the bittersweet mixture of flavors that made it truly unique, and gained the knowledge of self.

Avizandum set out upon the road once the sun had reached its peak. The sixth, and final riddle asked nothing of them other than to simply walk and watch the world around them. So they did. No flittering bird went unnoticed, no ant forgotten, nor breeze unappreciated. But it what truly caught The elve’s eye was the people they passed along the way, for now that they knew themself they could now recognize the “self” in others. The other elves, though very much strangers, were alive just as they. Suffered in ways Avizandum could never truly know but empathize with. Lived their own lives as they learned how to in their youth. And loved their home in their own way, as they would have it. At the end of the trail waited the cloaked stranger who had sent them on their journey. “My child, it is good to lay eyes on you once again!” The stranger clapped them on the back, then asked in a cheerful manor, “Have you learned anything from this trip of yours?” Avizandum gleefully shared with their friend the details of their journey. Just as before, the strangers listened intently and waited until the young elf was through to speak, “And, what have you learned this day?” “My dear friend,” the youth spoke in a calm tone, “today I have have found that we, let’s say you and I, are different, yet the same. We are, to each, our own. Both on our own paths with our own understandings, which may coincide at moments like this, but shall remain ours alone...and that is fine. We shall walk our own paths, side by side.” The stranger smiled, and from his cloak brought out the sixth cake. This one was rather simple, it surface was covered in smooth, light blue frosting and had no real taste but sharpened the elf’s mind. The hero now had knowledge of things beyond themself.

Once finsished with the cake, Avizandum turned towards the stranger, “But, what of the seventh cake? There is no riddle for it, nor can I imagine anything greater than what I have learned.” The stranger shook his head, and replied, “My child, the seventh cake is one you will find on your own eventually. I could tell you now...but I wish not do so. Your journey has taught you what it is to live, and thus what to maintain in life. If I shared with you the seventh cake, it’s knowledge would either frighten or excite you. Are you willing to face the possible consequences now?” The youth wanted to reply with an enthusiastic “yes” but could not bring themself to do so. “If it is truly something I will learn later on, then I shall wait until then.” “Very well, my young friend, very well indeed.”

The curtains close, Callum and the other actors take a bow along with the director then exit stage left. After most of the audience cleared out, Callum, Rayla, and Azymondias were relaxing in the bleachers, comparing notes on how they nearly botched their jobs.

“So, what was the seventh cake?” The words of the fabled stranger still lingered in Callum’s mind.

“Dunno,” Rayla shrugged, “I never thought it was worth wasting time over. Avizandum didn’t need it, why should I?”

“I guess that’s one way of thinking about it.”

“Might I be of some assistance?” The two snapped their heads towards the direction of the unknown voice. A tall, robe clad elf softly approached them. “I’m sorry for disturbing you both, but I couldn’t help but overhear your question.”

“That’s ok,” Callum gave a welcome smile, blissfully unaware of the the look of caution on Rayla’s face, “Do you know what it is?”

“Yes dear...but do you really want to know?”

The human thought for a moment, “Yes.”

The older elf smiled. “The seventh cake is the knowledge of the hereafter; death.”

Callum blinked, and shared a questioning look with Rayla.

“Knowledge of death entails the cruel reality of life; that it has no inherent meaning. There is not a higher purpose, nor a universal truth to be found. In death our “selves” perish, and eventually the memory of us follows suit. The stranger in the story feared that this truth would destroy Avizandum’s view of the world, that they would lose their will to live, as many do.” they leaned back a little, gazing thoughtfully at the fielding, “Some people find comfort in this truth. No pressure from a greater power means that we alone possess the power to define our lives, as we see fit. In this way, we are free.” With a sigh, the elf returned their gaze to the surprised teens. They chuckled, “Come now little ones! Does this news change anything?”

Rayla hummed, “I suppose not.”

The stranger nodded, then turned to head off, “Then think nothing of it! You’re young and full of life, embrace and appreciate that. Go safely dears!”

(A/N: This was so not meant to be this long. Well, hope y’all enjoyed anyways!)

#tdp theory #tdp fan lore #tdp fanfic #the dragon prince #tdp #tdp elves #tdp headcanon #ask true neutral earth elf #writing #tdp avizandum #tdp callum #tdp rayla

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 6 years

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Warrior Daughter

Chapter Thirteen

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader | Word Count: 5583 Warnings: Smexy and fluff, language (when is there not a language warning?)

Song: My Gospel by Charlie Puth

Steve still couldn’t get over the whole castle thing. No matter how Y/N protested it was a keep, not a castle, he and Bucky would exchange a look and arch a brow.

It was totally a castle.

They dropped Bucky off at his room and walked into their own through a door of solid oak wrapped in heavy bands of steel. The Queen’s Quarters. A space which hadn’t been used or changed since Y/N had last died, and had been preserved by magic which had been lifted when she’d announced her return.

Steve let out a low whistle at the high stone walls and thick beams which spanned the ceiling. Windows which arched and appeared to be made of leaded glass allowed the sun to spill across the floor on either side of the bed.

It was bigger than a king, sitting on a frame of ornately carved wood. Covered in thick pelts, it looked like something out of a medieval movie, not the current century, but damn if it didn’t appear inviting. The walls held tapestries of battles long gone, paintings of places and worlds he’d never seen nor ever imagined could exist. Shelves held unique knick-knacks, and he wondered if they were things Y/N had collected in the past or if all the rooms held such treasures.

He started tugging on the buckles of his armour as he wandered over to take a closer look. A stunning vase of green glass drew his attention when it changed colour all on its own to a pretty navy blue.

“Damn,” Steve murmured amazed.

“Mistral glass. It responds to person closest to it, changing colour to suit their preference,” Y/N said, taking over to tug his buckles open herself.

“How’s it do that?” he asked, lifting his arm out of her way.

“Magic,” she snickered.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What’s this one?” He pointed at what looked like a spearhead of ancient material.

“Eoter’s pike tip. He was a dark God Odin sent the Valkyrie after when he decided to try and take over a neighbouring world. Tove was newly queen then. The story of Eoter’s defeat is one you’ll likely hear while here.”

He lifted the heavy cuirass off over his head and set it on the floor beside his shield. “And this?” He gently touched the chunk of wood with its chips of paint and partially obscured design.

Y/N’s arms went around his waist, and her forehead landed between his shoulder blades. “Shield, what was left of it, after… after the battle with the Sjeletyv.”

“Baby, why would you keep this?” he asked, turning around to take her by the arms.

“To never forget what we lost.” She sighed and stepped into his chest. “So many died. Some were just maidens. Some had barely begun their lives. I vowed never again. Never again would I allow what happened on that world to happen again. Never again would I fail my people. Yet… here we are, looking at genocide if I can't figure out what's happening here.”

“You're gonna figure it out, doll face. You are,” he reiterated when she sighed. “Let's go over what we know,” he said, scooping her up to take to the big as fuck bed where he dropped her and began working on her boots. “Garry's here somewhere. I can practically smell the little shit. I've been thinking about it for a while. What would have happened if he’d succeeded in bringing you back and tricking you into believing he was me? You said a queen couldn't call the Valkyrjur for personal gain, right? What would have happened if you'd summoned them that day on Earth?”

“I wouldn't have,” she said, propped up on her elbows. “Even if Garry convinced me he was my sjelevenn I wouldn't have done it.”

“Hypothetically. Say you'd been desperate and reached out for help. What would have happened?”

“I would have been disgraced if I'd called them out on you. The Avengers are the good guys. Aiding Hydra would have been seen as a traitorous act against Asgard as Asgard is allied with the Avengers. My title would have been stripped from me, and a council of Valkyrie would have decided my fate. Death most likely for my crime.”

“Even after finding out it was a trick?” He could hardly believe it.

“We have strict rules for a reason, Steve. If someone with evil intentions ruled the Valkyrie, there are few forces which could stop them. I know you and Bucky probably look at them with a little scorn right now, but these women are not the ones I fought with a millennium ago. Yes, they're sloppy and under trained, but that won't last long. Eventually, I'll have them in the shape they should be, then they will return to the unstoppable force they were. A force like that with corrupt leadership could be very dangerous.”

“So if you'd called the Valkyrjur to Earth, they would have killed you? Just like that?”

“It would have been a true death. I would have stood trial; then the temple would have made certain my time as Sváfa never returned. Our journey would have ended. Maybe we’d reunite and start again as sjelevenn, but with how fucked up our path has become… I don't know.”

He pulled off her second boot. “Someone's really trying to get rid of you, baby girl.”

“I know. But it's not the high priestess. At least I don't think so. That other one, Kerse, I can't say the same. Something about her is just… fishy.”

“I agree,” Steve said as he unbuckled her faulds.

“So, no sjelevenn besides Gunborg and now me have returned. There should be at least six of us. The other thing I found odd? Gunborg looks exactly the same as she used too. There are usually subtle differences. Changes to height and build or hair colour depending on the parents we are born too. But she seems no different than when I last saw her. It's weird.”

“I bet.” He lifted her hips with one hand to tug her faulds from beneath her and reached for her metal breasts. Steve smoothed his hands over them which made her laugh.

“You know I can't feel that.”

“So? I can,” he teased. “What about the fellas in Valhalla?” he asked.

“I don't know. Until I can see the Einherjar for myself, that will remain a mystery.”

Steve gave the buckles beneath her arm a tug. “You people need to invent zippers,” he grumbled. “What happens if the men in Valhalla shouldn't be there? I mean, their technically dead right?”

“If those in Valhalla aren't worthy of being there, they never should have made it past Baldi and Balik. They'd be turned away, the gates would have closed to them, and Ekheart would have taken them to Fólkvangr.”

Steve shook his head and smirked at his wife. “That was a whole lot of names I'm not familiar with.”

She smiled as he pulled her first layer of armour over her head. “Baldi and Balik are the wolves who guard Valhalla’s gates. And Ekheart is the eagle who flies above it. Fólkvangr is where those who don't meet Valhalla's standards go having earned their rest.”

“Like heaven’s consolation prize? Thanks for playing but you didn't quite make it?”

“You don't have to make it sound so horrible! It's not Hel,” she scoffed.

Steve froze and looked up at her face. “Really? Do I want to ask?”

“Unlikely. There are serpents and corpse eating involved. Rather ugly business, really.”

The smile on her face made it hard to figure out whether she was joking or not. “I'm not asking.”

“Then I won't tell,” she snickered. “I believe, Captain, you were in the process striping ne naked.”

“Since when does removing your armour amount to me getting you naked?”

“Since… always,” she laughed.

“Brat,” he muttered.

“Don't start. I can't call you Feathers.”

Steve flipped her to her stomach once he peeled off her leather cuirass and threw it on the floor. “Fuck I love these pants,” he groaned, taking handfuls of her ass while he straddled her thighs.

She smirked and wiggled her hips. “Ditto.”

Tony had reworked her corset of chain mail. Swapped out the metal for vibranium and made the closure a seamless set of hooks he only needed to pass his hand down to attach or run a finger up to undo. It was a genius bit of lowtech Stark was ridiculously proud of and rightfully so.

Steve lifted her up, and the chain mail slithered off the bed to the floor with a shove and a small crash while she tugged her bracers off and pulled her tunic over her head.

All that remained was her undershirt and those sexy pants Steve unlaced before dropping her back to the bed. “If,” he murmured as he placed kisses across her shoulders and gently caressed the backs of her arms, “the men somehow got past the wolves into Valhalla and didn’t belong there, what could you do?”

