#this is what happens when you spend all your shards on looks rather than weapons

[mistress-light]

I like how I THINK there is only one enemy lurking right in front of me until....

[shelleylovesloki]

Time in Flames

Summary: Estrid Odrsdottir has experienced much tragedy in her life. When her fiance, Prince Loki of Asgard, is executed in front of her very eyes, she swears vengeance on those that took everything away from her. After killing the All-Father, she is taken into TVA custody only to be thrown into a mission to hunt down and stop a man similar to her, a man that has lost everything.

Mered Rainer, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., finds himself a wanted man when he finds out the the organization has been infiltrated by Hydra. Hunted by the Winter Soldier, Mered finds himself in the hands of the TVA when he kills his would be assassin. Teaming up with a few variants, he plots a way to escape the grasp of the Time Variance Authority without much luck. Can the two find common ground in order to save the known multiverse?

Chapter 4: Hail Hydra

“Nikki, I’m fine.” Mered insisted. Sweat beaded his face as he pulled up on the bar. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Just a flesh wound?” a woman’s voice yelled through Mered’s phone speaker. “You had multiple shards of glass pulled out of your shoulder. That sounds like more than ‘just a flesh wound’.”

Mered chuckled as he dropped from the pull-up bar. Nikki was such a mother hen. Ever since they lost their mother, she had become over protective of him and his brothers. She really freaked out when she found out that he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Most of the glass only went skin deep.” He pleaded.

“How did that even happen?” Nikki asked.

“That’s classified.” Mered replied.

He heard his sister sigh through the phone. “Yeah, alright. I get it.”

“Nikki-”

“No, really it’s fine. Go protect the world.”

He knew that tone. She hated the secrets, and to be honest, so did he. A small voice in his head told him it was for the greater good. It made sense. The people he’s saved, that he’s helped all because of his time with S.H.I.E.L.D. With all that they’ve done for him, how could he question them?

“Look, Nikki, I’ll make it up to you. I have some business that I have to take care of before I do anything, but after that, I won’t have anyone calling on me for at least a week. I’ll fly up to New York and we can meet up at that one cafe you keep talking about.”

There was a long pause on the phone. “Fine, but please try to set work aside while you’re here. I want to see my little brother without him rushing to save everyone.”

“Deal. See you in two days.”

“Sounds like a plan. Love you, be safe.”

“I will, sis. Bye.”

Mered hung up the phone as the door to his apartment opened. He grabbed his gun and aimed it at the entrance. Standing in the doorway was Natasha Romanoff.

“Relax, it's me.” she said, holding up her hands.

Mered grunted as he lowered his weapon. “How did you get in here? I don’t remember giving you a key.”

“You really think I need a key?” Natasha remarked. She pointed to the phone. “You talking to your girlfriend?”

Mered shook his head. “Nope. That would be my sister. Promised to visit her while I wait for the tests.”

Natasha sat over on Mered’s couch. The apartment wasn't big, but it was comfortable. It was actually rather small. A plain, one room apartment. Actually the couch was a futon and his bed. A small kitchenette sat in the corner. One small window was just about all the natural light for the place.

“You need to get a life.” Natasha teased. “I heard one of those nurses that were in the infirmary was eyeing you while you were there.”

Mered leaned against the wall. “You know, I like it better when you’re trying to find Captain Rogers a date.”

She pulled a book off of Mered’s coffee table and began to examine it. “What was her name? I think it was Jessica.”

“Nat, did you break into my place just to set me up with a nurse?”

“See that’s the problem with you and Rogers,” Natasha chided. “Both of you have nothing else on your minds except for your next assignment. Steve at least has the excuse that he’s a hundred years old and spends most of his time catching up, but you’re still young. You don’t get that excuse.”

“What about you?” Mered shot back. “Do you have an excuse?”

Nat stood up abruptly and looked him in the eyes. “Find someone before it’s too late.” She walked toward the door. “Oh, and you’re needed back at the Triskelion. Secretary Pierce wants your personal report on the mission in Tel Aviv.”

“How is she by the way?” Mered asked.

“Agent O’Connor said the ambassador’s daughter is stable. She’ll live.”

A sigh of relief left Mered’s chest as Natasha walked out. Later on, a weird feeling set itself in the pit of his stomach. Alexander Pierce never called on someone at a lower rank like him for information. Something felt wrong. He picked up a picture of him and Philp Coulson standing side by side. He shook his head and set the picture down. It must have been all in his head. He got dressed and headed out.

***

The Triskelion was a sight to be seen. Agents about the lobby to different sections of the massive building. Mered made his way up the middle stairs and into one of the main elevators. The doors closed behind him. “Secretary Pierce’s office.” he requested.

“Scanning,” the elevator’s AI stated. “Agent Mered A. Rainer: access granted.” With that, the elevator began its ascent up the Triskelion. 

As he walked out into the empty hall, he took a deep breath. He was pretty early, but he figured that was a good thing. It was all eerily quiet. Mered pulled at the straps of his gloves. His combat suit was probably a bit much, but it felt right. The added gauntlets were a nice touch.

“Director Fury just left.” a familiar voice said. Who was it?

A second voice spoke. It was Secretary Pierce! “Good, keep the asset on standby. We may need him to step in.”

Mered moved in the direction of the voices. Most of the conversation was hard to make out, but two words came out clear as crystal: “Hail Hydra.” 

Hydra? Secretary Pierce was part of Hydra? How was that possible? Hydra died out decades ago. How many more agents were Hydra?

He finally realized the identity of the other voice as the man walked out of Pierce’s office. It was Agent Brock Rumlow. Rumlow’s face was shocked at first, but then something unsettling set in his eyes.

“How much of that did you hear?” Rumlow questioned.

Nothing he was going to say would’ve saved him at this point. Rumlow’s stance was tense. His hand was balled into a fist and the other hovered over the taser rod at his hip. Mered had two options: run or fight. If he fought now, more people were more likely to help.

So, he ran. Multiple tasks rushed through his head. He had to tell Natasha. She needed to get to Nick Fury before whatever Hydra went through with whatever they were planning. Rumlow was following close behind.

“STRIKE team, we’ve been made!” Rumlow shouted into his comms. “All available agents come to Pierce’s office. Subject is armed and very dangerous.”

A familiar agent stepped out front the stairway with a taser rod in hand. His dark hair was slicked back. Mered knew this agent, but he was Hydra and that’s all that mattered. Without hesitation, Mered pulled out his sidearm and discharged a bullet into the agent’s shoulder. The man cried out in pain as Mered took the taser from him and rammed it into his chest.

With the agent blocking his way stunned, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent rushed into the stairwell. The sound of heavy boots thudded up the stairs only a few flights down. There was no way he could make it down the stairs without getting shot. He was going to have to jump. Several stories down wasn’t going to feel good, but he’d be able to clear most of the Hydra agents. At least that’s what it seemed like. There was no telling at this point.

He barely missed the railing as he made it five to six stories down. He was right. It hurt. He climbed over onto the landing when bullets shot in his direction. Half a second more, and his leg would have been full of holes. Time to get out of the stairwell.

Stepping out, Mered found a large room of desk jockeys. That and a large wall of windows. The day was getting better and better. He looked at the number by the door to the stairs: level 30. The young agent knew what he had to do. He pulled out his grapnel and his handgun. Sprinting toward the window, he shot two rounds into a window before crashing through. If he were Captain America, he would have been able to survive this no problem. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He shot out the grapnel into the side of the Triskelion to try to slow his descent. Seconds later, his body slammed against the concrete wall just a couple of feet above the roof.

Mered dropped from the roof and ran to the parking garage with more bullets at his heels. STRIKE agents had gotten to the window. Mered threw a small charge onto the garage’s skylight, blowing a small hole in the middle. In desperation, he dove through. He was safe, for now.

The garage was quiet. Very few people passed his way. A few agents gave him odd glances, but not much more than that. He tried dialing Natasha, but nothing happened. The signal was jammed. They were planning something.

***

Alexander Pierce looked out the window amongst the city of Washington DC. This agent was going to destroy everything that Hydra had spent decades building. He pressed a button on the phone at his desk. “Shut down surveillance in the parking garage. And send in the asset.”

***

Mered had almost made it to his vehicle, a custom Polaris Slingshot with a dome-like canopy over what was the cab. However, someone, something was in the way.

It was a man dressed in all black. His brown hair was neck length and his face was covered with a black face mask and goggles. A red star branded what looked like a metal arm. He was the only thing between Mered and getting out free.

Mered ran up to the ominous man only to receive a punch to the jaw. The impact from the blow sent him spinning to the floor. He rolled out of the way before the soldier drove his hand downwards. The ground cracked where the fist impacted. So the arm was robotic. That was good to know. He pulled out his gun, but it was kicked away. Again, Mered dodged another strike aimed at his head, but failed to avoid the kick to his ribs. His vision briefly  began to blur. Mered swung his leg over, sweeping the legs out from underneath his opponent.

It didn’t serve much use. The man in black quickly drew out a knife and stabbed down onto the ground, snagging the side of Mered’s face. The agent grabbed the side of his face and rolled to his feet. The cut reached from the outer corner of his right eye back to his ear. What the heck was this guy made of?

The man in black was already back to his feet. Mered moved as fast as his muscles would allow. He managed a thrust kick to his attacker’s chest followed by a roundhouse to the face. The attacker stabbed at Mered again, but he managed to move out of the blade’s trajectory. He grabbed the arm the knife was in. It was flesh and bone. Mered kneed his opponent’s elbow at the joint with all his might, sounding a loud crack as the attacker’s arm snapped.

Mered threw the man and jumped for his own gun. The man in black got to his knees as Mered fired two rounds into his chest and another into his forehead. The man in black fell to his back dead.

Mered collapsed to his knees as yellow lights surrounded him. People grabbed him, stating a violation of some sacred object. As they dragged him away, he could only make out one sentence: “Reset the timeline.”

[ohworm-writes]

#02 - Tape Two | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt​ ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - Bugs are not your favorite things to deal with, especially when it’s 10 times your size and chasing through streets after you. However, maybe a sight in the dark is worth the challenging day.  ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - violence , description of bug monster ( centipede ) , cursing , anxiousness ⮞ Word Count - 3.4k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

@ohworm-writes​​​ copyright 2021 | do not repost

Dead leaves crunch under your feet, and while the sound would have been satisfying in any other scenario, this was not the one. The small, nearly inaudible noise is enough to make you stop dead in your tracks, head poking up from your previously hunched position to look around. If you saw it yourself, it could have reminded you of a meerkat. The animals, as meek as they are, are quite the attraction.

Any sound you’d make would go fairly unappreciated. You see, out here, sound was not exactly one to be a best friend. It was an enemy, if anything. If anyone or anything were to hear you, to hear your location, you could be dead within seconds! Minutes, if you were a lucky one. A single noise, much like a fall leaf turning to pieces underneath your feet, is more than enough to cause fear to course through your veins. 

It’s almost a full minute until you move again. Sixty seconds stood in the same, and quite the uncomfortable, position. However, it’s much better to be safe, rather than sorry. Slowly, quietly, and carefully; you let your body move once more. Careful step after step, one foot in front of the other, simply trying to make it from Point A to Point B. Alive, preferably. 

You had set out more than a few hours ago, maybe… 7 hours or so? Given the position of the sun, which was a little further than its previous position in the center of the sky, it was enough to tell you that noon had gone, and the evening was nearing. Oh, how the time had passed, slowly albeit. Your anxiety and cautiousness never faltered. Never once did you stroll down the street, taking in the sights of what once was.

If you did, however, you’d be able to see the beauty of it. How the trees were full of life, spectacularly green leaves scattered across it by the thousands. How the flowers, some of which had poked through the asphalt of the streets, had bloomed in bright and captivating colors of all shades. How the streets, once filled with nothing but cars and people, had now been taken back by the land. Oh, what a sight it is, and what a sight you were missing out on. 

Even though you had overlooked the beauty of it all, you couldn’t deny that being out here was a breath of fresh air. Quite literally, in that sense. No, but especially because you were out here alone. On one hand, you could see it as another factor for you to be more aware than you already were. There was nobody to watch your back, to yell out if they had seen or heard anything. No, that was all your job now. You were the one to have all say in whether you made it to tomorrow. 

Without those thoughts, though, you could admire it. You had never had a moment to yourself, with it being always ruined by judgmental stares or offhanded comments. Now, you could listen to the beautiful silence that was loneliness. A shame, some could call it, how you’d revel to have moments like these alone. Why be alone when you could be out with friends or, hell, even people! Well, when nobody seems to take your side, though, loneliness is your only friend. It’s the only thing that you know won’t leave. 

Well, it’s the only thing you hope won’t leave, especially not now. 

Though, as they say, speak of the devil, and he will appear.

A clicking noise, much similar to the sound of steps, travels to your era. It’s far, but it’s audible. The crossbow, made at home in your hands, directs towards the sound in a fraction of a second. The way your body moves with such violence, it’s a wonder how you didn’t have whiplash from the movement. Everything around you seems to come to a halt at that moment. Not another sound, not a breath, no movement or sound at all. 

You stand at the corner of a street, tacky green arrows signs in the distance held up by a rusting chain to a stoplight to tell you which street is which. ‘4th Avenue,’ the sign ahead reads, and to its right, in the opposite position, reads ‘12th Avenue.’ On your right, there’s a barbershop, the red, white, and blue cylinder set to a stop out front. The windows are smashed in, shards of glass scattered along the pavement outside, and by the smell coming from inside, you can think that a little more than cutting hair happened there.

You hone your senses in on where the noise had come from, eye to the scope as you point your weapon in the previous sound’s direction. The arrow tip points towards the edge of the building, pointing into the street aside from it. When there’s no more noise, that’s when you panic. The worst thing you could experience out on the field was to hear a quite obvious sound, and then nothing. No indication if the sound had been there at all, or if it was something in your head. If it was there, then where had it gone?

To your luck, or not, the sound finds its place in your ears once more, the clicking sound much closer than the last time you had heard it. It’s almost like the sound a rollercoaster makes as it’s climbing the tracks towards a peak, slowing as it reaches the top. As the coaster reaches the top, there’s that brief sense of both dread and relief. On one hand, because you know what’s coming next. You know that soon, that calm would pass, and you’d dive downward into something you’re not sure if you’re ready to tackle head on. On the other, you know that this is the last of the peace, and you want to relish in every moment that you can.

And just like that, the coaster dives. 

From behind the crumbling brick of the likely once lively barbershop, something peeks to look at you. It’s low at first, whatever it was, maybe a foot off of the ground. But then, then it grows tall. Much taller than you, oh by quite a lot, that is. As it comes around the corner in all of its glory, you can see this plunge is far scarier than you’d expected.

The clicking noise had come from the legs of the monster, the skinny limbs coming by the hundred. The plates, like that of armor, plated across its back, face to and away from you, instead, its vulnerable purplish underside facing towards you. Looking up, the beast towering, you see its head. Large half-moon eyes on either side of its face peering down at you, antennas poking through the top. Large mandibles protrude from the side of its face, serrated teeth fully on display from its wide-open jaw.

That was a goddamn centipede, wasn’t it?

Its body wiggles as it reaches its full height, standing above you at twenty feet or so, its long shadow casting down over you. And then it pounces. The beast leaps towards you, mandibles spread wide as it dives directly towards you. At the same moment, you dash to the side, the trigger pressing down as it sends the arrow flying towards the underside of the monster. It pierces before the monster even touches the ground, a loud screech echoing from it.

It recovers quickly, twisting its head sharply, and you’re already bolting, making a violent turn down the street it just came from. It’s abandoned as you’d hoped, but not for long. With that many legs, it catches up with you quickly. The clicking, the thudding its limbs make as they collide with the ground, is something you won’t ever be able to forget. You dash from one side of the street to the other, taking the moments you have to reload the crossbow. 

It’s a task you’d wished was much easier right now, holding the arrow between your teeth as you pull the string back with one hand, the other shakily holding the weapon. To your luck, it clicks into place, and you spend no time loading it. You look over your shoulder, being met with the quickening pace of the oversized bug as it bounds towards you, a green drool dribbling out from its mouth. Now that it’s on the ground, it’s near impossible to get a worthy shot on it. 

You had looked over the file of the exact creature countless times while at the casino. Sleepless nights left to your own devices were all spent the same; hunched over your rotting desk, reading file after file on different monsters. While the words seem to blend before your eyes, the facts stay perfectly separated from one another. 

These creatures, rightfully referred to as ‘Giant Centipedes’, are a common Euclid,  mid-level monster. They tend to find a home in heavily wooded areas and marshes, few can be found scuttling down the abandoned avenues. Avenues, specifically that is. They’re around 60 feet long on average, longer or shorter depending on their age. They molt, which is a strange and unnerving occurrence that you, thankfully, have never seen yourself. When they molt, they’re most vulnerable, the plates on their back much softer. 

But, to your luck, the one chasing you must have been between molts, its plates at their strongest. The brown and purple-colored plates shine as the sun reflects off of them. However, this was not the time to admire it. Making another sharp turn, you race down another street, your friend in tow. It lets out a high-pitched snarl as sweat beads across your hairline, calm muscles burning at the exertion. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, and your breaths, while even-paced, leave you gasping. 

With the crossbow held tight to your chest, your body at an angle as you sprint, you think about your options. One, fuckin’ hell, you better sprint as your life depends on it. Because it bloody does! Two, however, which is much more of a plan, was to aim for an opening, quite literally. You had to wait for the exact moment where either its underside was exposed, or something else. 

Looking back for a split second, you see it. You see an opening. As you move to aim the crossbow, fast as ever, you do one thing you had been terrified of doing the entire chase.

You trip.

