#pivoted their body mid air

[raisedbydirew0lves]

welp i realized they made eye contact with mason during that scene as if it wasn't scary enough already :D

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Dolores del Río (Flying Down to Rio, Flor silvestre)—to begin with, dolores is so RADIANTLY BEAUTIFUL, even more so in action then in images, its like she emits a literal glow. marlene dietrich (a close friend and rumored lover) considered her "the most beautiful woman who ever set foot in hollywood". she was the first mexican actress to become a major success in hollywood, rising to fame in the silent era and becoming an influential icon of beauty and glamor in the art deco age, though she was not thrilled with the exoticizing parts often pushed on her. in the mid 1940s having tired of the controlling hollywood studio system she returned to mexico, saying "I wish to choose my own stories, my own director and cameraman. I can accomplish this better in mexico", and proceeded to become a pivotal figure in the golden age of mexican cinema, making a string of masterpieces with directir emilio fernández and cinematographer gabriel figueroa. i love this anecdote about the insane art deco mansion she and her then-husband cedric gibbons lived in in the 30s, as related by david niven: "Dolores had a large sunny room on the first floor containing a huge and inviting bed. Gibbons lived in comparative squalor in a small room immediately below. The only connection between these rooms was by way of a stepladder, which could be lowered only when a trapdoor in the floor of Dolores room had been raised. There was a long stick with which, we conjectured, he signaled his intention or hopes by rapping out signals on the floor of his wife’s bedchamber." heres a pinterest album with a billion hot pictures of her

Fay Wray (King Kong)— the original scream queen!! she started acting in silent comedies as a teenager and got her first big break when erich von stroheim cast her as the lead in the wedding march. her career started to take off starring in silent movies at paramount, and she survived the transition to sound smoothly - josef von sternberg’s weird proto-noir thunderbolt was one of her first sound films. she began to make horror movies in the early 1930s, such as doctor x and mystery of the wax museum, both filmed in beautiful two-strip technicolor (which looked like this if you're curious. i just think it's neat!), as well as the vampire bat, the most dangerous game, and of course the boy himself, king kong. a little on how she worked with her most famous costar: “Although Kong appeared huge, the full figure was a model covered with rabbit hair, standing only 18 inches tall, that was filmed one frame at a time by stop-motion photography artist Willis O'Brien and his crew. The 5ft 3in Wray only knew one part of the ape's body when she was grasped in an articulated 8ft long hand. Hence the title of her 1989 autobiography, On The Other Hand. ‘I would stand on the floor,’ she recalled, ‘and they would bring this arm down and cinch it around my waist, then pull me up in the air. Every time I moved, one of the fingers would loosen, so it would look like I was trying to get away. Actually, I was trying not to slip through his hand.’” (link)

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Dolores del Rio:

There's so much! She started in Silent films and successfully transitioned to sound, She is the first woman to wear a two piece swimsuit on screen & popularized the bikini!, She transitioned back to Mexican Cinema in the late 1940s and was a leading lady of the Golden Age of Mexican Cinema including staring in Maria Candelaria--the first Mexican film to win the palm d'Or at Cannes. She was literally studied for her beauty & was considered a beauty ideal in both the USA & Mexico--there's a whole section on her Wikipedia page about how beautiful everyone thinks she was. She never actually had a feud with any of the female stars she was rumored to feud with despite the fact that press & Hollywood culture attempted to pain them in competition... She remained a leader in Mexican theater & Cinema through her own production company. Mexican painter Diego Rivera: "The most beautiful, the most gorgeous of the west, east, north and south. I'm in love with her as 40 million Mexicans and 120 million Americans who can't be wrong" (quote source: Wikipedia)

*fan self* Leading actress in silents and early Hollywood. Lover of Orson Welles until she got fed up with him, friend of Diego Rivera and Frieda Kahlo. When she got tired of Hollywood executives typecasting her as a stereotypical spitfire (and trying to force her to feud with Lupe Velez as a publicity stunt), she ditched Hollywood and became a major star of Mexican cinema, where she got to play rounded characters

Had a career in American cinema in the 20s and 30s and considered one of the most important figures in the Golden Age of Mexican cinema (30s to 50s).

Marlene Dietrich said Dolores was the most beautiful woman to set foot in Hollywood

Joan Crawford: "Dolores became, and remains, as one of the most beautiful stars in the world."

One of the few Latin American women working in the Hollywood industry to make it big not just in hre home country but internationally. In 1931, Photoplay magazine declared that Mexican film actress Dolores del Rio had the "best figure in Hollywood." (which I know not necessarily a good barometer) but! it shows that many people looked at her for her beauty and sought to emulate her. Famous for her years-long love affair with actor and director Orson Welles, who was 10 years her junior if that's anything.

We need more hispanic representation in this!! Del Río is one of the most important actresses of her time as she was one of the first Mexican movie stars to break through to Hollywood! She’s unbelievably sexy and an absolute icon. Thank you :)

Fay Wray:

Actress prominently known for starring in horror, she was one of cinema's original "scream queens". She knocks it out of the park whenever she's with the horror genre, bringing a depth and likability to characters that would other be flat and boring characters.

An early scream queen, name me another woman who could look so beautiful while so disheveled and scared for her life

She was name-dropped not once but TWICE in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. She's arguably the original Scream Queen.

[davenporttf]

Red Zone

There's nothing more I love than admiring the beauty of jocks playing at their best. I fell into sport photography in college with a photography class and tried taking photos of the football team. I've always enjoyed spectating these ripped guys showcasing their power and speed. It wasn't a gay thing. I admired the strength and skill these players have. Putting it on film was my way of sharing my love of sports through my eyes.

After a few years in the sports photography business, I finally have the respect of the local teams. One apparently put in a good word for me because I got a call to film some of the nearby rugby team play. A chance to capture up close to arguably the most brutish men in sports was an honor and I was so excited.

I arrived the first day at the stadium to discover the men all gathered in the locker room. They were changing for the game and I couldn't help but notice these muscle bears' physiques. The way they filled out their shirts with both muscle and fat was unlike any other sports player. Needless to say their bums were thick as well as their juicy thighs supporting them.

I introduced myself to some of the players and let them know I'd be taking pictures of them playing. You couldn't find more lovable blokes. They were clearly meat heads who lived and breathed Rugby.

"Cheers, mate. Happy to have yah." said Marcus, the captain. "Coach told us you'd be here. Come to think of it, we have an extra jersey here. Try it on. You'll look like one of us."

I was hesitant at first but ultimately took it as a nice gesture. I took my collared shirt off and then slid on the red uniform.

"A bit small to be on our scrum, but it looks good on yah." The shirt had a tingly feeling to it, and I felt a surge of energy flowing through me. "Thanks a lot! Looking forward to getting some good shots."

"Make sure to get our good side," Marcus said with a wink. He looked away "Alright you bunch of idiots, let's get out there!"

I followed the team out to the field never feeling better, and was running on a high as if I had several redbulls or preworkout.

The game began and I started focusing in on Marcus. He had the ball and started sprinting forward. I zoomed in and took a shot of him sprinting. I looked at the preview, and it was a great action shot.

I was trying to focus on the game but my legs were overcome by a warming sensation. I felt my thighs and calves swell. They were filling with muscle as hard as rocks and pushed my khakis to the max. I kept focus on the game but the warmth was slowly moving up my body.

I next shot was of the captain being knocked down by the flanker on the opposing team. The perfect shot of the flanker holding the captain in mid air. It was then that the warmth moved up to my glutes. My ass inflated until the khakis began tearing. The khakis ripped until they fell off my legs, revealing a pair of red rugby shorts underneath. I felt a breeze flow through my leg hairs as they grew longer and bushier. My socks changing to red knee socks and black cleats.

There was a turnover of the ball on the field as a Center from the opposing team gained control. The player pivoted and passed the ball to one of their runners. I snapped a photo of the Center's pass and felt the warmth spread across to my dick and started feeling crazy horny. It was growing and pushing a tent in my rugby shorts until it was a girthy 10 inches. I was noticing how great the teams' legs looked in those shorts. I could feel my sexual desires becoming more open. I wanted to appreciate these players by giving them the best night of their lives.

I winced as my back cracked, my spine lengthened and my height increased several inches. My relatively flat chest became chiseled like it was being sculpted in real time. I felt the fat sucked from my abs as they went from tender to firm. My pecs becoming beefy pillows from what looked like years of lifting.

The opposing team made it to the other side and scored. I zoomed in on Marcus and he was looking my way. I had an odd feeling but felt compelled to snap a photo of him. He was smiling with a smirk on his face. I felt the warmth finally move up to my head. My thoughts of shooting the game drifted away as my jaw line cracked into a more square shape. My facial features becoming more symmetrical and rugged. I felt my beard grow in fuller and my hair bleaching to a sun kissed blonde. I dropped my camera and stared blankly until the ref called for the halftime break.

Marcus jogged over and studied me up and down. "You've been wasting away behind that camera. We're down by 3 and I think you'll be of better use helping the team make a comeback."

He walked up to me and brought his lips to mine. There was a surge of memories filling my mind. Flashbacks of playing for the team for years. Years of practice drills, sweaty guys tackling me to the ground. Most of all, my relationship with the guy who made me fall in love with rugby in the first place, Marcus.

"Anything for you, babe."

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 1600+

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, malnutrition; swear words

Part XIX | Part XXI

The beast watched you, growling lowly and dangerously. No sign of recognition in his eyes or tense posture. He seemed to be ready to tear the unwelcome intruders into shreds.

"No sudden moves. Just slowly, easily." Lucien whispered next to your ear, his big hand on your waist.

"Hello, Tamlin," he said to the beast in a soothing voice. "It's me, Lucien. I brought you a visitor. Do you remember Y/N?"

The beast didn't even blink, eyes on you. It seemed he didn't understand words anymore. Sizing you up as predator assessing his prey, he slowly moved forward and his huge bear-like body came to view.

You gasped, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He was just walking skeleton wrapped in thick fur. You could count all of his ribs even from afar.

Lucien very slowly took a step back, pulling you with him, but you refused to move. He swallowed so hard even Tamlin heard it and growled at him.

"Please, just follow me," he lowly hissed through clenched teeth. "It's too dangerous. He already saw you and doesn't seem to be overjoyed. We can try it again in the morning and hope he is in better mood."

"No," you said firmly. "I won't leave him."

"Fuck!" The beast moved swiftly, bridging the distance between you with two jumps. Lucien drew a dagger while moving forward to shield you with his body. "Tamlin, we don't want to hurt you, but-"

"Stop," you snapped for his wrist and tried to push his hand with the dagger down. "Put it away."

The sound that Tamlin made, shook the walls so much that pieces of plaster fell off. Claws whizzed through the air and dagger flew off to the corner of the room.

Lucien cried out in pain. Blood ran from a deep cut on the back of his hand, drawing deep crimson flowers on the floor. The claws caught on your dress, too, cutting open holes into a skirt, missing your flesh by an inch.

The beast opened its mouth ready to bite. You didn't think, you just acted. You moved as fast as you could and getting between deadly fangs and cursing Lucien, you spread your arms wide.

"Tamlin, no," you shouted, shutting your eyes closed you waited for a pain that never came.

Slightly trembling, you dared to crack one eye open. The beast froze in mid-motion with wide opened mouth, sharp fangs just inches from your chest. His gaze was wild, ruthless and full of rage. But there was also something like a recognition in his eyes. Growling he shut the mouth, hunched over and glaring at you he backed down. You held his gaze. A tiny bud of hope bloomed in your heart.

Slowly you turned your back to him. Huff of warm air fanned the back of your neck. You froze on the spot, but nothing happened.

Lucien was gaping at you with pained expression. He held his hurt hand, tucking it to his chest. A small puddle was forming on the floor below him, his front was soaked with blood.

You tore off a piece of your petticoat. "Can I see it?" Hesitantly, he let you take a look while his eyes jumped between you and the beast behind your back. "It's quite deep, but thanks Mother, it's already starting to close," you breathed sigh of relief.

You tended it as best as you could at the moment and pivoted back to the beast. He watched you carefully, snarling, still ready to attack.

Strangely, you weren't scared of him so much now. Even your heartbeat slowed down to almost normal. You nearly started to believe that he wouldn't hurt you.

Holding his gaze you slowly raised your hands with palms upward.

"It's okay, Tamlin," you spoke soothingly and smiled. He barked at you. You winced, but you managed to stay rooted at the spot. Your pulse quickened again. The courage you felt before, vanished.

"Y/N," Lucien warned lowly from behind you. "We should leave." His unhurt hand touched your waist, ready to pull you back if the beast decided to attack for real.

"Let me at least try it," you pleaded while still holding Tamlin's gaze. You wanted to believe that he wouldn't hurt you with all your heart, but after all, in his current state he was unpredictable. You let out a shaky breath.

The beast licked its lips snarling lowly.

"It's okay, Tamlin." Your voice was trembling. "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help you. Like the last time. Do you remember it?"

He finally blinked, his gaze lowered to the floor for a second. He took a step back.

"Will you let me help you?"

He growled and jumped forward, stopping with his fangs an inch from your face. A tear slid down your face, the yellow eyes followed its trail. You didn't dare to move even though Lucien yanked on your waist, trying to push you aside, out of the beast's reach.

"Please, Tamlin. I'm begging you."

His stare faltered and after few moments that felt like forever, he reluctantly lowered his head. Moving very slowly you placed your hand on his head, caressing him gently between antlers. He closed his eyes and made a whimper like sound.

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whispered in awe behind you. But he shouldn't have done that. The beast moved forward, towering over you and snapping at him. Lucien jumped back in time to avoid his fangs.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. "No!" The beast stopped. "It's friend. He won't hurt you. Lucien came to help you, too."

The beast snarled one more time, heaving. He seemed to be at the end with his strength. His hind legs buckled and he sat down to cover the sudden weakness.

"Are you tired, Tamlin?" You whispered, still hugging him and caressing the dirty fur on his back. "Would you like to drink some water?"

The sound he made sounded like no. He didn't speak, probably couldn't. The animal was stronger, suppressing Tamlin's real form.

"Okay, so no water. How about tea?" He seemed considering it for a moment. He made another animal sounds. These sounded like agreement. "Good. So tea it is," you smiled at him.

"Do you think there are some herbs around here?" You half-turned to Lucien who was silently watching over you, hurt hand along his side, the other one ready to protect you.

"I guess there are some in the garden," he said warily.

"Could you show me where?"

The beast stood up, growling, one of his front paw curled around you, pulling you closer. Lucien was immediately next to you, reaching for you.

"It's okay. I'm fine," you assured him, chuckling. "I guess he doesn't want me to go. What should we do now?"

Lucien gritted his teeth, eyes watching over the place where Tamlin was touching you, his pointed claws too close to your flesh.

"Do you think you could bring some?" you offered the only possible solution as Tamlin was apparently too weak to make it to the garden and back.

"I could, but forget that I will leave you here alone."

You arched a brow. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." You gazed at each other, unblinking. At last Lucien lost and blinked. "Fuck," he grunted under his breath, frowning and ran hand through his long hair. "You won. I'll do it. What herbs do you need?"

Your lips curled into satisfied smile. "Do you think you could find some chamomile? And maybe even lemon balm?"