“Purge. It can be done, but it's difficult. I'd need Odin's approval and the backing of both the Valkyrjur and the Einherjar. And if some of those people don't belong here, or where taken from their rightful afterlife, Steve, I don't know what to do. If they don't belong here, they could be sent to Fólkvangr, but to what end? They wouldn't be at peace. They'd never see their loved ones again.” She gave a heavy sigh and turned her face into the fur.

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe you worry for nothing,” he said, nuzzling the nape of her neck, but he doubted his own words.

***

From the foot of the bed, naked still after their afternoon together, Steve watched his girl as she readied for the night ahead. It was, to say the least, highly stimulating. Instead of leather pants, she’d pulled on a skirt of cognac coloured silk which sat low on her hips. Lace and chains wrapped around her pelvis. Tassels swung, coins and bits of bone chimed together. Her midsection was mostly bare, her breasts confined by what was, to his mind, nothing more than a scarf she hung behind her neck, crossed over her chest, wrapped twice around her ribs and tied in a knot at her back. Heavy necklaces of bead, metal, and bone, feathers and ribbon, and precious stones swung low, brushing the bare space above her navel. A glint of gold beneath them made him smile, finding his gift to her, the locket just like his mother’s, still around her neck.

Bangles of solid bronze, shiny gold, and black stones clung to her upper arms. Her gauntlet had been set aside for the night, but she wasn’t without protection. She had hidden daggers strapped to each thigh, visual ones on each hip, and another tucked into the back of her top above the knot. He’d watched her put up her hair, fluffing it up high in the front while braiding the mass of it down her back. She’d tucked metal cuffs and feathers in along the way, eventually finishing with the crown which proclaimed her what she was.

The Valkyrie Queen.

She looked it tonight, but not like he was used too. When she turned to look at him with her eyes covered in kohl, her lips painted red, and three blue streaks along her right cheekbone, Steve shivered. She was a Warrior Queen. A barbarian. A beautiful and deadly creature he was almost afraid to touch.

“I have something for you,” she said gliding toward him.

Steve swallowed thickly, thankful he’d drawn one of the many pelts over his lap to hide the evidence of his arousal.

She only smiled, soft and knowing. “Do you like my outfit, sjelevenn?’

“Yeah,” he squeaked and cleared his throat. “Yeah, baby. You’re gorgeous, but this is all so different.” He couldn’t help but watch her hips as she swayed to a stop in front of him.

“Stevie,” she purred, tilting his chin up with her finger. “I know this is all really different. If you're uncomfortable at all, tell me.”

“Darlin’, the only part of me that’s uncomfortable doesn’t have time to be dealt with.”

She chuckled, ducked her head, and lightly kissed his lips. “If only.” Still, she settled onto his knee and wiggled just enough to make him groan.

“Stop it, woman,” Steve grumbled.

“As I said, I have something for you.”

She held up the hand not wrapped around his neck. From it hung three strands of thin cord. Silver wrapped sections of each in a staggered pattern, but what looked like porcupine quills, blunt at the tip, capped the ends. The second item, a silver chain complete with a small round pendant, a tree upon its face, also dangled from her fingers.

He arched a brow in query, carefully touching both.

“This was yours, from your mother when you brought me home after we first met,” she said of the pendant. “She said it was a reminder that life was a circle. Birth to death to rebirth. Something which would be quite literal for the two of us. But these,” she ran her thumb over the cord, “I made. One for each life we lived together on Asgard. Every time I found you, I made you a new one. Thinned and tanned the leather, wound the cords, and wrapped the silver.”

“You gonna make me one this time?” he asked, touched by her gift.

“If you want me too,” she murmured, blushing a little. “They mean more to the men of Asgard. Handmade gifts are considered powerful for the time and effort put into them. Magical in a way. Like they have protective properties.”

That clinched it for him. Steve took the cords from her fingers, looped the long lengths once around his neck, and pressed his palm against them over his heart. “Were you planning to make one every life? I think if we’d been together twenty or thirty times, I might run out of space.”

She chuckled and gently stroked her fingertips over his mark. The sensation of her touching it was ridiculously pleasurable and Steve hummed his approval. “I thought at nine I might start adding beads or silver cuffs to keep count. The funny thing though?” she murmured, lifting her gaze to his. “You ask me that every life.”

“I do, do I?” Steve chuckled.

“Every time,” she murmured, gently stroking his mark again.

“Are these some kind of quill?” he asked, flicking his finger over the tip.

Y/N nodded. “From a slark.”

“What’s a slark?”

She blinked once. “Ugh… have you ever seen a platypus?”

Steve frowned. “In pictures.”

“They look kind of like that, but they have this crest of quills they can flare out when startled or when a predator tries to bite them. It’s a nasty surprise for sure. They don’t shed, so to get them you have to catch one or throw a piece of leather on them, so the quills stick. It’s not painful for the slark. Maybe a little stressful, but you pull the leather away, and they trample off into the forest.”

While she was explaining, he gently took the silver pendant in his palm. “It would be neat to see one.”

She closed her hand over his. “Steve, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I kept it for you because it was part of our beginning, and while you share a soul with Helgi, you are not the same person. The beliefs and ways of Asgard aren’t yours. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m pushing you to be someone your not.”

“But I am,” he said softly. “It’s pretty clear I’m supposed to be here. Hurgid’s sword, the King’s ring, the people of Sváfaland? You.” He looked into her eyes. “As much as you need to be here, I think I do too.”

A quiet sigh slipped from her. “Just… be happy, Steve. Don’t take on the troubles of this world and add them to the burdens you carry at home.”

He chuckled and pulled his hand away to encourage her to help him put on the pendant. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Y/N? That’s just how I roll.”

She snickered, latched the pendant, and cupped his face. Her nails lightly scratched the stubble on his cheeks. “You keep growing this out, and you’re really going to fit in.” Y/N cocked her head to the side. “Any chance I can talk you into lining your eyes?”

It was Steve’s turn to blink at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“With kohl. It’s pretty common for our men, or did you think Loki wore eyeliner because he wants to look pretty?”

“I thought it was a Goth thing,” he mumbled.

“What would you know about Goth things?” Y/N snickered, rising to head back to the table with the mirror she’d used to do her makeup.

“Hey, I can do the Google.”

She snorted and laughed, giggling as she returned to stand before him with a black pencil. “The fact you said, “Do the Google,” just goes to show you can't.” Holding up the pencil, she arched a challenging brow.

“I dunno, babe.” It wasn’t something he’d ever envisioned on himself.

“The men, both of Asgard and those Vikings of Earth, believed it made them fierce and also highly desirable. It might increase your already potent sex appeal, Stevie.” She twirled it around her fingers.

He could feel it, the excitement the idea of this whole kohl thing was giving her, and waffled a little.

“If you hate it, I’ll take it off.”

Steve rolled his eyes but nodded. “Fine. Just don’t make me look like Bucky.”

Y/N chuckled. “Close your eyes. I promise you won’t look like Bucky. You’ll look super sexy and dangerous.”

He doubted it but didn’t say so, just let her have her fun. It wouldn’t hurt anything to indulge her, and it could be removed when she finished having her way. When the pencil dragged along his upper lid then out toward his temple before she lifted it to repeat the process on his lower lid and down his cheek, he smirked a little. “Having fun?” he asked as she ran her finger over the mark, smudging things he supposed.

“You have no idea,” she murmured, but the hard clench and wave of her desire had his eyes popping open.

“Really?” he asked, but it wasn’t necessary for her to answer. He could feel the heat bloom in her belly. How the desire caused her breasts to tingle and her nipples to harden. Her pupils expanded to fill her irises, and her breath caught.

“I’m… going to need a minute,” she murmured and stepped back, stealing the pelt from his lap as she went. “Ho, wow.”

His body had calmed only to respond to her increase in arousal, and he sat there half hard, getting harder by the second. She gulped a swallow, her eyes running over his whole body. “Even… even if you don’t want to wear it publicly, you need to wear it privately at least once. Could you just…” She motioned to his lap.

Steve wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked. They both hissed loudly.

“Okay, okay. You need to stop. We don’t have time to deal with that right now.” She fanned her face, her cheeks incredibly flushed.

“Then you’d best stop looking at me like that,” Steve growled, rising to his feet to stalk toward her.

“I can’t help it!” she moaned, backing away. “You look fucking hot!”

She backed all the way into the table with the mirror, and Steve glanced at it only to do a double take. “Holy shit…”

“I know right!” Y/N squealed.

The dark liner looked odd on his face, but it made his eyes a vibrant blue, and he could see why the men would wear it to appear fierce in battle. It was basically warpaint. “That’s… crazy.”

“So? You gonna keep it?” she asked, a challenge in her voice.

He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her to his chest, his cock hard between them. “If I do? What do I get out of it?”

She bit her bottom lip, a tempting little tease. “Babe, you can have whatever you want.”

Steve grinned wide. “Anything?”

Her nails traced a path down his chest and scratched over his nipple. “Anything.”

He took a second glance in the mirror. With the thin cords and the silver chain hanging against his bare chest, and the look of her all warrior woman beside him, Steve gave in with a nod. They fit. “When in Rome, right?”

Y/N gave a happy shriek and pulled away. “Come get dressed. You can do the anything later.”

Steve took a couple of deep breaths, counted backward from twenty, and followed after her once his hard-on settled down enough he knew he could get his pants laced.

***

Bucky looked up when the quiet knock came to his door. “Come in.”

“Am I disturbing you?” Eira asked as she stuck her head in the door.

High and braided and full of ornaments, Bucky had to smile when her hair swung forward. Her dark locks looked like soft silk where they hung loosely around her. Two lines of blue paint traversed her face from hairline to chin, stopping at her right eyebrow and continuing beneath her right eye. Her eyes were heavy and dark with kohl, her lips a soft pink which made her mouth look lush.

“Nah, I just finished with this.” He motioned to the clothing which still made him slightly giddy. Black leather pants and a dark grey tunic, v-necked with a black cord to lace it closed. He’d made the mistake of taking off the bangle Freyja made him to change shirts and instantly regretted it.

His arm had gone dead. Not numb. Not jerky. Just dead. Straight down right now. He’d put the bangle back on and given his head a shake, vowing not to do that again.

Eira pushed the door all the way open, and Bucky had to swallow the saliva which pooled swiftly in his mouth. Dark green lace. She wore nothing but dark green lace and strategically placed jewelry. Thick, full necklaces of metal and stone hid her breasts, but the idea she could bend over and show them to the world made him incredibly uncomfortable. So did the streak of possessiveness which raced through him.

Should he be feeling possessive about a woman’s breasts? A woman who wasn’t his?

When she turned to shut the door, he damn near groaned. Her back was bare but for a tale of lace in a triangle worked with bits of gold. Her skirt sat low on her hips in the same green lace, double layered and much less see-through, while a belt of looped gold chains hugged where he had the sudden urge to place his hands.

“What in the hell are you wearing?” was not what he planned on spitting at her.

She pressed her palms to her stomach, one clutching a small box. “This is my favourite dress for my off nights. You… you don’t like it?”

He liked it a little too much if the tightening of his pants was anything to go by. “It’s not that,” Bucky murmured, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I guess I was expecting something more like what you wore last night.”

“Oh,” she smiled and relaxed, and made her way toward him. “Yes, that was quite different. But Asgard is stuffy like that. Do your Earthly women not dress this way?”