Your body tumbles onto the pavement, with no more grace than a drunken man. You’re still holding onto the weapon, barely at that, but it’s still in your grasp. It hurts like hell, your body colliding with the asphalt, broken glass, and gods know what else. The clicking stops too, and the moment you regain your stability, you realize why. The beast is towering over you, much like before, but now you’re on your ass staring up at it. 

It’s not a pleasant sight, the green liquid dripping from its mouth and mandibles onto the pavement only a few inches away from you. Its body gives a little wiggle, almost giving itself a pat on the back for a chase well done. 

The crossbow, held in your dominant hand, sits to your side. Not because you had given up, ready to accept your demise, but rather because you were looking for an opening to shoot. Bringing the weapon out while the creature drools above you was suicide. You look up at its body, eyes trained for a moment on the arrow you shot at it, which found itself lodged in its middle. An excellent shot, if you say so yourself, especially with the confines of the moment. 

Your eyes trail higher, where its neck started and its body ended, you had no idea. The flesh molds together as one, just a long line of flesh. As you watch it lower its body ever so slightly, almost as if to smell you better, there’s your opening.

You yourself barely even react as you whip the crossbow out with lightning speed, holding it in your grip and aiming upwards. The creature can barely lower its body an inch, a snarl trapped in its throat as the arrow fires, piercing through the easy flesh of its lower jaw and coming up through the head. 

At that moment, all life leaves the beast’s body, its body falling limp above you. You’re barely able to make it to the side as it crashes down upon the place you last were, a dark green ooze dribbling as the wound bleeds out. Your chest heaves as you look at it, your body propped up with one hand as you stare at the dead beast, its lifeless eyes directed towards you. 

 As the coaster car pulls into the station, and all is calm. 

You let your body collapse against the pavement, a soft thud sounding from the action. A dry laugh sounds from your throat, a little noise to tell you that you lived. You let your eyes shut, the warm sun shining down on you as you let yourself relax for the moment. 

All pleasant moments find their close, and you’re back onto your feet. As much as you wanted to melt into the pavement at that moment, falling asleep under the gentle sunlight, you didn’t want to stick around for what other monsters could have heard you. You take only a moment to retrieve both of the arrows, cringing at the grotesque noise it makes as you pull it from the flesh, before heading back on the road. 

Your body is much more sluggish as you walk down the beat-up roads, eyes heavier from your previous antics. Most would feel lucky to be alive after something like that, but smarter people would shrug it off and keep going. Idiots revel at the moment, because as you do, you’re not paying attention, and that’s when the real challenges come for your throat. 

Hours drone on as you make your way down the streets, out of one town and into the next. You couldn’t waste time, especially with the sun falling lower and lower into the sky. Covering ground was the most important thing if you wanted to be back within 8 days’ time, and you did not intend to stay out here even a minute longer than you needed to be. 

Sweat covers your body as the sun beats down on you, the feeling of being not one you enjoy all that much. Your legs burn and add on to the exertion from earlier, you were more than just fatigued. The sky mixes with shades of pinks and purples, small clouds dotted here and there in the sky. It’s beautiful, and you stop dead in your tracks to admire it. 

You’d scold yourself later tonight, half-asleep with emotions roaring, but you take the moment now to watch in awe. As the sun drops lower and lower on the horizon, the colors come in darker shades; you smile. It’s not a fake one like you’re so used to putting on with others around, but it’s one filled with genuine joy. Your mouth falls open partially, a satisfying breeze passing by you, and there’s peace.

As the sun nearly dips fully out of your sight, you decide to call it a night. It was no use going around in the dark, as it would simply and truly be a call for death. So, with drowsiness settling, you make your way to the closest building. The architecture here differs greatly from Las Nevadas and the rural towns you had passed through earlier in the day. While it’s far more urban than anything you’ve passed, tall complexes towering high above you, it’s not a major city. 

The building closest to you is one of the shortest, only a single story to its height. From the burnt-out neon sign on the floor outside, you can tell it was a thrift store in a better life. The windows are, surprisingly, intact. Even with them being covered in dust, as you walk closer, you can see the pristine condition of the building.

Taking it as a safe enough option, you take hold of the dark handle on the door and pull. It takes minimal effort for the door to swing towards you, a smell of mold immediately taking to your senses. You breathe out roughly, pinching your nose as you walk in, closing the door shut behind you.

It’s as much as you’d expect a thrift store to be, which is rightfully not much. Hanger stands with countless dull and colorful items you’d never be caught dead wearing now fill the aisles. Small bookshelves display much more than books, leaving their contents out for you to gaze at. You can almost call the place cozy.

With a quick scope around the place, checking for monsters as well as broken doors and shattered glass, you deem it safe enough to stay in for the night. As if you had much of another option, seeing how all color had gone from the sky and the stars had shown. You set up a makeshift bed in the middle of an aisle towards the front, backpack hung up, and weapons nearby. 

It’s as perfect as it can be, and given the circumstances, you’re more than happy with it. Letting your back fall against the carpeted floor, head dropping against a pillow you had found behind the counter, you let your body sink. It’s surprisingly comfortable, with the rough and tacky carpet and the feather-filled pillow. Yet, it feels like the most comfortable you’ve been in your lifetime. 

As you let your eyes shut slowly, ready to be taken over into the realm of sleep, a soft light emits from the window, disrupting your peace. Your eyes open once more, trained to the ceiling, and you give out a soft huff. Well, if it wasn’t just your luck. Turning your head over, you look towards the dusted window, seeing blows of a bluish-green shade glow from outside.

Your body still lies flat on the floor as you watch the colors mold with one another, several strange blobs glowing from behind the glass. With a sigh, you sit up, all of that previous discomfort coming back to you at full force. You wince at the sharp pain that your back gives as you stand on your feet, muscles tight and sore. 

You grab the hatchet that was clipped to your bag, making your way towards the glass, the colors shining brighter as you near it. It could have been some daylight timer someone had set up in the past, or it could be a monster. Only a foot away, you bring your hand up to the dusted window, shivering. With a single motion downwards, you wipe the glass, ridding it of dust. 

With a row of dust gone, you’re able to look out through the window. It’s confusing when you first look at it, your mind not registering the green and blue figures floating above the street. But then, in a moment of both brilliance and stupidity, you realize. You take no time to hold the weapon at your side, swinging the door wide open as you gaze into the street. 

Gods, was it worth it. 

Glowing fish swim above the street and glide by your face. A green and blue bioluminescent glow radiates off of them, dully lighting up the street. You’re able to see their bodies twisting and their fins swishing if you pay attention close enough. A school of smaller fish comes right by you, moving swiftly by your face and into the sky. 

And, as you watch them float higher, you’re sent into a moment of awe as you gaze into the sky. Whales and fish and sea creatures alike float high up in the sky, moving between the glow of the stars effortlessly. You watch as one of the larger whales floats closer to the ground, tail swishing up and down as it propels itself through the air. Your eyes go wide as you stare, a childlike grin set on your features that even you don’t catch.

It’s… amazing. It’s wonderful in every way you could never imagine by yourself. The glowing creatures in the sky, swimming through its currents, are a sight you’d never been able to see in your lifetime. It’s something a child would squeal with happiness at, something that they, and you, would never forget. 

With a mix of awe, excitement, and delight, you spend your time admiring the creatures above. Wishing, to yourself and whatever gods may have heard you, that you could be like them one day.

⮞ Previous Tape      ⮞⮞⮞      ⮞ Next Tape

⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe @itsberrydreemurstuff @theharborhooligan @maybeshroom​ @caliginous-skies​ @whalerus​

⮞ Author’s Note - A day late, but in my defense, I have no defense. I know I’ve done a lot of world building, but I do promise things are going to start rolling in Techno’s direction next tape! I really do hope that you did enjoy, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! 

[kyun-toast]

[ATEEZ] Mafia!Hongjoong - Fateful

word count: 2.2k warnings: explicit language, gun use, death, mentions of alcohol summary: a feisty baby for a feisty scorpio a/n: I started writing this so loyal to mafia!ateez but now that I’ve watched kingdom, I’ve changed my mind - I wanna be a pirate hoe.

“You forgot your toothbrush.” You said, sat by the desk, arms crossed. “Good thing I didn’t finish unpacking right, you can take your shit just the way it came in the boxes, hmm?” You didn’t get angry very often due to the pure fact that your expectations for your boyfriend were so low at this point. The way that your words, let alone your face, held no emotion terrified the boy. He shuffled around your apartment, gathering his things with eyes to the ground in guilt.

“Can you hurry up? I have places to be.” You said, fingers massaging your temple.

Stopping in his tracks, the boy turned to you with pleading eyes for the nth time today, “Baby, I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hurt you like tha-”

“I’m sorry, what? You disrespected me, not hurt me, there’s a difference-”

“Why are you doing this to me? You know I love you.” He pleaded.

“Is that a serious question right now? You cheated with my assistant in your first week as intern at my firm, then tried and miserably failed to gaslight and manipulate me into believing your lies which I find pretty bold considering that I’m literally a lawyer. I respect the attempt though.”

“Baby, it was an acci-”

“No, shut up, I’m not done speaking. And you did this while I bought out this apartment for you because I felt bad for your sorry ass having to live with your dumb friends. I had to spoon feed you through law school and now through life too? You should be grateful that I’m letting you leave with all your things considering I bought them all too.”

He stood there with his hands gathered, staring back at the floor again.

“What. You got nothing to say? I thought so. You gonna leave now or what?” You questioned. He took his boxes, feet dragging across the floor to the door. You rolled your eyes as you closed the door on him. Before needing to look for a new intern and a new assistant, you needed a drink more than anything.

-

It was a regular Friday evening at the bar for Hongjoong and the boys. In celebration of Ateez’s successful expansion of their ‘business ventures’, Hongjoong had decided to spend the rest of the day at their usual spot. Despite having been set up for the sole purpose of laundering their dirty money, Bar 1117 was doing ironically well. Due to the nightlife business booming, Hongjoong had gained another alibi to keep him under the radar and he couldn’t be more comfortable with where his life was at.

“No, I reckon it’s Yeosang” San said, bringing the glass of whisky to his lips.

“I back that, he’s not got the emotional capacity for it.” Woo agreed, laughing.

“Yeah, just because I don’t take any of your shit doesn’t mean I’ll do the same to my wife. I bet Mingi. He’s definitely getting married last.” Yeo rebutted.

“What wh-”

Before Mingi could finish, Seonghwa cut through, “Considering our line of work, no one’s gonna be getting married any time soon. Right Joong?”

Turning to the leader of the boys, Seonghwa saw that Hongjoong had his head turned away from the conversation, eyes scanning up and down a figure at the bar. Hongjoong was never a man to be distracted by anything or anyone, always focused on his business so it was a rare occurrence for him to be looking so intently at a person. The boys catching onto this, they followed his gaze to a man sat so close to the lucky person’s face, his facial expressions showing his desperation for a way to break down their walls.

“This might be interesting…” Wooyoung smirked.

-

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.” You said, head cocked to the side in your hand, staring dead straight into the man’s eyes. However, the man had no intention of ever stopping his speech as he sat next to you at the bar.

“Come on, you really don’t know my father? He was in today’s paper?” He carried on as you zoned out of the conversation and occasionally cringed at the man’s stale breath, wondering how many more men were going to be responsible for the deepening wrinkles between your brows. As you took a sip from your drink, you locked eyes with a blonde-haired man across the room. His features were delicate yet sharp like the thorn of a rose, or a shard of glass, eyes twinkling with mischief. He raised his glass at you and smirked, amused by the situation that you were in.

“Listen here, bitch-” The man grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him, “You’re gonna take the drinks I buy you, listen when I speak and sit pretty like a woman is supposed to.” He spat.

“Grrrr, scary.” You crudely imitated the growl in the man’s voice, still uninterested, “What a man your mother raised. I bet she’s proud, hmm?”

Anger radiating from the man’s body, he grabbed the glass out of your hand and threw it at the wall behind you, missing your face by inches.

“Oh, so now you’re going to scare me into sleeping with you? You need to brush up on some people skills.” You laughed, throwing you head back. You only composed yourself to grab the man’s collar, causing him to stumble off his stool. “You want to throw another glass at me? Try it.”

You hadn’t noticed the blonde-haired man stroll up to your table seeing that you were so caught up in the situation.

“Hi, I’m Hongjoong. How’s your night going? Anything I can help you with?” He asked, rubbing his hands together, surprisingly composed despite the mess. You let go of the man as the name triggered something in your head, remembering it being mentioned a few times behind closed-door meetings with your father.

“Are all the whores around here like this? I came here for some fun and this is how I’m treated? Fuck this place and every one of you here.” The man started at Hongjoong. You sat there, curling your fists ready to punch the man this time but Hongjoong noticed and interjected.

He placed his hands on the ledge of the table, leaning forward to obstruct the space between you and the man. As he did, you noticed the glimpse of a gun hanging from inside his fitted jacket, the slick shine of the metal winking at you in the light.

“I’d rather die than come to this shithole again.” The man carried on and you noticed the mischievous glint that was once in Hongjoong’s eyes finally fade to black.

“Oh, sure thing, I don’t think I want to see you here again anyway.” Hongjoong muttered and what happened in the next few seconds flew by so fast it barely registered in your brain.

The blonde-haired man reached into his jacket to pull the handgun out and shoot the man clean between the brows. At the same time, you pointed the small pistol you always kept concealed on your body at Hongjoong in reflex, having been taught to react to the sound of gunmetal in this way since you were a child.

Once you realised that the bullet wasn’t intended for you, you sensed seven pairs of eyes trained on you. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw that the boys once sat at Hongjoong’s table were all stood up, half of their guns out pointed to the man, and the other half at you, the next possible threat to their leader.

It was then that you realised that this man was the leader of Ateez, Seoul’s biggest underground organization responsible for the running of the city. It may have been politicians and businessmen in the spotlight, but behind the curtains, it was Ateez pulling at their puppet strings.

“Easy with that, angel.” Hongjoong turned to you smiling and raised a hand at the boys to lower their weapons. He continued chuckling, “I felt like you might have an attitude, but I didn’t expect this from you.”

As if it were a regular occurrence, two barmen came round to dispose of the body and your eyes followed, gun still pointing at the blonde man. Using the tip of his fingers, he gently lowered your gun to point at the floor.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, “I know some people that can sort that out.”

“Yeah those people are my paralegals paying off police in their missing persons hunts and forging their death certificates.”

Everything had fallen into place for you in that brief encounter. You knew that your father and his firm were involved in some dark business, but you never questioned it. Respecting your father’s wishes in telling you that keeping you in the dark was keeping you safe, you let it go.

However, it was only a few years ago that he had begun to tell you about his private dealings as consigliere to the organisation Ateez. That recently, his age-old friend had stepped down as mob boss and handed everything down to his son. Chuckling at how much he saw the image of his friend in the young blood, he mentioned that you would be in a similar position, that you too would be handed the law firm and become consigliere by tradition.

You had always expected to take up this mantle since you were young, as you figured that the men coming to your house for private meetings while you played in the garden did not treat you with unparalleled respect for no reason. You just didn’t realise that it would mean for you to be so heavily tied with the illicit world of the mafia then.

From then on, you trained close by your father’s side, learning the ins and outs of the world of jurisdiction, though you were never exposed directly to the ongoings with the mafia as your father had said, “the time will come when it needs to.”

“Then I guess today is the day.” You whispered to yourself smiling, you held your hand out to Hongjoong. “I’m Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my father has always spoken very highly of you.”

Confused at first, a spark was ignited in Hongjoong as the shine returned to his eyes, and the amused smirk to his lips, your name triggering something in him. Realising that you were the daughter to one of the men he most respected in his life, he took your hand and brought it to his face to kiss gently, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, I’ve heard a great deal about you as well, but who knew my future right-hand man would be so hot.” He said as he flashed a sly smile.

The more he observed, the flames within Hongjoong only grew as he could sense the fire in you too. The most beautiful person he had ever set eyes on was to be his consigliere? Couldn’t be any more perfect. He wondered what more you could achieve together and pictured only pure wildfire.

“You better watch your mouth Mr. Kim, unless you want to start a war between the family before I even take up my position.”

“Of course, I have nothing but respect for you and your father. I was told that I wouldn’t be meeting you until he was to step down from his position, but I guess my lucky stars have aligned perfectly tonight.”

“Also, I’m more than capable of dealing with these things myself, there was no need for you to play knight in shining armour.”

“Sure, holed up in your guarded palace of a law firm, you’ve never had experience in the real world. Things are different here and what happened at this bar is just the cusp of it, princess.” He rebutted voice dripping honey, flirting his way through the conversation.

“But who is it advising your every action and saving your asses in the courtrooms, hmm?”

You and Hongjoong continued to jab at each other while the boys sat back in disbelief at the situation. Common people would have run the other way as soon as a gun was shot in their vicinity. So for you to have pulled one out in retaliation and furthering that, started arguing with their Captain, it was a sight to see.

“Bets on who’s going to win this one?” Yunho broke the silence.

“I’m betting tonight’s drinks on the lady.” Mingi said, throwing his black card onto the table.

“Me too, Hongjoong hyung looks too smitten for pride games right now.” Jongho agreed.

“Looks like we’ve got our first to tie the knot then.” San chuckled, nudging at Wooyoung who replied, “Hmmm, she doesn’t look like the typical housewife type though.” Analysing the unmatched confidence exuding from your body language.

Soon after, Hongjoong led you to the table of boys, pulling a chair out for you.

“Guys, this is Y/N L/N, future consigliere to Ateez, and not to mention, my future wife.” He smirked, eyes glowing.

“Carry on and I’ll be future Captain by regicide, Hongjoong,” you shot him a glare as you took your seat, “considering our fateful encounter, it looks like I’ll be seeing you more often with my father now, I hope we can get along.”