"Yeah, I think some grew in the kitchen's garden. I can go and check it out. But. If something happens. Anything. You will shout as loud as you can and run for your life. And use this." He forced another dagger into your hand. It was much smaller than the first one he lost.

"I-" you wanted to refuse it, but his narrowed eyes didn't allow any compromise. It would be either this or he wouldn't go. "Fine."

"Fine," he repeated and watching you, Lucien backed from the room.

"Can we move to the kitchen to boil the water?" you asked Tamlin. He grunted, but he moved toward the doors.

Lucien returned as soon as you put a kettle and a cauldron on the fire, hand full of herbs you asked for. The chance of finding some clean bandages in the mess around was minimal, so you sacrificed the rest of your petticoat and sterilised it in the boiling water.

When the tea was ready Lucien gladly accepted a cup and sipping the hot drink he watched Tamlin who at first sniffed around his bowl, but once he hesitantly drank, he couldn't stop and asked even for the seconds.

Meanwhile you tended to Lucien's wound, carefully washing it out with chamomile extract and again bandaged it with clean sterilised strip of fabric. Lucien didn't so much as hiss, thanking you afterwards.

It was quite late at night when you finished and the three of you were really tired. Tamlin's room was completely destroyed, but Lucien helped you find two not so dirty and damaged mattresses and move them to one of the rooms in better condition.

You laid down, exhausted, but happy being back in Spring. Tamlin, now clean thanks to Lucien's magic, stretched out next to you, snout in your hair.

Lucien insisted on putting the other mattress right next to yours, refusing to leave you with the beast alone. Before you drifted into sleep, you felt his big hand touching yours. The warmth from his skin seeped into your body and wrapped around you like a thick blanket, lulling you into the deepest sleep you had in last months.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot

[quillsandblades]

Fragments

(tw: blood and gore, graphic violence)

“Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you.”

― Jonathan Stroud

Levi could hear the throb of his pulse, loud as thunder in his ears. 

Other than that, the world was silent.

He was aware of his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of the bastard who held him down, his nails broke through the skin and with an unnatural strength, Levi tore his face away like a mask. Strips of muscle and distorted tissue dangled behind leaving a gaping hole of a nose, grinning white teeth. And the smell of blood. 

And then he was running towards the rest of them.

He jumped, pivoting in mid-air as his hands clamped around a man’s jaws. Wrenching them apart with a force he felt rushing down his arm as a trail of fire, burning white hot. He didn’t hear the crack that followed as the upper half of his face burst apart, sending out a spray of blood all over them. His remnant senses were hyper-active; he could see every single speck of dust floating in the air, and the drops of scarlet that mingled with them. Every push of his arm, every kick of his leg, resonated down to the very bones. 

His fists reached out, someone’s body connected, a muscle was ruptured, a bone fractured, dislodged teeth spewed out in red spit. 

He didn’t count the second, didn’t mark the moment when his hands pulled one life out of a body and tossed it into the dark. He simply knew that others had to follow. That was all. 

And follow they did. 

One by one, every life, every light was snuffed out by his young fingers. And as each flame went dark, his hands burned red in the scraps of its smoke. He could feel nothing at all, just the thrum of his heart like explosions setting off in his chest.

BA-DUM

One of the men’s stomach rippled under the force of his punch. His knee crashed his face against the rock, leaving a wet mark and ripped skin upon it. 

BA-DUM

A kick zipped through the air, someone collapsed. Another kick and blood pooled in the dirt.

BA-DUM

A body was hauled up by foreign arms—no, his arms. Were they his arms? Was this him, Levi? The body was heavy, cold, empty. It was pushed over the edge of the road and tumbled down the throat of the ditch. 

Only one of them was left. His garbled words took a moment to reach Levi’s head and that’s when he stopped. His ears unclogged and sounds rushed in like a tsunami. 

‘. . . Kenny’s illegitimate son, right? . . . Absolutely unmistakable.’ 

***

Levi stumbled into the house with his mother’s tea set and a blank mind. It was easier not to think right now. 

He fumbled for the rusty pan and set it over the fire, letting the water bubble. Then opened the box and pulled out the kettle and cup, threw a handful of tea leaves into the kettle and waited until the water over the fire puffed out steam. He poured the simmering liquid into the kettle and secured the lid, setting up the hourglass. 

The sand trickled down, pulling the minutes with it. Levi watched the movement of each grain, the gentle tendrils of steam escaping from the spout of the tea pot, felt the warmth on his face. 

He wasn’t falling apart, he told himself. 

You already did, long ago. 

The whispers were cut short before they could rise as the last of the sand tumbled down. Tea was ready. 

He poured the amber into the cup and looked up. His mother smiled at him, her sweet smile, as she lifted the cup holding it by the handle with her little finger sticking out. ‘One day you’ll learn how to hold it just right.’ 

He blinked and she was gone. He blinked again, and his vision blurred and eyes burned. 

Levi grabbed the cup, remembering how she did it, and raised it to his lips. Before he could even take a sip, the handle broke and the cup crashed to the floor sloshing the tea and shattering to pieces. 

His mother’s memory cracked into a million fragments, begging to be forgotten. A scream wrenched out of his throat, laced with sobs. Porcelain was dispersed on the ground, and each piece pierced him worse than the pain from the fight. 

Ma’s gone.

Kenny's gone.

The cup’s gone. 

I killed some people. 

I killed—

And suddenly the broken pieces on the floor were bones and limbs, his hands were stark red, his fingers echoed with the impact of each scream and crunch of each wound. He jumped to his feet as bile rose in his throat. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he rushed out and staggered over dirt and stone and tripped on his knees and—

Greenish-yellow fluid gushed out and splattered beneath him. His guts twisted in on themselves as his insides squeezed out more and more of that stuff. Scenes from a while ago now played sharp in his mind, as if his body was responding just now. He panted, trembling uncontrollably. 

His hands had held them, attacked and hurt them, made them bleed and—by the skies, his hands had killed them. He had taken a life. He could feel the hot blood, the ripped wet skin an—

He retched, throwing up once more. His body shook with exertion. Tears and puke and cries mingled with each other as Levi struggled to breathe. He lay on the street, as a huddled, jumbled mass of agony, exhaustion and a raw longing.

And perhaps death would be kinder. 

[songbirdseung]

goodbye, good boy / choi soobin

You were tired of trying, tired of waiting, tired of loving him. The thought of whether it was still worth it was bugging you. As you recall the events that happened two nights ago, a simple dinner date turned into the workers chasing you both out and hiding in the back of a pickup truck that neither of you owned. You admit it was thrilling and filled you with adrenaline. But the man who sits in front of you now is no longer the good boy you once knew: Choi Soobin.

In the opposite side of the couch, you faced your boyfriend, and the room was heavy with disappointment. He shared the same look on his face, the weight of your words sinking in. No amount of "sorry" from him could ease the pain in your heart at that moment. As you explained your side and delivered a heartbreaking speech about how your relationship was no longer working, he struggled to hold back tears and lowered his head, his gaze now fixed on his lap.

You continued to speak, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. You knew that if you did, you might waver, and the resolve you'd built up would crumble. With a sigh, Soobin stopped you mid-sentence, his voice trembling as he asked for another chance. "Did you not listen to a single thing I just said, Soobin?" You tried to keep your tone calm, but the underlying disgust still managed to seep through. This time, you couldn't help but look at him, and he slowly met your gaze. Tears welled up in both of your eyes, but it was clear that each of you desired different outcomes, and the divide between you seemed insurmountable.

Tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating, as you and Soobin stared at each other, tears glistening in your eyes. The room felt like it had become a battleground, and the choices you both needed to make weighed heavily on your hearts.

Soobin's voice quivered as he spoke, "I know I messed up, but I love you, and I want to make things right. Please, just one more chance, Y/N."

You hesitated, torn between the love you still felt for him and the hurt that had built up over time. It was a difficult decision to make, one that could change the course of your lives. As you contemplated his words, you wondered if love alone could mend the broken pieces of your relationship or if it was finally time to let go.

Just like that you weaken, you falter under his pleading gaze. it's happening, the thing you did not want to happen.

Under Soobin's pleading gaze, your resolve wavered. As much as you'd steeled yourself to make a clean break, you could feel the walls around your heart slowly crumbling. The thing you had vowed not to let happen was unfolding before your eyes – you were beginning to mentally crawl back to him.

A mixture of emotions swirled within you – the love and the history you shared, the hope for a better future, and the pain that had driven you to this point. It was a pivotal moment, and the path you chose would shape your destiny.

With the small amount of self-respect and determination you had left in your body, you shook your head and stood up from the couch, resolute in your decision. You headed to the bedroom that would no longer be shared between you two. As you entered the room and took a look around, memories flooded back – the first time Soobin had asked you to move in with him, the laughter, and the moments of happiness. The thought of the once-happy couple now torn apart brought tears to your eyes, and they finally escaped.

The sun was streaming in through the open windows, casting a warm and inviting glow over the room. Boxes of Y/N's belongings were scattered about, their contents waiting to find their new places in the apartment. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and the promise of a new beginning.

Soobin couldn't stop smiling as he watched Y/N unpack and make herself at home. It had been a dream of his to share his life with her, and now it was finally coming true.

He stepped closer to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "You know, I've been looking forward to this day for a long time," he whispered.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Me too, Soobin. I can't believe we're finally living together."

Soobin took her hand and led her to the balcony, where they could enjoy a view of the city together. They stood there, hand in hand, feeling the gentle breeze on their faces and taking in the skyline.

"It's a new chapter for us," Soobin said, his voice filled with hope. "And I can't wait to see where it leads."

Y/N smiled and leaned in to kiss him, sealing their commitment with a tender, lingering kiss. They knew that life would present its challenges, but in that moment, they were confident that their love could conquer anything.

As they gazed at the horizon, the future stretched out before them, full of possibilities and dreams waiting to be realized. The day Y/N moved in with Soobin marked the beginning of a beautiful journey together, and they were determined to make every moment count.

As you stood there, lost in your bittersweet memories, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. Startled, you snapped out of your reverie and headed toward the walk-in closet to grab your suitcase. Panic washed over Soobin's face, and he rushed over to you, grabbing a hold of your suitcase.

"No, love, please, you can't leave," he pleaded, desperation in his eyes. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to assert your independence, your voice shaking with emotion. "Please, let me go, Soobin. I can't keep doing this."

You reached for the suitcase, determined to pack your belongings and escape from the apartment that had once been a place of love and happiness but now felt suffocating. Staying here any longer felt like the devil was slowly draining the life out of you.

Soobin's grip on the suitcase tightened, and he looked at you with a mixture of desperation and sorrow. "Y/N, please, just give me one more chance. We can work through this, I promise."

As you struggled to free your suitcase from his grasp, your heart ached, torn between the love you once shared and the pain that had led you to this point. The decision to leave or stay weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you wondered if it was finally time to break free from the turmoil that had taken over your relationship.

With a deep breath and tears streaming down your face, you made the difficult decision to leave. You gently pushed Soobin's hands away from your suitcase and managed to pull it free. Your heart felt heavy with the weight of your choice, but you knew it was the right one for your own well-being.

"I'm sorry, Soobin," you whispered, your voice barely more than a broken sob. "But I need to go."

Soobin's eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resignation as he watched you begin to pack your belongings. He didn't try to stop you again, understanding that some wounds ran too deep for quick fixes.

As you zipped up your suitcase, you cast one last glance around the apartment that had once been your shared haven. With every step you took towards the door, the weight of your decision grew lighter, and you knew that this was the path you needed to follow.

Soobin stood in silence, the reality of your departure sinking in. The love you once shared was now a bittersweet memory, and as you walked out the door, you knew that you were stepping into a new chapter of your life, uncertain but filled with hope for healing and growth.

...

Soobin woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. He was disoriented for a moment, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The vivid dream of losing you had felt all too real, and it left him in a state of panic.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of you, but your side of the bed was empty. His anxiety grew, and he threw the covers aside, frantically getting up to search the house.

He rushed through the rooms, calling your name with increasing urgency. "Y/N? Y/N, where are you?"

Finally, he found you in the kitchen, standing by the sink, a glass of water in hand. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw you, but his hands were still trembling.

Y/N turned to him, her eyes filled with concern as she saw his distress. "Soobin, are you okay? You're shaking."

Soobin rushed to your side, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace, as if to make sure you were real and not just a dream. "I had a nightmare, Y/N. I dreamt that I lost you."

You held him close, running your fingers through his hair to comfort him. "It's just a dream, Soobin. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Soobin held you even tighter, his relief washing over him. He knew that sometimes dreams could feel so painfully real, but having you in his arms now was a reminder that you were still by his side, and that's all he truly needed.

With your reassurance and his fears slowly dissipating, you and Soobin returned to your bedroom hand in hand. The warmth of your touch and the knowledge that you were still there beside him comforted him more than he could express.

You climbed back into bed, and Soobin cuddled up close, holding you like the most precious treasure. You both closed your eyes, the weight of the dream fading into the background. This time, as you drifted back to sleep, you felt more comfortable and at peace, knowing that you were together, and that was all that truly mattered.

In each other's arms, you found solace and security, and as you embraced the quiet of the night, you knew that no dream, no matter how haunting, could ever break the bond that held you two together.

...

"In the journey of love, we may encounter moments of doubt, fear, and even nightmares that threaten to tear us apart. But it's in those challenging times that we must remember the strength of our connection and the importance of communication and resilience. Love can conquer even the most haunting dreams when we cherish and support one another."

[novankenn]

Holding Back

Chapter Three (1/4)

/== Chapter List ===/

“Combatants, are you ready?” Glynda called out.

“Yes.” Cardin and Jaune replied.

“This match will continue until one of you is rendered unconscious, OR I declare the match over. Understood?”

“Yes.” They both replied again.

“Then… begin!”

“Time for a dirt nap, Jauney-boy!” Cardin yelled out as he charged forward, his mace chambered for a two-handed swing.

Jaune charged forward in response, his eyes sharp and focused. His mind was running through options, planning out attacks and counters. Lining up his plan, and it would begin in just a couple seconds.

“Good night Jauney!” Cardin cackled as he swung, aiming his massive weapon for the center of Jaune’s body. The malicious grin on his face, vanished when Jaune threw himself backwards, almost bending his body in half, avoiding Cardin’s attack.

Cardin staggered back, almost loosing his grip on Executioner, when Jaune’s heel slammed into the underside of his chin. Before he could register the movement, pain blossomed upside of his head, and then his chest, before once again suffering another stiff hit to the jaw.

Cardin and Jaune’s peers watched in silence. Jaune had avoided Cardin’s attack and countered but driving his heel up into his jaw, and before Cardin could recover, Jaune had completed a handspring back to his feet and was suddenly in the air. One foot caught Cardin upside the head, the other was driven into his chest plate and used as a pivot for Jaune to bring his other foot around and driving his heel into the side of Cardin’s jaw.

Jaune once again used his hands to vault back into the air, landing a short distance away. He snarled before rushing forward, towards his stunned target. Cardin felt loopy, but he was by far not out of this fight yet. Growling, he thrust his weapon forward and ignited the dust crystal contained in the head.