“Nope.” The P popped when his voice rose at her approach. She looked far too confident in her getup for him to be comfortable. It wasn't until she was closer he realized the lace was panelled in the front and not as sheer as he'd thought. Still, her skin looked incredibly soft. Her eyes were big and bright, made all the bluer by the paint on her face.

“What would they wear?” she asked, sinking down to sit next to him.

She smelled fucking incredible. Bucky hadn’t noticed it earlier, or even last night, but she’d clearly bathed because she smelled of something delicate, soft, and inviting. Like flowers in a meadow after a rain.

Bucky wanted to touch her hair, her waist, her mouth. For all his flirting with Magret, he hadn’t had the same reaction to that woman as he was to the gentle one sitting beside him. “Uh, well for one the skirts are a lot shorter.”

Her eyes widened. “That seems… odd. How are you to fight if your dress is so short your ass is exposed when you kick your first opponent?”

“Well, most of our women don’t fight, and the ones who do have figured it out,” he chuckled, thinking of Natasha. “Most of them wouldn’t wander around with such a risky shirt. What happens if you bend over?”

“A little side breast is considered scandalous, but one can just flash their ass and undergarments?” Eira shook her head. “Breasts are for feeding one’s children. Legs are for enticing one’s lover.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at her. “I assure you, darlin’. Breasts work just as well for enticing one’s lover.”

She arched a brow in speculation. “I suppose that is true. Perhaps I’ve lived among women too long.” Eira stood, her skirt split to show off her legs. “Perhaps I should take a lover.”

He nearly swallowed his tongue. “Never had one?”

“I’ve been busy,” she huffed, tapping a finger against her lips. “Thoughts for another day.” Eira turned toward him and held up the box. “It’s commonplace for our men to be painted. I was wondering if you’d be interested?”

Bucky eyed her warily. “Explain what painted means?”

“Eyes darkened with kohl. The God Loki wears it, or he does when he is here, though I believe he had his eyes lightly lined in Asgard as well. It’s considered appealing sexually while also making one look battle hardened and fierce. It would suit you,” she said softly, eyeing him from behind her lashes.

Her pleasure in the idea was evident, but Bucky shook his head. “I really can’t.”

“Why?” Her nose scrunched adorably with her confusion.

He sighed softly. “Too many bad memories. At one point, the Winter Soldier worked for Hydra, and not because I wanted to. They did to me what they did to Y/N, except when they wiped my memory, it worked. I had no knowledge of Steve or my life, only flashes of memories. Snippets. Pieces. Nothing that made sense. They’d point me at a target, and I’d kill it. Until they pointed me at Steve and I… couldn’t. They made me wear a mask, a muzzle really, and always darkened my eyes to prevent glare when I was shooting. The idea of seeing that face again…” He shuddered.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” Her hand landed on his and squeezed. “May I ask how they did it? A single line or all over?”

“All over,” he frowned.

“I see. I won’t pressure you to change your mind. There are some in Valhalla who also don’t wear it. You won’t be the only one.”

“I sincerely doubt Y/N will convince Steve if she even bothers to ask.”

Eira nodded. “You’re probably right. It was only a thought. Though you look very nice as you are, might I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, dollface,” Bucky agreed, knowing it would take a while to get used to their ways and clothing.

“Stand up,” she urged and set her box down.

He obliged her, observing as she loosened the ties on his tunic.

“There is no need to be so laced up here. We are much more… relaxed than Asgard. Eat, drink, and celebrate. That’s what feasting in Valhalla is all about. We are a laid back people. For the Einherjar, this is heaven. They earned their place. We only serve and visit within the sacred walls.” She turned away and picked up the wide belt he hadn’t been able to figure out how to do up.

Eira wrapped it around his waist and began to tie an intricate and beautiful knot with the long leather laces. “It’s against the rules to carry a sword in Valhalla. The Einherjar hang their swords on the walls outside the building as they come in from the fields. But you can bring as many daggers as you wish. You’ll want one at least to eat with.”

“No utensils in Valhalla?” Bucky teased.

“There are, but usually the men are rather… eager,” she snickered. “Using a fork my get you heckled.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She finished the tie and lifted her hands. They hovered for a moment before landing lightly on his chest. “And your knees together?”

She said it with a softness, a hesitation and bit of uncertainty he didn't understand. Was she merely repeating what Y/N teased him about, or was their more to her question that he was currently missing?

Bucky peered down at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah, doll.”

A shiver wracked her body. “I’m sorry about yesterday, and this morning,” she whispered. “I was childish and closed minded. There is so much more to the universe than I am aware of. I should not have been so quick to judge what I do not know.”

God! The girl was killing him with how sweet she was. Just gentle and soft. Yet, he’d watched her fight today in awe and a sense of pride. “My opinion shouldn’t matter so much.”

“Your opinion matters most of all,” she said so quietly he almost missed it.

Bucky took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up. “Why?” Something swam in her eyes, an emotion he couldn’t quite decipher. “Eira?”

She went from the something to uncertain to afraid. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“That’s not gonna fly, baby girl. We barely know each other. Why would it matter what I think of you?”

Her eyes closed and she swallowed thickly. “Because… because I think-”

A familiar fist banged on the door. “Buck! Move your ass!”

“Punk! Keep your panties on!” Bucky snarled at the door, then returned his gaze to Eira. “We’re not through talking about this.”

She gave a resigned nod. “I know. I just don’t think you’re going to be happy about it.” She pulled her face away and went to open the door. “Oh… wow,” she breathed once she had, her hand flying to her mouth. “You look… incredible!”

Bucky thought she was speaking to Y/N, but it was Steve who laughed and walked through the door.

“Damn, son!” Bucky laughed. “So that’s what it’s like!” Y/N had convinced him to wear the kohl. “You going native on me?”

“Don’t laugh. You’re next,” Steve smirked.

“Steve,” Bucky instantly sobered. “No.”

Steve’s smile fell away. “Okay, Buck. No pressure.”

“One is better than none,” Y/N snickered as she slipped in beside Steve.

Bucky whistled at the sight of her. “Fuck me sideways. You look amazing!”

“Thanks, Barnes.” She gave the ties on his shirt a tug and forced it open a little more. “Better.”

“She did the same with me,” Steve snickered. “Though with a lot more aggression.”

He motioned to the tunic open nearly to the top of his pants. Sleeves pushed back, Steve’s arm-ring gleamed in the light, his sapphire ring sparkled, and with the addition of the tattoo on his neck and the kohl-lined eyes, Bucky could only shake his head. “Damn. If only the team could see you know. Grow your hair out some, and they really wouldn’t recognize you.”

Steve shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “It seems I’m going to be a man of two worlds. Get used to it.”

“He can get used to it over dinner. We need to go. There’s the Blessing and the Rite of Nine to see to first, and we can’t be late,” Y/N said, shooing all of them toward the door. “Eira, you look lovely.”

Eira blushed and ducked her chin. “Thank you, my queen. I’m off rotation at the moment.”

“Good. You can sit with us for dinner.” Y/N patted Eira’s arm, linked them together and shot a smirk at Bucky. “You can explain the eccentricities of Valhalla to Bucky.”

Eira giggled softly. “I shall do my best. I’m sure many in Valhalla will be glad to see you.”

“Yes, there are a few I look forward to seeing again.”

Y/N smiled in the way that always reminded Bucky of Loki, causing him to exchange a glance with Steve. Steve just rolled his eyes and smirked, apparently content to go with the flow.

“No swords, huh?” he murmured to Steve.

“No. You packing?”

“More blades than Barton has arrows.”

Steve chuckled. “I may have half that many. Let’s hope we won’t need them.”

“You’d better not have just jinxed us, punk,” Bucky grumbled, lightly touching the twin blades on his thigh.

Next Chapter

#Warrior Daughter #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #asgard au #avengers au #valkyrie

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jarna-kat · 5 years

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The Incident (Pt. 1 of Bittersweet)

This is the first chapter of my Starscream x Femme!Seeker!Reader, hope you enjoy!

(Y/N) stared down her scope, watching, waiting. She could hear the screeching of the tires, the shots of blasters echoing throughout the city, they were close. "Get ready." She ordered her fleet, not once removing her optics from her rifle. "You know where to aim."

Her fleet was a total of six other Decepticons, seven if she included herself, most of them were not built for close combat so they were a team that did business from a safe distance. (Y/N) had been commanding them for ages now, they knew almost everything about each other, including their strengths and weaknesses, that's what made them effective. "Why aren't they here yet?" One of them said through the comm link impatiently.

"Shh, they're close." (Y/N) replied. "Focus."

All of them were at different positions, all waiting for the shot from (Y/N) as the signal. (Y/N)'s optics were trained on the crosshairs, waiting for that perfect moment...and then there it was. An Autobot screeched around the corner, and just as fast as he came he was gone with one blast from (Y/N)'s rifle.

That was the signal. The other con's in the fleet waited for their target to come in sight and it was all over. Everything was going to plan, (Y/N) and her fleet were succeeding picking off Autobots as they came around. Then one of the femmes in her team shouted over the comm links. "~They're here! They're gonn~" and the comm went silent.

(Y/N)'s optics widened as she tried to continue to contact the femme, but she was gone. The next thing she knew there was a loud explosion and the tower she was in started collapsing. "~(Y/N) get out of th~!" One of the other members of her fleet was cut off by what (Y/N) could only assume was death.

(Y/N) was about to leap through the window and transform but the window collapsed. She turned back to go back the way she came but that too was now blocked by debris. (Y/N) now started to panic. She went back to the window and tried to shove the debris and was unsuccessful.

Two more members of her fleet had gone silent with their last moments being a scream of realization, that was half of her fleet in a matter of few kliks. (Y/N) continued to push on the pieces of the tower structure, trying her hardest to get out but there was no prevail. She backed up and switched to her machine gun and started shooting the fallen pieces.

Again, nothing. (Y/N) felt the harsh clunk of the tower and felt it started to topple over. This was not how she wanted to go, not like this. She tilted her helm up to find a large hole that went all the way through the top of the tower and realized that was the way. It would be tight and she'd have to make it fast, but it was her best bet.

With a quick transform she blasted upwards. The tower was going down faster than (Y/N) had hoped. Going as fast as she possibly could the end was getting nearer and nearer. Some of the maneuvers that she did was quite impressive even for some of the elite seekers, but this was life or death.

Just as the tower was nano-kliks away from collapsing into the ground, (Y/N) had made it just in time. She continued to fly upward and out of the way of the blasts that were directed at her. She tried shouting over the comms, trying to contact what was left of her squadron, but there was nothing but static.

They were gone, all of them. Her entire fleet had been wiped out in less than a breem. (Y/N) felt awful, she had failed them all. She was their leader, meant to protect them, and just like that they were gone.

(Y/N) had received a command from a higher ranking Decepticon to fall back. Almost reluctant at first, she complied and flipped around heading back towards Decepticon headquarters, but clearly, getting out unscathed was not an option.

The shot almost missed her, but a lucky shot from an Autobot grounder managed to hit her wing. (Y/N) cried out in pain as she tried to remain in control of flight or else she would crash into the ground. Escaping might have been out of the question at this point, sacrificing herself and becoming a distraction seemed more reasonable at this point.

With another moment of struggle, (Y/N) decided that the latter would indeed be reasonable. Just as she was about to turn back, another Decepticon seeker noticed that her left wing was badly damaged and managed to fly next to her and used his right wing to stabilize her just enough to keep her in flight.