You poured yourself a glass of whisky and smiled while Hongjoong could already sense the eventful days ahead with none other than you by his side. -

Mafia AU Masterlist

[ficklefics]

Burden To Keep - Zemo x Reader ~ Chapter One: Saviour

Five years ago you were kidnapped by a mysterious group lead by a man only known as Critical. Five years of experiments. Five years of torture. And then in a blink of an eye, you're free. Three men, your saviours, asking you one question: where is the serum? But it could never be that easy. You join them as politics and terrorism throw you across the world, the hunters and the hunted. And through it all, there's him.

(starts towards the end of ep. 3, between Madripoor and Riga. will deviate from canon to an extent, but will likely follow the plot of the show loosely. planning for this to be a short series!)

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

The unlikely trio of allies made their way through the compound, dead-set on their purpose. Zemo had informed Bucky and Sam about a supply of super-soldier serum, purchased from the Power Broker six months ago, being kept in this facility. They were on their way to Riga when the information came through, and a quick pit-stop wasn’t an issue if it meant possibly getting evidence that could help them.

For being owned by a client of the Power Broker, the place was poorly defended. Sam came in by the air and drew their fire long enough for Bucky and Zemo to get past the outer wall. Reuniting in the courtyard, they took out the remaining guards and shut down the emergency siren.

Now they followed the path their intel had provided through the strangely unprotected building. They came across a few men with tactical gear and weaponry but dispatched them with ease. Posts seemed abandoned as they got closer to what was marked as a storeroom on their map.

“A lot of security for a storeroom,” Sam had commented when Red Wing brought back the scans. “That’s where it will be,” Zemo assured.

A long corridor marked the final stretch. The security cameras lining it were all thankfully deactivated as Zemo lead the way.

Rounding the final corner there was a lone guard in front of a solid door. Seemingly distracted by his radio, he didn’t notice anything wrong until Bucky’s metal arm was throwing him against the wall, knocking him out cold immediately.

On closer inspection, there was a slat at waist height in the door, and a glass window layered with metal and covered from the inside. With a wrench, Bucky broke the handle, forcing his way into the room.

What they found was not a store. There were no shelves or crates. No serum.

What they did find was a makeshift bedroom. In the corner stood a woman, a bloody shard of glass held in their direction.

*

The tray of food sliding into the delivery box set into the wall woke you from sleep that morning. The breakfast was the same as it had been every day for the past five years: two slices of buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and a dish of assorted pills. You downed those first, barely feeling them pass through your throat as the orange juice followed. The toast disappeared quickly – they would get pissed if the tray wasn’t back within ten minutes.

“Another day in paradise.” You sighed to yourself, resting back onto the bed.

A few hours later, the sound of movement outside drew your attention. Drawing the window cover up slightly, you peered out at the guards talking in hushed German. Avengers … fucked … serum … Over your time here you had managed to pick up a surprising amount of the language. One guard left, leaving the other to stand guard at the door to your room.

The Avengers. You may not have followed them closely, but it was impossible to live in the West and not know who the superheroes were. But five years after they had failed, five years after half the world turned to dust, you had no idea what to expect. It’s better than this. That much was true. If they really were Avengers, maybe they were here to rescue you.

You paced your room, unable to hear anything else other than the occasional crackle of the guard's radio. Not knowing what was happening was like having a worm under your skin. Periodically you would check the window, hoping to see something, anything other than the guard.

That didn’t take long. You were peering out just as the group rounded the corner. Suddenly, panic filled you. These men weren’t Avengers. At least not the ones you knew. And if they weren’t Avengers…

You hurried back, almost stumbling on your feet, and grabbed the water glass from the desk just to smash it against the wall. The biggest shard sliced into your skin but you barely felt the pain. Backed into a corner, terrified, you listened as they knocked out the guard and broke the handle.

This was it.

The first man into the room was tall, with dark hair. What was most notable about him though, was the arm made of black and gold metal. He stopped at the sight of you, clearly confused. Behind him stood a slightly shorter man wearing goggles and some kind of armour. They both seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t put a name to the faces.

“What the hell is this?” The first man muttered as the other lifted his goggles, revealing warm eyes that narrowed at you. A quiet cough sounded behind them and they moved further into the room to let a third man step in behind them. He was shorter again, but only a little. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Ah.”

“Who are you?” You brandished the makeshift weapon. You didn’t know these men. You didn’t know if you’d be able to take all three of them. But you weren’t going down without a fight. “Why are you here?”

“Sam Wilson.” The second man stretched out a hand, seemingly trying to calm you. “I’m an Avenger.” That’s how you knew him. The Falcon. You vaguely remembered seeing him in the back of photos, never quite taking centre stage. “That answers the first question.” “We’re looking for a serum that’s supposed to be stored here.” You turned towards the man with the metal arm. “The serum…” You’re mind immediately flickered back six months.

There were only six of you left in the dorm. The prison cell you called home. Weak from exhaustion, the countless tests, the years of suffering, it was easy for them to drag you out one by one. To strap you down to a table and inject burning liquid into your veins. You screamed through the gag as your body was set alight.

“Do you know where it is?” “It’s… it’s gone. I…” Could you really tell them where it was? You didn’t know their intentions. They might kill you. It seemed to register that you were afraid, that you weren’t a threat. The men exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Okay. Look, my name’s Bucky. What’s yours?” He took a step forward, not so much to threaten but to test how you would respond. Your shaking hand lowered, but you didn’t drop the glass. “(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/LN).” “What do you mean gone? Where did they move it?” “Why should I trust you?” “Look, you’re a prisoner here, right?” Sam spoke up. You nodded. “We can help. We’ve got a jet, can take you anywhere you need to go.” “But only if I help you.” “She could be bluffing. We should leave.” The man in the back said this, shifting on his feet and glancing back over his shoulder. “Shut up Zemo.” The other two snapped in unison.

You couldn’t risk being left here. No matter who these men were, they were far better than those who held you prisoner. “I’m not bluffing. The serum is gone. I’ll tell you more, but your friend is right. We need to go.” The man in question, Zemo, was examining you even more closely now. His stare sent chills through your body. It was as if he was inside your mind, pulling it apart, exposing your secrets. “He’s not our friend,” Sam interjected. “Come on.” He stretched his arm out once more, gesturing for you to join them, and you dropped the glass, skirting around the bed. “We’re getting you out of here.”

You followed without question as they lead you through the building. Despite spending so long here, you had never seen more than brief glimpses of the endless corridors. Out through a hangar, the sunlight blinded you. Five years without the sun. No time to take it in. The four of you exited through the main gate – there was no one left to stop you.

A mile or so out a truck sat waiting. It had been hastily covered in branches, which Sam and Bucky pulled away quickly while Zemo stood at your side. You could feel his eyes watching you.

Once it was clear, Sam sat in the driver’s seat and Bucky stepped gracefully into the truck bed which had benches on either side. A hand on your upper back ushered you forward and you obeyed, taking Bucky’s outstretched hand and letting him help you up. You sat beside him as Zemo joined you. He sat opposite, hands on his knees and gazing past you. The engine started with a rumble and Sam took the vehicle back onto the road. You travelled in silence, the only sound the turn of the tires on the gravel and Bucky’s occasional sighs. You kept your eyes fixed on your hands which fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. This didn’t feel real. What if it was all a dream, or, even worse, a trick? A simulation to see what you’d do, and any moment now your rescuers would reveal themselves and send you back to an even worse hell.

Bucky seemed to catch onto your anxiety, resting his warm hand on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. It helped a little.

Soon enough you were arriving at an airport where a plane sat waiting. You followed the men up the stairs, Zemo and Bucky in front and Sam behind you. What you found was nothing like what you were expecting.

You had imagined a military operation, crates and weaponry, nets against the wall, functionality over everything else.

Instead, you had been shown into a luxurious jet. Spacious, with leather seats and dark wooden tables, a plush carpeted floor against your bare feet.

“Wow.” You couldn’t stop yourself from gasping. “Danke,” Zemo smirked at your reaction. “I am rather proud of it.” “This is yours?” He nodded. You chuckled, almost in disbelief. This was it. You were actually free. Once you were in the air they would never be able to touch you again. “Take a seat, (Y/N).” Sam gestured towards the chairs. “It’ll be a few hours before we get to Riga.” You’d never heard of the place, but it didn’t matter. It was far away from here.

Settling into a seat towards the back of the plane, away from the three men who sat together, you closed your eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Free.

CHAPTER TWO

[yandere-wishes]

💔Rotten Love💔 //Twisted Wonderland Yandere Idia Shroud X Yandere Eliza X Reader// Part 1

GIF made by the amazing @flowerofthemoonworld. Okay, so this story is really going to have a Persephone x Reader x Hades vibe to it. If we can get this to 160 likes before July 12 than I’ll release part 2. For now, my goal is to make it a 4 part story with a bonus 5th fluff chapter. Also for this story reader will be GENDER NEUTRAL.

WARNING: Gore, Angst

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

There was always a cold, nostalgic air in the Ignihyde dormitory, a sort of homey sensation that made Eliza's heart skip a beat. Sure the dorm was quiet and secluded, unlike the ghost kingdom, there was barely anyone to talk to. Most may have even described it as "lonesome" and "boring". But to princess Eliza who had waited more than five hundred years to be with her prince charming, it was unadulterated, homespun bliss. Of course, there was still something missing, a tiny puzzle piece that refused to fit in with the rest of its kind, a stubborn little piece it was, yet all too important to paint the picture of her perfect life. That mulish fragment came in the form of her newly wedded husband, Idia Shroud.

"Idia~"

The "young" princess sang as she skipped over to where her "husband" was sitting, his posture crooked, like that of a scrunched up cat's. His long slender fingers where typing rapidly on that bizarre rectangular device that he all too attached to. Way too attached to, for Eliza's liking.

Eliza nuzzled her visage into the crook of the bleached-skinned boy's neck, taking in his smokey, ash-like sent. Her icy colored arms wafted over his shoulders, enclosing them his a tight embrace. Her fingers dangled over where his heart was, feeling tiny fast-paced pulses that sent a pleased blush to her face. "Idia let's go for a walk near that river. Please, my love! You haven't left this room since the reception!"

The taller male barely turned to look at her, preferring to instead to keep his eyes locked on his glowing blue screen. "Still busy Eliza" his cold dead voice was always so sharp and monotone whenever he spoke to her. It felt like someone was reaching into her rib cage and squeezing her decaying heart. Her voice cracked into a thousand tiny shards, as she tried to form a comprehensible answer. He might as well have told her to die again and rot in the deepest parts of hell. He doesn't love me....he'll never love me. The relation was like a heavy chronic toxic gas levitating overhead. Easy to overlook but still there, always there. Idia didn't move, if Eliza's arms weren't wrapped around his shoulders feeling every breath he took, she might have mistaken him for a statue. No, not a statue, she thought, some sort of sculpture of an ancient Greek God. A divine being set in stone resting in an altar, waiting for reparations and benedictions. 'I'd gladly pray at your feet every day. I'd sacrifice everything I had just for you to smile that charming smile at me'. The ghost thought to herself.

For an endless minute, the darkroom fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Neither Eliza nor Idia moved both too scared of breaking some invisible glass wall they had put up around them. However, no amount of serenity could dispose of the awkwardness, and annoyance Idia was beginning to feel. "You know" the lord of the dead began "maybe you should talk to the principle about join the school full time. It would give you more to do than breathing over my shoulder" despite Idia's tone harboring no malice, Eliza still flinched in shock. Her body going rigid, stiffening as if she was going into Rigor Mortis again.

HE DOESN'T WANT YOU HERE!

The voice in her head screamed,

HE HATES YOU!

Louder...

WHY CANT YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE

"Please stop" she whispered

YOU DON’T DESERVE YOUR PRINCE!

"If that's what you want" she finally replied in a broken voice.

"I'm... I'm only saying it for your sake," he muttered in a coaxing tone.

Deep down a delusional part of her wanted to scream that he was only saying all those harsh things for her own well-being. But she was still lucid enough to not believe those fallacies, imaginary words...Eliza perceived that her beloved prince Idia saw her as nothing more than a nuisance.  One that he was far too eager to get rid of. 

She couldn't bear the conversation any farther. Painfully slowly she peeled her arms off from around her so-called lover. In that taunting minute, Eliza swore she could feel billions upon billions of sharp needles piercing every piece of her dead body. She lingered in place staring at Idia's glowing, blazing hair. She didn't want to leave, she wanted to spend every second of her dead life with him! Touching him, kissing him, loving him! But he wouldn't love her! Why didn't he love her!! Without a customary goodbye or any form of acknowledgment, Eliza flew to the door. Swinging it open just a crack, wishing to slam it so hard that the whole underworld dorm would feel it. But alas she was still royalty and there was a politeness beaten into her every action. In the end after much debating, she closed the damn door quieter than a mouse. With a broken heart and eyes full of tears, princess Eliza began to hover up onto the surface of the school grounds.

WHY DOESN'T THAT SELFISH BASTARD LOVE ME!

A simple blaring thought that reverberated through Eliza's nonexistent skull as she marched through the glowing green halls of Night Raven College. Unlike Ignihyde, the rest of the school still felt rather alien and terrifying to the girl. She'd only been in the cafeteria for a short amount of time. Only to finish up her official marriage to Idia. After the marriage -and much persuasion from his friend with grey hair and glasses-  Idia had carried Eliza in the traditional manner a groom must carry a bride, to the hall of mirrors and straight to Ignyhde. Neither of them had left Idia's room since then.

It was a rather short memory but one that always placed a smile on Eliza's face. Rather than remembering the halls, Eliza had been all too bewitched by Idia's shy golden gaze, his bloody red face, and his kissable thin blue lips. Such a darling memory that she would always cherish within her rotten heart.

But as the minutes ticked away and Eliza passed hallway after hallway all identical to one another, she soon began to wish that she'd paid more attention to the whereabouts of the school's rooms and offices. The headmaster's office seemed to be missing from this endless maze. Behind every corner was the same tiled floor, candles lit by a mystical green light and windows so large they put the countless classroom doors to shame. Every few minutes a crowd of students would pass by, disappearing behind another wall withing second. No one noticed her, which was rather odd considering she was the only female in an all-boys school, her purple dress and feminine curves were proof enough of that. "I guess this is the result of being a ghost, wandering the land of the living" She whispered hopelessly to herself. "You're invisible when you're me..."

The eighth turn that Eliza took brought her to a small cluster of peculiar students. Some donning ears and tails like those of wild beasts, while the other had odd features resembling Ortho's limps. Metallic and reflective. They were laughing at something, attentions enclosed within their small groups. A measly thought flew into Eliza's head, why not speak up? Raise your voice and ask where she could locate the headmaster of this complex establishment.

"Excuse me."

“....”

Silence

None of the boys turned to her, they just continued with there chatter. Eliza opened her mouth to speak once more when she -rather unwillingly- picked up stray words from their conversation.

"It's not fair!" A tall lanky one with striped ears and tail whined

"Yeah! How come that useless shut-in gets to get married to a cute girl !" the second one was even taller, with thick furry grey ears that reminded Eliza of a wolf.

"Look man I don't know what Idia has that makes him so damn lucky! He's a useless wimp..." A Bold statement made by the one with metallic features.

Eliza was sure they continued bashing Idia but the phantom pain of blood coursing through her ears droned them out. How dare such hooligans speak ill of her beloved husband! Her fingers flexed in a robotic-like movement, stretching open than closing once more. Around her tiny flame-like spirits began to materialize, cute and cheery with big eyes and smiling mouths...until they noticed the distress of their mistress. the tiny things took a look around, grasping the situation from the loud words of the boys as well as Eliza's grim expression. Slowly the little flames began to merge with one another. Fusing into a large ax with a burning end. The weapon floated down to her hand, positioning itself smugly between her ghostly digits.

Eliza's eyes locked with the backs of the boys, she didn't know how this would work, could the ax could even harm the living? It may just phase through them as if nothing had happened....or it may price through there flesh and bones, tearing them in two. Hosting the ax up over her shoulder with both hands and taking a shaky step forward, Eliza lunged towards the first boy. In a swift flick of her wrist, the blade of the ax was pushing through the Ignihyde student's back. Splitting ceaselessly at the skin and urging past muscles until it reached the creamy colored bones. Eliza didn't stop there, her arms still pushing forward trying to get the heavy ax to break those pesky osseins. He had to pay for what he said! No one was permitted to speak ill of her one true love! A satisfying crack filled the air followed by a choir of screams. Only when the ax had finally resurfaced on the other side, covered in plasma and the remnants of organs, did Eliza turned her attention to the other two students. There eyes where enormous staring at her in disgust and fear...and something else. Something that -although it revolted her to her very core- she wished Idia would look at her with that same look in his eyes. A look of want, a look of need, pure lust, yet the welcoming sort ONLY if it was coming from the person you adored so much.

The blue-haired ghost didn't move, her semi existent body felt overworked. Everything hurt! Or at least she thought what she was feeling was the ghost equivalent to human pain. "Why.." her voice glitched at every syllable, like a broken cassette player. The two boys didn't answer instead taking shall strides backward. "WHY DID YOU SAY SUCH AWFUL THINGS ABOUT HIM!" in a split second, anger over ran Eliza's boy once more, dragging her and the ax forward until the blade came in contact with one of the animal eared men's neck. Slicing it so it flung backward, crashing onto the ground with loud "thud" then rolling around in its own gore. The last man stand, the one with monochrome ears pushed his palms forward, a pathetic attempt of shielding himself from her wrath. "W-we..we d-d-did...didn't-t mean...mean any..offense...honest!" His voice creaked as tears gushed from the corners of his eyes. "You're...you're just so...so...pretty...beautiful even...and...and...Shroud well...we...well, he's a loser who w-w-wouldn't kno--" his words were left half-finished, as Eiza's ax severed through him diagonally.  