“JAUNE!” Pyrrha screamed as the explosive release of the fire dust crystal caught Jaune in mid-charge. Yang had to grab Pyrrha to keep her from rushing to the ring as Jaune’s body rolled through the dirt. “Let me go!”

“Pyrrha you can’t!”

“He’s getting hurt!”

“If you interfere, he loses, and Cardin wins.”

“But…”

“Ready to give it up, Arc?” Cardin snapped as he made a move to replace the expended crystal, while eyeing the slowly rising form of his opponent.

“You wish.” Jaune snarled, before racing forward, catching Cardin flatfooted. Cardin fumbled the crystal, dropping it to the floor when he tried to rush slotting it in, as Jaune closed. Ignoring the dropped hunk of dust, Cardin moved to intercept Jaune with just his mace.

“What the?” Cardin and everyone were stunned as Jaune jumped forward at Cardin, grabbed hold of the haft of Executioner, before shoving off and sailing high into the air. Cardin whipped around, expecting Jaune to be standing behind him. “What the?”

“Cardin above you!” Russel yelled.

Cardin with a puzzled look on his face turned his attention up and was stunned. Jaune was perched against the wall, high above the sparing ring. The cracking of stone echoed about the massive room, as Jaune was once again airborne. Cardin brought his weapon up in an attempt to defend, but was too slow in his reaction. Jaune caught Cardin’s head between his thighs, his momentum and weight taking the armored young man off his feet.

The other students, in fact even Professor Goodwitch winced at the sound of Cardin’s head impacting the floor. Jaune rolled with his momentum and flipped back to his feet. Cardin rolled to his side, and slowly got to his knees. Jaune just watched and waited.

“I’m calling this spar…”

“NO!” Cardin snapped, cutting off professor Goodwitch, as he rose to his feet. “I’m not done yet!”

“You are in no… Mr Arc!”

Jaune was moving before anyone could stop him. Cardin proving that he was as tough as a brick building steadied himself and moved forward throwing a wild haymaker. Jaune rolled around it, dropping low to the floor. The sound of cracking stone resounded around the room, as Jaune’s feet rocketed up and into Cardin’s exposed jaw. They alternated striking for about three hits each, before Jaune hooked Cardin’s neck between crossed feet.

“This spar is OVER!” Glynda yelled as Jaune pushed off the floor, and twisted his body to haul Cardin off his feet and send him careening across the floor. “ENOUGH!”

Silence reigned as Professor Goodwitch rushed past Jaune to check on Cardin. Jaune just stood there, waiting and ready to react. Glynda pulled out her scroll and made a call, before giving Jaune a very hard glare.

“Mr Arc to my office NOW! Everyone else who is NOT team CRDL you are excused!”

As the students began to file out of the class, Pyrrha pulled away and made her way towards Jaune. She ignored the looks the Professor was giving her, and those of CRDL, though she did hope Cardin wasn’t seriously injured. She stopped next to Jaune and helped him unbind his hands.

“Pyrrha?”

“I’m your partner. I’m not leaving your side.”

/=====/ A/N There are still three more parts for Chapter 3 to be complete... but I've been meaning to get the fight written since forever... so here it is...

If there is anything I can do to make it better... feel free to let me know.

[nuwildcat]

TRICK OR TREAT 😈

Right so, this is your fault, let's just establish that early on. It is also @khathastrophe's fault for drawing this fucking amazing fan art of Big/Tay and infecting us all with the Big/Tay brainrot again. 💜

Tay dips his finger into his glass, swirling the block of ice slowly around the dregs of his drink. His eyes are locked on the pretty man in the middle of the dance floor, as they have been for the last ten minutes.

Sweeping up and down the human's svelte form, Tay feels the first stirring of hunger in his belly. His prey has figured out it's being watched, head pivoting to try and locate the hungry gaze, but the man has yet to see Tay.

"Anything else I can get you, gorgeous?" The sun-kissed bartender asks him with a wink and a smile.

Tempting, but Tay can smell the vampire all over that one. Not worth the pissing contest of stepping on the toes of something that smells that old.

"No thanks," Tay responds before looking back at the dance floor. He frowns when his quarry is nowhere to be found.

Leaving more than enough for the drink and a tip under his glass, Tay slips from the bar stool and begins his hunt. Wherever the man has wandered to, Tay can find him again. He has his scent after all.

Taking the most delicate of sniffs — clubs are always a dangerous place for anyone with enhanced senses — he can follow the mouthwatering scent like a ribbon floating in mid-air, connecting him to the pretty man.

Tay winds through the dance floor, touching and being touched, but not allowing it to distract him. The scent turns down a hallway, and Tay spies a door cracked open. 

Pushing the door open just far enough to escape the heat and the noise of the club, Tay finds the man leaning against the far wall.

Tay has always found the ritual of smoking to be a particularly intricate set of human behaviors. It creates comradery where usually there is none with a complete stranger. For example, all he has to do now, is pull a cigarette out and fumble with his lighter to get the assistance of the man that has tempted him terribly tonight.

"Need a light?" The question is asked with a kind smile from the stranger, and Tay knows that he's going to enjoy this meal.

"Yes, thank you. Mine seems to be broken." Tay shakes the lighter for good measure, but it's all an act.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, Tay artfully draping himself along the brick wall and gaining an appreciative pair of eyes for his efforts. The other man is strangely quiet, almost respectful. Tay is used to lewd comments or bad pick up lines at this point, but all he gets is silence.

Taking a risk, he says, "You dance beautifully, by the way."

"What?" the man asks, bewildered but with a charming blush on his cheeks.

"On the dance floor," Tay explains, "I saw you. To be fair you were pretty hard to miss."

The man clears his throat, shifting awkwardly and flicking at his cigarette. He must gather whatever courage he has because the next words out of his mouth are, "You're hard to miss yourself."

Tay smiles. He's charming and those are the ones that Tay enjoys the most. Slinking closer to the other man, Tay stops just before their toes touch.

"Oh?" Tay tips his head to the side, eyes fixed.

"Y-yes." The man stumbles over his words for just a moment.

"So you think I'm pretty?" Tay teases. It's remarkably easy with this one, and he's finding himself enjoying the hunt more than usual.

The man nods. "Very."

Running one finger down the man's chest, Tay slouches a bit so he can look up at the man through his lashes. "Aren't you charming."

Tay takes a step closer and the man relents space to him, stepping back. So Tay takes another, and another, and another, until the man is pressed back against the brick wall. They still aren't touching, but Tay can feel the heat of the man's body.

"Tell me, handsome." He watches the human's throat bob at his words. "Am I pretty enough to kiss?"

Breathlessly the man says, "Yes."

Feeding is an indulgence of the senses. He's an incubus, pleasure and hunger go hand in hand for him. But there's something special about this human.

He tastes divine.

Tay is licking into the man's mouth before he has a name to gasp later, and he does not want to stop. The human's need to breathe is the only thing that makes Tay relent. Licking his lips, Tay tries to reign his hunger and instincts back in.

He is not very successful.

Tay presses the man to the wall, licking up his throat. Beautifully, the man yields, tipping his head back and granting Tay more room. Tay fingers at the waist of the man's black leather pants.

"What's your name, handsome?" he asks.

"Big," the man manages while trembling in Tay's grasp. "And yours?"

"You can call me, Tay."

Leaning back in to kiss Big, Tay knows that tonight will be one to remember. Rarely does he find a meal this mouthwatering. Nipping at Big's jaw and earning a lovely groan, Tay plans to devour this one slowly.

[moonshine-nightlight]

NWWD Bonus: Divergent Revelations 1

Bonus story for NWWD, AU starting mid Chapter 23. This is primarily the set up for an earlier, different, revelation conversation. (basically fanfiction about my own story)

During the fight with assassins, you and Dale are forced to confront the truth of what you each know about Dale's nature. How does the fight change to have this come about? How will the conversation about these revelations go when there's still more than a week before the wedding?

Main Story: [Part One]

AO3: NWWD Bonus: Divergent Revelations

Part 1 of 2

Just as you secure a makeshift bandage in place and resolve to leave to find help, Vi comes running out of the side room. You know the moment she spots you because she changes direction. Reflexively, you bolt for the door. The mercenary runs around wide, blocking it as a viable exit. 

Without thought, you pivot, heading back the way you came for the courtyard. She’s fast though, faster than you with her sturdy boots and training while your skirts and soft shoes only slow you down. She catches you by the time you only get as far as the desk and closet you’d started this situation from.

A blow from her spear blindsides you and you cry out as you stumble into the wall and some furniture that result in another jolt of pain. Vi lunges to cross the last few feet between you before you can do more than get around the side table. Slamming you into the wall, there’s desperation in her eyes as her spear shaft is pushed across your throat. Your wrists are held up in the skilled maneuver, pinning you far more securely than Lasky’s dagger managed. Her wide, terrified eyes bore into yours. “What the fuck is he!? You’re going to—”

The clash of metal on metal followed by a wet cough and a triumphant growl from the other room cuts her off. You try to wrestle her for control while she’s looking behind her and find to neither of your surprise that you’re no match for her strength. Shifting your strategy, you desperately wiggle your hands, trying for even a little more room to breathe. Your head is tilted back, your throat throbbing as she fixes her gaze back on yours. You try to say something, you don’t even know what, but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“They lied,” she spits. “He’s not human, he’s a skinwere.” Your stomach sinks at the realization Dale must have revealed enough of himself that she knows he’s not just enhanced. Skinwere is a common enough term for a demon possessing a human, but it's one you’ve heard more in your short time in Northridge than the rest of your life, so you wonder if she’s a local. No wonder she’s scared out of her mind. That makes her even more dangerous, more able to expose Dale for what he is and your mind screams at you to do something, anything, to be more than a liability here.

When you don’t respond quickly or dramatically enough, despite her spear shaft still preventing you from doing more than breathing shallowly, her eyes narrow. “You knew.” It’s not a question, but you still can’t speak or even move your head to answer anyway. She doesn’t seem to need you to. She pushes against you with her spear, completely cutting off your air before she pulls back enough to let you speak. You cough, gulping in air as she orders, “Tell me how to kill it. Tell me—”

Before she can make any more demands, you drop your whole body down like a dead weight. There was enough space between the spear and the wall to let you, although it still wrenches your wrists painfully. Your head hits the wall as your chin hits the spear shaft to allow the movement.

Wrists, head, and backside throbbing, you’re moving before you can think about it. Crawling around her legs on your hands and knees. You scurry towards anything that can be perceived as safe. The sound of something heavy being flung into a wall in the distance makes you flinch as you try to get under a couch.

A heavy blow to your back causes you to yelp and you collapse onto your stomach. “You’re not going anywhere,” Vi snarls, the butt of her spear pressing down with insistent force into your spine. You try to push yourself forward, tears rolling down your cheeks from the way you can feel the wooden dig into what feels like your bones. “Not until—”

The pressure abates abruptly and you turn on your side to see something long and black around her wrist, pulling her weapon off of you. Your vantage point, combined with your throbbing head and blurred, teary vision, makes it hard to follow all the action. How could a black snake be trying to fight Vi? 

She draws a knife with her free hand to strike the black thing, but the crack of bone breaking causes her to scream as her spear drops from her now limp hand. You manage to pick the spear and shoot it along the ground, as far away as you can. You know she’d be more capable of taking it from you than you would be at wielding it against her.

Vi finally looks behind her, following where the solid shadow stretches to and screams at whatever she sees. You only see another long dark ribbon of tangible blackness wrap around her neck before she’s pulled backwards with a strangled sound, past where you can see. A gasping whimper and a thud make you wince, paralyzed on the floor, mind unable to decide what to do next. 

You hear footsteps heading for you accompanied by a tap of wood on wood. Then you hear a worried, “Sana?” 

Relief floods your body and you desperately need to see Dale, to reassure yourself that despite the horrible clashes and yells, the violence and the destruction, he’s whole. No matter what he must look like given what you’ve seen and how his voice still has an echoing, deep quality to it. Flattening your palms to the floor, you brace yourself to get up. You’re interrupted by a loud crack before you can clear your abused throat enough to answer him.

“I knew it,” an unfamiliar voice meets your ears. It has a strange, otherworldly grit to it and you freeze instantly. “How all these other humans are so blind, I’ve no notion.”

Dale hisses, “Hide,” before you hear him move away from you and towards the voice. You follow his suggestion, too cowed by the return of the threat to want to do anything else. Half crawling and half dragging your tired body, you skip the couch to tuck yourself under the heavy wooden desk.

“As though you are a paragon of subtlety,” Dale snaps back. He’s clearly nearly in that other side room once more, but his voice carries more than perhaps he’s even aware. 

“Ah,” the voice concedes, the sound carrying just as easily. Is that a demon power? you wonder with only slight delirium, projecting your voice? “But I am not trying to be. Neither of us are.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” a far more human voice replies this time. “Us.” The two voices overlay on that word before the more inhuman voice continues, “We are not all so rude as to kick out the original owner. Some of us know what it is to share.”

You realize it’s Two, who has apparently decided to finally enter the fight and who’s strange nickname suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I care not how many of you are fitted in that body,” Dale replies. “You’ll do no more harm here. You’ll not fulfill your mission.”

“Perhaps,” the casual menace of this voice is not intimidated by Dale’s confidence or orders. “Or perhaps there is simply more to be gained and less to be parsed.”

You strain your ears but there is only the sound of movement and metal after that. Grunts from all three voices, perhaps more distinct given your inability to see and only to hear, come from that further side room. It’s not enough to tell you who’s winning and you’ve no notion of how Dale stands in contest with another actual demon. 

Does the Two being both human and demon help or hinder them? They had implied that Dale was not sharing his own form, which confirmed the human who had been Dale was gone, didn’t it? Neither of them are mentioning Clen either, so is he dead? What sort of creature was the demon in Two? You know demons vary wildly, even the intelligent ones, in a manner far greater than humans did. What if this one was more powerful than Dale? 

Although, it feels like ages of simply listening as you try to regain your breath, though in reality, it’s likely only a minute or two. You can’t take knowing so little about what is happening. Hesitantly, you move forward and cautiously kneel up to see just over the surface of the desk. 

They’re indeed still in that other room, circling so fast you can hardly tell who’s who. From the glimpses you catch, neither of them are in forms that are entirely human anymore. Part of the fight seems human enough, the swords meeting and breaking apart as they move, engaging each other’s blades while dodging stabs and slashes. 

The room around them is what currently seems like it's not of this world. The shadows in the room move unnaturally and at least two seem to be even more independent than that. They whip around Dale to meet and deflect spikes of animate stonework, colored grayish-green with a rusty red shot through it. The rock seems both to originate from the columns and walls of the room, despite looking nothing like the rock used to construct it, and from nothing at all. Ripples of unnatural movement in the floor and ceiling add to the feeling that the room itself is attempting to attack Dale.

Your heart is in your throat as Dale’s shadows seem far more ephemeral, far weaker, than something as sturdy as stone. A big chunk breaks to fall from the ceiling. Dale’s dodge to the side is more desperate than any previously and he catches Two’s sword stroke awkwardly as a result. His sword flies from his hand to land behind Two with a clatter. 