(Y/N) silently thanked the seeker as they flew off away from the chaos. Everything seemed fine, the seeker was in perfect synchronization with (Y/N) but as they continued making their way towards safety, there was another heavy battle zone.

The seeker holding her up was blasted away by and Autobot turret and (Y/N) couldn't keep herself up in the air. She started to plan out the way she was gonna land and decided the best way would just continue trying to pull up, and when the ground came closer and closer she slowed down enough to transform and land. It wasn't graceful by any means and the landing was harsh, but she was alive and that's what mattered.

Her wings were completely destroyed from the crash landing and her frame was damaged in so many places, but (Y/N) couldn't stay for very long for she was in the very middle of the battle field. Joints creaking, wings crushed and misshapen, frame feeling like it was about to combust, (Y/N) stood up and viewed her surroundings. It wasn't great, blasters firing in every direction and bots going down almost every nano-klik.

Standing there dazed and confused, a Decepticon field medic rushed up to (Y/N) and she was startled. "You need to get out of here!" the medic shouted. The femme grabbed (Y/N) by the arm and started pulling her away, which did not feel very good at all.

"Ow frag!" (Y/N) shouted at the sudden aggressiveness of the pull.

"Sorry about that," the medic apologized "but I need to get you out of here, you're in no condition to be fighting right now."

"Yeah I know, it's not like I tried to be in mid field."

"Listen, I'm gonna take you to a transport point where another Decepticon will take you to Kaon to get medical help. I just need you to cooperate with me." (Y/N) nodded. "Okay, follow closely."

The medic started leading (Y/N) through back alleys and back routes to stay as far away from the main battle as possible. (Y/N) hurt all over, but she followed nonetheless. The medic made sure that (Y/N) was still functioning, but realized she was losing a lot of energon and was starting to worry, but there was no time to patch the wounds, the medical transport would be leaving soon and the medic couldn't risk missing it.

After what felt like forever the transport was in line of sight and the medic felt a bit of relief that (Y/N) was still with her, but barely. "There it is," the medic turned to (Y/N) who was on the verge of passing out "can you make it just a little further?"

Instead of a verbal reply the femme just nodded. The medic said no more words as she looked on either side of the building to make sure there were no Autobots near. "Quickly now, let's get you to safety."

The medic rushed across distance between the alley and the trailer. (Y/N) followed as fast as she could, which really was not fast, it was more of a limp. As helpful as the medic had been helping (Y/N) to get to the transport point, the femme was really getting on her nerves with all the rushing, if she got shot she got shot, big deal.

Eventually she made it to the trailer and the medic helped her up into it. (Y/N) looked around and saw many sad looking mechs and femmes, some of them in worse condition than her herself. She groaned as the medic lowered her down to sit, feeling her frame straining. "Just stay here and don't move, the trailer will depart soon. I have to go now, good luck."

And just like that the medic jumped down, closed the hatch and she was gone, the sound of her transforming was the last thing (Y/N) heard of the her. (Y/N) sat there, taking in the weight of the situation. After stellar-cycles of leading the same squad with no problems, in less than a solar-cycle they were all gone. Then not too much later she sat in the medical trailer waiting to be DRIVEN to Kaon because she herself was too mangled to fly.

The trailer jerked and started making it's journey to Kaon. The ride was long and unpleasant, the bumps in the road causing her frame to tense which was painful in itself. The other bots in the trailer said nothing the entire time, which she didn't protest, but she thought about what they had lost. Maybe a sister, brother, lover, or even a sparkmate, which was a kind of pain (Y/N) couldn't even imagine.

After about two mega-cycles had gone by, the trailer came to a halt. At some point (Y/N) was in a constant loop of falling into recharge and rebooting shortly after. She felt sick to her tanks and had felt as if she was about to purge them when a different medic, this one much more gentle and less frantic than the field medic, lifted her onto gurney and rolled her into a sterile medbay.

Once placed on an operation berth multiple nurses and a doctor surrounded her and she could tell that they were speaking to her, but her audials were muffled. (Y/N) flinched when she felt a needle inject into her as they continued to speak words to her that she couldn't hear and before she knew it the world went black.

#starscream #xreader #reader is female #transformers #cybertron #fanfiction

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lady-une · 6 years

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BSD Ch3

Guys I am so damn tired, but I did it! I started the chapter earlier today and it just flowed right out of me. I dont really have much to say, its actually getting kind of hard to see my screen with how tired I am. As always, like, comment, and share. Help me reach someone else who doesnt know about me and my work! Comments really help me grow and fuel me to write more! Think of them as the batteries in the energizer bunny, they just help me keep going lol.

He thought their love was eternal, that nothing would be able to break them apart. He put his trust and faith in the man he loved with all his heart. The one man he thought would never hurt him, did it in the most horrific way possible. How will he move on, having to see the man who broke his heart day in and day out. Having to see him smile and look at another the way he once did him. If had known this was his destiny all along, he would never had started on this path to begin with.

Word count: 4182

Theme: Angst

Rating: Mature, SMUT, Drinking

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x Seungri

Master List

Chapter 1

The past couple of months since Seungri came home from the army were complete hell. He did his best to not let anyone catch on to his suffering but Seunghyun and Daesung could see it behind his fake smiles. They saw the way he always looked the other direction when Jiyong was with his girlfriend, the way he would leave the room when they would get too close for comfort. Seungri always found a way to dodge the many invites sent to him for dinner, he didn’t want to get to know the woman who had replaced him. He tried not to hold her responsible, he tried to like her he really did but he just couldn’t find it in his heart to be ok with how things were.

With the comeback set to release in a month the group was in full promotional swing, they were scheduled to appear on different variety shows and they were gearing up to record some music videos. The maknae was currently sitting in the back of the van on his phone typing out his feelings, the many nights of searching ways to get over an ex had turned him onto a discussion board where he read that if he wrote the feelings out it would be a way to purge said feelings. So, he had taken up to writing them out on his phone, sometimes the words would flow right out of him and sometimes they didn’t. The words didn’t always make sense, there were days where they were pure gibberish and other days they were almost like lyrics. The lyrics to the song of his heart, all the pain and anger was there and if he were to find the right beat they would be an amazing song.

The schedule for the day had them spending the whole day with the cast of Running Man, it had been such a long time since they were all together on a show. Yoo Jae-Suk announced them as the special guest and then came the standard questions about how excited they were for their comeback, they asked Seungri how things were for him in the Army, they asked Youngbae how life as a dad was treating him, and finally they asked the question on everyone’s mind, was Jiyong going to marry his current girlfriend. Seungri knew this question was going to come up and he did his best to not let them see how the question affected him but deep down inside he feared the answer. At night he would stay up tossing and turning in the guest room thinking about how that day was going to come. How he would handle it, some nights he imagined Jiyong coming to his senses and begging for Seungri to forgive him. Then other nights he would imagine Jiyong living happily with his wife and children, those were the nights he cried the most.

The episode today called for the cast to be split in teams, they had team lion being led by Jong-kook and team moth being led by Kwang-soo. The two cast members took turns picking members for their teams out of the remaining cast and the Bigbang members. By the end of the picking it was Seungri being on the same team as Seunghyun and Jiyong. The game was like capture the flag but with name tag ripping. Everything was going great until it came down to Jong-kook protecting their flag, and Jiyong and Seungri waiting in the dark for a member of the opposing team to make a move.

The two were huddled under a desk in a dark room with a perfect view of Jong-kook, both were breathing heavily and Seungri’s senses were on fire being so close to Jiyong. The scent of his body wash filled his nostrils, he was still using the same one he had bought for him years ago. His heart ached, his fingers twitched to just hold Jiyong’s hand. Shutting his eyes, he tried to take some calming breaths and to gain control of himself. It was of no use, he hadn’t felt Jiyong in so long that without him knowing it his finger had moved as if it had a mind of it’s own. It slowly brushed up against Jiyong’s soft skin causing the leader to damn near jump out of his skin. Seungri quickly moved his hand away and apologized, thankful for the lack of lighting because he was sure his cheeks were tinted a red shade.

Jiyong was embarrassed by the way he reacted, he just wasn’t expecting the maknae to do anything. Jiyong looked at the corner of his eye to watch the maknae move his hand as if it had caught fire from touching Jiyong. When in fact it was Jiyong who felt like he was on fire from the contact. When was the last time I had even touched him? Jiyong thought, the last time he saw him prior to his release was the night he broke up with him. The kiss on the cheek was the only contact he had with the maknae, he was a mess of emotions that night. Outside of that the last time he had touched Seungri was the day before he enlisted. The two had spent the whole day locked up in Seungri’s apartment. They laid on the couch watching their favorite movies. They took a long hot bubble bath together and shared a glass of wine. That night they made love until neither of them could move from their spots on the bed. For a brief moment Jiyong allowed himself to enjoy the closeness of Seungri’s presence, the maknae was doing everything in his power to never be alone or near Jiyong. Jiyong understood why, it was easier for him to stay away and it was better for Seungri to stay away. Jiyong’s heart didn’t ache like it did now to hold Seungri when he wasn’t near him. But Jiyong couldn’t do it, he was with Soo-min now and couldn’t do that to her. He had come this far and needed to stick to his decision, in time things won’t be this hard. That’s all they needed, enough time and things will go back to the way they were.

A commotion from the hallway brought both of the members attention back to the game. Jong-kook was currently trying to hold off Kwang-soo and Haha who were both trying to reach for his name tag and the flag. Springing to action Jiyong and Seungri rushed at the two opposing members and began to fight for name tags. Jiyong was laughing and it mixed in with Seungri’s laughs. The two members had succeeded in ripping off Haha’s name tag but were struggling to get Kwang-soo’s name tag. The tallest cast member was rolling on the floor with Seungri laughing and their bodies were a in a tangled mess on the ground. Seungri could feel Kwang-soo’s hand snaking its way up his shirt trying to grasp onto the name tag.

“Hyung help me! Save me!” Seungri called out to Jiyong who was standing there watching the two roll around.

Jiyong hearing his maknae’s plead for help he jumped in and grabbed onto the hand that almost had Seungri’s name tag. Kwang-soo yelled out for help but had no one left from his team to aid him. With Jiyong holding onto Kwang-soo’s hand Seungri was able to easily rip off his name tag ending the game and earing team lion the win.

Getting to his feet Seungri didn’t even think before jumping into Jiyong’s arms and Jiyong held him close as the two hopped around laughing. When Jiyong realized what he was doing he pulled away slowly while still laughing to not let on the awkwardness of the interaction. Seungri who was very much enjoying being in the arms of the man he loved felt another blow to his heart.

As the cast and production crew got ready for the closing scene Seungri reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He had received a message earlier in the game but was unable to answer it. Opening it up he saw that it was from Mino and he was wondering if Seungri wanted to go out for some drinks later. Drinks sounded better than going home and crying into his pillow again, plus it would maybe help him get over the pain he was filling from today. Being this close and having so many interactions with Jiyong was taking a toll on him emotionally. Send a quick response to Mino he let him know he was just finishing up with the running man cast and where they were shooting. Mino’s response was even quicker, letting Seungri know he was in the area and could easily pick him up.

Sitting in the dressing room the members began to change back into their clothes they wore to the recording. Everyone was in good spirits and tired, Daesung was laughing about something Kwang-soo had done earlier in the day and Seunghyun couldn’t help but get caught up in the laughter. Seungri smiled as he listened to the story and turned back to the counter for his phone. As he reached down he caught Jiyong staring at him but Jiyong quickly diverted his gaze.