Her heart was pounding much too fast, that it was beginning to make her feel sick. Her legs finally gave up, sending her crashing onto the blood coated floor.  Her bare knees dug into the red liquidy substance, finding an odd comfort in the warm human ichor. Eliza didn't know what to do, or even where to go. If she went back to Idia like this he would surely use it against her, Ortho was too young to be introduced to such a carnage...and she didn't know anyone else! "I'm all so very doomed" she sobbed as transparent tears trailed down her eyes.

"Hey" A distant voice spoke up. "What's wrong with her?" another voice, this one more high pitch and raspy. Eliza tore her face from her hands looking up at a group of three strangers and a cat...no, not strangers, she recognized the orange and blacked haired boy. They both had tried to crash her wedding. But the other person was new, they had a gentle look in their eyes, a welcoming stare that the princess longed for. "Hey ghost bride," The orange-haired boy spoke up, "need some help with your mess?" Eliza nodded meekly. Her body still limp and voice still too frail to speak. The last person, the one that had unexpectedly piqued Eliza's interest extended a hand towards her. And with only a scrap of hesitation, Eliza gripped it.

"Come on, we'll help you out!"

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 

Tags: @yandere-romanticaa​ @ghostiebabey​ @lovee-infected​ @mermaid-painter​ @firemelody4​ also tagging @twstpasta​ and @delusional-obsessions​ cause I know they're huge Eliza fans.

[fijiangecko]

Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 6 - Search and Rescue

previous | next

Read it on AO3 here

A/N: school is over (thank god)

~~~~~~

You stood in that doorway for God knows how long. Shivers traveled down your spine when Kuroo slammed that damned door, and slowly the static built over your frozen muscles. How could you let this happen? He’s right, you could’ve just told them and maybe things would’ve been different. If you really did trust them like you claimed, why didn’t you just admit to everyone and ask for guidance? 

Your instincts kicked in. For a long while, you pushed them back and remained the new person you so desperately wanted to keep around. You knew, somewhere deep down, that if you went back to your old self, that would be the only thing they would talk about. That being said, you weren’t going to back down from a challenge or downplay your strengths, but that killer instinct that those bastards drilled into your head needed to take the back burner for a couple of years.

Too bad you pushed your luck and now it was all boiling over.

Your attention was brought back to that pot, and finally when those reactions kick back in your legs carry you across the apartment. Only grab what’s necessary, burn the rest and get the fuck out. Easy enough, considering you always knew something like this might happen. Just like back in the office, you didn’t own much. It was easy to only have a large duffle bag worth of stuff, clothes and sentimental items mostly.

You made a decision when you first left the Port Mafia to keep other things, clues one might say, as to your involvement with them in a separate location. Weapons too; you never knew when you were gonna need some extra firepower.

Anything else in the apartment that you knew could be used for evidence or could lead anyone back to the office you burned with your belongings. Better to be safe than sorry.

It doesn’t matter if he tells them, you think as you hoist the materials into the metal garbage bin in the parking lot. You’d be gone within the hour because either the Mafia is on their way, or Tooru and Hajmie will stop by in the morning. All you wanted was to protect them.

You patched the back windshield up with a bit of duct tape and a trash bag in the meantime. At least it would keep the cops from pulling you over while you headed over to the shop. Glass shards still litter the back seat, but you could care less as you set the duffle in the passenger's seat and start the engine.

With one last glance, you look to your apartment, the nearby trash can as flames lick the edges of the metal. All of your work suits were in there. All the funky ties Bokuto had given to you as jokes every year at the Christmas parties; all of the pens Akaashi and Kenma had lent you; all of the files Oikawa and Iwaizumi had forgotten at your place over the years; all the little sticky notes Kuroo left on your keyboard-

A tear hits your cheek. It’s a shock to your system and it brings you back to the present. You quickly wipe it off and swing the car out of its spot and head off. 

A plan bubbles in the back of your mind. A way to keep everyone out of danger and clear your involvement. You think of the countless possibilities and endings this could have as your drive down the streets. The trees get denser and the sunlight shines through them like ribbons as you speed down the highway, only thinking of how to survive.

The first thing you’d like to do is to fix the damn windshield. Off the top of your head, you can think of a few people that might be able to help you out, just some local shops that still owed you back when you did people “favors” and that sort of thing. Again, not your brightest moments but they were your moments nonetheless.

Memories flood your system of those times. Back when you practically had the whole mafia under you. Every goon, henchmen and officer looked down when you walked down a corridor. Only those on an equal footing or on your personal squad would even bother trying to talk with you.

Not that you were authoritative or anything. Far from it, actually. Out of all of the four executives, you were the most forgiving, the most human. But it was the fact that you were an executive; the shared second in command position for all of the Port Mafia. With a brain and a gift like yours, it was an obvious choice but called for you to make a lot of tough decisions.

“Y/N,” Ushijima greeted you with a bow, and once he stood to his full height he stared directly into your eyes. The vertical distance was pretty large at the time, considering this was almost seven years ago. You remember looking up at him and feeling nothing despite his size and stature. Slightly behind him on the left stood a man, almost equally as tall with bright red hair.

“Hello boys,” a coy smile tugged at the edge of your lips. You used to be so full of yourself, and you roll your eyes at the thought. You were not only the youngest mafia member to become an executive, but also the first female to achieve the position despite who the boss was. Is? Hell if you knew whether that old bat is still kicking it.

Tendou had the tendency to lean over Ushijima’s shoulder and look down on you, almost like you were an animal in a zoo, but you got along with him just fine otherwise. Whenever you guys were in the same room you’d joke around, try and get on Ushi’s nerves but nothing ever seemed to work. On occasion he’d try and get you both to meet up for dinner but you’d always end up busy with meetings.

You saw him as a friend. Someone to kill the time with. Not much else, but you always saw the small shimmer in his eyes when he’d try and make those dinner plans. You felt in your gut that a question might pop up one of those nights if you sat down in a fancy restaurant with him.

“I don’t think Washijo is gonna appreciate you doing all of those construction deals in the southwest.” The redhead sang to you in a tune that was unrecognizable.

“Why wouldn’t he? It’s only making us more money and I did it ‘legally’ this time.” Unfazed by his teasing, you continued into the meeting room and took your place on the left side, by the head of the long conference table.

Ushijima followed opposite of you, taking up the chair directly across from you on the right. The spaces next to either of you that follow down the long edge of the hardwood were left empty, and your respective teams filled in the chairs after that point.

Everyone was dressed up, black and white attire. You always opted for a pantsuit rather than a dress or skirt purely because the port brought in the seaside winds and you’d rather not flash anyone. Oikawa, Iwaizumi and two others sit in their suits further down the table, hands folded and placed atop the table. They made small chit chat with the other squads, Oikawa smiled and bantered while Iwa usually just sat and listened. 

They were members of your personal squad almost the entire time you held the title of “executive”.Them and the two others that sat next to them, Matsukawa and Hanamaki. You kept your personal group small since you’d be around them constantly. Those four were always funny together, always made things lighthearted despite the horrid situations you found yourselves in.

“She’s right Tendou,” Ushijima’s voice could’ve rattled the whole building if he spoke louder. “Out of us four she’s pulled in the most territory and revenue over the last quarter.”

“That’s because she's not doing the best in one category Washijo will strip her title, no questions asked.” Oikawa whispered to Iwa, very cautious of who might hear him. From what you can remember, a fair amount of the members weren’t as progressive as you had hoped when you first joined, but it didn’t stop you from climbing the ranks.

Your thumb beats against the steering wheel at the memories. Were you really happy then? Were you really doing what you wanted?

It’s taken you years to find the answer, but you’ve concluded that both are no. You hated working for them. You hated the senseless murder, especially if it was for a bullshit excuse like “it’s all for a better Yokohama”. To hell with it all, you’d tell yourself after spending nights hiding in homes that were starting to fall apart. For half a year you lived as though the modern world didn’t exist, all by yourself. You would only go into town to buy groceries or if it was absolutely necessary. 

It was a sad life, but it was better than living in a high-rise apartment where goons would pretend to be buddy-buddy with you just to up their rank. It was better than pretending to care what that old fool had to say about your operating style and the fact you didn’t do anything “by the book”.

Your thumb stops drumming a while ago and your fists tighten around the wheel, knuckles turning red and white as you press your skin firmly into the rubber. The morning rays dissipated a while ago as well, the sun fully shining her light down on the city. The further you drive, the more recognizable the area becomes. Dreary, dark streets turn into buildings and stores with an even darker past. Your stomach churns with every old memory seeping back into your brain, only the faces of the agency members keep you going as you pull into an all too familiar lot.

~

Iwaizumi’s hands run through his dark hair, gripping the strands and pulling them as he looks at the disaster around him. Chairs broken into pieces, glass shards all across the floors, papers littering every nook and cranny of your apartment. Nothing was salvageable. Anything you had bought was destroyed either by your own hands or someone else's.

Oikawa dug through the cabinets and drawers to find anything that could be an affirmative that this was the Port Mafia’s doing, or at least give them an idea of who it could’ve been. The dumpster fire outside was obviously your doing, either of the boys recognized that in an instant considering it was all of your clothes and it was practically only embers by the time they had gotten there.

Hajime’s heart is pounding heavily in his chest. He was the one who protected the ones he cared about. That was his gift and his duty to you all, and he failed miserably at it since you’re gone and now everything is on fire (literally and figuratively).

“They left the stamp!” Tooru stumbles over bits and pieces of debris as he rushes to show Hajime the small insignia that was left on a scrap of paper. The Port Mafia always left them at raids so either rival gangs or the police knew exactly who beat them to it.

Iwaizumi snaps out of his little trance, the iron grip on his hair loosens enough for his hands to run down the back of his head to the base of his neck. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but it narrowed down some of their options.

He grasps the small paper and double checks it to make sure every design detail was exactly the same, that this wasn’t a dupe or some imposters work. Tooru watches with careful eyes as Iwa mimics his exact same actions from just moments ago.

Kuroo walks up to the complex, hands in his pockets and head hung low. After being told off by Takeda, he was instructed to go help look for you. Since you’re all still on a case together, and “regardless of personal affairs”, you were all assigned to this case for a reason, or that’s what he said at least.

In his mind, Kuroo is in the right. He has every right to be angry with you. For three years you withheld that one of the greatest crime organizations was a past employer. I must be the biggest fucking joke. 

He knows deep down that this is all just pain coming out as anger. He just lost one of his best friends, one of the few people in his life that he genuinely cares about enough to hang out with on his days off - and one of the only people he’s been interested in years.

Everytime he thinks about your laugh, or your little smile when you finish a stack of paperwork, his heart hurts a little more. The tightness in his chest is something he only experienced when his parents divorced when he was eleven, but it wasn’t even bad compared to now.

How could he not be angry?

Once his feet hit the asphalt of the parking lot, he finally glances up and realizes the chaos around him. The pile of garbage in the bin was merely smoldering at this point. He looks to the apartment and notices the two figures standing in the living room, which he can see through the window. Both seem to be inspecting something in the palm of Iwaizumi’s hand, unaware that Kuroo is standing in the parking lot.

“Guys…?” Kuroo’s voice is soft as he passes through the threshold into your apartment. “What the fuck is going on?” Iwaizumi and Oikawa turn to face him immediately, not expecting anyone else to be here and they certainly were not expecting it to be Kuroo.

“Y/N’s gone.” Tooru speaks clearly as he glares daggers at the man who dared to speak against you only thirty minutes ago. Iwa crumples the stamped paper in his hand and clenches his jaw.

“Yeah… I can see that.” Kuroo’s eyes shift between all corners of the room, processing every bit of information his eyes came across.

Hajime nudges Tooru with his hand (rather harshly but the anger wasn’t directed at him) and he walks out of the apartment, shoulder checking Kuroo as they pass by. There was nothing more for them there, and now Tooru and himself are going to have to think of a way to find you.

Kuroo remains in his spot as a weight starts to bear down on his body. The couch he crashed on when he was too drunk, the table you guys mulled over paperwork together - the apartment he had made so many memories in was completely destroyed.

He couldn’t help but start to think that this might just be his fault. He left you last night in the exact spot he’s standing in right now. Yes, he was upset. What you two had built was entirely based off of trust, and Kuroo hasn’t trusted someone that much in a very long time (Kenma can attest to that). 

You deemed that information as potentially harmful to him, and he told you that you had no right. What kind of idiot am I? As he looks around the space, he realizes now just how dangerous this all really is.

Iwaizumi stomps his way back onto the main roads and keeps a hand clutched around the stamped paper. “Who the hell does he think he is?” The question wasn’t directed at anyone, but Tooru knows this is how he expresses his anger without going to the gym.

“Takeda probably sent him since everyone at the agency still doesn't know what’s going on.” Tooru pulls on his jacket and follows Iwa down the sidewalk.

“Better off just leaving us the hell alone. Ukai and Takeda aren’t stupid and they both know something has always been up with Y/N. As soon as we came into the picture I’m pretty sure they picked up on us being involved with her too. Kuroo shouldn’t be sticking his nose in this,” Iwa huffs, but Oikawa makes the motion to start talking before he is swiftly cut off. “And I don’t give a shit what Y/N told him. The only reason she did so was because she had too after last night. There was no way for her to cover up that encounter with Tendou and you know it.”

“Do you think she would’ve kept it from them forever though?”

“I don’t know. She’s never really told us why she left in the first place, but Y/N was with the Port Mafia for years. Most of her teenage and early adult life was spent with them before she just up and left.” Iwaizumi shoves the paper into his pocket as he talks, also placing his jacket over his shoulders. He guides the pair back to the subway station.

“Guys!” The two stop walking for a moment, each processing whose voice was calling out but once it registers that it’s only Kuroo, they continue down the steps into the station. “Wait up!”

Their pace picks up as they pull out their passes to scan and get through the bars as quickly as possible. Too bad Kuroo’s legs are long and he catches up to them in the nick of time. Just as Tooru swipes his card, Kuroo is hot on his heels as he fumbles around to find his own train pass. “Wait- please.”

Tooru can tell that he’s desperate, but when Iwa glances over his shoulder to check on the situation Tooru can see the anger starting to bubble up again. His own stomach churns at the thought that Kuroo can just switch on a dime if need be. That even though you explained everything to him, it still took seeing all of the damage for him to realize what kind of scenario this really is.

“Please Oikawa,” Kuroo grabs his shoulder once he makes it past the turnstiles. “Let me help you guys find Y/N.”

“And why the hell would we want your help?” Ignoring that he called for Oikawa, Hajime fully turns around and marches over to Kuroo. Although he is shorter than both of them, Hajime has this air about him that says I will kill you here and now depending on how you answer.

Kuroo’s chest pounds against itself. He snapped out of his own thoughts pretty quickly back at the apartment and realized that you could actually be hurt. This wasn’t just something nonchalant, there was a reason you kept this from him. 

After coming to, he figured the only thing he can do in this situation is to find you. Iwaizumi and Oikawa were involved in this somehow. There was a reason they weren’t at your apartment last night having that same discussion. “I know you two are the only ones who are gonna be able to find her-” he pauses to take a few deep breaths “-and I owe her an apology.”

“No shit you owe her an apology after all of the fucking chaos you caused back at the office. You’re lucky I didn’t deck you in your fucking chair.” Iwaizumi steps closer to Kuroo, almost chest to chest, and stares right into his irises. 

Oikawa grabs at Iwa’s bicep and tugs him back. “Let’s just go Hajime.” Iwa snarls and stomps away.

“Please…” Kuroo can’t mess this up, he knows that. This is the only shot he has at finding you is by getting in with these two. “I know I screwed up.”

Oikawa slows his pace, listening to the pleas of someone he once considered more than an acquaintance. His mind is telling him to follow Hajime and find you as quickly as possibly, but he also knows in his heart that Kuroo meant well. You trusted him enough to explain everything to him.

“I don’t know if Y/N’s dead.” Kuroo’s voice cracks as he thinks out loud of what might be. “I- I know I messed up really bad but I need to know if she’s okay.”

“Look,” Oikawa stops fully and turns his head to speak, “most likely she’s not dead since there weren’t any signs of struggle at the apartment. Her car was gone and her personal belongings were either missing or charred in the trash can in the parking lot. The mafia just destroyed her house, but my bet is that she’s still alive.”

Iwaizumi had stopped walking as well, listening to Kuroo’s plight. Although he was full of anger, he heard the crack in his voice. He hears his pleas and Hajime is torn on what is the right decision.

The three are silent as civilians walk past them, hurrying from one train to the next. Hajime takes a deep breath and rubs his eyebrows with the index and thumb of his right hand. “You have a lot of shit to make up for and explain after this morning, especially if you’re gonna help find her.”

Oikawa and Kuroo look at him in shock. “So I can come-”

“We’re still working on a case together and Y/N is a part of this.” Iwa cuts him off with both his words and a glare. “Nothing more. Once we know she’s alive we’re done. We’ll do what we have too, but you don’t get to go any further than that. Y/N wanted to protect you and everyone at the agency, so the least you can do is stay out of all of this. For her sake.”

Wordlessly, Kuroo nods and the pair in front of him start to walk further down the pathways, hopping onto a train and heading into the city. Hajime’s expression is stern, Tooru has an air of uncertainty about him and Kuroo clenches his fists around nothing, wondering where you could be and what’s going to happen now.

“Where are we going?” Kuroo asks once they all press themselves amongst the crowd of people.

“Back to the agency. We left some of our gear there and then we’ll have to stop by Iwaizumi’s house to get some more.” Oikawa looks around the train cautiously.

Kuroo opens to speak again, but then closes his mouth. That just means I’ll have to explain what’s going on to everyone else. 

“Everyone there has had their suspicions about Y/N and the both of us, so it really doesn’t matter if you tell them we’re ex-members as well.” Hajime outright confirms the next thing on Kuroo’s mind. He had the intention of asking, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up in conversation. “I’m getting in and getting out as quickly as I possibly can. I don’t owe these people any explanations as to why I’m choosing to find Y/N, or why this matters to me.”

Respectable is the only word that comes to mind when Kuroo thinks of Iwaizumi. He’s a gentleman, chivalrous and makes good on his word. Although he has a mild temper at times, Kuroo has never known him to say something he does not mean.

“Y/N may have been our boss, but she cared for us more than anyone in that damned organization ever would’ve if we stayed. We owe her a lot, and finding her and helping her can only pay a small portion of that back.” Oikawa pipes up, sprinkling more bits and pieces of information for Kuroo to pick up on. “She’s like a sister to me and it would kill me to know that she might be out there, struggling when I could’ve helped. The same goes for Iwa-chan.”

The rest of the train ride is silent between the three. Kuroo tries his best to wrap his head around everything that has happened in less than twelve hours. Not only was it revealed to him that you were an ex-mafia member, but two of his other co-workers were as well, and you used to be an executive. You ran a portion of the city for years, Iwaizumi and Oikawa working under you until you left for unknown reasons and joined the Armed Detective Agency sometime later.

You were one of the most powerful people in Yokohama, but why did you leave it all? What drove you out? Oikawa didn’t really give a reason as to why they left, but it was related to you in some way.

Walking in the agency doors with a new perspective gave Kuroo an icky feeling. Everyone in the office turns to see who it is, and their eyes go wide when the three figures walk through the door. Oikawa and Iwaizumi beeline it over to their desks and start to rummage through the drawers and shoving things in their pockets. Kuroo stands awkwardly by the door before walking slowly over to his belongings and picking up what he thinks he’ll need.

Bokuto and Akaashi watch him carefully, waiting for an opportunity to ask what was happening. It was Ukai, who walked into the main office right after the front door slammed shut, that broke the deafening silence.

“My office. Now.” The three halt their movements for a moment, knowing the order was directed towards them but each unwilling to actually make their way over. Surprisingly Oikawa moves first, eyes watching the ground as he moves to follow the blonde. Iwaizumi and Kuroo follow shortly after, the other detectives shifting slightly in their seats to try and get a better position to listen in.

Ukai’s private office space only had two guest chairs, so Kuroo was forced to lean against the back wall as they held conversation.

“I’m assuming that under all the circumstances brought up today, Y/N wasn’t at her house and now you’re all back to try and find her.” Ukai’s eyes shift around the room, glaring at each of them individually but lingering on Kuroo’s a split second longer than the others.

“That would be correct.” Tooru confirms. He never feared vocal confrontation since he usually charmed his way out of things, but this was a situation he knew that required a certain level of honesty.

“So she’s not dead, just missing, and your plan is to find her and then what?” The butt of his cigarette package is beaten at the base of his palm before he opens the backing and pulls one out. He lets the question linger in the air for a moment before placing the filter to his lips. A small black lighter that’s usually kept in the desk drawer is rummaged out before flickering to life. Ukai takes a long drag in, and slowly exhales the thick smoke into the cramped room.

A noxious smell enters the senses of every other man in the room, each scowling when they realize that the air conditioner isn’t running and the windows are shut. Ukai’s set on getting his answers, one way or another.

With a light cough, the charmer opens his mouth once more. “Y/N must have a plan if she decided to burn everything and run. Once we find her, Iwaizumi and myself plan on helping her in whatever she decides. Kuroo will be returning to the agency. Depending on what happens with Y/N we may or may not be coming back.”

The end of the cigarette burns bright when Ukai inhales. He’s attentive to every word and weighs the possibilities in his mind, although he knows that two of them have every intention to find you regardless if Ukai wants them too.

“Is her apartment gone?”

“No, just trashed from the Port Mafia.” Oikawa speaks again, knowing that Kuroo is in no position to speak and Iwaizumi would rather be out looking for you.

“You said she burned everything, is that correct?”

“Yes. She burnt her personal belongings and took her car. There was nothing left in her house at the time of arrival but the furniture was smashed to pieces.” Tooru’s mouth dries as he speaks, taking a breath to swallow his spit and think of his next words. “We think that she left her apartment right after she explained everything to Kuroo and the mafia found her address a few hours later.”

Using his better judgement, he thought it would be better to be upfront about everything than only tell Ukai bits. After working with him for so long, Oikawa knows that Ukai isn’t a fool.

A beat of silence passes over them. Ukai takes into consideration all of his options, or what he can control. Kuroo looks down at his hands and remains passive; Iwaizumi doing the same but shaking his leg, hoping that the time would pass quicker so they can get out there and start searching.