Retaliating with a riot of shadows which erupt between them, Dale forces Two back. They’ve migrated such throughout the fight that you have to strain to keep them in sight and follow what’s happening. Dale’s inky back is to you and half his body is blocked by the doorframe while Two’s nearly on the other side of that room now.

“I believe you’re unarmed now,” Two says with a smirk that’s beginning to look unsettling on his face which has begun to resemble a statue’s more than a person’s. The movement of stone when he talks and his expression changes just looks wrong.

“I do not need a weapon to be armed,” Dale snarls, the shadows of the room flickering dizzyingly. You can’t tell if it's the lighting or actuality, but his entire body seems more amorphous than ever before. Taller than he typically is, but thinner too—he’s becoming more unrecognizable as the fight drags on. He brandishes his hand to better display the black claws he now has. The arm you can see is oddly shaped, more like a medical mannequin from class—bone and muscle with no fat to be seen—than a living person’s. In fact, you’re certain he’d been wearing a green suit earlier, but that’s black now too. Even his dark hair seems to absorb light, untied and wild, longer than it should be. 

You keenly appreciate Dale’s rebuttal, but you still hate that his sword is gone from his hand while one remains in Two’s. They shift their stances. 

You bump into a lamp that’s been knocked to the floor when you automatically try to compensate to keep your minuscule view. As you push the lamp to the side, something on the ground catches your attention. Very deliberately not looking too closely at Vi’s body, you focus on the long, thin piece of polished wood which drew your notice. Dale’s cane. 

Instantly, you know you need to get this to Dale having heard him boast about it’s hiding a weapon at a gala. More than that, you want to do something, anything to help him. Fear fights that impulse. The big, heavy desk provides the reassurance of safety, however wishful it might be. With one last look at the circling fighters, you lean down, steadying yourself on the cold stone floor. Straining, you only just manage to wrap a few fingers around the foot of the cane to pull it towards you. 

Hastily retreating back behind the desk, you pop back up fast enough to give your still sore head a rush. You run your hands over the familiar wood as you try to spot Dale as he and Two dance around each other. 

Once they’ve split once more with Dale nearest the doorway, you call out, “Dale!” Leaning up as high as you can on your knees, you hurl the cane like you’ve seen others throw a javelin. It soars through the air while both are distracted by your shout. 

Dale leaps backwards as if propelled by some of the shadows under him towards you. A clawed hand, black like he’s wearing gloves or dunked his arm in ink, snatches the cane out of the air with careful precision. You think you see the glint of a blue eye on the back of his hand, the only color standing out against his form now.

“Will that do you any good?” Two asks, seemingly curious more than anything as he watches Dale hold the cane. You can’t tell if his lack of anger over this fight, the way he keeps treating it like a tournament fight for entertainment, is a good thing or not.

Dale says nothing, merely twists the handle. He carefully pulls off the wood to reveal a long green rapier. Before you can wonder at the applicability of such a weapon, Two takes a full step back.

“Jade,” Two hisses. “A dangerous weapon for one such as ourselves to wield.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Dales replies brusquely, squaring up instead of dodging as he’d been doing since Two disarmed him. “Humans regularly use weapons as deadly to themselves as they are to their enemies.”

“How adaptable. All the shade in your nature, I presume,” Two says, a mocking edge to his tone.

“You are not the only one who can use stone to their advantage,” Dale bats back as easily. 

Two lets out a cascade of laughter and the sound seems to come from far more than two mouths, let alone one. It’s grating: like steel on iron, like a throaty cough, like the squeal of a live animal on fire all at once. You would give nearly anything for him to never do that again. “It has been so long since I spoke with one of us with intelligence still left to them up here,” Two seems to relish the idea. “The sunlight seems to drive too many insane. Almost a shame to kill you.”

“A good thing then,” Dale says as he charges, “that you will not.”

The visibility of the fight becomes impossible after that. There’s too much movement from shadows as Dale chases Two further into the room. You’re back to primarily trying to gauge the fight based on sound alone: thuds and crashes and ripping you can’t identify.

“So close. But perhaps you are correct,” it’s the human voice this time, panting but not demoralized. Some of the sight line clears and you see Two hunched over, a hand on their chest. “I shall not be able to kill you nor collect the bounty so generously placed on your head.” They cough a cloud of rust from their mouth as they lift their head. “However, the knight had the correct idea.” 

“Yes,” the gravelly demonic voice picks up and they slowly straighten. “I’m certain you must have supplies or teachings worth perusing. I can tell your form is impeccable underneath, despite your essence spilling out.” They gesture with their arms, sneering. “This body, with him intact, still gets a bit stiff if I’m not careful. I shall be intrigued to ascertain how you accomplished such a thing.”

“You think I will allow you to leave?” Dale hisses. “After all you’ve done?” He throws a hand out to emphasize the general state of destruction around them.

Two laughs again. How could you not be better braced for it? Even anticipating how horrible it is, it remains one of the most unsettling things you’ve ever heard. It has a screech to it now that makes your skin crawl. You’re resisting the urge to cover your ears or yell yourself in order to drown them out when they look over and meet your eyes. Their dirty red eyes, the color of dried blood, bore into yours across the distance and they rush for you.

They cross the distance faster than they should be able, outpacing Dale, and there’s a ripple in the walls that seems to respond to them. Panic seizes your heart and mind as you instinctively dive back down and under the desk. Your hands desperately latch onto and drag a broken ottoman to cover the opening at the back of the desk.

Curling up against the front board of the desk, you feel something slam into your makeshift shield. Pushing you and the desk back, the wood squealed against the floor as it moves. A wordless roar comes from somewhere to your right and another crash echoes through the room followed by a heavy grunt and the sound of books falling to the floor. Then, silence.

After holding perfectly, tightly, still, you can’t keep in a cough. The stone moving has kicked up a lot of dust and you’re unable to help it. You think you hear a smothered groan as you attempt to stop, but you stay rooted in your hiding spot, waiting.

After another dull thump, Dale calls your name. His voice is still strange and yet you can hear the confusion and worry in it. You can hear a lot more than that actually. Your eyelids flutter despite being unable to see anything other than dust and dingy wood. Your name sounds different than when he’s said it in the past. There is a depth to it, meaning below the surface that you can hear when he’s like this. Like emotion and inflection and neither of those. 

There’s a layer of softness, of imagery that it conjures up, that you can almost feel through his voice. Of gentle sunlight through the window on a clear day. Your favorite chair and the taste of fresh, sweet honey melting on your tongue, soothing and comforting. Its respect and harmony and the potential to be more than you are alone, of joining and of belonging. Tension leeches from you in waves, like taking off so many heavy coats to stand unburdened. You want to drown in the sensation. You want to hear him say nothing, but your name for the rest of your life.

You want to come out, to go to him, regardless of what you might see. Hesitantly, you push the ottoman away and start to crawl out from beneath the desk. Shakily, you stand up and turn to face Dale.

Black shadows still cling to his form, one hand pressed against the oddly bulging stone, the other behind his back where a bookshelf is braced. His eyes glow an unnatural blue and his hair is too long and wild. He’s roughly the correct height with only one extra eye on the back of his hand. He’s still too thin, as if his arms are muscle and bone only. His face is mostly human, his skin the same light brown it always is, except for a streak of shadow and some darkness around the edges where his hair halos his head.

He looks like nothing so much as what he is: a human consumed by something inhuman, something demonic. Adrenaline surges through your veins and yet, he’s still so clearly… “Dale,” you breathe out, relieved. He’s the one you’ve grown to know and like. You’re not afraid of him. How could you been when he’s still protecting you? 

Instead, you find yourself searching for evidence of the toll the fight may have taken on him. To your relief, he doesn’t seem to be bleeding either, no obvious large wounds or injuries. 

Nerves still prepared for danger, you look beyond him to assess the rest of the situation, although you can tell by an absence in the air that Two is– 

“Gone,” he croaks, his voice shuddering and rusty. With a groan, he pushes himself straight and the bookcase falls away from him to land with an echoing crash that fills the room, empty of all but the two of you. He removes his hand from the rock of the wall to your right. The large bricks of rock are loose, but not enough to threaten the integrity of the wall itself.

You meet his eyes once again and finally take a deep breath, while his shoulders droop as you both stand in the aftermath. The shadows are receding slowly, subtle enough you wonder if it's just a trick of the light, but of course, they are shadows, so it must be. Then Dale’s striding forward and the cool fingers of his hand cup your cheek. His eyes trace down your body, taking in every scrape and bruise and streak of dust as he looks.

“I am fine,” you say, more because you’re alive and so it feels like the appropriate response. Not to mention, you’re not the one who’s just been battling assassins. 

It’d probably be a more convincing statement if you couldn’t feel tears dripping down your cheeks. His eyes rake up and down your form, obviously trying to assess that for himself and his other hand grasps the elbow of the arm Lasky cut. Everything about him, his shadows, his gaze, his focus tightens. “You’re hurt.”

“Nothing serious. Are you?” Your eyes strain to see his body more clearly now that he’s not completely wreathed in darkness. Mostly you can tell his clothes are in rough shape, but there are no obvious large holes, no blood.

“I’ve got a thick skin,” he says, voice still pitched a little lower than usual. “And I’d speed on my side. Not to mention Two’s folly in letting the others face me without them.”

Cautiously, you place your free hand on his chest, over his heart—needing to feel him solid and whole under your touch. “But they fled.”

“Yes,” Dale admits, but his gaze doesn’t dart towards the doors. His eyes stay fixed on your face. He carefully brings a thumb to wipe away your tears with a tenderness that doesn’t match the danger that lingers in the way he still holds himself. You can’t help but lean into his touch, the safety he offers, if only to you. Some of the tension starts to ebb from him when he freezes. 

You don’t understand why until you are able to tell he’s fixated on his own, still inhuman hand on your cheek. Abruptly he’s as still as a statue. It’s obvious he’d been unaware of how demonic he still looked. “It’s alright,” you murmur, gently. His wide blue eyes finally meet your own. “I don’t mind.”

Dale pulls back his head at your words, looking more baffled than you’ve ever seen him. he drops your elbow, but he doesn’t let go of your face. From the corners of your eyes, you can see all the shadows melt away as he pulls his inhuman influence in to leave a mostly human man looking back at you with faintly glowing blue eyes and ink stained hands. He doesn’t push your hand away from his chest, where a human heart beats, reassuring you that he’s still alive and with you.

“I don’t—” Dale stops speaking abruptly, tilting his head and finally breaking eye contact with you to look towards the door he came through. His hand drops from your cheek to hide behind his back and when he next blinks, there’s no more light in his eyes. You resist the urge to sway towards him, wanting his touch to keep you grounded, but understanding the implication. Reinforcements must be due to arrive any minute. Reluctantly, you drop your hand from his chest.

When he looks back at you, you can see he’s trying to pull himself together to face company. He blinks again, before frowning, his eyes darting around the room with renewed concern. “Where is Grandmother?”

If Dale can hear what’s going on in the hall… You spin around, your hand closing around the door handle for the closet. You wrench it open to reveal Grandmother, still hidden away safely. You rush in to check her breathing, to feel her pulse and reassure you both that… “She’s still unconscious, but she’s breathing.”

Dale breathes out in relief and without any more words, you grab one arm of the chair and Dale the other as you pull her from the closet. You don’t even care that he’s clearly doing the majority of the work. “Grandmother will be fine too,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Good,” Dale says, eyes drifting over your more obvious injuries once more. “It would only be worse for them if either of you were not.” His eyes slide down Grandmother’s unconscious form and menace seems to drip from his voice. “It shall be bad enough as it is.” 

Despite the warning from Dale a minute or so ago, you still jump at the sound of a door opening, looking past Dale to see two of the governor’s guards walk in. They stop in the doorway, gaping.

Dale straightens from where he’d been leaning over Grandmother. His head swivels to the direction of the courtyard, where Two went. He doesn’t respond to Grandfather’s concerned voice calling his name and Grandmother’s and even your own.

Fear grips your heart and your hand lands on his forearm, “No.” He doesn’t look back at you either. He gently, but inexorably pulls out of your grasp. You can’t stop him, you know that you can’t, but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving, of him pursuing this threat. “No. Dale.” He ignores you and picks up his rapier. “Don’t go after him!”

Dale runs out into the night, in pursuit.

“Damn you,” you say, voice tight as you try to stop more tears from welling up. What if he’s found out? What if Two can do more to hurt him? What if there are others in wait and he’s ambushed? What if—? You wipe your eyes more harshly than perhaps you need to as you force yourself to focus on what you can do, who you can help.

While the other guards race to follow Dale, Grandfather hurries across the room to be on the other side of the chair, calling Grandmother’s name. You can feel her breathing, but you need to know if her heart is in trouble. “We need a doctor. Now.”

-/-

This is the re-write of Chapter 23's ending to set up the next part, which should go up within a week. There as originally gonna be a steamy dream after the fight, but i couldn't make it work and then it morphed into this lol. See this ask for further details.

[princess-tulip-writes]

Can you do plus-sized reader with any batboy who avoids flying with them because she is afraid of being dropped?

“baby- come on. have you seen how strong i am?”

you rolled your eyes at cassian. frustration beginning to ignite your bones as your point was being thrown over his head.

“yeah, but you don’t know how heavy i am. what if i’m not as light as you think and you loose your grip and drop me?”

he scoffed before crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“i would never loose my grip.”

“you don’t know that!” you defended

it was ridiculous, deep down you knew it too. but, something inside of you kept the argument going. you knew that your feelings would be hurt if he shut the argument down and agreed with you— in fact your heart would absolutely shattered. but, something inside of you continued to scream at him.

he sighed deeply and you began to feel irritation floating off of him and into the cool night air.

“y/n, i have been around for centuries, and not once have i dropped anyone on accident—“

“yeah, but they’re lighter.”

he raised his eyebrows at you, a small smirk of unbelievability on his face.

“you think you’re heavier than two illyrian men in heavy armor and large wings?”

you let it sink in for a moment, dumbfounded at how foolish he made it sound. surely, there had to be some reasoning that would make you work around it and successfully win the argument all together.

right?

“well, no, but—“

“exactly. i have lifted probably ten of you in the air without struggling, baby doll. you’re definitely not too heavy. ever.” cassian reassured, his voice gentle. “besides, i seemed to have an awfully easy time lifting you in my arms in the living area last week. while you were bouncing too.”

you gasped at the memory, the dirty memory.

“you pig.” you playfully teased.

he shrugged, his large wings moving along with his shoulders.

“only for you.” a soft look appeared on his face, one of love and adoration as he looked back at you. the night sky stood behind him, the rail of the terrace resting against his thighs as he leaned back ever so slightly. “now, what do you say?”

he gestered his head toward the open sky, suggesting that your decision needs to be made. you nervously looked around, counting the endless stars with your eyes as they glided across the deep air.

“you promise that you’ll stop if you can’t hold me any longer?” you mumbled.

he nodded. “if it’ll make you feel better, yes. i promise.”

he knew very well that he could hold you for days and not pivot once, he’s dreamed about it actually. but, he’ll do anything to calm your nerves.

you nodded slowly, before reverting your eyes back to him.