It had been awhile since he had seen a smile like that on Seungri’s face, it was a smile he had missed. The smile of Seungri being content with how things were at the moment, a smile he often had when the whole group was together and able to be themselves. He couldn’t help but be captivated by the smile, Seungri the was the sun that drew Jiyong in after all. Soon enough the manager came in and asked if everyone was ready to head off and they all nodded. The van pulled up and Youngbae hopped in followed by Daesung and then Seunghyun. Jiyong looked back to Seungri and was about to ask him what he was waiting for when a black sports car pulled up. The bright lights flashed and Jiyong saw Seungri smile before walking towards it.

“Seungri!” Jiyong called out, “Where are you going? The van is right here.”

“I have another ride.” Seungri pointed to the dark mysterious car.

“You just got out, we don’t need any scandals right now! Especially with the comeback set to be released! Can’t you just stay out of trouble for once! I don’t have the energy to be cleaning up your messes!” Jiyong was pissed, what made Seungri think he had the luxury to go out making a mess.

Suddenly the driver side car door opened and out stepped a figure, with the way the lights were shining in Jiyong’s eye he wasn’t able to make out who the figure was until it stepped in front of the light.

“Ri-ah are you coming?” Mino called out to Seungri. There stood dressed to the nine’s was none other the Song Mino, the man had his hair slicked back and wore an all black ensemble with his shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal some of his chest.

What did he call him? Jiyong asked himself as he glared at the man.

“Yes, I am!” Seungri responded before turning back to the glaring Jiyong, “Don’t worry about me hyung, I can take care of myself. Plus my messes are in fact now just my messes, you don’t have to worry about cleaning up after me. You dissolved that responsibility the night of Youngbae’s baby shower.”

“Seungri!” Jiyong shouted and moved towards the maknae to stop him from leaving.

A firm hand gripped on Jiyong’s shoulder stopping him in his place. Looking behind him ready to rip the limb from whoever decided to be stupid trying to stop him, he noticed it was in fact the eldest member. Seunghyun dug his fingers into Jiyong’s shoulder and glared at him before turning his attention to the younger men.

“Mino-ya, make sure you have our Seungri home at a decent hour. We have an early morning music video shoot tomorrow!”

“I will hyung!” Mino smiled up at Seunghyun before walking to the passenger door and opening it. “Your chariot awaits sweet prince.”

Seungri covered his face with his hands and laughed before walking to the car and getting in. Seunghyun didn’t let Jiyong go until Mino had driven off with the beloved maknae.

“What the fuck was that hyung!”

“I could ask you the same thing Jiyong! You have no right to be telling Seungri where he is allowed to go!”

“The hell I don’t!”

“You don’t! you lost that right when you broke that poor man’s heart! You continued to lose that right the more you flaunt your relationship in front of him!”

“I am still the leader!”

“That you are, but even the leader doesn’t get to control a grown man’s every move. You lost this one, it’s time for you to reap what you sowed.”

Seunghyun turned towards the van and climbed in leaving an angry Jiyong to watch as the tail lights of Mino’s car disappeared around the corner.

That night as Jiyong laid in bed next to his girlfriend he couldn’t shut off his mind, he tossed and turned thinking about Seungri and Mino. When did they become so close, close enough for Mino to come and pick up Seungri. For them to be joking around the way they were. Turning to the side he pulled his blankets up and clutched them close crossing his arms, just what were they doing right now? Where did Mino take Seungri? All the tossing and turning had woken up Soo-min, turning to her side she tossed her arm over Jiyong.

“Oppa? What’s wrong?” She asked in her tired voice dragging Jiyong from his racing thoughts.

“Nothing, just work. I’m sorry I woke you.” Jiyong turned around and pulled her close so her head would rest on her in his chest. Closing his eyes he pushed all thoughts of Seungri out of his mind and concentrated on the woman in his arms and his need for sleep.

The next morning Jiyong arrived on set and looked around, Youngbae was sitting in a chair chugging the coffee in his glass no doubt needing it after a long night recording and then going home to his son. Daesung was stretched out with his head in the lap of the eldest member, he had his arm thrown over his face covering his eyes from the bright lights. Seunghyun had his sunglasses on and his head propped up on his arm that was resting on the arm of the chair. Carrying his coffee and he walked around looking everywhere for Seungri, yet he was nowhere to be found. Sitting down next to Youngbae he turned to the tired dad.

“Where is the maknae?”

“Not sure, he hasn’t come yet.”

“I see.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Youngbae suggested as he let out a yawn.

Jiyong pulled his phone out, angry that Seungri was already causing problems.

“Put the phone away, Seungri knew we had an early morning shoot, he will be here.” Seunghyun said from his spot on the couch.

“This is why he shouldn’t have gone out last night!” Jiyong seethed through his clenched teeth.

The two were caught in a staring contest, neither one was ready to give it up until the door opened and in walked in Seungri’s manager with a bag of clothes.

“Where is Seungri, he told me to bring him some fresh clothes.”

“What do you mean fresh clothes? Didn’t he go home?”

Before Seungri’s manager could answer, in walked the missing man of the hour. He had his phone up to his ear laughing at whatever the other person had said. Jiyong stared him down, how dare he be laughing and smiling when Jiyong had no idea where he was or if he was going to show up.

“I’m not sure how long we will be shooting it today. Diner? Yeah sure I think we will be done by then. Ok I will call you then.” Seungri smiled at his phone before shoving it in his pocket and taking his sunglasses off.

Seungri looked around the room at his hyungs, all of them were smiling except for Jiyong who looked as if he was ready to fight someone.

“Morning.” Seungri said with a cheerful voice.

“Good morning indeed, did you have fun last night?” Seunghyun responded with a wide grin on his face.

“I did, we had a lot of fun.”

“Obviously since you didn’t go home last night.” Daesung added as he sat up on the couch.

“Stop, it wasn’t like that. We just went out for some drinks and went back to his place to watch a movie and share some wine.”

“Don’t be shy, Mino was dressed very handsomely last night.” Seunghyun wiggled his eyebrows at Seungri before giving him a wink.

Seungri covered his eyes a light pink blush crept up his chest. Jiyong hated it. Jiyong was angry before but now he was downright pissed! He stayed out all night drinking and didn’t even bother going home! He wanted to take the boy to a back room and give him a proper punishment. Jiyong sucked in his breath, where did that train of thought come from. Things weren’t that way anymore for him to be able to do that.

“Glad you could finally show up, we have lots of work to do.” Jiyong said before storming off into wardrobe.

The music video being shot today was for their flower road song they had released when Jiyong and the others were still enlisted. It was going to be a colorful music video with them dressed up and serenading their parts to girls as they each took turns in different gardens. Seungri being in a better mood thanks to Mino being a great friend and distracting him from the stress that was Jiyong and their failed relationship. Seungri was quiet the charmer when he wanted to be and was doing just that with his stand in girlfriend for the music video. When it wasn’t his time to shoot a scene Jiyong would catch glimpses of the two sitting with their head close together laughing and chatting. The girl had a permanent pink blush on her face being so close to Seungri. The stress from Seungri was causing problems for Jiyong, he was messing up his parts of the song and not following the director’s orders.

Seungri noticed that Jiyong was having problems and was confused why the almighty G dragon was having issues. Grabbing his fake girlfriend’s hand Seungri lead her away from the current shot and out of eye sight from Jiyong.

Jiyong wasn’t sure if Seungri had left due to the fact he knew Jiyong was struggling because of him or if he just got bored and wanted to move away from the constant shouting. Either way Jiyong was grateful and finally able to finish his portion of the garden scene.

The rest of the night was shooting group shots of them singing parts of the song. They each took turns performing their parts and it was as if nothing had changed, they were Bigbang again doing what they enjoyed the most. Jiyong danced around Seungri as he sang his parts, the maknae was dressed with black trousers and a see through black shirt that had specks of silver interwoven into the. Every time Seungri moved and hit a certain light his shirt would sparkle like little small diamonds were embedded in it. Jiyong felt his heart do it’s own little dance at the sight of Seungri performing. Spinning away from camera Jiyong let out a large sigh, he was going down the wrong path again with his thoughts.

Eventually the director called it a night and members thanked everyone for their hard work before going into wardrobe and getting undressed. Jiyong wasn’t in wardrobe when Seungri was getting dressed today for the shoot, it was when Seungri was pulling up his pants and turning away from Jiyong did he notice the purple mark on shoulder blade. Blinding red rage coursed through Jiyong’s veins. Grabbing his shirt from the hanger he pushed his head and arms through before walking towards the clueless Seungri and grabbing his arm.

Seungri was caught off guard as he was going to button his shirt when Jiyong grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bathroom. Jiyong pinned him in between the sink and himself before spinning him around so his back faced him and pulled the shirt down.

“Hyung what are you doing?” Seungri asked as he looked in the reflection of the mirror to see Jiyong scanning his shoulder.

“I should be asking you that! Look at this mark on your shoulder! How could you let him mark you like that! What if someone else had scene? This would have caused problems for everyone! Didn’t I tell you that I don’t have time to cover your scandals up anymore?”

Seungri pushed back from the sink making Jiyong stumble backwards. Pulling his shirt up he looked at Jiyong who was scowling at him. Seungri began buttoning his shirt as he talked.

“Just as I told you before, you don’t need to worry about me. I can handle my own problems, they are my own and I don’t need your help fixing them. I am a grown man with my own businesses, I was doing fine without you the whole time you were gone and I will continue to be fine now that I am out and you have your new girlfriend.”

Jiyong didn’t miss the way Seungri said girlfriend, the way his said the title was as if it was a curse word, full of poison and hatred.

“So since you are a grown man you are just going to go whoring around town then? Just throwing yourself at any man or woman?”

“Do you really think that lowly of me? For all the years we were together do you honestly think that I would just chance it and sleep with anyone?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Seungri allowed his arms to drop to his side, so this is how Jiyong really thought of him. If he had thought of him this way, then how did he ever love him? I guess he never did love me, Seungri thought to himself. If Jiyong truly did love him then he would never had cheated on him nor left him.

Jiyong wasn’t blind, he saw how his statement had hurt Seungri. He wanted so much to reach out and to pull Seungri into his arms and apologize for saying such hurtful words. But that damn pride wouldn’t let hm. Before Jiyong could say anything else a large banging came at the bathroom door followed by Seunghyun’s voice.

“I swear to god Jiyong I will kill you if you are doing anything to Seungri! Let him out right now before I bust this door down!”

Just as Jiyong was opening his mouth to say a smart-ass response about how Seunghyun doesn’t have the strength a ringing sound came from within the room. Jiyong watched as Seungri pulled out his phone and read the text message before putting it back in his pocket and walking past him. Jiyong grabbed onto Seungri’s arm stopping him.

“Where do you think you are going we aren’t finished!”

Seungri shoved off Jiyong’s hold, “If you must know I have plans, and according to your thought process it’s a date with my new fuck buddy. So just leave me the fuck alone!”

Jiyong tried to grab onto him again but Seungri shoved him back and unlocked the bathroom door leaving a very pissed off Jiyong holding onto the sink for support.

“Hyung I am heading out first.”

“Ok Seungri, you and Mino have fun.” Seunghyun said as he waved goodbye to the maknae.

“Seungri stop right the fuck there!” Jiyong shouted as he made a move to run after Seungri.

Again, it was Seunghyun who stopped him blocking his path.

“I told you last night you lost any right to that man! Go back to your girlfriend and leave Seungri alone, let him find his own peace and happiness. The poor guy deserves nothing but that after everything you have put him through.”