“Do you think you can actually find her?” The cigarette is only a butt now, the ashes have been tapped into a tray sitting on the edge of Ukai’s desk, who stares into the stern irises of Iwaizumi. He matches the intensity and responds without hesitation.

“Yes. It might take a couple of nights, but I doubt she left the city.”

Ukai runs his tongue across his upper teeth, lips shut as he looks at this rag-tag team sitting before him. Three men who want to find you desperately, two with the same intent and the third still a mystery to him considering the events from just an hour ago. “I want reports on everything once you get back.” Kuroo’s head snaps up only to find the Ukai is looking between them as he smothers the cig in it’s ashtray. “Go find her.”

[eliemo]

The Little Things

Now that they’re getting to know Virgil, welcoming him as family, the other sides begin to notice behavior they hadn’t picked up on before. Patton just wants him to feel safe. 

Words: 3,698

TW: Brief panic attack, Virgil thinks he’s gonna be punished or hurt for a few minutes. Also like one swear word 

They noticed the little things first. 

Logan was likely the first to notice how jumpy Virgil really was now that they were all spending more time together, how sensitive he was to loud noises and sudden movements, but Patton was fairly sure he was the only one to see beyond that. 

It wasn’t hard for Patton to pick up on how quickly Virgil would tense if he thought one of the other sides were in a particularly bad mood, how he would go quiet if someone raised their voice whether it was directed towards him or not, how he would reach for any excuse to retreat to his room if he thought something was wrong. 

It hadn’t been like that before they’d accepted him. He hadn’t been so scared. 

Or maybe...maybe he had, and they just hadn’t bothered to notice. 

Living either in almost total isolation or with the other dark sides his whole life, it was obvious Virgil wasn’t used to their way of life. He wasn’t used to the kindness and understanding they were offering. 

But that was ok. They would help him. He was family now, and he was learning. He was safe. 

But then...then the small hidden things became a bit more obvious, and it was clear this wasn’t just Virgil’s general anxiety. 

It was the ‘mug incident,’ as Patton had internally dubbed it, that had finally clued them in to how bad it really was. 

Roman, as kind and caring as he was, and how hard he tried, was never one to pick up on subtle signs. 

It was mid afternoon, Virgil perched on the armchair while Logan and Patton stood by the TV mulling over movie options, when Roman stormed in from the kitchen, a broken Disney mug in his hand, deep frown etched on his face. 

It wasn’t genuine anger, Patton knew Roman well enough by now to know that. It was just frustration amped up for the sake of dramatics. 

They all should have realized Virgil wouldn’t know to pick up on that yet. 

“Do any of you want to tell me why,” Roman announced, holding the pieces of the mug in the air. “My beloved Disney mug was left destroyed on the counter?” 

Logan turned to face him, unaffected, adjusting his glasses. “I assume because it broke.” 

“Obviously! Which one of you broke it?” 

“I did the dishes this morning, kiddo,” Patton said, smiling sadly at the broken mug. “It wasn’t broken when I saw it.” 

Logan sighed. “I did not go anywhere near your mug today, Roman. Besides, can’t you just fix it on your--” 

“It’s the principle of it!” Roman whirled around to Virgil, who had been silently watching the exchange with wide eyes. “Alright, emo! Confess to your crime!” 

Virgil actually jumped, fingers curling into the cushions of the chair, shoulders curling up to almost reach his ears. Roman was clearly expecting to banter back and forth, and Patton knew that in any other situation that was exactly what he would have gotten. 

“I-I didn’t break it,” Virgil said, stumbling over his words a bit, refusing to look Roman in the eye. “It wasn’t me.” 

Roman groaned and Patton frowned as Virgil went rigid. The creative side didn’t seem to be picking up on anything unusual, and Logan had gone back to flipping through channels. 

“Oh come on, Virgil! Obviously it was you, you’re usually the last one in the kitchen. It’s not even a big deal, why didn’t you just tell me it was broken?” 

Virgil shook his head, curling further into himself like he was hoping for his hoodie to swallow him up, and Patton slowly rose to his feet when he saw something far too close to genuine panic in his eyes. 

“I didn’t break it,” he said again, somehow even quieter than before. “I didn’t...I-I’m not lying, it wasn’t me, I’m...I haven’t been in the kitchen.” 

“But you--” 

“Roman,” Patton said, forcing his tone to stay light. “I was in a hurry this morning, maybe I just left it balancing on the shelf weird. And if not, I’m sure it was just an accident, right?” 

It was a bit too pointed to be taken as entirely casual, and Roman cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, clearly picking up on Patton’s worry. 

But before Roman could hopefully change the subject, Virgil was speaking again, his voice now shaky and almost...desperate. 

“I didn’t...I didn’t do it, Roman I swear it wasn’t...i-if I had broken it I would have cleaned it up or-or fixed it I promise, I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t have-have left a mess.” 

Roman’s brow furrowed, and he briefly glanced back at Patton and Logan, whose attention had been recaptured by Virgil’s rambling. 

“I...I know,” Roman said carefully. “Virgil, I...I wasn’t gonna--” 

He took a step towards the armchair, freezing when Virgil flinched backwards, eyes impossibly wide and clouded with fear. 

“I-I didn’t break it!” It was louder this time, still small and trembling, staring at the other side like he was wielding a deadly weapon. “I’m not lying I swear I-I didn’t, I…” 

Patton could only stand there, looking helplessly between the two of them, Logan just as lost beside him, while Roman carefully set the mug down and slowly dropped to a crouch in front of the chair. 

“It’s ok, Virgil,” the prince said, soft and slow, and Virgil’s rambling abruptly cut off. “I’m not mad, see? It’s ok.” 

Virgil didn’t relax, didn’t move, just glanced briefly at Patton and Logan before turning back to Roman. “You...you were. You were mad, and you--” 

“I wasn’t,” Roman promised gently. “Even if you did break it--” 

“I didn’t,” Virgil insisted, then stiffened as if just realizing he’d interrupted Roman. But the prince just smiled again, extending an open palm. 

“I know. I believe you. I’m not mad, I was just messing around. I’m so sorry, Virgil. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

It took a moment for anything to change, Patton sending reassuring smiles and Logan quietly counting out a pattern for Virgil to regain control over his breathing. Roman didn’t move, knelt beside the chair with his arm outstretched and waiting. 

When Virgil finally began to relax, his eyes clearing a bit, he let out a shaky sigh and warily took Roman’s hand, still visibly tense like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Kiddo?” Patton called after a moment, taking a careful step forward. “You alright?” 

He saw Virgil nod, swallowing roughly. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Sorry for...sorry about that.” 

Logan frowned, moving to stand beside Patton. “I fail to see what you could have to apologize for, Virgil.” 

Virgil shrugged and rested his chin on his knees, but he still held on to Roman’s hand like a lifeline, and the Prince made no move to pull away. 

“My sincerest apologies,” Roman said. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you. I mean, I’d be a rather lousy excuse for creativity if I couldn’t fix a little broken mug, right? It wouldn’t have been a bother even if you had broken it.” 

It got a small, unsure smile from Virgil, but the anxious side still didn’t look particularly calmed. 

“Besides,” Logan spoke up, something unreadable in his expression. “A broken dish is nothing that should cause you distress. I’m sure you know you can always inform us if an accident happens without consequence.” 

It took a moment for Virgil to answer, hands clutching the cloth of his new hoodie, but he eventually nodded, not looking like he entirely believed what he was being told. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice strained. “Yeah, I just thought...I don’t know. It’s whatever, you guys. I’m fine.” 

They begrudgingly dropped the subject after that, seeing as how keeping the spotlight on Virgil was only succeeding in making him more uneasy, but Patton was sure to make very clear that his door was open if Virgil ever wanted to talk about it. 

It had been a little over a week now, and no one had mentioned the incident again, instead going back to focusing on making sure Virgil felt safe and included like they had since learning his name. 

They were all getting closer, even in the short time since accepting him, and Virgil was visibly relaxing. He was still anxious and withdrawn, but less so everyday. Things were getting better. 

And then…

And then things got worse. 

Virgil was having an off day. They could all see he was a bit extra jumpy and unfocused throughout the day. 

It made sense, Thomas had been particularly stressed and Virgil, as his anxiety, was handling the brunt of it. But he hadn’t locked himself up in his room like he would have done a week prior, and Patton considered that progress.  

Virgil had finally started eating with them regularly as well, more often than not hanging around long enough to help with prep and cleanup. 

The four of them were cooking dinner tonight, careful to keep the atmosphere calm and lighthearted, and Patton wanted to squeal with happiness each time he saw a tentative smile cross Virgil’s face. 

Patton and Logan were handling most of the food while Virgil and Roman washed, dried and put away dishes as they went, the prince humming Disney songs loud enough for everyone to hear. 

It was nice. They were finally a family, just as they should be. 

Honestly, what happened next was entirely Patton’s fault. He hadn’t even been thinking about how the other side might interpret it. 

The kitchen was roomy but it wasn’t huge, and it was a bit crowded with all four of them working in it at the same time. Patton was moving away from checking the stove just as Virgil was moving to put a clean plate away and ended up bumping into his shoulder as he made his way back to Logan. 

It happened so fast, Patton didn’t even get a chance to try and catch the plate as it slipped from Virgil’s hands and hit the ground with a crash, shattering into pieces. 

It wasn’t a big deal. Things broke all the time. In the mindscape, especially with Roman, they could clean it up and snap a new one into existence in moments. For a second, Patton didn’t think anything of it. 

“Whoops,” he said, stepping away from the glass shards. “Sorry about that, kiddo. You ok there?” 

There wasn’t an answer, and when Patton looked up he realized Virgil wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring at Logan. 

Logan, who had turned around at the sound of the noise, knife still in hand from chopping vegetables, watching with a mix of concern and confusion. And Virgil’s expression held more terror than Patton had ever seen. 

“Virgil--” 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he managed, Logan only seemed more confused when Virgil only seemed to focus on him. “I-I didn’t...It was an accident.” 

“We know Virgil,” Logan said carefully, but the reassurance only seemed to panic Virgil more, wide eyes moving now to all three watching sides. “We are not--” 

“Lo,” Patton called softly, heart breaking when he saw where Virgil’s eyes kept landing. “You need to put that down, kiddo.” 

Logan cocked his head slightly, eyes widening when he followed Patton’s gaze to the knife still clutched in his hand. “My apologies, Virgil. I hadn’t realized.” 

And maybe Logan moved a bit too fast, maybe Virgil was too far gone in his panic to hear the apology, but moving to set the knife down on the counter behind him only seemed to break the dam holding back the last of Virgil’s fear. 

He jumped back, Patton wincing in sympathy when his back collided with the edge of the counter, but he didn’t even seem to register the impact. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m so s-sorry, please, please I-I’ll clean it up! I’ll clean it up right now y-you don’t have to be mad I won’t...please, I can fix it, I can--” 

Patton would hate himself for it later, but in his desperation Virgil was lowering himself towards the broken glass, eyes never leaving Logan, moving like he was going to grab the shards with his bare hands, and parental instinct took over. 

“No!” Patton hurried forwards to stop him, and while he did get Virgil away from the glass, the outburst and sudden movements were definitely not what Virgil needed. 

The anxious side’s eyes filled with tears as he scrambled as far back as he could get, breathing quick and erratic, words coming out in frantic gasps. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to...I’m so sorry I just thought--” 

“No, no it’s ok!” Patton’s vision was beginning to go blurry with his own tears. “I just didn’t want you to get cut on the glass!” 

But Virgil wasn’t listening, pressed up against the wall, hands moving to protect his face like he expected someone to hurt him. 

It was so much different from the Virgil they’d gotten to know, scared and anxious sometimes but refusing to let himself fall apart in front of anyone, always holding himself to some standard of composure. 

Roman was clutching Patton’s arm, keeping him from rushing forward again, the prince pale and frozen. Logan had set the knife down, clearly doing all he could to compose himself and understand the situation. 

“Virgil,” the logical side said after a moment, more hesitant than Patton had ever heard him. “It was just an accident. Nobody is going to be upset with you. And I assure you, nobody here would ever have any intention of causing you harm.” 

“Of course not,” Roman said, Patton quickly agreeing. “What on earth made you so frightened, Stormcloud?” 

Virgil didn’t answer, gaze still jumping from one side to another, tense and trembling as he seemed to struggle to understand what was being said to him. 

“I...I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. It seemed to be his go-to phrase tonight. “I didn’t m-mean to ruin things.” 

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton said, still unable to move forward, furiously wiping tears from his cheeks. “You didn’t ruin anything. I promise.” 

“I…I’m s...I’m sorry.” 

“Perhaps,” Logan said suddenly. “It would be of benefit to you to discuss this outside the kitchen. Do you require assistance getting to the living room?” 

Virgil was still trembling, curled into a ball, eyes red and jaw clenched tight. “I...I think so. Sorry, I just--” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, kiddo.” Patton glanced at the glass scattered across the floor, then at Roman, the only side still wearing shoes. “Will you--?” 

“I’ve got him.” 

It took a minute, Patton moving to stand by Logan while Roman carefully made his way to Virgil’s side like he was approaching a wounded animal. 

Patton didn’t miss how badly Virgil flinched when Roman lowered himself to the floor, how tense he went when the prince made a move to touch his arm. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Roman said softly. “You have my word. Can I carry you to the couch, please?” 

Virgil nodded, hesitant, and Patton’s heart broke at the quiet whimper that escaped when Roman carefully lifted him bridal style from the kitchen floor. 

“You’re alright,” Princey promised, sending a worried glance over his shoulder as Logan turned off the stove. “You’re safe, you’re ok. We’re almost there.” 

They made it to the couch quickly, Patton and Logan following closely behind, the three of them allowing Virgil his own space as soon as he was set down on the cushion. 

He instantly took advantage of it, pressing himself as far back as he could, knees pulled up to his chest, refusing to look any of them in the eye. 

Logan was seated on the coffee table across from him, Patton carefully lowering himself onto the opposite end of the couch, Roman perched beside him on the arm. 

Logan cleared his throat, hands folded in his lap. “Virgil--” 

“I-I don’t know,” Virgil said, still horribly small and shaky. “I’m sorry I just...thought y-you would all be angry with me. Again. If I...I-if I messed up and then I did and I thought...I thought--”

“Nobody’s angry,” Patton said. “Never over something like this Virge. And even if we were...you don’t ever need to be afraid of us.” 

Virgil hunched his shoulders, staring resolutely down at his lap. “I’m sorry. I should have...I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok, we--” 

“I just-” Virgil took a breath, knuckles turning white in his grip, the three sides falling silent as they waited, hoping silently. “I just don’t...I don’t want to leave.” 

Logan tilted his head, confused, looking to the others who were equally perplexed. “Leave...where? We of course would never force you to go to your room if you’d prefer company.” 

Virgil shook his head, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, and Patton’s chest clenched in sympathy as he watched him fight to get his thoughts together. 

“I mean I don’t...want to go back. This has all been really great. You’ve...you guys have been really great. And I know you-you didn’t really like me before and now that you know you n-need-need me you could...you could do whatever you want to me if I f-fuck up or...or make me leave and I don’t want to...to lose this.” 

“Oh, baby…” Patton scooted forward, unsure how to respond, feeling his heart break in two. “Can I...Virgil, can I hug you?” 

Virgil’s gaze shot up from his lap, shocked, but he nodded and let Patton wrap his arms around him, cringing at how badly he was shaking beneath his hoodie, pulling him against his chest. 

The anxious side’s breath hitched, and Patton just held him tighter as he finally dissolved into sobs, clutching at Patton’s shirt like he thought he would be ripped away at any second. 

Like Patton would ever let him go. 

“It’s ok, kiddo,” he promised. “It’s alright. You’re family now, remember? Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” 

“Indeed.” At some point, Logan had gotten up from the coffee table to sit beside them, carefully putting a comforting hand on Virgil’s back. “Even if we were angry over something, it would be an issue we could easily work out. Together. You never need to be afraid of losing us.” 

The logical side began to rub soothing circles along Virgil’s hoodie, a clear attempt to help him settle down, while Roman cautiously scooted forward and placed his palm over Virgil’s hand, Patton still holding on tight. 

“You’re one of us now,” Princey said. “Which means I am sworn to protect you! As long as I live and breathe, you’ll never be alone again! No harm shall ever--” 

“Alright, Roman,” Patton said, gazing fondly at a now smiling Virgil. “I think he gets it.” 

Virgil gave a small nod, pulling back slightly from Patton’s embrace, breaths still tiny, hiccuping sobs. “Yeah. Uh, thanks, you guys for...yeah. Thank you.” 

“No need to thank us for stating the truth,” Logan said. “However, based on your reaction tonight, and the fact that this is not the first time something like this has happened, the logical conclusion is that this mindset is not a new occurrence. Am I correct?” 

Patton thought about the broken mug, how terrified Virgil had looked when he’d thought they were upset with him, how he’d practically begged Roman to believe him when the prince had advanced. He thought about how tense Virgil would get whenever someone would raise their voice. 

It was becoming more and more of a struggle not to start crying again. 

“I guess so,” Virgil murmured, cheeks flushed red. “I mean, I’m literally Anxiety. I’ve had some, uh, bad experiences, I guess.” 

“Kiddo--” 

“No, no it’s fine!” Patton didn’t miss how tightly Virgil was squeezing Roman’s hand now. “It’s my fault, it’s...I should have said something. I should’ve...warned you guys, and I’m r-really sorry.” 

Roman leaned forward, brow pinched. “Warned us?” 

“About all of this,” Virgil said, like it was something obvious. “I’m not...easy to deal with. You guys know that already but it’s not just my function, it’s...it’s just me. I’m difficult and I-I don’t know how to fix it and I’m really s--” 

“But we don’t want you to fix it,” Patton exclaimed before Virgil could apologize again. “We care about you, kiddo! Everyone’s gonna have flaws and setbacks. All of us, but that’s why you have family!” 

“We do want you to feel safe here,” Logan added. “We’re all willing to assist you in feeling more comfortable. But we have no desire to change or fix you. I for one, have quite enjoyed getting to know you properly.” 

Patton and Logan agreed without hesitation, beaming when Virgil hesitantly met each of their gazes. He looked like he was seconds away from bursting into tears again, but this time it would be from something much different than fear and devastation. 

“Oh,” he said, small but hopeful. “I...ok. Uh, same. To the...to the getting to know you guys thing. It’s been...it’s been really good.” 

Patton smiled, giving Virgil one last squeeze before scooting back, clapping his hands together. 

“I’m glad, kiddo,” he said. “You still up for dinner? Logan might even let us have ice cream for dessert!” 

“Uh, yeah,” Virgil managed, Roman leading him to his feet while Logan rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “I-I’m good.” 

“Excellent!” Roman was already making his way back to the kitchen. “I’ll clean up the glass and then we can continue!” 

“I can help if you--”

“Nonsense!” Roman disappeared  around the corner, already belting another Disney song, and Patton carefully took Virgil’s hands in his. 

He was still a bit wary, but Patton could practically see him fighting against it, battling every instinct screaming at him to pull away, isolate himself out of self defense. 

But he was still here. Still learning to love. 

Patton couldn’t be more proud. 

“Come on,” he said, pulling him towards the stairs. “No bare feet tonight, just to be safe. Don’t worry, I’ll let you borrow some of my fuzzy socks.” 

[newbornwhumperfly]

it started out as a feeling...

CW: stress position, wrist trauma, blood, cigarette burns, modern slavery, slave-soldiers, discussion of war, references to abuse 

tagging: @haro-whumps, @whumping-every-day, @whumpthisway, @lave-e, @stoic-whumpee, @swordkallya, @whumpster-draganies @liliability

so. i Finally wrapped up my first installment of a whump series i’ve planned for ages after enormous support from fellow whomp-bloggers, many brainstorm sessions, amazing people drawing amazing art, & kind questions from people asking about original content <3<3<3

this wouldn’t happen w/to @haro-whumps cause they’ve been utterly invaluable <3<3<3 not only have i gained an enthusiastic cheerleader and beta but a good friend. thank you from the bottom of my heart :)))) 

title from “the call” by regina spektor

it’s Quite Long & exposition heavy but i promise - it gets angstier :)))

~       

July. 13.

Author: Captain Abraxas Hutchins.

Confidential Situation Report: cc; TATT Commander’s Guild

In this ninth official year in the conflict between New Athens and Upper Tyrus, I agree with general assessments that the cold war has heated significantly. In the past three years in particular, we have seen a sharp increase in subterfuge and sabotage towards essential operations.

Though skirmishes at both borders have become more frequent, our greatest concern regarding national security appears to be increasing levels of assination and data theft from New Athenian agents against the state of Tyrus (in both Upper and Lower Regions).

I understand that several commanding officers at TATT (Tyrus Anti-Terrorism Taskforce) are concerned about several bombings in the past three years as they are believed to be the efforts of New Athenian covert agents (unverified but probable). Despite the violent nature of these bombings, it is my opinion that the theft of data (as well as targeted assassinations) be considered PRIORITY. I consider it New Athenian strategy to cripple our operations.

(NOTED OBJECTION: My team sniper and fellow threat-analyst Cdr. Jorah Cuthbert’s assessment considers these bombings PRIORITY due to initial attacks causing military casualties, and some civilian, casualties.)

Though we have strengthened forces along our borders, even maintaining several “watchtower” outposts in the “Wasteland” region between Tyrus and New Athens, such security measures have failed to prevent the aforementioned acts of aggression.

Despite intense vigilance and dogged pursuit, no New Athenian covert agents have ever been successfully interrogated for high-value information and those few we have managed to apprehend committed suicide (or were assassinated) in custody and, since, before capture. 

OPINION: A renewed focus on the apprehension, detainment, and interrogation (NOT “ENHANCED INTERROGATION”) of a New Athenian covert agent would reap invaluable rewards in data-gathering, threat-analysis, and contributing to a stalemate in this crisis.

Though neither government has declared an official state of war, the political tensions of the past two decades have culminated in acts of aggression that might soon bring negotiation and diplomacy to their breaking points. The Tyrus Parliament’s recent statement is that they intend to “aggressively protect” mineral mining expansions into the borders of South “Wasteland” territory “with Legion support if necessary  (Senator Gilroy, Parliamentary Address, June 22). Such mineral expansions will certainly extend to Raetean coastal territory, which would inevitably result in clashes with Athenian security forces protecting land development projects conducted by New Athenian government). 