“okay, let’s hurry before day comes. i don’t want all of velaris seeing you shirtless.”

he smirked cockily. “i doubt they’ll even be looking at me when your pretty body is only in that sexy night dress.”

it’s true, the silk dress only covered until your mid thigh, leaving very little to the imagination; just how cassian liked it.

a blush creeped on you cheeks, your face heating up dangerously before you closed the short distance between you and your tall mate.

he wrapped his arms around you instantly, holding you close to his toned body.

“i’m going to lift you now, okay?”

you nodded shyly, agreeing to allow him to do so. there was a part of you that fluttered at how fragile he made you feel, as if your weight was nothing and meant absolutely nonsense. he made you feel so important, so beautiful. you were his, his to kiss, his to love— and that meant everything to you.

his strong arms moved, one holding onto you bare thigh and the other positioned on your back for support.

“ready?”

you nodded, before he lifted you with such ease that you couldn’t fathom it was you he was holding. no sign of struggle to be heard or seen as he smiled at you. you wrapped your legs around his torso, your foot grazing his strong wing briefly before you tossed your arms around his neck.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to touch it.” you apologized.

he only smiled in return, but a loving look glazed his eyes as he starred at you.

everything felt fake, his hand firmly on your thigh causing butterflies to power through you. his scent filled your senses, a warm hug being given by it as you took in his godlike features.

“you’re so beautiful, baby.” he mumbled, his voice as deep as the sky as he spoke.

“l-let’s go now please.” you mumbled softly, suddenly remembering what it was you were meant to do.

he chuckled softly, a grin replacing the loving look.

“whatever you wish, princess.”

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

Mystery Merc

The air in the old research facility was thick with the musty scent of disuse, the lights flickering like the facility was just shy of a haunted house cliche. Agent Carolina and Agent Washington crept along, their armor clinking softly in the otherwise oppressive silence. Carolina’s suit shone an aqua so bright it looked like it might glow in the dark, while Washington’s looked like it had seen better days, scuffed and practical.

They were approaching what looked like the belly of the beast—some forsaken lab room with wires hanging like vines—when a figure appeared so suddenly it was as if he'd been conjured out of thin air. Dressed in armor so dark it seemed to suck the dim light out of the hallway, the stranger was less a man and more a moving shadow.

Without a word, the shadow-man attacked, launching at them with a ferocity that had even Carolina stepping back. Washington tried to meet him head-on, probably figuring his middle name was 'Heroic,' but all he got for his trouble was a quick trip to the floor, his back slamming against the wall with a grunt that echoed off the metal.“

Just dusting the cobwebs off!” Washington called out from the ground, half-joking. He got back to his feet, shaking off the hit like he was just readjusting his armor.

Carolina didn’t have time to roll her eyes at Wash.

She had met the mercenary head-on, her movements a mixture of grace and lethal precision. Her first strike was a high kick aimed at his head, but he ducked under, sweeping his leg in a low arc aimed to take her down. She leapt over it effortlessly, spinning in mid-air to land a kick that he blocked with his forearm.

The clang of metal on metal rang out sharply. The mercenary countered instantly, launching a series of rapid punches. Carolina deflected each one, her arms moving in a blur, her body swaying like a reed in strong winds. They were inches apart, eyes locked in a deadly contest of wills. He lunged, she pivoted, her own counterattack a whip-like snap kick that connected with his side. He grunted—a sound barely human—and retaliated with a roundhouse kick that Carolina narrowly ducked under.

The air was thick with the smell of ozone and sweat. The sounds of their breaths were heavy, punctuating the staccato rhythm of their fight. Each strike, each block, the scrape of boots on metal, created a symphony of combat. Carolina advanced, her fists a flurry of motion, targeting pressure points and weak spots in his armor. The mercenary parried with the precision of a machine, his counterattacks brutal and efficient.

Carolina feinted left, then spun right, her leg sweeping high in an arc that would have decapitated a lesser opponent. The mercenary ducked and rolled forward, coming up behind her. She sensed his movement, twisting around with a backhand that he caught just in time. The impact sent a reverberating shock through her arm.

Without pause, he pressed forward, his own spin-kick forcing Carolina to block high. She staggered back, her boots scraping the floor, barely catching her balance. The mercenary was relentless, advancing with a barrage of punches that she blocked and dodged, each movement more desperate than the last.

In a split-second decision, Carolina dropped low, sweeping her leg in a wide arc. It was a gamble that paid off—the mercenary, caught off-guard, stumbled just enough for Carolina to surge upward with an uppercut. Her fist connected squarely with his helmet. The sound was like a gong strike, resonant and final. The helmet spiraled off, clattering against the floor far away, revealing his face in the stuttering light.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the revelation of his identity hanging between them like a suspended sword. Washington, recovering, watched from his crumpled heap against the wall, his eyes wide, his breaths ragged. Carolina stood, fists still raised, her heart pounding a furious rhythm against her ribcage. The mercenary—his face now known—stared back with eyes that showed no flicker of recognition, only the cold fire of a continued fight.

The face that greeted her was hauntingly familiar—those eyes, the left one blind and milky-white, that scar across the cheek. "York?" she gasped, her voice a mix of disbelief and hope. Not just any old teammate, York was the kind of guy who'd once helped her repaint her armor just because she was bored with the color. They were... more than just squadmates.

The man—York, it couldn’t be but it was—stared at her with eyes as empty as a deleted data file. “York, it’s me, Carolina,” she tried again, lowering her fists a little. She might as well have been talking to the wall for all the recognition she saw in his eyes.

York used her hesitation. His punch was textbook perfect and sent her reeling back. “Really, York? Low blow!” she spat out the words as she steadied herself.

Carolina was ready now, her movements sharper, driven by a mix of anger and a desperate hope to snap him out of whatever brainwashing he’d been through. “You don’t even remember the time I saved your ass with a Banshee trick?”

Silence. Just more punches.

“Or the time you tried to cook dinner at the base and nearly burned down the mess?” She ducked a swing, her voice rising in frustration.Nothing. If memories were going to get through to him, it wasn’t happening in the middle of their spar.

The fight crescendoed until York, with a move so swift it seemed to betray his own desperation to escape this confrontation, bolted. He was a blur, disappearing around a corner before she could even think of pursuing.

Carolina jogged back to where Washington was now standing, looking like he’d wrestled with a Grizzly. “He got away,” she reported, the words tasting bitter.

“Yeah, I saw. Not your fault, though. He’s fast.” Washington managed a grin, his usual attempt to lighten the mood. “We’ll get him next time. Set up a spider trap or something.”

Carolina couldn’t help but smile, tension easing a bit. “Yeah, next time,” she echoed, her mind already racing through possible plans. They moved on, their steps resolute. Whatever had happened to York, whatever had brought him here and left him in this state, they would get to the bottom of it. And Carolina would make sure of it, come hell or high water.

This was a lovely surprise! York getting Winter Soldiered is a very exciting premise that I hadn’t considered before. I’d LOVE to see the continuation of this! York and Carolina are so sweet, and I love Wash too.

Thanks for leaving this for me! It was wonderful.

[juniperxyz]

Shut up, just shut up!

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓: 𝑽𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒙 𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒚, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

The rain pattered against the cracked window, a sound she'd grown accustomed to from countless visits, something she keenly paid attention to in the silence of his home.

Now her ears were deafened to it, deafened to all sounds around her, save for the rapid beating of her heart, a speed so alarmingly high she felt her vision rock along with it.

But she forced her hand steady, carrying it onto the ripped hole of his jeans, dabbing the cotton onto the red patch throbbing on his knee, just barely recognizing his trademark grunt through her panicky state, until at last he turned away, signaling he no longer needed her.

Vanessa Lee spun her body, anchoring her feet on the carpet as she sat rooted on his bed. The woman tossed the damp cotton onto the heap of red on the tray, ensuring her sleeves were pulled tightly uptil her knuckles.

She hid it once, now twice. Just few more minutes until she goes home and she wouldn't need to hide any‐

“Vanessa.”

The woman paused, arm hovering mid-air. He never used her name. Always the silly nicknames or light name calling. Never the entire name. Never playfully at least.

His hand clamped down her elbow, bringing her arm to him, but her face stayed glued to the tower of cotton balls soaked in his medicine and blood. The woman swallowed nervously, facing the man through her most nonchalant face, but felt her mask falter.

The rain had tamed his wild hair, letting it droop over his face like a damp curtain, but the penetrating gaze of his mismatched eyes, that deep, scrutinizing gaze which made her feel infinitely exposed stunned the woman to her spot, and she began berating herself for insisting she took a look at him.

He pivoted her forearm up, letting her sleeve sink down. In the dimly lit room, the purple patch on her skin shone like a beacon.

“What's this.”,no emotion nor intonation in his voice. That's how serious this was.

Amidst the harrowing fear of being found, it suddenly occurred to her who she was talking to. Her brows furrowed, hand tightened to a fist, snatching her arm away from his grip, “Straightener burns.”

His deadpanned gaze didn't leave her, but Vanessa contemplated if this was a good sign to take leave. She smoothed her skirt as she straightened her le-

“Who was it?”

Another rough tug on the arm, another rough thud onto the bed, and another rough question. “What's it to you?”

That seemed to awaken him, even though it was said out of spite “Was it the boys bothering me?”

A scoff of disbelief curled her lips, with the woman covering her arms once more. A distraction. But she didn't foresee who this was distracting. “They didn't fall to my feet for no–”

Her eyes widened to saucers, throat bobbing as it got clogged by her heart. She heard the signature sharp inhale of the man beside her, a sign preceding things that will only go downhill.

“Vanessa.”,his grip tightened on her arm, “Are you saying that you got beat up by the boys? Those boys?”

A huff of exasperation sank her shoulders, and she attempted to flick away her arm like last time, underestimating the strength of his hold and the severity of this situation.

The man gritted his teeth, desperation cracking through his vexed mask, “Tell me‐!”

“Those punks needed to be put in a hospital for once instead of you!”,she exclaimed rather annoyedly, like she had finished admonishing a pre-schooler in need of a time out. Except that the people the woman dared to go up against could have timed her out too. Indefinitely.

The man's eyes were ablaze with fury, his red eye throbbing with a fierceness she hadn't witnessed before, “You fought against them?”,he forgot all thoughts of personal space as she grabbed her by the collar, stumbling her forward, “Are you out of your mind?”

“They were out of th-theirs!”,she defended through stutters, struggling to shake off his hand, “I couldn't stand letting them walk over you-”

The man's eyes widened, his piercing gaze glaring into her soul, “Who ever said anything about anyone walking over me? Don't take pity on me if you wanna act like an idiot.”

Her eyes turned glassy, with something tightening her throat, “Don't get mad over something I did for yo–”

“You really wanna go there?”,he sneered, raising a mocking brow, “You really wanna worsen your image by playing savior when you can barely save yourself?”

“You never asked who started it.”,she countered, fingernails digging marks into his hand, “Did it ever occur to you that they threw the first punch?”

“Which was raised from months of your useless ‘scolding’!”,he exclaimed, chest heaving as he refused to let go of the woman, “I warned you about this day, didn't I? That one day your motormouth will dig your own grave, but you just don't underst–”

“So what, you expect me to just see you get beat up?”,her eyes were filled to the brim.

“Yes?”,he guffawed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I can handle it, I can take a punch and even throw worse ones!”

“It hurts me to see you in pain.”

The man scowled through bared teeth, “You get hurt by the stupidest things! Someone too soft as you should stay locked in if you were actually smart enough, but clearly that same softness makes you, oh so blind to danger!”

“I don't care if you can fight back!”,her voice began cracking, but she still fought through tears. She was not going to humiliate herself now, “I don't care if I'm soft or stupid, I hate seeing you hurt.”

“Not everyone lives pampered lives like you, Vanessa.”,he chuckled dryly, “You can't run your mouth around with talks of kindness and concern when some people need to get hurt and cause hurt to survi–”

A hand squeezed over his other uninjured knee, once also patched up by her months ago, “But why do you have to do all the hurting? When not some other way?”

This angered the man further, prompting him to slap her hand away, “Why do you have to tail around me like some lovesick pet? Why do you have to hover all over my moves and stalk me like some freak–”

“I care for you, okay–”

“You've exhausted your limits as a friend, know th–”

“It's not that, I just love you, alright!”

The man's scowl fell, replaced by angered confusion, his eyes slowly taking in her jittery appearance as she stumbled for words, “I love you a lot, alright? Too much to see you every afternoon in bruises. It hurts me to know someone's hurting you when it's the last thing you need.”

The man sat dumbfounded, face scrunched up in the same frown as he breathed heavily, eyes not leaving her once, “You're…you're really foolish…”

“All I'd do was reprimand them when I see them.”,she added extra emphasis in the second half of the sentence, “But I never knew they'd stoop so low as to come attack me. I promise I didn't threaten or offend them to warrant this!”

He simply blinked, face relaxed and body at ease as the sound of the rain slowly pairing her softened voice as it cleared her name, “I always I make sure I'm safe and the same applies to the people I love, so of course I get worried–”

“Quiet…”

“But you always seemed to misinterpret it as me being pushy, when I just really loved you too much to ignore you, when you were clearly in pain–

“Shut it…”

“And man, all those nights I'd stay awake next to my phone when you return home clearly beaten up but I can't follow you since you're willing to bleed asleep then accept my help, how much tro–

“Vanessa, shut up!”,the man held her wrists, pinning them down before his hands cupped her cheeks. She noticed the same fire swirling in his eyes, but the source didn't stem from the same anger as before. No, it was not anger at all. “Just, shut up!”

She parted her lips, but instead parted her eyelids all the way back as Vinny enclosed the gap between them, his hands replacing onto her back, minimizing the other gaps among them as he brought her close.

Vanessa sat shell-shocked, unable to tell if she was dreaming or not. But as Vinny's warm lips sent electric sparks down her spine, eradicating any bits of drowsiness, she knew very much this was real. And how very much she dreamed about this.

The woman closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink in the pleasure of his warmth, her hands sliding up his broad chest to rest on wide shoulders, while his own snaked up and down her back.

His hands clutched her waist, and the woman briefly gasped as she was lifted onto his lap, “Vinny, your injur-”

“Do them again later “,he breathed, lips sinking into the smoothness of her neck, making her eyes roll back, “You've become more of a fool since you last fixed them.”

“For you, Vinny.”,she sighed, relishing in the warmth his palm trailed up and down her bare thighs, “I'm only a fool for you.”

The man pulled apart his lips, each locking gazes as they sank in a pool of admiration for each other, “But maybe you're too good for me.”

The woman chuckled at his remark, not caring if he thought she was too airheaded to see the ‘truth’ in his words, “I don't care, Vinny. I don't care.”

“Vanessa….”,he groaned, and within seconds, the clutch hoisting her hair had disappeared, with her back plastered against the crumpled bed sheets, and the man hovering above him.

“Ho-Hold on, Vinny.”,she swallowed, redness creeping all across her face, “I'm not su–”

“Calm down, freak.”, she felt the air sucked out of her lungs as the man dropped atop her body, head nuzzling against her chest as each leg encased her own between his, “You make a good pillow.”

“Vinny!”,the woman croaked, struggling to breath, “Get your fat butt off me, I'm not some-”

The man smacked a pillow across her face, “It's too late, I'm too beat up. You can't leave me alone this way.”