Seunghyun turned and walked over to Daesung, putting his arm around the angelic man’s shoulder the two walked out of the dressing room. Youngbae came over to Jiyong and put his hand on his shoulder trying to comfort his best friend. All Jiyong could do was watch the two walk out of the room.

“That use to be me and Seungri.” Jiyong whispered.

“Yes it was, but you decided that wasn’t enough. You made your choice, now you have to live with it. Let the maknae go, he doesn’t deserve any of this. He never did.”

Youngbae moved away and walked out the door leaving Jiyong to think about the choices he has made.

36 notes · View notes

its-love-u-asshole · 6 years

Text

Twelve Hours [Ch. 4]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou has dealt with a lot since he was eighteen, each year bringing the same depressing challenges on the same depressing night. He expects this time to be no different, but the universe is trying desperately to prove him wrong in the most bizarre ways imaginable. So screw it, Kuroo’s only choice is to buckle in and hope he doesn’t die. Easy enough. And hey, with some new allies at his side, maybe he has a chance. Who knows? At least Kuroo is sure of one thing in life when it comes to March 15th, and he stands by this unwritten law, no matter what happens:

If you try to kill pizza delivery boys on Purge Night, you’re irrevocably a bitch.

Rating: T

Tags: Purge AU, mentions of violence but nothing graphic or too bad, no character deaths here okay, this is borderline crack and idk what I was thinking, first meetings, other characters, shenanigans and just…a lot of fun (it seems angsty but its not)

Note: Yay for a longer chapter! I’ve been waiting forever to write these particular scenes because gahh finally the rest of the characters show up! I hope you all enjoy this! Please comment if you can <3 And big thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over!

AO3

Kuroo was never one to get distracted at dire times, but he couldn't help it right then. They were surrounded, no protection other than the flamethrower clutched in Tsukishima's hands, and even that was risky. Either they torched themselves in the process, or they got shot during the fire. Kuroo could feel the intense stares of the gunmen behind their masks, and didn't feel like making a joke about cliches or tropes. This was real. He'd made it so far over the years, faced so many close calls, but this was too much. There was a slim chance of him making it out of here unscathed, but his brain didn't bother clawing at the possibilities.

All this, all the danger, and yet he couldn't do anything except marvel at how fearless Tsukishima looked, staring down the barrel of a gun.

The blond's glare burned, scathing, like he was trying to melt the gun into a pool of black tar. He might've succeeded, given more time. Kuroo had never seen such pure disdain, and it was as elegant as it was intimidating.

He couldn't stare forever though.

"Sorry to interrupt date night," the masked figure spoke, his tone taunting as he walked closer. His mask was a gaudy yellow with black stripes, different and more vibrant than most. Ah, the leader. Of course.

Kuroo at least laughed in his mind, but it was cut short when the man pressed the gun directly to Tsukishima's forehead. The blond didn't flinch, but Kuroo’s hands trembled with the need to help. The other masked men most likely had their eyes trained on Kuroo and the weapon in his hand. No one could make a move here, too risky.

Hell, if Kuroo was an ass he could blame Tsukishima for all of this. If only the blond hadn't invited him in. Or, if these men were after the blond specifically, damn Tsukishima for wronging them. Still, Kuroo refused to turn against his new friend, stranger or not.

Tsukishima snarled, but made no move to attack as the metal pressed against his pale skin.

"Huh, tough guy," the leader said, more to himself. "I wonder how long that'll last."

Tsukishima didn't seem to be listening, his tone devoid of emotion, like a science documentary narrator. Somehow, it made his words all the more bone chilling, like he was stating pure fact. "I'll end you."

The band of freaks laughed, all except for the one nearest the garage, who stood serenely in the corner. Kuroo couldn't see his eyes through the orange and black mask, but he was positive the other was staring right at him.

"As if you'd get the chance," the leader went on, reaching up to cock his gun back, and Kuroo flinched. Tsukishima was still in front of him, shielding him, and he felt like a failure. He'd never forgive himself if he let the blond die for him, willing or not.

"Now, I'm going to ask this nicely," the man went on, and Kuroo latched onto the shakiness in his voice, the almost childish edge to the demands. "Where is Dr. Takahashi?"

The house descended into silence, the wind and rustle of leaves from outside filling the space. Kuroo had no reason to, but he tensed up. Maybe it was because he saw the rest of the gunmen do the same, not something characteristic of confident, cold-blooded killers. Kuroo grew more and more suspicious by the second, but it wasn't like he'd ever be able to expand on his theory.

He looked to Tsukishima with confusion, because hell, he didn't fucking live here. He barely learned Tsukishima's name today, much less anyone else's. Then again...Tsukishima had said he lived alone. Kuroo knew it better than anyone though, how simple it was to lie.

He didn't hold it against the blond, maybe he'd been looking out for another relative, stashed somewhere in the house. That was why the blond's next words sent him into a new realm of disorientation Kuroo never wanted to visit again.

And like that, the record player of his life scratched.

"...who the fuck is that?" Tsukishima asked, face morphing into something Kuroo could only describe as unadulterated, 'get off my lawn' level annoyance.

The room was thrown into another whirlwind of silence, but this one felt less life threatening, more...what was the phrase...

Like someone had just farted but no one dared take responsibility. Yeah, that was it.

The gang leader's shoulders drooped notably as he glanced around at his comrades, gun still hanging in the air like some James Bond wannabe. "Uh...you--Dr. Takahashi, where is he hiding--"

"Yeah, I'm blind not deaf, thank you, I heard what you said," Tsukishima repeated, and he actually...are you legit fucking taking your hands off the flame thrower to put them on your hips?!

Kuroo's jaw dropped at the boldness, and wow, the blond was either ridiculously courageous or suicidal. Maybe both.

"I don't know who that is," Tsukishima went on with a sigh, like this whole thing was some inconvenient episode, like he'd just filed his taxes instead of facing four guns.

The gunmen weren't having it.

"Don't lie!" A bigger, bulkier man in a red mask shouted, before the leader pacified him with a hand to the chest.

Everyone continued to keep their guns up, but it seemed to mean nothing to Tsukishima. "I'm--I'm not lying you moron, this is my house, I know who lives in it! I'm pretty sure I've never seen what's his face at the dinner table."

"Fuck you! I know he's here. Where is he? Underground?" The gunman yelled back, tripping over his words. His henchmen in the back were turning to each other, guns slowly lowering. Even without seeing their faces, Kuroo could sense the confusion.

Hey, same dudes, fucking same.

And yet, he let the screaming match continue, because as fucking bizarre as this was, Tsukishima was very hot when he was angry.

"You're going to be underground if you don't get this gun out of my face." Angrily, the blond batted the gun away, and fuck, the other guy actually gasped at the damn audacity. "I don't know who you're talking about, so either cough up some details or get out!"

At this point the other guys in the back were not paying attention, whispering to each other, and Kuroo wondered if somehow in the past twenty minutes, he'd ascended.

Meanwhile, the gang leader was throwing an absolute shit fit. "Ugh-you--you know! Dr. Takahashi, he's a surgeon! Old guy, no hair...he's...he looks like he sweats money but wouldn't tip you--"

"Do you know what neighborhood you're in? That's like everyone?"

"Fucking--just--where is he?"

"Not here. But hey, congrats on a successful intimidation, I'm shaking," Tsukishima said, tilting his head with a rueful smile.

"Uh..." Kuroo began, looking to the henchmen for some support because hey, no one else was there to help. They both just shrugged at him.

Awesome.

"My sources say he lives here! 45 West Elm, you can't trick me...you...fucking--nerd, ha!" The leader continued, his pose haughty and not unlike the head of a high school clique.

Kuroo expected a returning taunt, a critique on how awful of an insult that was (because seriously? middle school girls could do better), but the blond just stared into the void which was the leader's face, like he wanted nothing more than for the ground to drag him right to hell.

"......this is 45 Elm, you twit."

"Oh goddammit," the henchman in the corner finally whispered, like he couldn't help it, like he was watching an action thriller and he'd just figured out the twist.

And hell, safety be damned, the leader turned to his friend, pointing at him with the energy of a thousand petty twelve year olds. "Shut up! That's...that's not--"

"West Elm is on the other side of town," Tsukishima kept hammering nails into this poor bastard's coffin, and Kuroo looked to the ceiling for guidance.

I take back what I said, I'm definitely in love.

The leader choked, his gun at his side, long forgotten. "No...no I was sure I put in the address right."

He dropped his gun, fishing his phone out of his jacket pocket, and his henchmen began to do the same, ready to confirm or deny. What world were they in right now?

"Uh...boss...I think he's right," another man in a turquoise mask said, coughing awkwardly.

The leader only stood there, and Kuroo felt like he was reading an error message on the computer of his entire existence.

"The houses are much nicer there too, as in you can't just ram your car through them like a savage," Tsukishima went on, and Kuroo swore to god, everyone in the room winced. "What? Were you too busy going the wrong direction to pull into the driveway?"

The leader's knees went shaky, and Kuroo could see his chest moving from his panicked pants, and oh...oh, man down, man down.

The other sank to his knees, his mask doing nothing to hide the despair. And what the fuck, why was Kuroo feeling sorry for this guy? In a last ditch effort to appear in control, the masked man raised his gun back on a very disgruntled looking Tsukishima. "You. You're wrong--I'm...j-don't fucking move or I'll blow your head off!"

"Yeah sure, maybe get a fucking compass first so you know which direction to point."

"Aw c'mon," the other whispered to the floor, and yeah, that was some cold shit. Then, for the first time all night, he turned to Kuroo, shoulders sagged. "Hey dude, can you tell your boyfriend to calm down or something?"

The word 'boyfriend' did more things to his heart than he would've liked, especially in this kind of situation. "Uh..."

Tsukishima silenced him, stepping closer to the kneeling man. “N-He’s not gonna tell you shit, I’m right!”

"You're lame is what you are!" The other threw back pathetically, gun falling to the floor. If Kuroo knew any better, he'd call the tone a whimper.

Not that Tsukishima spared him at all. "If that's the best insult you have, I'm surprised you made it this far."

"Sorry for being a little distracted!"

"Well I'm sorry you can't use a GPS!"

"Oi...Terushima---" One of the men behind him coughed, crouching down to give his leader a supportive pat on the back. It didn't help, but whatever, Kuroo had a name now.

"Shhh, dude! I told you codenames only," Terushima said in a hushed whisper, pounding his fist on the floor like a six year old at the toy store.

"Oh. Right. Okay but here's the thing, I forgot your codename--"

"Swear to god Futakuchi. I mean...Iron Shield."

Both Kuroo and Tsukishima snorted. Maybe Kuroo had died already.

"Stupid ass name..." The bulkier guy in the red mask whispered, and Futakuchi turned on him, his turquoise mask revealing nothing but betrayal.

Kuroo was more likely to die from laughter at this point than by bullet.

"Oh?" Futakuchi continued, standing up. Red Mask was shorter by an inch or so, but those muscles looked like they could break this Futakuchi guy like a toothpick if he so chose. "I didn't hear you object to it at the meeting!"

"I didn't want to hurt your precious feelings," Red Mask taunted, throwing his hands up. "You shot down all of my codename ideas!"

"Yeah, 'cause they sucked."

"Guys please...both your names suck," the pleasant voice from the corner was back, his presence calming but his words like steel. "We went over them five times, you should remember."

"Sorry Suga," they both said automatically, before the realization set in for them both. "Fuck."