In my assessment, this will exacerbate tensions further between our nations. The Islands of Raetea off the coast of New Athens continue to suffer, with recent blockades and Tyrus sanctions increasing Raetea’s economic crisis, which has only worsened over the past four years. It is very likely that there will be a new wave of refugees into the state of New Athens as a result of tensions between Tyrus and Athenian operations, similar to what we observed at the unofficial start of this conflict over a decade ago. Consequent economic burdens and the optics of this influx of refugees will contribute to pro-war sentiment in New Athens.

It is my view that if the Legion must communicate with Parliament that if state negotiators do not increase their efforts--

Brax paused in their writing as another pang shot through their wrist.

Blinking against the blue dots which hovered in their periphery, they set down their stylus to stretch the kinks out of their aching fingers. They really needed to finish their sit-rep before noon tomorrow but there was no harm in pausing for some tea. Oh, and they still needed to get Jorah’s electronic signature before they sent off the document…

Allowing a groan to break through the stifling silence, Brax glared balefully at the slow-spinning ceiling fan.

It is an inanimate object.

It cannot feel your recrimination and will not go faster.

Rational, reasonable facts which didn’t stop them from glaring harder at the offending blades, languidly batting the warm air from corner to corner. Sweat began to dampen Brax’s robe a mere minute after they slipped it on, clinging to their back as they rose from the bed and strode to pour themself another cup of Darjeeling. It was a sign of how oppressive summer had become that the heat bothered them enough to glare at a goddamn ceiling fan.

Or maybe it was just this report.

Brax’s eyes throbbed to match their hands as their gaze tracked the bubbles rolling in the coffee-maker and thinking, suddenly, how they would rather do this than spend another minute on this report.

A report they had written before, in fewer, less urgent words. Perhaps they would come to write it so often that they could pen it with their eyes closed.

Brax was not born for...this.

Analyzing data for larger patterns, working with people to coalesce them into workable teams, untangling the knots of complex problems - it was all Brax’s bread and butter.

They just never thought they’d be doing it in service of a war.

Especially not such a war as this, which stretched on, cold and quiet as perpetual winter, for years upon years with no official frontline, no certain death toll, and no end in sight. It crept like frost through even the most iron structures of their society, the bite of corruption and desperation corroding from within, unrelenting attacks from without. A conflict that Brax had seen steal the best of their generation, silently and suddenly, into the night.

Alright, that decided it. Melatonin with their tea it was. Brax reminded themself not to make this a habit as they tapped two pills into their palm before they carried a steaming mug back to their bedside.

A fair and direct fight was more their speed.

Well, technically their speed was to avoid fights if at all possible but the past few years with the Legion had taught Brax that the thin line between caution and cowardice was easily crossed - regardless of intent.

They were not so foolish to hope to keep their innocence but they intended to keep their worldview intact, despite how determined the world seemed to shatter their views. They would not allow their intelligence to be broken into shards of cynicism and brutal practicality.

But in such a war as this, intelligence was never undervalued and Brax’s reputation for swift, sure judgement had left their opinion heavily in demand. They had heard the call and gone from analyzing political conflict behind a desk to the field with surprising ease, mirrored in their meteoric ascent through the ranks. 

Though they often wished for their cramped desk and stale coffee, they knew they were needed here and could not now resent being so pressed for their help.

Which is why they didn’t have much of a right to be surprised when a knock, heavy and booming, rapped against the door of their quarters.

Brax allowed themself a regretful blink at their unswallowed pills and undrunk tea before setting them down delicately, not at all with a disgruntled thud, before striding to the door.

Cobi had the decency to look a little rueful when faced with his commanding officer, haggard and bleary, clad in only a robe.

“This had better be damn important, Lt. Pfeffer,” Brax attempts to be wry but the strain in their voice rather diminishes the humor. “My Darjeeling has melatonin in it.”

“Yeah, uh, yes, Captain. Ok, uh…”

Cobi hesitated, chewed his lip as his mighty hands flexed, clenched white-knuckled, and suddenly Brax knew that shit was about to go down.

“Captain, someone...an Athens agent crossed the border. Like, just fuckin’ walked right into an outpost and, uh, gave themself up. This morning. So, uh. Yeah. Guessing that’s important, Captain.”

Well.

It seemed that report was going to have to wait.

~

The government car felt too small and too hot as it rocketed through the thick, buggy dark and Brax once again resisted the urge to adjust their shirt collar.

Putting the heat, and the thought that they really should have changed their undershirt, to the side, they glanced at the car’s digital clock.

02:45

They didn’t think the driver would notice if they fixed their appearance but Brax preferred not to bring undue attention to the sloppy adjustment of their hastily donned uniform. Repressing a sigh, Brax scrolled through their data-pad, sweaty fingers slipping on the screen as they skimmed through the electronic sit-rep.

\

At approx. 22:10, a New Athens covert agent approached a Wasteland outpost.

The agent was bound and searched. The agent was unarmed and scans revealed no explosive devices or any other weapons. The uniform was confiscated to search for bugs. Upon interrogation, the agent would only state name, serial number, and desire to speak to someone in the command structure. The agent has been restrained securely to prevent possible suicide.

Stated name: Morja (Serial #:13308)

Approx. 5’, 5-6”

Approx. late 20’s to early 30’s

Brown skin (possible Raetean descent - known to be typical for covert agents)

Health Status: no diseases, no medical conditions known

No current, major injuries noted. 

/

Once again, Brax’s eyes drifted inexorably towards the clock’s bright glare.

02:47

Shit.

Time crept like the dark fields beyond the tinted window, too slow and yet too quick, as Brax struggled to grasp their prided equilibrium. Yet they felt like it was slipping from their grip like the datapad through sweaty hands.

The security bureau likely felt they were already lagging too far behind this development. This interview ought to have happened hours ago. Brax needed more time, more information, to interrogate this agent. They needed to know if this agent had previous contact with Tyrus forces.

They need more time.

The truth was that, despite the considerable efforts of Tyrus' intelligence agents, they had very little notion of how covert assassins were trained on the other side. Even the recruitment process was shrouded in mystery and misinformation, but many analysts suspected that service was..less than voluntary. They knew that impressment targeted Raetean refugees, third-class citizens, and often poor prisoners, all conscripted with grand offers of security - or, as Brax recalled with a gag from a propaganda newsclip, “the service of the lesser so the great will prosper”.

These agents started young and desperate, understandably - easy to break into desirable moulds. New Athenian agents fought with fervent loyalty on par with religious devotion, with most Tyrus citizens considering these agents devout to their nation like cultists to their faith.

Brax did not entirely buy that.

Being trained (likely brutally) and indoctrinated with nationalist gratitude since youth, plucked from a miserable existence. Especially where the third-tier citizens and refugees often died of untreated illness, ration shortage, and climate poisoning.

Choice was all well and good to praise when one has never had...no choice.

There was also the fact that treason, dissension, any sort of breaking ranks - all punished with a proud severity typical to an authoritarian state. Add these all together and a nation gets a loyal stock of “servants”, bound for life to die for a state which did not seem to care how many they lost as long as they achieved their goals: the prosperity of the great.

They need to focus on the details at hand.

They need beads of sweat to stop rolling off the dome of their head, trickling to the wire-rimmed lens and clinging to the glasses, refusing to fall.

Ignore it.

One thing was quite certain - Brax had no idea what to expect.

~

The atmosphere in the outpost bunker buzzed with anticipation, goosebumps rising along Brax’s arms even in the sweltering air, as they stepped down into the building. Two fresh-faced lieutenants stood at restless attention and once Brax stepped into the room the fidgeting figures snapped out their salutes, hand to forehead, with a nervous, jerky speed.

A reedy blonde, the sergeant in charge, seemed to barely keep herself from crossing her arms across her body, hands making abortive gestures towards her torso as she briefed Brax on the situation. She was sweating dark stains through her uniform and her mouth ticked sporadically, twisting into a small, hard shape.

Brax knew all the information given but they allowed her the extra minute to grit the story through her teeth. She clearly needed this.

Nodding sharply at her conclusion, Brax inquired and was led to where the agent was being held, a small soundproof room with a heavy steel door.

“Under no circumstances am I to be interrupted - is that clear?”

Satisfied by the brisk nods of their wide-eyed subordinates, Brax gripped the cell’s door handle harder than necessary as they input the code with slow, steady presses of a slippery finger. Taking a moment to cycle through all known factors in their head, they allowed their shoulders to drop and slipped on the politely inquisitive neutrality of their game-face.

As they stepped, resolutely, over the threshold of the cell, their eyes adjusted to the dark room and they finally laid eyes on the agent in question.

A stocky figure, likely short in stature, thickly muscled limbs, dressed in a Tyrus Legion issue slacks and teeshirt. Even in the low light, Brax could see the agent was dark in complexion, with the brown skin and black hair typical of Raetean citizens.

“Likely” short, Brax noted, since no real gauge could be made of the figure’s height since said figure was on their knees, shackled.

Their ankles and shins had been tightly bound together, leaving the figure to balance in an uneven kneel, straining the broad shoulders where their arms had been drawn back and up to the wall, where their clenched hands were bound in thick, steel cuffs.

Shit. That was just wonderful, wasn’t it? They knew the agent would surely be cuffed - they had been handed keys after all - but nobody had mentioned...stress positions.

Just as well. Brax’s opinion on the outpost’s flirtation with torture was well-known amongst superiors and subordinates alike. They didn’t need their blood up. Ir would have been nice if these soldiers hadn’t played fast and loose with protocol. But the reprimand can wait, Brax sternly reminded themself. Focus on the task at hand.

As the door swung heavily shut behind Brax, the figure raised their head slowly.

A dim glow from the one dangling bulb threw shifting shadows onto a rugged face - thinly bearded, a wide brow, chin and nose, the broad bridge crooked from an old break. Their mouth was pressed into a thin, hard line. Their thick, jet-black hair gleamed with perspiration, the sweat-drenched locks watermarking the pale green of their shirt-shoulders. 

The low light accented thick scars ridging the bronze flesh: a wide mark swooping over his nose, slashing through a thick right brow, curving below the left cheekbone, and a jagged mark splitting the tender skin below one of their dark, deep-set eyes.

Those eyes glinted for a moment, alighting on Brax’s face before flicking away, settling blankly somewhere around the fourth button of Brax’s uniform.

No further movement, not even a change in breathing, from the agent. No flicker of expression disturbed the blankness of their face. Only steady blinking and a cadenced swell of the broad chest indicated that they were even alive.

Well, they were a stoic one, that was certain.

If they were as smart as they must be, they were either suppressing terror at their predicament (likely) or smug certainty in some nefarious ploy (plausible but less certain).

Brax let the air simmer for a few more moments before striding with purpose towards the figure, ready to undo their bonds. At their first certain step, every line in the agent’s body tautened, rigid as a sail in the wind, as their rhythmic breaths quickened - shallowly, shortly out, deeply, swiftly in.

So - the former.

Reassured by a confirmation of their assessment, though less pleased to be a source of distress, Brax made quick work of the restraints.

They stepped back, giving the agent a moment to straighten up and rub their wrists. The figure’s gaze flicked to Brax’s face, brow nearly creasing into a furrow before smoothing once more. They allowed their arms to fall and settle stiffly on their lap, settling on their knees and settling their gaze once more upon Brax’s waist.

Alright then - no aggression, no combative expression, nothing but complete submission so far.

Good cop it is then - good.

Sinking to one knee, Brax tried to seek out the agent’s eyes but that dark gaze remained lowered, so Brax focused on keeping their voice low and soft.

“Hello, Morja, my name is Captain Abraxas Hutchins. I was told you wanted to talk to someone higher in the ranks, so, you got me. Can you tell me what it is you want?”

An intake of breath, sharp and sudden.

Brax would almost call it a gasp and their close observance caught the figure’s eyes flickering with something like shock. If the agent was bewildered or shocked, however, they recovered swiftly, their soft burr revealing no more emotion than their stony face.

“Anóteros, I came to...offer my service to Tyrus.”

....Well. Alright. Well.

Brax allowed themself a blink. Taking a moment to process this statement.

“Are you...are you telling me that you’re surrendering?”

“...Yes, anóteros.”

The agent opened their mouth, paused, spoke once their gaze flickered over Brax’s nod of encouragement.

“I am… deserting New Athens. I… offer my service to this nation. I will offer information. I will fight. I will….do whatever you want.”

The way that the agent spoke, measuring each word as some fragile and heavy thing, sat uneasily with Brax. So did being called “master” or “superior” or whatever that word meant.

As the agent’s palms stiffened, flexing upon their thighs, their close proximity allowing Brax to note the copious scars and burns (some little and disturbingly round) littered upon those wide hands. Brax kept noting that too, the broadness of the figure before them and how often they forgot the size in light of the demeanor. Their shoulders did not hunch, their head did not hang low, but they projected absolute submission.

I am not a threat. I am small and harmless. You do not need to hurt me.

Brax did not need psych-profile terminology at the moment. They could almost hear Sarai’s murmurous meandering on abuse survivors and body language, atypical trauma symptoms, and all the things Brax knew too much about for a lifetime. This agent’s possible history with abuse was an issue for the aforementioned team medic and therapist to ponder if she wished.

Brax was here to assess potential threats.

They were not at all influenced by how the shift of movement drew their eyes to the cruel grooves in the agent’s wrists, deep and ugly crimson, the clear marks of viciously fastened zip-ties.

Not in the least.

Skin on the left wrist had broken and blood sluggishly trickled from the cruel, red circle.

“Do your wrists hurt?”

The agent’s eyes snapped up, fixing Brax with another brief flicker of astonishment. It lasted a mere moment before the agent lowered their gaze. They shifted, their lips parted, shut, parted again.

“Don’t lie - are you in any pain?”

The agent visibly twitched this time, nodding quickly.

Brax would not be accused of being soft by most people. Secretive, observant, strict - usual adjectives whispered regarding the taciturn leader. But for all Brax had purposefully cultivated their reputation of principled sternness, they hoped to be accused of compassion just as often.

What was the use of incisive insight, being able to read people fairly, assess their intentions accurately, and deal with them rightfully if they could not extend it to someone right in front of them?

Well, they would rather be damned for humanity anyhow.

Rising from their haunches, Brax strode to the door and rapped sharply, demanding a first-aid kit from the blinking officer. After some fumbling in cabinets beneath the open stares from frozen compatriots, the officer handed over the item.

Brax traded their crouch for a kneel, mirroring the pose of the rigid agent while they fished some analgesic ointment out of the kit.

“Hold out your hands for me?”

The figure obeyed without a moment of hesitation, palms spread and forearms balanced in tandem.

Brax hummed in approval, cleaning their own hands with alcohol before hovering a fresh wipe over the maimed flesh.

“This is going to sting but the ointment will help with that in a minute.”

The agent did not so much as wince, palms perfectly still as Brax swiped at the gashes as swiftly as they could. Despite the lack of reaction, the agent’s wrists likely felt aflame at the disinfectant.

“So, stop me if I’m wrong. As I understand it, you’re…”

Brax balanced two words on their tongue. Defecting? The alcohol swab snagged a pucker of scar. Round. Diverted. Still pink, a few years old.

“...fleeing. And you want to cooperate, work with us willingly, yes?”

A nod.

“Have any of your anótero ordered you to surrender yourself?”

The agent twitched but their mouth pulled down in another flash of bewilderment.

“No, sir,...New Athens does not infiltrate. I am...committing treason by being here. Even...even by speaking to you, anoóteros, I would be...executed.”

Dry tracks of crimson had eked down the agent’s forearms from their downward angle.

“Then why are you here? What do you want?”

Peeling the wrapper off another wipe, Brax began cleaning those trails, smothering a frown as the stale air thickened with the sharp, metal scent of blood and alcohol.

“I...believe that there is a better way. For my people. A better way that those at the head will not see, will never see. It is not…their way. The only way to save...to have this better way is to end the conflict. To dismantle central operations in New Athens until there is no choice but to change things.”

“So you want to use y-their own tactics against them?”

“They are effective, anóteros.”

A fair point.

“And…”

Brax hummed in question and after a strained beat of silence, the agent continued.

“In e-exchange...for an active policy of recruitment of Athenian agents, taken in alive.”

Well.

“You, you think other agents will defect.”

“...I do.”

Well.

“I see.”

Brax focuses their attention on a crusted clump of blood at the agent’s pulse point, dabbing wetly and turning the information over, the blunt shock of the agent’s words tumbling through their mind. The heat pressed against Brax’s skin, thickened like a cap against their skull, they needed to think.

They need to let their instincts guide them.

“So those are your, uh, conditions for cooperating with us?”

“And I will not execute civilian targets - on either side.”

For the first time, steel edged the tone, the words all weight and no hesitation.

Brax had no counter to this so they merely hummed.

Crumpling bloodied wipes into the kit, Brax dolloped ointment onto their fingertips and began rubbing it into the cuts, grateful for the waft of peppermint which broke up the morbid odor and finally fully gazing up at their patient.

The agent regarded Brax openly, eyes glinting with a bright mixture of caution, bewilderment, and something very much like awe. That look pinned Brax. It seemed that those eyes were shocked into aching vulnerability from an act of simple kindness and it made Brax...unsettled.

“Better?”

“...Y-yes, anóteros.”

“Ah. You don’t need to call me that.”

That little furrow deepened between the agent’s brows.

“Anoóteros. If it makes you more comfortable, I don’t object to it. But I’m not requiring you to call me ‘superior’, ok?”

Now the corners of the agent’s mouth creased downwards as their lips parted, pressed together, and their sharp nod followed suit.

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me Captain. Sir’s a bit, ah, inaccurate anyway.”

Brax quirked their lips softly, trying to assuage any potential tension at the correction. They did this with any new subordinate, awkwardly hovering between honorifics in the face of Brax’s...ambiguity. It usually worked well - usually. The agent, however, had ceased to breathe and their fingers stiffened within Brax’s hold.

“I...apologize, s--, Captain.”

“No need.”

Brax dabbed ointment generously into a welt, a rare unbroken patch of wrist-skin rubbed to blister, as they elaborated in the same low, steady tone.

“I have to inform almost everyone that I am genderfluid, since I present as pretty masculine. I go by ‘they’. Being referred to as ‘he’ is fine, it only bothers me if those are the only pronouns someone calls me.”

Satisfied that infection had been successfully belayed, Brax wiped the ointment off their hands and began

tilting their head as they scrutinized the agent’s flat demeanor for cracks, shadows, flickers - searching for any hint of what was going on in their head.

“What about you?”

There was the bewilderment again, the agent pausing, likely weighing their response, stiffening as they finally spoke, somehow quieter and more measured than before.

“...I apologize, Captain. I...I...don’t understand.”

“I’m asking what pronouns you prefer for yourself.”

The agent’s chest rose, fell, rose and fell quicker as their proffered arms quivered, the creases flattened and deepening across their face in a waning struggle for neutrality. The body warred with itself before Brax’s eyes, some invisible cord of tension winding tighter as the agent seemed to scramble for an answer. 

Brax quickly thought of the agent’s name as they tried to belay any possible swell of panic by offering up solid bases - affirmation, instruction, guidance.

“Hey, Morja? It’s alright. There is no wrong answer here - just tell me your gender identity, alright.”

“...Yes, Captain. I...am a man.”

“Alright. So you prefer ‘he/him’?”

A quick nod.

“Alright.”

Plucking a bundle of gauze from the kit, Brax ignored the weight of the agent’s gaze on them as they unwound strips of material.

They had watched Morja. Now it was his turn to watch them.

“I understand that agents on your side are trained to be perfect. Perfectly obedient. Perfect killers. I’m sure you understand why I can’t be certain of what you say.”

Only once they began binding Morja’s wrists did they glance up from the softly trembling hands and catch those dark eyes head-on. They were sharp, affixed to Brax’s throat like lodestones, as his brow crinkled in thought. As Brax began tucking the edges of the bandages into the bindings, Morja spoke.

“Tyrus has been searching for a hidden data farm in New Athenian territory. It shows grids of border weaknesses here and to the West and it’s a high-value storage. It is low-security to disguise its importance. I can offer its location and optimal invasion strategy, Captain. I can offer this as proof.”

As Brax stood, gazing down at the agent, their senses were attuned to the utter submission of Morja’s posture, how his eyes were bright with caution, and though his hands still bore the faintest tremor, there was not a hint of deception.

Either he was telling the truth or Brax had never met a better liar.

“Alright. You can lower your arms, Morja.”

The man obeyed and the faint light showed his flat mask slip a fraction.

Brax barely had time to blink before Morja folded at the waist. Spreading his open palms flat, shuffling forward to press his head upon the ground. With his broad back bowed, his dark head brushing Brax’s boots, gauze-swathed hands unfurled as though in prayer, Morja was the perfect picture of supplication.

“Thank you...for your mercy, a-- Captain. Thank you.”

Well...alright.

Brax can process this: rituals of deference, kneeling, no eye contact.

Superior.

Still, a groveling enemy was not their idea of a good Saturday morning.

A wounded, terrified person at Brax’s feet, throwing away all he’d ever known for a change in heart.

A man who Brax had bandaged, thanking them for the mercy.  

“That’s, uh, alright. You’re alright. You can get up.”

Without looking to see how he responded, Brax strode to the door of the cell, rapping to be let out. When the blonde sergeant swung the door wide, her gaze slid balefully to the shadows behind Brax, eyes like icy chips in her clammy face. Her mouth was a small knot of fury. 