That stopped her thrashing. “You….want me to stay for the night?”apprehension clouded her face, “But my parents….”

The man tilted his neck as she swiped away the pillow at last, “Don't worry, your mom will understand.”

“What do you mean?”,she grunted, rolling the man off her body

“She will be reassured.”,he lied down on his side, red eye glimmering beneath the moonlight breaking through the rain, “Her child's boyfriend is protecting her, after all.”

The woman's eyes lit up, shining with an elation Vinny hadn't seen for years, slowly thawing the coldness he struggled to shake off the more he gazed into her warm, coffee-hued eyes.

“Yeah.”,she breathed with a blush, letting him drape a blanket over them, “She'd be reassured.”

[blam-marie]

A Metaphor's Guide to Rewriting Destiny

Chapter 01

The Lighthouse

I had been languishing in this cell for four long years, with nothing to do but to plan my revenge, when Compassion came for me. Of course it was him. We had never been on the same side of a conflict and I had killed him more times than I could count; but when I was in my greatest hour of need, that insufferable bastard still showed up to help.

He was the only one.

There was no way that the others didn’t know that I was still alive. I was an Exemplar, a divine being, a physical manifestation of one of the many aspects of the goddess Anydrite. I was powerful and the Empire of Walls thought that they owned me. They would not have tolerated me to be away for this long, nor for the Theosians to have me, unless there was a plan at play that I wasn’t aware of.

I watched Compassion step out of the shadows on the other side of the bars with suspicion and no small amount of interest. He was not Wallen or Theosian. Or at least, he had never been before and I did not expect him to be so now. So how had he known where to find me? Or that I had needed to be found, in the first place?

His current incarnation wore the face of a young man in mid or perhaps late thirties. The beads wrapped around his wrist indicated that the body might have once been a monk, although the rest of his attire held no trace of this past life. Compassion had dressed in the style of a gentleman of modest but respectable means, perhaps hoping to look forgettable. Unfortunately, his features were too striking to be ignored — they were those of a man from the East, which was not a good thing to be, here on the continent. The jet black hair and high cheekbones alone might have made him the target for scorn, although his eyes would have stopped anyone in their tracks before disdain could turn into animosity. His luminous golden irises could not have been mistaken for anything but those of an Exemplar, and while our kind did not always inspire respect, it was known that we were not to be trifled with.

The prison guard at my door straightened up at the sight of him, but not in alarm, I thought. The air tasted faintly of anticipation. Compassion reached into his coat and produced a vial which he handed over. The guard took it with shaking hands.

“This will heal her?”

Ah. That explained the grief and heaviness which had suffused the man over the last few weeks. Hope warmed him now, but that was foreign to me.

“Time will heal her. But this will afford her that time.”

The guard nodded. He gave Compassion a ring of keys and then disappeared down the corridor. Only now did the other Exemplar turn to me.

“Rage,” he greeted as he set about to unlocking my cell.

“I will want revenge,” I warned him. I knew what he was and I needed to know if he would attempt to stop me — if I needed to kill him now, or if it could wait for later.

“I will not be involved in that,” was his answer as he opened the door.

I stepped past him into the corridor, then grabbed him, pivoted, and shoved him bodily into the cell I had just left. He reached for the door but I slammed it shut before he could stop me. I pushed my weight into it.

“Rage!” he protested. He looked annoyed at my actions, but not surprised. He, too, knew well what I was. Although we had never been in this exact scenario, conflict was still an old dance between us.

“You will not take part in revenge,” I growled, “but you will help with a rescue?”

“Rage, we are under a time limit,” he said, straining against the bars. His strength was no match to mine, even after four years of neglect. Both of our bodies were pressed against the other, the iron separating us almost inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The matter truly at hand was not about this cell, or this prison, or even this country. None of these things actually mattered to me. I reached through the bars and gathered his collar into my fist.

“I don’t care. You will help with a rescue?”

“I am doing so now!”

“They killed my husband.”

His straining ceased. Compassion closed his eyes, looking pained. His shoulders slumped. “Rage…” he said.

I didn’t want to hear the rest of his words. Condolences would do nothing to appease me. “And they took my daughter,” I added.

His expression changed. I could not stand the way he looked at me now, so I turned my head away. I glared at the far wall.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he breathed softly. “Of course I will help. Do you know where she is?”

How predictable. And yet, his agreement still came as a relief. Even knowing his nature, I had still doubted Compassion’s willingness to assist me. Me, who of all people deserved his help the least.

“I believe they are keeping her in the palace,” I replied. “To keep an eye on her.”

I opened the cell door and let him out. We set off down the corridor, and suddenly found ourselves falling into steps as if there had never been any strife between us. As if we could trust each other.

“If the king is keeping her that close to him, then that complicates matters,” he remarked.

I shrugged. “It doesn’t have to.”

What was a king, compared to my daughter? I had imagined a thousand ways to kill him over the last four years. I would enjoy doing it tremendously, if only I could find an opportunity to do so that wouldn’t also put Astoria in harm’s way. Nothing about this was complicated, not in the way Compassion thought. I wanted my daughter. I wanted bloody revenge. Simple as that. What would remain of Theos once I was done, the politics of the entire thing... why would Rage care about any of that?

We came to a closed door at the end of a long row of empty cells. I rammed the heel of my hand against the stone wall next to where the locking mechanism was anchored. The room the Theosians had kept me in had been made entirely out of cold iron, against which my powers were nil; but farther out they had coated only the doors in iron, and not the walls. The Lighthouse may have been the country’s most heavily fortified prison, but it had not been designed to hold Exemplars. They had evidently thought that doors alone were enough to stop me. I punched through the stone and simply excavated the lock out of the wall, using my grip on it to swing the door open.

I repeated this process five times, unease rising within me. Things were too easy. Compassion seemed to agree; nervousness was starting to dawn on his usually serene face. We had almost made it to the exit, unopposed, when a magical barrier slammed down in front of us in a showers of sparks.

“I told you we had a time limit,” my companion sighed.

“I don’t care.”

I made to move forward, but he stopped me.

“Let me. You’ll need to be whole for your rescue.”

He pulled up his sleeves. I watched him do so with interest, curious to know how gentle Compassion would handle this obstacle. I had seen such magical horrors before; the barrier would have the viscosity of thick molasse and burn anything that went through it like acid. Easy enough to dispel, but the symbols that fed the magic were located on the other side, unreachable unless you were willing to brave the loss of a limb.

Most people would have pushed their arm through slowly, straining against the resistance and gritting their teeth at the pain. But Compassion did not make the mistake of hesitating. He simply pulled his arm back and punched through the barrier in one swift motion, uncurling his fingers on the other side. The sigils on the wall flared and then crumpled to dust, the magical field blocking the corridor dissipating along with them. It was the work of a second. As he pulled his arm back, I could see that while a bloody welt bloomed in a line under the bend of his elbow, and the skin of his arm and fist were reddened, his palm as well as the inner curl of his fingers were undamaged.

I was not impressed, per se, but I was intrigued. He had handled himself with the confidence of someone who had been on the wrong side of such barriers many a time before. In what circumstances, I wondered. Compassion was his nature, but compassion for who?

He hissed and cursed softly, cradling his arm to his chest. Somewhere in the bowels of the Lighthouse, a bell rung, soon followed by the answering call of horns. We hurried out.

[shadyruinskryptonite]

Titan Bending Chapter 15 - Retaking Wall Maria Part 2

Warning: Violence consistent with cannon, NSFW so MDNI, language, major character death (both consistent with canon of both AOT and ATLA as well as diverging from canon), so much trauma literally everyone is so traumatized, very much slow burn, a little enemies to lovers, SO MUCH ANGST, hurt/comfort, hurt and delayed comfort, AFAB reader

Chapter Warnings: Part two of retaking Wall Maria so 🎶Second verse, same as the first! 🎶all of the same warnings apply to this chapter as last chapter.

Seriously though, if I ever put a trigger warning that you know or even think won’t sit right with you, please protect yourself. Message me and I’ll give a summary of the chapter without any of the triggers. I know that’s a goofier little trigger warning but I take my mental health very seriously and I want you all to do the same.

WC: 3981

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Masterlist

Tags: @mochminnie @sseleniaa @naruwitch

Whatever hit me is much softer than I was anticipating. When I open my eyes, I see Mikasa has body checked me out of the way. Before I can really register what happened, she pivots mid-air and is flying back at Batteringram. But he’s had enough of a chance to get up, and in the time it took Mikasa to rescue me he’s back on his feet.

Eren tries to push him back, but it might as well have been a spider ant facing off against a goat gorilla the way the Collasal kicked him onto the wall.

As everyone takes off to try to use their thunderspears, I call out, “Aim for his joints!” but it’s no use. Before any meaningful progress can be made he lets out steam that’s too hot for me to even bend easily.

When everyone touches down, I begin healing whomever I can as quickly as I can. Armin still doesn’t have a plan. It really feels like we’re doomed to die here.

As if on que, like something out of a nightmare, the Armored seems to resurrect.

In exasperation, Jean exclaims, “That bastard! What’ll it take to put him down for good? Why won’t he just…stay dead?!”

I was thinking the same thing right about now.

But Armin is in his own world. He’s noticed something.

“Armin, what is it?” I inquire.

“He’s…thinner.” Is all he responds. 

We all listen as he explains that the Collosal seems to lose mass every time he lets off steam. It’s clear that he’s come up with a plan but he doesn’t let us all in on it, just tells us to deal with Reiner because he and Eren will take care of the Collosal. I pat him on the shoulder before we all go our separate ways.

We try to engage Reiner but he ignores us. When we realize he’s focused on Eren, Jean calls to me. “Now feels like the perfect time for your earlier idea, y/n. Let’s surprise the hell out of him.”

I smile and call back, “Right!”

No more flying under the radar. Be as auspicious as you can!

I gather whatever water I can from the ground and ride it like a wave towards Reiner. I keep enough to keep moving in front of him but also freeze his feet so he topples to the ground. As he fights to get loose, I put on a bit of a display, spouting up in front of him.

“Y’all aren’t the only ones with secrets,” I call just as I release his feet to allow him to lunge at me. As he does, Mikasa hits the back of his knee sending him to the ground. I slice wherever I can find purchase but he doesn’t stay still long enough for me to make any meaningful hits.

As we try to ration our last thunderspears, the Collosal lights up and sends out a blinding wave of heat. Even from where we are we can feel a bit of it.

No time to think about that though. We jump into action trying to blast open Reiner’s mouth, but Sasha gets hurt in the process. I immediately drop with her and Connie to try to heal her.

Fuck, only one of the thunderspears hit.

I can tell Mikasa is contemplating attacking anyway, but while Connie tries to talk her out of it, Hange appears out of nowhere with a Hail Mary in the form of an extra thunderspear. Blowing his mouth open, Mikasa finally has the opening she needs.

Reiner is blown from his titan at the same time as Batteringram starts to fall. 

It worked…both sides won their segments of the battle.

Mikasa quickly chops of Reiner’s limbs and as soon as the dust settles we’re able to take stock of the situation. Hange lost her eye. Everyone has what seems to be some sort of injury. Despite continuing to move forward, my head throbs with every beat of my heart. 

I heal whomever I can to the best of my abilities and then we all work to bandage each other up. As soon as we get ourselves sorted, Hange begins to try to interrogate Reiner. The contents of the tin he was holding ended up being much more innocuous than we expected, just a letter from someone named Ymir for Krista.

It was so difficult to start calling her Historia and now look at me, I had to stop and think about who Krista even was.

When Hange moves to kill Reiner like I thought we all wanted to do, it’s actually Jean that stops her.

So Jean boy was just lashing out at Connie and Sasha earlier because he was feeling the same way they were.

After sending off Mikasa to find Levi, it’s clear that Jean is second guessing his own feelings, but Hange reassures him that what he said hadn’t been her deciding factor to wait to kill Reiner. Although, the way she said it and the way she’s acting is very odd. 

This has been rough for everyone but I think Hange’s been through a lot the last few hours. Where is the rest of her squad anyway?

Mikasa fires off a flare, signaling to kill Reiner. But before we have a chance, the most hideous thing on four legs comes out of nowhere, carrying another blond man with tell-tale titan markings under his eyes as well as some cargo. This ugly beast scoops up Reiner and takes off, leaving Jean to beat himself up some more.

This time, when Hange tells Jean he was only a factor in her decision, there’s a tinge of sympathy that leaks into her tone.

There she is.

When we go to meet up with the others, I get there first because everyone else’s gas has them moving slower than usual. The sight itself almost knocks me on my ass. A charred corpse is laying on the roof, and Eren and Mikasa are crying over it.

No…

I don’t want it to be who I think it is so I don’t let the thought cross my mind. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion in the process to administer the injection. Just as it’s about to be given to the body before us all, the annoying red-headed kid appears with Commander Erwin, who is in about an equal state.

God why…

It’s almost too much for me to bear. I want to look away, to run away, but I can’t bring myself to leave the roof. When Levi makes the call to save Erwin all hell breaks loose. Mikasa pulls her sword, Eren loses his mind and gets decked by Levi, who then in turn gets tackled by Mikasa. I try to pull her off of Levi amidst the ensuing argument about who will be saved, and with as tired as I am and as bad as…well… everything hurts, the best I can do is keep her from slicing clean through his throat.

I can’t bring myself to say a word.

As the red-headed kid, whom Eren called Flock, starts defending Erwin, I almost go to freeze his spit so that I don’t have to hear him anymore. In the split second I think about this, Mikasa breaks free and takes a pass at him and throws me to the side. Luckily, this is just as Hange and the others arrived and she was able to hold her back. I scramble to not fall off the roof and catch myself just before it gets to that point, getting pretty cut up on the shingles along the way.

By this point, Mikasa is sobbing and I can feel my heart breaking. I still can’t bring myself to say a word.

Luckily, Hange jumps in. “Listen, Mikasa. There’s people I wanna bring back, too. Hundreds at this point. Ever since I joined up with the Scouts, every day brought a new farewell. But, you need to understand, eventually you’ll have to let go of everyone you’ve ever met. I know that’s tough to accept, it’s tough for me too, it’s hard to stay sane living like that. It hurts, it really hurts. I know. But even so, all of us just have to push forward.” By the time she finishes speaking, her voice is just a whisper.

She’s a lot better at dealing hard pills to swallow than I am.

She continues to hold Mikasa as Eren makes one last plea with Levi.

I can’t imagine being in Levi’s shoes right now. 

He makes it clear that he’s choosing Erwin and banishes us all from the roof so that we don’t become collateral damage when his titan transforms. Once everyone else has flown away, I hang back for a moment.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said get lost!” Levi barks at me.

I’m silent for another moment before I take a step closer.

“Oh, wanna get a final word in about who you want me to choose?” he says with sarcasm dripping from every word.

“No,” is my quick response. I don’t wait before I continue, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry this has fallen on you. No one should have to play god like this. Sure, I have my own opinions about who I’d like to see saved and why, but you don’t need that right now. At the end of the day, you were selected for this shitty responsibility because it’s your decisions that Erwin trusts the most. Not Hange’s or Mikasa’s or Eren’s or Flock’s or mine. I guess I just wanted to let you know that no matter what anyone else thinks, and no matter who you choose, you can count on me to back you up.”