"Do you all wanna take this outside so I can have my crisis in peace please?" Terushima interrupted, still very much on the floor, and very much lost to the world.

"What's the difference between here and a few feet away?" Tsukishima asked, bending down until he was at Terushima's level. "There's a hole in my wall."

"Do you have home insurance?" Futakuchi offered, unhelpfully if Kuroo might add.

Tsukishima's eyes blazed like fire. "Do you have life insurance?"

"I mean who doesn't? In this economy," Red Mask chimed in, only for Suga to tap him, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Not really the time Yamamoto."

"But--"

"No."

"Hey think of it as a fair exchange," Futakuchi sighed, speaking directly to Tsukishima. "We broke your window..."

"You broke my wall."

"And you broke our leader," he finished, pointing back to the pitiful puddle which used to be Terushima. The guy was sprawled out on the floor babbling to himself.

"I can't believe I entered the wrong address, how could this happen, I'm a garbage person, leave me in the dumpster...."

And for the first time that night, Tsukishima looked concerned, and he cast Suga a questioning gaze, since he seemed the most rational of the bunch.

"Oh, he’ll bounce back," the other said, waving him off.

"....sure about that?" Tsukishima asked, watching Kuroo as he warily approached the man child.

"How could I not know how to enter the right address? If I can’t do that there’s no telling what else I missed. I’ll probably mess up something else, whatifImesssomethingelse up and we fail—"

“Probably all possible, but you really shouldn’t give up that easily,” Kuroo said, trying to be supportive. What? He was more of a realist these days.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but shrugged. "He's got a point."

Ha.

"Teru...Teru you're embarrassing us, get up," Futakuchi said, kneeling down to tap on his friend's chest.

"Just leave me here to die."

"I can't do that, I have no clue how to drive your car."

"Fuck you."

"I mean judging from the wall, neither does he," Kuroo muttered, and immediately received a room of mask-concealed glares. He didn't need to see them, he knew they were there. Except from Tsukishima. The blond's lips quirked a bit at the corners, effectively giving Kuroo an additional three years of life.

"My life is meaningless, I can't drive, I can't purge, I'm like....95% sure I left my lights on--"

"Not to interrupt you," Futakuchi said, "even though I totally mean to interrupt you, but can we maybe put down all the weapons now? They seem sorta pointless."

"Pointless?" Kuroo asked, beating Tsukishima to the punch. "You're strangers who just broke into this house, and worse you took out the dogs--"

"Oh we didn't kill them," Yamamoto piped up from the back. "They're just knocked out. The fuck? We're not monsters."

And at that one statement, Tsukishima finally unclipped his flamethrower in a show of peace, the sound of it hitting the floor enough to make Terushima lift his head. "Are you fucking serious? That's all it took? We could be cannibals, or pft, organ harvesters, but just because we didn't kill your dogs you're cool--"

"Listen, I know fake bad boys when I see them, I've been in enough bars," Tsukishima shot back, undeterred. "If you can't kill my 90 pound guard dogs, you're not gonna kill shit. You probably can't even choose the mean dialogue options in video games--"

"Hey."

"--so I doubt I need to burn you alive." Tsukishima kicked at his flamethrower for emphasis. "Of course, I wouldn't hesitate otherwise."

"You'd just run the risk of burning yourself, asshole," Futakuchi said, and oh...this poor naive soul. Tsukishima and Kuroo exchanged a glance so harmonious not even partners of thirty years could come close to achieving it.

Stepping forward, Tsukishima stared at Futakuchi dead on, reaching up to calmly remove his mask. No one moved, too frozen. Futakuchi's wide brown eyes and young face were not surprising, but the fear in them made Kuroo grin fiercely.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, throwing the mask into the debris of his wall. “I thought you killed my dogs moron, I would've gladly torched all of you and myself.”

And with that, no more questions about Tsukishima's ruthlessness were raised.

After a good five minutes, all the people in the house (even those in mental comas) decided it was probably best to not stand around arguing where anyone could walk in and well...kill them all.

Although, given what had already transpired, Kuroo wouldn't have been surprised if he went out in such a stupid way.

It's one of those nights.

Kuroo sighed as he walked into the garage, making sure the group of strangers walked in before him and Tsukishima. Now, Kuroo was a good judge of character most days, so it wasn't that he necessarily expected them to turn around and get violent (especially not when they looked as if they'd just been bankrupted). But people did dumb things during the Purge, but more importantly, he wanted to protect Tsukishima in the same way the other had been ready to do. It was the thought that counted.

However, he probably could've let his guard down the moment Futakuchi and Yamamoto tag teamed to drag Terushima's lifeless body into the garage, but whatever.

"Goddamn," Tsukishima muttered as he closed the door leading into the room, locking it with a complicated set of locks that not even Kuroo, with all his memorization and analytical skills, could figure out how to undo. It was then he noticed the door was made of some high strength metal, and yeah...he had to admire this level of preparation.

Smiling to himself, Kuroo looked to the corner of the garage, where Tsukishima's dogs were peacefully snoozing, joined only by Yamamoto. It was impossible to resist petting them, so Kuroo could relate. Seeing them there was still making him double take though. Tsukishima had picked them up and carried them there himself. Amazing.

"All the neighbors are going to be spreading rumors now thanks to you lot," the blond continued to say, pulling at his shirt collar. "They all probably think I'm dead."

"Well they're gonna be disappointed in the morning then," Futakuchi deadpanned, but luckily Tsukishima himself didn't need to step in to dish out punishment.

Suga did it for him.

"Ow!" Futakuchi shouted as Suga's palm met the back of his head with a symphony quality slap. It was such an instantaneous, fluid movement, Kuroo had to wonder if it was a normal occurrence. "Hey!"

Suga ignored the outburst, his now visible brown eyes crinkling in annoyance. Somehow, having all members without their masks made the situation more ridiculous than before. "Don't be so rude! You put a car through his window."

"Uh, wall," Kuroo corrected.

Hey, he had to stay on Tsukishima's good side.

"Whatever! I said I'd help fix it!"

Somewhere in the corner of the garage, Yamamoto piped up from where he was petting the sleeping dogs, his tone less taunting and more...blunt. "With what money?"

Ouch. Cold-blooded.

"You're not helping," Futakuchi hissed, his face blooming a familiar shade of 'I'm broke as a damn joke' red. "I'll figure it out."

"Sure..."

Tsukishima stepped forward before the the conversation could further escalate, and his presence alone made them all lean back a fraction. Kuroo would stay by his side forever for reactions like that. The only one immobile was Terushima, who was barely starting to come out of his stupor through blinking eyes and the occasional groan.

"Can someone just explain to me what you're all doing here?" Tsukishima asked, simple and straight to the point. Good. Kuroo couldn't take any more B movie levels of suspense.

At the question, the group winced and yeah. So much for straight forward answers. Suga's gaze flicked down to their great leader as he slowly raised himself to a sitting position on the hard concrete, and Kuroo felt sympathy once again. Terushima was basically the poster child for someone who'd just woken up from a very long nap, and now needed to know what year it was.

Sadly for him though, the day hadn't passed, and he was still stuck in the Purge.

Suga regarded him with the same, concerned eyes, as did the rest of his group. It made Kuroo think of Bokuto and Akaashi, and how if Kuroo had ever been in a similar state, they'd surely be looking at him the same exact way.

It made his throat tighten a bit, and he instinctively moved to Tsukishima's side, where he felt more grounded.

Suga sighed after the silence stretched on, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, see, we're--"

"No Koushi, this was my plan," Terushima spoke up, startling them all. His voice cracked, hoarse, but he persevered. "I'll explain."

And though Suga had never hesitated to argue in the past thirty minutes, he closed his mouth, silent.

And then, all attention was on Terushima. At least the guy was smart, because the first thing he did was bow his head at Tsukishima. "First off, I'm sorry for ruining your house, and for threatening you. I never meant to hurt innocent people, and there's no excuse for that."

Tsukishima's eyes actually widened, his crossed arms falling as if to welcome the apology. Gone was the standoffish nature, mostly because neither he or Kuroo had expected such a genuine admission of guilt.

It elevated Terushima far more than they were probably willing to admit aloud, but it made an impression, and their opinion of him shot way up.

Wordlessly, Tsukishima nodded, his acceptance clear.

Terushima smiled weakly, sighing while he collected his thoughts. His gelled hair had lost a lot of its shine, a few strands falling into his eyes, and he nervously pulled at them, the word vomit spilling in an inelegant burst. "Someone fucked over my mom, and now I need to kill him."

Oh. Well. Hm.

Kuroo turned to Tsukishima, expecting alarm of some sort, or anything really, but the blond only nodded, raising his eyebrow as if to say 'yes, of course, please continue.'

And Terushima did. "This guy Dr. Takahashi, he promised my mom he'd take care of her. See...my mom...she got in an accident a few years back, she can't take care of things as well as she used to."

At the mention of an accident, Kuroo saw Tsukishima's eyes flicker with raw understanding, and it was then Kuroo noticed he'd barely been glancing at Terushima the entire time.

It was too weird, like some cheap love novel, the incessant desire he felt to chase the blond with his gaze ever since he'd walked up to his door.

"And this guy...he was going to help you," Tsukishima supplied, and Kuroo wondered if it was a kindness. Terushima was getting choked up, but the light prodding helped him move on.

"Yeah, yeah he was," Terushima whispered, and Futakuchi grabbed his shoulder. "He told her he'd invest her money, that he knew good companies to trust. She got desperate. And he's been her fucking doctor so long, she thought she could trust him. She--my mom, she's always been too nice you know? Even with all his shit, she never doubted people. I told her she couldn't do that anymore and she, she wouldn't listen."

They never do.

Kuroo thought of Bokuto, of the giddiness and trust which had never truly died until this night rolled around. Those people with light still locked in them, they had to be protected at all costs, and something told Kuroo that goal had been uprooted in Terushima's case. He was upset for him, angry.

Tsukishima must've been too, from the way his hands were fisted in the sleeves of his sweater. Again, Kuroo moved closer, until they shared warmth.

"You can guess what happened," Terushima said with a laugh, his shoulders trembling. By now his friends had crowded closer, and neither Tsukishima nor Kuroo had stopped them. "When she found out he'd taken all her money and spent it, lied to her...it broke her heart. She was so stressed and worried about me, about supporting me and getting me through school. She didn't get that I didn't care about school, I didn't need it, if it meant losing her."

At that Kuroo's gut twisted, the unbearable assumption settling low and weighing down his heart. Oh no...

"You know, my mom, she's naive but she's never been unprepared," Terushima whispered, staring at the cold ground. "And she has one great life insurance policy."

Tsukishima grabbed his hand at the same moment Kuroo's breath flooded out of him, prying emotions out of him he was sure he'd repressed. Too much. This was far too much for someone to bear, and he cursed this holiday a hundred times, a thousand.

Luckily, it wasn't as bad as they'd assumed.

Terushima shook his head at their stunned expressions. "She couldn't do it. But just..."

Just the thought she would've must've been agonizing.

"But when she couldn't go through with it, the world threw us another fucking curve ball. She got sick, she got sick because she worked more jobs, more hours...it's all his fault," Terushima snarled. "She can barely walk and she's still working from home, still crying...well, not anymore. Not ever again. I was--I'm going to fix things, and it all starts with that bastard. I'm going to kill him for everything he's done, and I don't care how many mistakes I make, I'm finishing this."