I can see the pain and weight of the decision in Levi’s eyes as I finish speaking, but I think I catch a hint of gratitude in them as well. I give him a sad smile and pat him on the shoulder before finally leaving the roof and watch on with the others, holding them as tears stream down their faces.

Not you, they need you to be strong.

When there’s a burst of light indicative of a transformation, the titan that emerges looks not like Erwin, but Armin. I allow my face to be riddled with shock, because that is the main emotion I’m experiencing alongside everyone else. But, deep down, I’m also relieved.

Losing him would’ve been tough.

As everyone else goes to peel Armin out of his pure titan, Hange and I along with Flock go over to Levi, who’s still with Erwin. 

He said it was time to let Erwin rest. I don’t know to what extent I believe that, but I think Erwin has done his time. Erwin was the past of the scouts. Armin is the future. 

Looking over, I see Armin emerge in a cloud of steam, still unconscious, but his hair flowing like it should and his skin its normal, healthy color.

I feel like I shouldn’t let on how happy I am with the choice Levi made, but I can’t wait to throw my arms around that kid in the biggest bear hug when he wakes up.

We get an unconscious Armin and Sasha set up on top of the wall, and when everyone else embarks to looks for any survivors, I get to work healing Sasha. It’s pretty quick work on the first heal. Even though it sounds counterproductive, the only thing I can do on more severe injuries is improve it little-by-little over time and through multiple healing sessions.

Eren insisted on staying back with Armin, so he’s with us as well. Just as I finish up and am about to take off to help search for survivors, he stops me.

“Hey y/n?” he says, his voice so timid he sounds like a small child.

“Yeah bud, what’s up?” I say as brightly as I can manage with a smile that I hope doesn’t look too forced.

“What was your opinion? Who did you want Levi to pick? I noticed you didn’t say anything the entire time we were on the roof.”

My face shifts and my smile turns sad as I answer. “I wanted him to pick Armin. And, just like you, my motivations were completely selfish.” I turn to look at the sleeping boy. “He was the first person that I had a real conversation with here. And there’s something inspiring by how much he seeks knowledge. But, I didn’t speak up because I figured you and Mikasa already had that pretty well covered. I also knew that my choice was one that would more overtly benefit me, versus Erwin who would be the clear option for humanity.” I shrug before turning back to Eren and saying, “but the funny thing is, the more I’ve thought about it the less I think that’s such a black and white answer. I think it was less of a choice between men and more of a choice between past and future.”

I leave him to think about what I said as I rejoin the others on the ground.

A few hours pass by with no luck. I help Hange search since her entire sense of vision has been altered and she doesn’t have her glasses. I also don’t want her to have to search the area where her squad died alone. 

I can tell she’s found someone based on how she stops in her tracks. I can tell it’s Moblit by how she sinks to the ground. 

I hold her as tightly as I can and let her cry. Not just for Moblit, but for Erwin and everyone else. It seems like she’s getting a decade’s worth of grief out. As I continue to hold her, I carefully reach down and put my fingers to his neck. I knew there wouldn’t be a pulse but I had to confirm. 

Once the sobs that were absolutely wracking her body subsided and she was left more or less just sniffling, I suggested we move on to a different area or even just go sit by the canal for a moment. She opted for the latter.

As we sit on the bank in silence, I bend a small amount of water into my hands to help get her cleaned up. At least get the blood and some of the grime off of her. 

Her complete and total silence leaves me at a loss for words.

Maybe it’s better to be quiet at a time like this. I don’t have to fill every painful silence with words attempting to be motivational.

I completely lose track of time as we sit there. We’re suddenly broken out of our trance by a flare going up.

Armin!

I jump up, forgetting to check my eagerness and immediately feeling guilty. Hange doesn’t say anything about it though, and we fly up to the top of the wall together.

By the time we’re there, Eren has informed Armin about everything that transpired and Armin quite clearly doesn’t know what to do with everything he’s just been told. The gravity of it all mixed with the fact that he had to eat Batteringram nearly makes him throw up before someone shoves a canteen in his face.

He keeps asking why him? Why not Erwin?

Hange answers, “You’re right Armin, I believe it should have been used on Erwin, too.”

Yikes Hange. That’s a bit much, doncha think?

“To be brutally honest,” I elbow her lightly in the ribs. “Nevermind, it’s a shame we had to choose in the first place.” She pauses before continuing, “It’s over now. Erwin told Levi to use the syringe as he thought best, and Levi chose to use it on you. What’s done is done. Erwin’s life and the power of a titan both rest on your shoulders. No matter what anyone says that’s the truth. It’s part of who you are now. Accept it.”

Wow, that was worse than when Levi tried to comfort them after they became murders.

Still in total shock, he says, “Wait…so does this mean…I need to become…Erwin’s replacement? There’s no way…I can’t!”

“Don’t misunderstand us, there’s no chance in hell that you could replace Erwin,” Levi responds.

Oh great, now we’ve got the two of them competing for who can be the least helpful when it comes to comforting them.

“That said, your self doubt aside, you have a strength within you that nobody else can claim. Don’t let any of us regret this. Not me, not either one of our mutineers here, nor anyone else,” he looks at Hange pointedly as he says the last part. “But especially don’t regret it yourself. Consider that your new mission.”

Wow that was actually really well said.

Luckily, even though she isn’t lucid, Sasha manages to break the tension by telling us all to shut the hell up.

Finally, it makes Hange chuckle, even if it’s only a little bit. She addresses Armin again and I brace for impact, but this time she has a much kinder tone. “You know, since Erwin chose me to succeed him as commander I’m more or less in the same boat as you. We’ll just have to grin and bear it while doing what we can.”

When Armin admits that he’ll try, Hange takes that as a positive sign and annonces that they’re going to the cellar and that Eren and Mikasa should guide she and Levi. 

Before they take off, as Eren and Mikasa stretch a little, Mikasa says, “Oh, y/n, how are you feeling? I’m kinda surprised you’re not just as laid up as Sasha honestly.”

The kids all look at me expectantly, but Hange and Levi snap their heads towards me, concern apparent.

I wave them off and dismissively say, “Oh I’m alright, thanks for checkin kiddo. I’ve been through one hell of a lot worse.”

The kids smile but there’s something akin to betrayal on Hange’s face and I can’t read Levi’s expression at all, as per usual.

“Y/n…”

“What happened?”

Hange and Levi speak at once, the former sounding like she was bordering on tears again and the latter sounding like I had committed high treason.

“Oh, seriously, it was really nothing. I just got knocked over in the Collasal’s transformation, that’s all,” I try to reassure them.

“Knocked over?” Eren says incredulously. “You got blown back so hard that your body left a hole in a house! You were unconscious for, like, five minutes!”

“Plus I saw how badly I flung you on the roof, you had to get at least some scrapes and bruises from that,” Mikasa adds.

I roll my eyes at them and try to dismiss everyone once again, but Levi stomps himself over and aggressively grabs my arm and rolls up my sleeve, jostling me in a way that does admittedly hurt. 

“Would you watch it you little shit?!” I say to him as I try to take my arm back.

But he doesn’t relent. “We’re not going anywhere until we give you a full once over.” As he’s checking my arms and anything exposed for injuries, he says over his shoulder “is anyone else playing tough and hiding something?”

Everyone shakes their heads no vigorously and I finally am able to wrench myself out of his hold. I look at everyone as I say, “Seriously, I’m fine. I jumped in the water right after and healed myself head to toe. Like Armin said at the time, I’ve got a concussion but it’s minor at that.” I look at Levi last and hold eyecontact for a moment longer than the rest, almost baiting him into not believing me.

With a huff, he takes Eren and Mikasa with him and Hange and they leave to find the cellar.

Once they were gone, I tell Connie and Jean to stay put and ask Armin if he’s up for a little walk on the walls with me. He agrees, and we walk all the way to the other side of Shiganshina in complete silence. When we get there, we sit down with our feet dangling over the edge.

“Armin?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you a hug?”

He nods and just like I had promised to myself, I give him the biggest, tightest hug I can manage. This is the first point that I almost find myself emotional, but even so I’m able to keep it in check.

“I’m so, so glad you’re okay,” I whisper into his ear.

“Me too,” he says, but it comes out almost like a question.

I lean back so that I can look him in the eyes and when I speak, I speak gently. “Levi was right, you know? About how strong you are.”

His eyes widden and fill with tears as he looks away. He almost angrily says, “I’m not as strong as Erwin though! Why would he choose me, someone barely above being a cadet, over him, the literal leader of the Scouts?! I can’t even face anything without crying and shaking!”

“Well, first of all I think the fact that you’re willing to cry and shake and show your fear is exactly what makes you strong. I for one push any negative feeling so deep down to a place where I never have to deal with it and where they then build up and take over every fiber of my being. True strength involves understanding your emotions and knowing how to sit in them so you can let them go and move on. I look up to you a lot in that way, honestly. But, as far as why you were chosen over Erwin goes, what Levi said immediately after the fact was that it was time to let him rest. And I think that’s fair and there’s something to be said for that, especially because we don’t know what their conversations were like behind closed doors. But I think it has a lot to do with one of the arguments that was made in favor of choosing Erwin. Flock was saying that when he found the commander, he almost put him out of his misery then and there but that he was a devil because only a devil could’ve gotten us to that point and it takes a devil to lead in this kind of world and as a devil he should be forced to go on experiencing this world. I think that maybe there’s a chance that Levi agreed. Agreed that Erwin had turned into a devil, that is. But I also think it’s possible that he knew him before it had come to this, and that a devil isn’t who Erwin truly is. That he was forced to become one and that this was his much deserved reprieve after having to throw his own humanity away. I think, between your mind and your heart, Levi sees in you the humanity that Erwin had lost along the way. Eren asked me earlier who I had hoped Levi would pick, and my answer was easily that I had wanted it to be you and that my motivations were selfish. But what I specifically told him is that, to me at least, it was a choice between the past and the future. Erwin lead in a world where we don’t know anything. Hange will be perfect to lead a world where we’re learning. And, one day, you’ll be perfect to lead a world that looks completely different from the one we know today.”

He doesn’t say anything but I know he’s taking in every word I said. After a while I stand up and motion for him to join me, saying, “Come on, let’s head back and learn the secrets of the world.”

[flowerprose]

💀🌷🏛 NAMESAKE 🏛🌷💀

a hades x persephone retelling

excerpt prompt: friday kiss tag game

the lovely & talented & delightfully encouraging @bebewrites tagged me in this forever ago and i finally had time to tackle it today! not an easy kiss scene to write, by any means, when the recipient is quite literally all teeth, lol. but i liked the challenge!

summary: a hades and persephone myth retelling in which hades is a skeleton, stripped of his godhood and powers, and persephone is a young flower maiden in search of her missing mother.

word count: 1204

“Have you heard of the folk stories from the Germanic barbarians? They whisper about kisses that break curses. Legends say a maiden will wake under any condition.” 

Persephone looks away from Chloe, fast asleep at the mouth of the cave, guarded by the human-bodied Cerberus. The undead king pivoted quickly after losing their stale debate over refuge options from this blistering cold. 

“A kiss?” she repeats, the word clumsy in her mouth, unplaceable. “Must be otherworldly to undo such magic.”

“I would ask you to consider it. A small mercy,” Hades says.

Persephone studies her husband, amused that nursery rhymes and children’s fables are starting to worm into his head; she has known such desperation, pleaded from the other side of it.   

“I am not your true love.” Persephone reminds him this the way her mother once chided her not to overlook her hymns. One day, the mortals will pray to you. She just never thought a God would do so first. “And you’re not a very pretty maiden. Perhaps below you were, but certainly not now.” 

The shadows that move around Hades sometimes morph into grim, demonic expressions across his fleshless face, but he remains neutral now, devoid of any anger or hurt she may have provoked. 

“I have never kissed you,” Persephone says finally, her voice wavery, a nervous brook in search of a trench to spill into.

“And never have I asked you to. Until now.”

Ah, pleading. To hear it eases some of the biting cold from her fingers. Hades, desperate for her help—help only she can provide him. The spell of his name doesn’t harm her anymore. Her chest doesn’t squeeze, her stomach doesn’t anchor to her knees when it surfaces now, when it’s spoken in her presence. 

She decides to humour him. “If I kiss you, will you imprison me back in your realm of rot? It seems that keeping you this helpless thing that you are is much better for me. For my mother.”

She earns his anger, now. He rises to his feet, a tall, withering looking beast powered only by meagre magic. His eyes spawn the very tremors of hell, blackened sockets cursed with the glow of the plaguing fire that floods his corpse-self. “If this curse breaks, it does not fix whatever has happened to your mother. I give you my word—whatever our souls are made of, yours possessed mine the day I saw you. I love my sister—not even a morsel for what my heart stores for you.” 

“I prefer you this way,” she needles him. She too rises to her feet, unintimidated by his towering stance. Her nails taps  teasingly along the glassy surface of the pomegranate jewel that hovers between his skull and rib cage, frozen mid-air like a chainless pendant. One pluck and he’ll come undone, as delicate as the little flower stems she once wrangled free from the earth as a fussing toddler.  

“You hardly know me,” Persephone accuses. 

“I beg you to let me.”

She wishes she could search for something more in his face than blank bone. 

Hades, once limitless in his patience, appears to have lost all treasury of it now. “This world is rotting. There will be nothing left for your mother if we don’t stop it. I wanted you at my side—not to imprison you in  grief. Let me find your mother. Let me bring her home.” 

Hades reaches for her, his hands hesitant, moving slowly enough that she can track him,  retreat if she pleases. But she stays still, inviting him to step closer, to brush the bone of his thumb over her face. “You’re frozen,” he says. He gently guides her veil, this one made of silvery webs and latticed like lace, carefully to free her face to his gaze.

“You can feel that?” she asks. “The cold, I mean.” 

“It’s a strange sensation,” he admits. “Like the air is heavy, something to wade through.” 

Hades’ skeletal hands embrace her cheeks, warmed by the hellfire that naturally floods him. She waits for his touch to scorch her, but it’s gentle, a summer breeze, a sunbeam across her face. 

“You love your mother. I will never test those bonds again. My error ignoring them the first time will follow me for all the lifetimes that exist beyond us.” 

“Is this your apology?” 

“Persephone… I am sorry.” 

She lets his touch engulf her, warm the cold-bitten flesh. He leans down close, simulating a kiss as his teeth rest against her brow. It wasn’t until she saw his corpse that she learned that even teeth are protruding bone. 

“It won’t be a very romantic kiss,” she warns him, having nothing to compare to what a romantic kiss might entail. Something Apollo has sung a thousand ways before her. 

Hades chuckles, moltenous and core-warming. Her breath emerges in a wisp of smoke. She kisses where his lips should be, pressing her mouth to the blemished bone of his teeth. Kissing him is like brushing her finger tips against marble, like pressing her lips into unyielding stone. Nothing rancid lurks in the hollow casket he wears as a body, but the kiss feels strange nonetheless, loveless and ordinary. 

Whatever curse binds him works stronger than anything her lips try to set free.  

Persephone had spent so little time near Hades after they married, she struggled to recall his face even now. The planes of his bones resemble ruins, remnant of a once-fearsome god now vanquished. Only the crumbled vestiges of his former glory remained.

Pity surges in her throat. He couldn’t harm her even if he wished to. 

He was nothing now. 

She reaches for the near-emptiness of his throat and snatches the rubied pomegranate behind her fist. Immediately his bones topple to the ground, as if summoned back to their Gaian grave. She catches his skull gingerly, amused when the darkened sockets remain  alight with searing fury.

“What are you doing?” Hades snarls at her. 

“Oh hush,” Persephone says. “That was hardly a kiss. Least of all something that could break a curse.” 

She lifts his skull in her hand, enough to cradle it like an infant in the nook of her arm. Winter has eaten away the rotting flesh that clung to him just weeks ago. She closes her eyes, humming as wiry tendrils of moss sprout from her fingertips and encircle his skull. She kisses the edge of his socket, blooming razorous leaves and two full heads of silk-soft peonies that gaze curiously, as iridescent and dark as a raven’s sun-caught wing. Thick vines sprout from his temple, growing into loose curls that mirror the last time she saw his hair. The botanical face of her husband stares back at her, an uncanny replica that feels more familiar than his flesh ever did. She bends toward his disappearing teeth, her lips catching a grain-woven mouth instead. It smells of home when her nose buries into the side of his succulent-leafed nose. 

No more decay, no more bone. He is a mesh of every plant that fills her spring-longing thoughts, every gorgeous petal and bladed leaf she can imagine. Beneath her hands, below her mouth, he transforms into something new: something that belongs to her.

[dc-said-bi-robin-rights]

The sound of wood slapping against wood pierces the air of the training room, the heavy thunk thunk thunk noise repeating itself every few seconds with the kind of precise timing that wouldn’t be amiss in a well-oiled grandfather clock.

“Take that!” Mia grins, swinging her wooden training staff down at her opponent’s head for the twelfth time, only to again find it blocked and deflected with almost condescending ease. She doesn’t let that deter her though—she pivots in place, readjusting mid swing and going for another strike. Thunk. Then again, thunk. And then a third time, thunk. Again and again she swings her staff, and yet not once does she even come close to landing the decisive hit she’s chasing.

“Focus,” Tim urges, interrupting her train of thought. He twirls his staff around his body for no before bringing it up to block her next strike. Thunk. Then again, thunk. “Don’t watch my arms… watch my eyes, my posture, my…”

Mia only barely held back a maddened growl, miraculously managing to keep the grin plastered on her face despite all her irritation. This was all… just too much. She was over-aware of the judging gazes of her unimpressed teammates on her back, silently evaluating whether she was even competent enough to do this, to be a Teen Titan. And they were right to, a voice in the back of Mia’s mind said. What would Ollie think, watching this? Would he think it was a mistake to let me be Speedy? Would he think it was a mistake to even…

A sudden voice thankfully interrupts that particular thought before it could reach its natural conclusion. “Mind if I get in on the action?”

Mia turns her head to see Ravager standing there with an unreadable expression on her face, a pair of bokken held against her shoulders. Mia instinctively opens her mouth to reply, but the words die in her throat; Ravager’s one-eyed gaze isn’t on her, but on Tim, who takes a second to think about it before shrugging. “Knock yourself out.”

Ravager nods, walking forward to stand in front of Mia. Wordlessly, she jerks her head at the door, and though Tim hesitates, he eventually concedes, exiting the room. The rest of the team follows after him and, before Mia can protest, lock the door behind them, purposefully leaving Mia alone in a locked room with the bloodthirsty daughter of Deathstroke for reasons she can’t fathom.

“Soooooo…” drawls Mia, who is not the least bit affected by this whole display, thank you very much. She crosses her hands behind her back and shifts back and forth nervously, wondering idly if the Titans could get away with disappearing her... wouldn’t people come looking if she went missing? Ollie certainly would… “Mind letting a girl know what all this about?”

Mia’s answer comes in the form of a bokken tossed at her face. Propelled only by instinct, she drops her staff and catches it just moments before Ravager’s own bokken comes swinging down at her. What follows next is as exhilirating as it is nerve-wrecking; Ravager’s sudden wild grin makes it clear she’s not even going to bother pretending she’s ‘teaching’ Mia anything, she just bears down on her, hard and fast, always intense, always there whenever she makes a mistake, and even though she senses Ravager is going as easy on her as Tim had—maybe easier—staving off a superior opponent was a lot more fun when they weren’t condescendingly talking your ear off while they came at you. Before long, Mia finds herself genuinely grinning back, breathless, as Ravager makes her attacks. They’re at it all morning, and by the time they stop, Mia’s mouth hurts from all the grinning. She turns, wanting to share this sudden good mood with her opponent, but the words die in her throat once she sees the other woman undoing her hand wraps on the other side of the room, her resting bitch face back in full force. Awkwardly, Mia turns back around and walks over to her locker, succeeding in dispossessing herself of all of her gear before Ravager speaks again. “You know it’s all in your head, right?”

“What do you mean?” Mia asks, turning her head to see Ravager not even looking up at her, her focus still on unwrapping her fists.

“That feeling you’re having right now, that people are judging you and wanting you to leave… it’s all in your head, Speedy.”

Mia puts a hand on her hip. “And how would you even know that?”

Ravager doesn’t reply, so Mia sighs and walks towards the door… which lets out a low hiss and slides open with her approach, revealing it wasn’t ever locked after all. Whoops.

A thought strikes her and she turns, frowning. “It’s Mia, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Mia. Dearden. My name. It’s Mia.”

Ravager looks up at that, a small smile curling her face. It’s very different from the demented grin she was wearing while they were fighting earlier, and it’s so cute it makes Mia’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “Rose. Wilson. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Mia did. Her cheeks go from pink to red anyway. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”

Rose’s smile stretches into a smirk, her one eye scanning her from top to bottom before flicking back up to her face. “Nice to meet you too, Mia.”

Something about the way Rose says her name has Mia’s blush deepening dramatically, but that only makes Rose smirk wider.

“You know, I could give you a tour if you want,” Rose says, a twinkle in her eye. “I could even show you my room.”

“Uh, I, um, I was actually here before you were,” Mia blurts out for some reason, instead of saying something like ‘Oh God please yes, I want you to put my head between your biceps and do that thing people do where they try to crack an egg between their biceps except the egg is my head and you’re cracking my head’, which would’ve been much more forward but also much more weird.

Rose raises an eyebrow, looking a bit put out. “Right.”

Cursing herself, Mia opens her mouth. I want you to tuck me in at night doesn’t come out, and neither does I want to watch tv with you while you’re using my face as a chair, so she settles for the safe, third option and goes. “We should do this again sometime.”

Rose shrugs, already turning away, her hand digging into her cleavage in search of her smokes. “If you want.”

For half a heartbeat, Mia wonders if it’d be weird to be jealous of a pack of cigarettes.

~~

Mia knows that if she stops to wonder why she finds it so impossible to flirt with Rose despite so badly wanting to she’ll turn herself into a pretzel and still get no closer to the answer, so she does the only reasonable thing and gets started on trying to win her over with smooth, good old-fashioned charm and humor.

It… doesn’t go great.

STRIKE ONE

Mia is laying in bed, helplessly sick, but she still perks up at Rose when the ex-mercenary goes to the trouble of bringing down some hot soup for her on her way to the gym.

“Who died and made you nice?” she’d quipped once she’d caught sight of Rose. In retrospect, saying something like that two days after Eddie’s funeral should’ve gotten her a lot worse than just the soup thrown at her.

STRIKE TWO

“And… no you don’t!” Mia called out, letting go of the bowstring. The arrow flies towards the assassin trying to rush at a victorious Rose from behind while she’s panting over the unconscious bodies of what she probably thinks are the last few dozen LOA operatives and hits him in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

Rose turns around, seeming surprised, so Mia gives her a mock salute from where she’s hanging upside down from a tree branch. “Punching glove arrows. Non-lethal, still pretty annoying. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She looks at the villain, panting. “About time they stopped coming… nice shot, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She loosens her legs and launches herself into the air, twisting in midair and landing on her feet with an acrobatic flourish, grinning her most charming smile. “Anything else I may help you with, miss Ravager?”

Rose points her sword above Mia’s head in what Mia can only guess is supposed to be some kind of salute. “Behind.”

Mia grins, coyly wrapping a finger around a stray hair in a way she thought made her look really stupid but which Roy assured her made her look cute. “What about it?”

“What, no—behind you, stupid!”

STRIKE THREE

Mia bites her lip as she forwards Rose the video of her doctor explaining how it was basically impossible for lesbian sex to spread H.I.V., especially if some kind of protection was used for things like fingering. She wouldn’t consider herself a super sexual person, despite what the incident with her mistaking what Dinah meant by ‘bringing protection’ on that one trip might imply, but she knows for a fact the same isn’t really true for Rose and she wants to reassure her that pursuing a romance with her won’t mean committing to abstinence or anything.

If she had said any of this, the video might have been better received. As it is, she watches the check turn into two checks, then go blue, starting at her screen for a good two minutes before a single ‘?’ is sent back. Mia quickly answers ‘sorry, wrong person’, deletes the video, and throws herself into bed, screaming into her pillow.

STRIKE FOUR

Mía thought she was being subtle when she yawned and stretched as soon as they were sat down in the diner, letting her arm fall across Rose’s shoulders. It was a move she’d seen in movies, and one that came with a glowing recommendation from Roy (“I’m telling you, it’s like she got pregnant with Lian right then and there,” he’d claimed. Mia had made a face. “Okay, first of all, gross—”). It should have worked.

It didn’t.

Rose’s one eye flickered to her mid-sentence, pinning her in place with the cold disgust in its icy depths. “What did I say about touching me?”

“I, um…” Mia said intelligently.

She pushed Mia’s arm off of her with a single finger like she was flicking a bug off her jacket before she went back to the conversation she’d been having like nothing had ever happened.

Dammit.

STRIKE FIVE

“Not bad,” Rose grins as she parries her training sword with her own and slashing horizontally across the air. “But can you keep up?”

“Sure I can, I wear big boy pants and everything,” Mia grins back, leaping over Rose’s strike and kicking her in the face as she flips back. Rose stumbles back, letting out a surprised grunt, and Mia is so caught up in the euphoria of finally getting a solid hit on Rose that she lunges forward and buries the still-sharp tip of her still-sharp wooden sword into Rose’s eyepatch, forgetting for a second that there was still kind of an eye under there right up until the moment Rose cries out and falls to her knees, her free hand flying up to clutch at her face. Mia goes still, taking a sharp breath—that was an unspeakably dirty shot, especially for a sparring match—and stepping forward, her hand outstretched, hesitating.

“Jeez, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she trails off when Rose looks up at her through sweat-matted curtains of pearl-white hair, her one eye pulsing with rage. Mia swallowed and took a step back, but Rose rose after her, breathing angrily like some kind of insane werewolf. “I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t—”

Rose’s sword comes down on her, blindingly fast, so fast Mia only barely gets her own sword up to block, but the sheer strength behind Rose’s furious cleave forces it down anyway, like a raging river crashing through a beaver dam, and by the time Mia stumbles back and blocks her next strike Rose’s free hand has curled into a fist and planted a haymaker right on her cheek. Everything instantly goes black.

STRIKE SIX

Soft. Mia was lying on something soft, and the light coming in through her eyelashes hurt. She groans softly and digs her head into the Soft Thing, hearing an exasperated sigh from someone above her.

“Oh get up, you big baby,” someone complains. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

Mia doesn’t listen, not until the Soft Thing recedes, being replaced by two broad and hard things the awake part of her brain recognizes as muscular arms. Mia’s eyes flutter open, and the first thing she notices is that her head had been lying on Rose’s lap a moment earlier.

The second thing is that there are two round, pleasing-looking things hanging down right in front of her, covered only by the thin fabric of Rose’s bodysuit. Mia doesn’t realize what she’s doing until she’s a good ten seconds into squeezing Rose’s breasts, at which point the fog in her brain clears and she is left staring at an incredulous-looking Rose as her eyes slowly narrow.

“Wait, I didn’t—”

Her head bounces off the floor this time, and it hurts a lot more than when it hit the mats. Rose probably did that on purpose, Mia reflects as the cold grip of unconsciousness seizes her conscience once again.

STRIKE SEVEN

“I'm telling you, girls like Rose have to be seduced," Roy insists for the twelfth time, his voice droning on in her ear as she walks down the street, having been kicked out of Titans Tower to think about what she did after the incident in the training roll. "You're wasting your time if you make her think you don't care about this, about her... look, just make her laugh. Smile at her. Talk dirty, I don't know. Why did you call me of all people for this again?"

"Pfft, who else was I gonna call, Ollie? Connor?"

"Fair point," Roy concedes, sighing. "Look, just try to win her over, okay? That's my advice. Maybe… maybe get her flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“Sure,” Roy says, and if his voice breaks slightly, Mia chalks it up to the spotty signal. “Rose loves flowers. Didn’t she tell you that?”

“She, uh, didn’t,” Mia coughs, too embarrassed to admit Rose probably think she’s a clown/weirdo by now. “That… doesn’t really sound like her, to be honest.”

"Well, it is." It's a good thing the connection times out for a few seconds, otherwise Mia would've heard Roy let out a helpless snicker. "She loves flowers. Specially roses. Even better if they’re white ones.”

Mia bit her lip. “You’re messing with me.”

“Am not, honest. They remind her of home.”

“They… what?”

“Yeah.” Roy’s voice breaks again. The signal must really be bad… she should recharge her data whenever she gets the chance. “Don’t you know? White roses only grow in Cambodia.”

Mia scoffs. “Like I’d believe that.”

“I’m serious, look it up. The ones we have nowadays in the States are either imported seeds or just really light grays.”

“That’s…”

“I swear, Mia, on my daughter’s life. You don’t think I’d really lie to you on my daughter’s life, would you?”

“Well… no, but…”

“Look, just do what I tell you to do and you’ll have Rose swooning in no time, got it?”

The image of Rose swooning wasn’t an unappealing one... and she did have some free cash…

STRIKE EIGHT

“I’m sorry,” she says as soon as the peephole opens, holding up the flower the strangely exasperated street vendor had sold to her after she’d spent a good half hour demanding a ‘real’ white rose. “I really am. But look—I got this for you, Rose.”

There was a very long silence.

“It’s a white rose,” Mia continued, a little desperately. “Roy said…”

“Mia, I’m Cassie. You’ve got the wrong room.”

“… Oh.” Wait, she could still salvage this. “Well… I don’t suppose you like flowers?”

“Not really,” Cassie says, sounding amused. “Sorry.”

“…That’s fine.”

STRIKE EIGHT

There was a long pause.

“I hate flowers,” Rose says after a moment.

“…Oh.” Mia feels like the dumbest person alive. That rat bastard Roy…

There was another long pause where they just… stared at each other.

“Oh, fuck it,” Rose mutters, before seizing Mia by the back of the neck and pulling her in.

“Mmmhp!” Mia only has time to let out a single muffled cry of surprise before her base instincts take over and she closes her eyes, letting Rose push her against the doorframe and moaning contentedly.

Guess I did get it right eventually.

Now, where’s that fucking kid…