"Even if it means purging?" Kuroo couldn't help but ask, as damn insensitive as it might've been. Dammit. This doctor deserved every ounce of hatred Terushima had for him, and Kuroo didn't think Terushima's intentions were wrong.

But, it would never sit 100% well with him. The Purge. Purging. All of it was a cycle, creating more violence and more horrible people just like Takahashi. Kuroo knew himself well, knew he'd never, but who was Terushima really? Did he have it in him to risk it all like this? Or worse, did he have the self control to stop himself once he did?

The garage fell into a tense silence, and for the first time in a while, he felt Tsukishima gaze on him. The other hadn't let go of his hand yet, and instead let it slip to his wrist. He may not have known Tsukishima well, but in this case, he knew the blond understood better than anyone where he was coming from.

Both of them feared deep down, there would be no end to this.

But, perhaps he didn't deserve to judge so quickly.

"Yes," Terushima answered, but his frown communicated nothing but guilt, the only thing Kuroo wanted to see. "I know that sounds bad, and I get it better than most people. Look, Takahashi...he used to be such a nice guy before all this, I never would've expected him to do what he did. The Purge ruins people, it makes them this way. But I need to do this. I won't let it get the best of me."

I won't let it change me.

Kuroo used to promise that to himself every night, sometimes he still did, but ultimately he had failed. The crippling anxiety, the bad grades, the shitty job...he'd let the Purge drag him farther than he was willing to admit.

It had done the same to Tsukishima. It had done it to Akaashi and Bokuto in some ways too. Really, it had infected everyone in many ways. It would most likely drag Terushima farther down than it already had too, but it was up to Kuroo to keep some ounce of faith alive in his soul, to believe the other had the right to do this.

Tsukishima sighed at the same time as Kuroo did, and he wondered if they'd been thinking the same things. He wouldn't be surprised.

"And the rest of you joined him so easily huh? No doubts?" Tsukishima asked, not accusingly, but in a way one might appraise a painting. Like it was the final question he needed to cement his opinion. Kuroo couldn't help but grin.

The night was turning into more of an emotional rollercoaster than usual, which...he didn't think was possible.

The feeling just increased when none of the group had an issue answering. Yamamoto stepped forward, certain and strong. "We'd do anything for Terushima, he's like family, and that son of a bitch Takahashi has it coming."

"And as much as we hate the Purge, we'll support Yuuji's decisions," Suga added, smirking. "Besides, he needs us. Or did you not see your wall?"

And damn, Kuroo laughed so suddenly Tsukishima jumped, but beneath the annoyance sat amusement which Kuroo would do anything to witness on a daily basis.

Tsukishima was full of surprises that way, and he never seemed to have an issue with knocking Kuroo on his ass with his unexpected actions.

"Obviously you guys aren't enough if he can't use a GPS or drive a car," Tsukishima said, clicking his tongue. Glancing over at where Kuroo's Death Mobile was parked, he squinted, shaking his head at nothing in particular. "You're going to need more help getting through that neighborhood. There's armed guards and class privilege everywhere, it's disgusting."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying blondie?" Futakuchi asked, his shock about as transparent as Kuroo's.

Kuroo spun to face Tsukishima with a gaping mouth, grasping at words like a toddler. "Uh, yeah, are you?"

There was no way he was. Tsukishima hated going out during the Purge, said he never would again. On top of that, he couldn't. He could get hurt, or worse. The protective instincts flared up inside of Kuroo alongside his panic, and Tsukishima either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Kuroo, we've been out there before, these losers will die out there--"

"Hey."

"And we can't exactly stay here in the garage all night, as riveting as it sounds," Tsukishima finished, turning to glare at the steal garage door holding them off from all the chaos out there. He was biting at his lip, picking at his fingernails...Kuroo could tell he was nervous, second guessing himself. So why?

"Why the hell not? Tsukki, we don't purge remember?" Kuroo protested, ignoring the way Tsukishima's cheeks tinted at the nickname (and believe him, what a task that was).

"We won't be purging, he is," Tsukishima said, turning to Terushima's still 'I'm too shocked to move' form.

Kuroo babbled uselessly, moving his hands in ways he hoped were convincing. Out of all the things Tsukishima could've done, he'd never anticipated the blond offering his help on Purge night. It seemed so out of character, and yet...something about it...made sense in ways Kuroo couldn't fully grasp yet. And worse, he was so close to joining him, to saying fuck it all.

Because isn't this what Kuroo always wanted to do, deep down? Act like a dumb hero, to forget he was jaded and ruined inside, to help people who needed it during the worst night of the year? The answer was a loud, resounding yes. Kuroo's first instinct was to give the go ahead, to do whatever he could to make sure good people didn't suffer. He hated being so afraid. He wanted to be eighteen again, brave and confident and everything he'd dreamed of being before it all dissolved in his hands.

But was he willing to finally take that risk? He'd been avoiding all cries for help for years, all the screams and tragedies, he'd turned a blind eye to every single one. Why this one? Why now?

"Ugh, but--" There was hardly a point to his arguing though, with those eyes on him, so intense, so pleasing.

"He's just like me, what I had to do," Tsukishima whispered, not explaining anything more. He rarely needed to with Kuroo, he understood loud and clear. "The stupid universe is going to strike me if I don't do this, and I'll be damned if more rich assholes get what they want when I actually have a say. It's annoying and all I wanted to do tonight was read a book but I'm not dumb enough to think I can get away with that now."

And what was Kuroo supposed to say to that? Good luck? Was he supposed to leave?

Like he could.

Like it or not, his heart willed him to follow Tsukishima's lead, and if he spent more time weighing the pros and cons, he'd no doubt reach that same conclusion anyways.

Who knew why now he'd finally decided to take a chance? He wouldn't question it. Eighteen year old Kuroo had been a man of action, and now he was older, he figured it was fair to pay his respects to that.

"Well, are you coming?" Tsukishima sighed, like it was a huge inconvenience, but Kuroo knew better. Tsukishima's nails were being picked until they were nubs, and the blond's eyes shone with something vulnerable and solely for Kuroo.

He laughed, pushing up Tsukishima's disheveled frames fondly before turning back towards the group. They all waited with bated breath, but he wouldn't let them down. "You bet."

Yamamoto pumped his fist into the air while Terushima's face broke out into a grin, already rewarding enough for Kuroo. To say nothing of Suga, he looked like he'd expected this outcome from the beginning, smug and sure of himself. Futakuchi...well, Kuroo didn't know why he was squinting at him and Tsukishima, and he didn't get the chance to ask.

"Wait, your car only has five seats," Tsukishima said to Kuroo, gesturing to his armored war machine of a pizza delivery vehicle. Shit.

Unless one of them could shift through matter, they'd have to leave someone behind.

Or so he thought.

"That's where you're wrong bitches," Terushima said, and no matter how dangerous his smile was, Kuroo had no choice but to trust him.

They were all a team now, and he just hoped it ended up being a good thing.

When Terushima walked them outside to see his car, Kuroo didn't know what he'd been expecting.

Not this.

"Boom," Terushima said enthusiastically as he opened one of the huge doors to the dark, black van. The door beeped as it slid open automatically, echoing into the street, and Kuroo felt like he was in kindergarten all over again. "Eight seater, cunts."

Kuroo and Tsukishima stood there, arms crossed and weapons drawn in the event of an outside attack, but honestly, if the car didn't distract an assailant long enough, nothing would defeat them.

It's a monster. A blot on humanity's record.

"Wow, what are you, a suburban mom?” Tsukishima asked, though he appreciatively eyed the tough tires and armored shell. Kuroo didn't care. There was something sinful and wicked about a fucking van looking ready to face the apocalypse. Basically, it made Kuroo's car look like a little bitch, which he did not appreciate.

He'd been outdone. He'd been had.

“I wish, then maybe he'd have a goddam dvd player in here," Suga muttered as he piled into the car. "I'm just gonna wait here."

"He's never gonna let me live that down," Terushima whispered under his breath. "You sleep on one car upgrade and suddenly you're evil."

"Pretty much," Futakuchi said, weaseling into the passenger seat. "Now come on, we got a schedule to keep."

"What schedule? We already hit the side of the house, our checklist is done," Terushima said, sardonically.

"Can you just get in the driver's seat please," Futakuchi replied, throwing his hands up in surrender.

Kuroo wasn't sure how long it would take for them to drive him insane, but he gave it three hours. He gave Tsukishima one.

"Well since you asked nicely." Terushima slid around the front of the car as Futakuchi slammed his door shut, and Kuroo followed Tsukki back into the garage one last time to make sure his dogs were settled.

"Sure everything in the house will be okay?" Kuroo asked. He knew Tsukishima didn't exactly think of the place as home, but surely he had some things of value in there.

The blond simply nodded. "I hid everything I care about, now it's just making sure the boys are locked in," he said, smiling at where Yamamoto sat crouched down, playing with the dogs' floppy ears. They were still in dreamland, but they seemed happy.

Giving them a nod, Yamamoto walked back to the car, leaving them alone.

Tsukishima leaned down, caressing the slightly bigger dog's face in his hands. He rubbed soft circles, and Kuroo smiled, his heart flipping. Maybe it was the image of Tsukishima with dogs, or the evidence of his love for them, but either way, Kuroo prayed they'd stay safe for the blond's sake.

"Cas, I'm going to need you to take care of your brother when you wake up," Tsukishima whispered to the dog, the last time his tone would be so gentle. "Don't worry. I'll come back."

He said it with such seriousness, such spitefulness, Kuroo had no way of questioning him, not even for a moment.

After a few more minutes, they walked back out, and Tsukishima closed the steel plated garage door, sealing the dogs in, as well as their decision to leave.

Fuck this is happening. Okay.

He might've panicked before, but for whatever reason, Kuroo was...at peace with his, and he strolled easily back into the car, taking his place in the back row with Tsukishima.

Just then, a final, insignificant thought crossed his mind as Tsukishima was pulling himself up into the car. "Hey, what about your TV?"

There was no way Tsukishima could've taken the time to store that. He'd been so efficient...

Of course, it was wrong of Kuroo to think the blond hadn't anticipated such a thing. His face twisted with conflict, as if he was debating on going back into the house. “I don’t give a fuck about the TV...but if they touch my Child’s Play DVDs I’ll be pissed."

Oh.

It was a sentiment Kuroo could get behind. "There's still time for you to go get them."

Tsukishima shook his head, expression grim. "No point now, I have to take the risk."

"You are so brave," Kuroo said, placing a consoling hand on the blond's shoulder.

"It’s what Brad Dourif would've wanted."

"Can you two please shut the fuck up and get in the car," Futakuchi said, and at that moment Kuroo remembered that they weren't alone. Suga was most definitely laughing, awesome. "Christ."

Rolling his eyes, Tsukishima closed his door, shooting Kuroo one last smug little grin. If that didn't give Kuroo the energy to face the rest of the night, he didn't know what would.

The purring of the engine as Terushima turned the car on made Kuroo's shoulders tense, but he didn't regret his place in the car next to Tsukishima.

No matter how the night turned out, he would do whatever he could to help Terushima get closure, and when the time came, he hoped they could both handle the consequences.

Naturally, they'd have to get there first though.

"Uh, guys," Terushima said, laughing anxiously into the quiet space of the car. "I think we need gas."

And without hesitation, Tsukishima opened up the car door, and took one step outside. "You know what, never mind. Run me over."

With that, Kuroo buckled himself in for the most eventful night of his life.

#kurotsuki #adri writing #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #tsukishima kei

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