And just like that, Brax made their decision.

“I need a pair of cuffs and the car. He’s coming back to Base Forthill with me.”

Brax swung back to Morja, catching his dark head snap up suddenly, the neon light glinting at the whites of his widened eyes and limning his parted lips in the most blatant show of emotion Brax had yet seen.

Shadows of shock, relief, fear all flitted, swift and pale as moths across Morja’s face before fading away, leaving only the level mask settled staunchly in place.

Brax really hoped they wouldn’t regret this.

And yet, somehow, they didn’t think they would.

~       

i crave validation so tell me what you thought!!!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Little Bit Like Home

You moving to school has been tougher than Calum would like to admit but there are some moments that make it easier to bear, there are small moments where it’s not so bad. 

A continuation of these two blurbs (Blurb 1 and Blurb 2) Again it’s hella self indulgent. Inspired what really happened to me in my DnD campaign, see this post.  

**Contains spoilers for the Waterdeep Heist from Dungeons & Dragons if you are currently playing that module!!!**

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on Ko-fi

___________

“Can I make a perception check on the walls? See if there’s anything else funky in this room?” you ask, clicking over in your browser tab to the dice roller. The DM allows you to make that call and you click on the d20. 

“Your the only one rolling well on those things tonight,” one member of your party, playing an Orc sent out to learn magic and getting packed in with your ragtag group, notes after their failed attempt to pick the lock. You managed to pick that that too, but you chalk it up to you being a Drow Rogue and lock picking being one of your skills. 

“18,” you call out, looking back at your character sheet to make sure you’ve done the math correctly. 

“18?” The DM asks, just to be sure. You nod. “Okay, so you look around the room and there’s not really anything worth noting besides some dirt and blood. But no traps, no buttons in this room.”

“This room,” the entire party echoes laughing. The six of you have just survived barely a lightning trap. Which you still refuse to admit to setting up, but it was definitely you since as the marching order had you in front. 

“We’re going to have to go back to that mimic room,” the paladin of your group declares. Your party was warned that the room at the start of your adventure in this hell of a magic maze could be a trap and a mimic could be in the depths of it. But there was a chest still yet to be opened. However, you took the advice of your Orc and backed out of that room to avoid a fight just yet. 

Your previous encounters in other rooms leaving some of your party is better shape than others. This early in your adventure together the five of you didn’t really want to risk loosing anyone just yet. Lightening and your pirates love of ale seemed to be your only foe at the moment. 

“We should maybe just see what’s in here first,” Calum, playing as a Druid, counters. “Though it seems like if we find yet another key to a door that’s already been picked, it’s might be useless.” 

You know the tease is directed at you. “Hey, look here buddy, I will not hesitate to shoot a quiver into your ass. I see a lock I’m going to pick it,” you defend. 

“Besides,” your party’s pirate starts, “we’ve ducked a lot of rooms afraid of getting into another fight. If they pick a lock or two and we find the key later, at least we can add to the Bard’s collection.”

“Thank you,” you laugh. 

Soon your party’s able to direct their attention back on the adventure and magic maze you’ve found yourself in. You and Calum end up smashing mirrors in a room to avoid any sort of magic in them that would cause your party to fight your soul doubles. This leads to a five minute debate of how to leave said room that didn’t involve shoving the unicorn that your party was tasked with finding up someone’s ass due to a riddle unveiled, Everything you see is mine.

“Wait,” you say, laughing at the argument about who can fit the unicorn into their mouth. It was deemed to be more dignified. Your pirate waits outside the room, still naked thanks to the magic that rips all the clothes, weapons, and armor off of anyone that attempts to leave the room. “Everything you see is mine. If the mirrors are smashed, then nothing can be seen right?”

“No, shards can be face up, so technically things can be seen,” the party’s Bard counters. 

“No, no, you’re onto to something,” the pirate starts. 

“Oh my god, we’re so fucking dumb,” the orc hollers. “Someone cover their eyes. You means us. Anything we can see can’t leave the room.”

Thankfully, you’re still dressed having only attempted to leave the room and letting others continue with their naked escapades. “Holy shit,” you shriek as you direct to your DM how you cover your face with your hood and hold it tight around your eyes so you can’t see anything and step through the door. You’re able to cross completely clothed, swords, crossbow, and pack still in tact. 

“We’re so fucking STUPID,” you laugh. 

Calum’s giggle cuts through the speakers of your laptop. “How were we so prepared to just be fucking naked through the rest of this maze?” He directs to the DM that he redresses, having also attempted several times to brute force the magic door with no success. 

“We never speak of that,” the orc demands through their own laughter. “Never.”

The party comes to a stopping point about another hour later, saying goodbyes before leaving the Zoom meeting. Not even thirty seconds later after ending that call, an incoming FaceTime call comes from Calum. You answer it, wiping at the corner of your eyes. He’s grinning as the call finally connects. The weekend that Calum came up to visit, a friend in the cohort asked you if you’d be willing to going a beginner’s campaign. You had wanted to give the game a whirl but you knew it would be a time suck and asked if it was okay to bring someone else along too. 

After getting a yes from the DM you know you had to convince Calum to join in. It took less effort than you thought for him to join in and the two of you spent a couple hours the night before picking out your characters before you emailed the information back to the DM. Now every Saturday night you and Calum spend about three hours in a Zoom getting into all sorts of trouble. He settled easily on the Druid but spent forever trying to find an artist rendering of his character, Okolian, that felt right. Long black hair with streaks of white was a must along with a single braid as well, which he stole from your character’s look though your hair is all white. 

Slowly, it was decided that Okolian would have blue skin muscular, but not overly buff and refused to wear sleeves in order to wear leather arm bands around his biceps which could easily be mistaken for tattoos or markings of his people. Okolian prefers his staff but is also armed with a sickle and mace. The Calum touch of course was to add ferns rather than feathers. 

“I can’t believe you were going to let me be the one to have to figure out the unicorn,” Calum teases. 

“Hey, it was only six inches. Not that bad.”

He sputters his laughter. “Is that payback for calling you out for picking all the locks?”

“I would never do such a thing but maybe.” 

“Anything else on the agenda for tonight?”

“No not really. Whatever work there is out in the world, I’ll get to it tomorrow. What about you? The night’s still young.”  

Calum shrugs. “A friend was supposed to get back to me about drinks tonight,  but I haven’t heard anything yet. If he gets back within the hour or so, I’ll probably tag along but if not, it’s not a big deal. But you never did tell me about last night. How’d that go?”

You cover your face for a second, remember how many drinks were consumed the night previously. Calum laughs at the slightly panicked look that crosses your face. “There was two drinks too many past my usual limit and I felt it. Big time,” you answer. 

He’s glad to hear you getting out more. It’s in turned made him feel a bit better about getting back to his normal routine, getting dinner more with the guys or other friends. Missing you doesn’t hurt so bad anymore for Calum. He feels most often right before he’s going to bed, when he’d normally curl up into your side and open his arms wide for you to curl up into him. But it hurts less during the day. 

Getting used to the cohort and getting out a couple Friday’s in the month has helped you as well. You don’t feel so chained to your phone, don’t feel so beholden to being there for every text right away. It’s still hard when you start to cook dinner and almost reach out for a second plate still by habit. And in the morning when you’re fixing your cup of coffee your brain still wants to pull down a second cup. Sometimes you do. Sometimes you just give in because you need it. Need to let yourself sit with those feelings. 

“I’ll be sticking with cider after last night,” you tease. “Wine makes me myself too much. Never doing that again.”

Calum’s been privileged to see you wine drunk a couple of times and he can already imagine the type of trouble you nearly got yourself in. “Is your picture on the wall at the bar?”

“Not that bad, but close,” you giggle. 

“What am I going to do with you?” 

It’s just a joke but for a moment it makes you pause--what’s going to happen when you go back for break? Are things going to be different? Most of your clothes and things are still there though slowly more and more has been shipped to you. Is Duke going to remember you? Miss you too?

“Promise me the house isn’t too different?”

Calum furrows his brows, head titling just a little to the side. “What do you mean, baby?”

“Like without me, is it all going to be different when I come back?”

“It’s all pretty much the same here. Duke’s the king of the castle. Still have plenty of hoodies for you to steal and your side of the bed still misses you. I still miss you.”

“No, I--I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like I don’t want you to find ways to cope but I don’t know. What if it never feels right? Like so much has been missed that I just won’t ever fit in again?”

Calum shakes his head. “Babe, no. You still belong. Your shoes still have space in the closet. Your mugs still sit in the cabinets. There is so much of you still here--it’s how I get through the days.”

Maybe that’s what’s rough for you. There’s not much of Calum at your place. There’s none of his dirty laundry that’s halfway hanging of laundry baskets and there’s no bass rumbling and there’s snoring next to you at night. It’s all you, which is nice. But you wish you had a little bit of Calum too. 

“There’s none of you here,” you say softly. 

“I can fix that.” It’s a steady confidence, a nod of his head at statement. “Don’t you worry.”

You two steer the conversation to something lighter before you call it a night. And it’s harder to get up the next morning, to peel yourself out of the sheets. But you do it, you push up with a grunt and get your day started. Coffee, a quick bowl of cereal and fruit. You call Calum right before lunch to check in and then get back to work. 

As the days pass, the conversation the ache gets buried in some stress. However, you get a text about a package to get from the lockers at the front of your complex so shuffle down the path thinking it’s the new mattress pad you ordered. It shipped late last week but you hadn’t expected it to arrive this soon. 

As the door swings open to the locker you spy Calum’s handwritten on the label of the package. What the hell had be gone and done? You pick up the box and kick the door close with your foot before taking it back up to your apartment. Setting the box down on the kitchen counter, you find the scissors and cut into it. Right on top is a small envelope with your name scribbled across it. 

You said you didn’t have anything of me. So I knew I had to correct that. I hope they help. And a little thing from the old man, well not from him. But you’ll understand when you get to that. 

Love you. 

Digging into the box, you notice a few guitar pics, a couple extra t-shirt and then a long thin box. You pick it up, noticing it looks like a necklace. But with Calum you never can be sure. As you crack it open, you laugh, finding a gold chain staring up at you, attach to it is a tiny locket that as a paw print on it. You crack it open though and find a tiny picture of Calum and you inside of it and your eyes well with tears. It’s from your last vacation before you left for school, just two of you reclined on the beach and Calum kissing your temple. 

You draft a text to Calum. Tell Duke it feels like home now. 

[snarkymonkeyprime]

I just realized I should post it separate:

writing-prompt-s

You managed to retrieve a cursed treasure from a tomb. Instead of spending your newfound wealth, you donate all of it to charity. The spirit that was going to ruin your life now has no idea what to do.

kiriei

@snarkymonkeyprime A DISTRACTION

snarkymonkeyprime

You slag.  <3  Sung in the tune of destiel, I’ve decided.  demon!dean and scholar!castiel, anyone?

Castiel brushed more dirt away, eyes wide with delight.  “My god,” he breathed.  “This . . . this -”

“Is rubbish,” Balthazar interrupted.  He crouched over Castiel, peering at the object.  “It’s yet another vase from yet another doomed kingdom.  My word, the way you react you’d think the bloody thing was the grail.”

Castiel glared up at his partner.  “And you have no sense of adventure.”  He turned back to the find.  Balthazar wasn’t wrong, though.  It wasn’t anything different from what they’d found over the last month.  Beautifully inlaid though.

Rich, shimmering black opal that had managed to survive centuries buried in muddy earth in Scotland.  Pricks of scintillating red stone - likely agate - formed an image of a winged creature.  Angel?  

He tugged on the item and it came free quickly, mud and dirt falling off in clumps.

“It’s . . . stunning,” he sighed, happily.  It would be an excellent addition to museum’s collection.  He’d been working steadily with the Scottish government to unearth national treasures for the sake of history.  Like Balthazar intuited, it was likely nothing more than a bauble.  Still, it too would join the other odds and ends currently in storage.  

So beautiful, though.  He was amazed at how well-preserved it was.  It would look perfectly at home in his own office even.  It was his imagination that the red stone shimmered like fire and that the opal grew warm under his fingers.

Balthazar rose and stretched, wincing as his back cracked.  “Shall we call it?  Return tomorrow?”

Castiel glanced around, surprised at the lowered sun.  “Oh.  Yes, certainly.”  He scrambled from his dig site, clutching the new vase.  “I’ll hand this off to Gabriel.”  He looked around the site, wondering what else they might find.  So far, the majority had been old, pitted weapons, coins, and the occasional pottery shard.  This was the first whole item they’d found.  It would be a stunning centerpiece for the museum.

He carried it with reverence to Gabriel’s tent, handing it off.  For a split second, he considered stashing it in his personal bag but the idea soured in his stomach.  No, something this beautiful needed to be shared, not hoarded.

Gabriel, for his part, whistled.  “Yowza, one piece?  Nice work, Cassie.”

He beamed.  “It’s a find for sure.  I can’t remember the last time I’ve found unbroken pottery.”

The other man nodded, frowning lightly.  “Neither have I.  Certainly doesn’t look Scottish.”  He tilted the vessel.  “Greek maybe?”  He made a noise.  “Almost Roman looking; tile-work is a bit odd though.”

“Certainly possible.”  Castiel yawned.  “I’ll have to examine it further but it’s likely not originally from this island.”  He grabbed his bag and jacket and waved to the two men.  “In any event, I’ll be off to my hotel.  See you both in the morning.”

He broke away from Balthazar and Gabriel, heading to his rental car and then his hotel.  It had been a long - and clearly fruitful - day.  All he wanted now was a hot shower and equally hot dinner.

He slid into his car and twisted the key, screaming when a deep voice grumbled, “The hell, man?”

He twisted in his seat, wide-eyed.  A man sat in the back of his car.  A man wearing jeans and a leather jacket.  A very good-looking man who seemed very upset with Castiel.

“Wh-who are you?”  He patted himself for his wallet.  “I . . . I don’t have much,” he protested.

The man’s green eyes widened and then narrowed.  “You gave it away.”

“What?”

Clearly annoyed, the man folded his arms and sat back with a snort.  “Unbelievable.  What am I supposed to do with that?”  He ran a hand through his short brown hair, eyes shifting from green to red to black and then back again.  “Freely given breaks the contract; who freakin’ knew?”

“Freely . . . what?”  Castiel’s natural curiosity overcame his fright and confusion.  “Who are you?” he asked again.  He never noticed the man sitting in his car when he’d arrived at the car park.  Or had he been ducked down, out of sight?  He frowned.  Not likely, the car was insanely small and the man was . . . not.

A flash and the man was now in the passenger seat, still scowling.  Castiel yelped and pressed against the door though the stranger remained staring resolutely out the window, jaw clenched.  

“Unbelievable,” he repeated.

“Um, can I . . . help you?” Castiel prodded, completely lost.

Green eyes shifted to him.  “No, because you fucked me over.”

“Eh?”

The man scowled at Castiel again.  “You managed to break the goddamn contract.  You aren’t supposed to give the damn thing away.”

What in the hell was he talking about?  Completely confused, Castiel reached out and poked the man in the cheek.  “Oh, you are real,” he murmured.

Green eyes fluttered.  “Duh, idiot.”  Again that odd red-black flash.  “Do you have any idea what you did?”

“No?”  Castiel looked around but no one had returned to the carpark.  He supposed he could bolt from the car back to Balthazar and Gabriel but frankly, he was too intrigued and confused to move.  “You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he murmured.

“Look.  There was one thing you were supposed to do.  Keep the vessel and then I got your soul.”  He snorted, leaning back with his arms crossed.  “This has never happened,” he muttered.  “I can’t even . . .” he scratched his head.  “I can’t even feel the damn thing now.”

“Do . . . are you talking about the vase?”

The man nodded.  “The second you touched it, you woke me.  But then you gave it up and now -” he threw up his hands.  Then his eyes widened.  “Oh shit; I think I’m stuck here.”  He patted his chest and legs.  “Fuck, am I mortal?”

Castiel squinted and tilted his head.  “Are you well?  Do you need medication?”

The man looked at him.  “What?”  He grinned suddenly, eyes crinkling and lips quirking.  A very good look for him.  “Oh, shit; you don’t have a clue what I am, do you?”

“I think you are an ill man who is confused,” Castiel remarked.  He patted his shoulder.  “There’s an A&E on the way to my hotel; I can drop you off.”

“No, no; you don’t get it.”  The man grabbed Castiel’s jacket collar and pulled him close.  “You let me out,” he purred.  “You get to deal with me.”

“Let you out of what?” Castiel yelped.

“You let me out of the vase the moment your want manifested.  But instead of keeping it, you gave it away and severed my connection to it.”  The man’s eyes went dark.  His humor suddenly faded.  “You . . . you released me.”

“You said that,” Castiel murmured, cautious about distracting the man.  

“No,” he breathed.  “I mean, you . . . you freed me.”  He focused on Castiel then and yanked him forward, kissing him hard.

Castiel’s eyes were painfully wide but the kiss was . . . oh.  He had just managed to marshal enough braincells to return the embrace when he was shoved back again and released.

The man grinned, this time in absolute warm relief.  “You freed me.  I’m not . . . I can’t be commanded anymore.”

“You’re . . . welcome?” Castiel hedged.  He touched his lips, the skin still tingling. 

He blinked at the hand in his face.  He took it gingerly, shaking it once, more out of habit than understanding.

“Call me Dean,” the man purred.  He gestured toward the dig site with a jerk of his head.  “You’ll find that thing ain’t remotely ancient.  I found it at a flea market like an hour ago.”

“What?!”

Dean grinned again.  “Look.  Demons entrap, right?  People dig all over Scotland for old shit so how hard is it to find something that looks old and bury it about a foot deep?”  He leaned in and whispered loudly, “Not very.”

Rather than be startled by anything else Dean had said, Castiel groaned.  “It’s a fake?”

Dean blinked and then laughed.  “That sank in?”

He scowled and then reddened.  “Excuse me for having a stake in this.”  he blanched when the rest of the conversation caught up.  “D-demon?”

Dean winked.  “In the flesh.”

Castiel pointed toward the dig site.  “You . . . possessed that?”  He could remember the pristine look of it.  The way it warmed in his hands.  He focused on Dean then.  “Let me get this straight:  you possessed the vase and waited for someone to . . . abscond with it so that you could do the same with their soul?”

“Yup.”

“But then I, gave it up thus . . . severing your connection with the vessel.”

“Uh huh.”

“But - if I believed that - couldn’t you just possess another vase?”

Dean shook his head.  “You touched my vessel and connected yourself to me in that instant.  When you did possess it, you did the same to me.  You gave up the vase and gave me up at the same time.  You broke my contract.  You severed my servitude to Hell.”

Castiel tilted his head again, noting that Dean’s eyes softened at the action.  “No one ever did that?  Before today, I mean?”

“Most people aren’t very altruistic.”  He poked Castiel in the forehead.  “Give people the hint they have a fragment of wealth that can be theirs and theirs alone?  Even the pope would turn into a miser.”

“Huh.”  Castiel blinked rapidly.  So.  If Dean was telling the truth, he was a demon who’d intended to devour Castiel’s soul but instead was left drifting in reality.  “Huh,” he repeated, sitting back and staring out the window.

“You’re taking this pretty damn well, all things considered.”

Castiel glanced at him.  He looked human.  Dressed in modern clothing with brown hair and beautiful green eyes.  It was the eyes that most captured Castiel.  They were wide and deep.  Honest.  He believed every word Dean was telling him, odd as it all was.

“You’re a demon,” he stated, for clarity.

A grin toyed at Dean’s mouth but he only nodded.

“If you did have a connection to Hell, won’t they be mad?”

Dean shrugged.  “Probably?  Crowley, the one who’d locked me in, he’ll probably throw up a fuss for a little bit but then again, he always said I was more annoying than helpful.”  He grinned.  “I wasn’t all that productive on the soul collection department if you get my meaning.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow.  “Not hard to believe,” he murmured, absently.

“Hey!”

He took a deep breath.  “Where will you go?”

That startled the demon.  He blinked and then looked out the window.  “Uh, dunno,” he admitted.  He looked at his hands.  “Thing is, never thought I’d get free.  So . . . got no backup plan,” he admitted.

Castiel mulled it over.  He never did like the idea of abandoning someone in need.  Even if said someone was truly a demon.  He held out his hand toward Dean.  “Dean.  I am Castiel Novak, archeologist.  I have need immediate for an . . . assistant.  If you’d care to oblige?”

Dean glanced at the outstretched hand and then back to Castiel.  That same, warm honest grin from before.  He shook and then leaned back in his seat.  “You sure about this, professor?”

Not in the slightest, he admitted.  But he’d seen truth in Dean’s warm eyes.  And if what had happened was reality, it was his duty to help Dean.  He’d found the vase after all.  Abandoning Dean after that would make him no better than the damned souls he’d collected over the years.

“Right now, all I’m sure of is that I need dinner.”  He smiled at Dean.  “Care to join me?”

A grin that quickly shifted into something far hotter.  “You bet.  By the way, think maybe that assistant gig comes with perks?”

“Such as?” Castiel asked as he pulled out of the lot, glancing once at Dean.

“Oh, like,” he leaned in, nipping Castiel’s earlobe, “more of that kiss?”  He slid a hand around Castiel’s thigh.  “I’m pretty good at more than that,” he purred.

Castiel shivered and swallowed.  “M-maybe,” he rasped.  He reached up and planted his hand on Dean’s face, pushing him back.  “For now, don’t distract me; I hate driving in Scotland.”

He yelped suddenly when he found himself in the passenger seat, Dean now behind the wheel.  He glared.  “Don’t do that!”

Dean winked.  “Seems I still have a few tricks, professor.  Just think how useful I’ll be for you now.”

Castiel’s face went hot.  “Maybe I should go get the vase back,” he muttered as Dean jolted the car into traffic.  

“Too late!”

Castiel frowned at Dean but hid a smile all the same.  Perhaps it was too late for some things.  And perfect timing for others.

[scarletjedi]

Sangcheng Time Travel Fixit Outline Part 3: Rebuilding

Here it is, folks, the final installment! 

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Part III: Rebuilding

After the Banquet, everyone returns to their respective sects to rebuild, with plans to meet in Lanling in one month for the Mountain Hunt/Flower Banquet

Nie Huaisang sees this as a blatant political move/first step in an ultimate power grab. Jiang Cheng sees it as well, but mostly because he’s expecting it from Jin Guangshan. Huaisang also thinks it odd because, last time, the hunt was Jin Guangyao’s idea. Who is whispering in Jin Guangshan’s ear? He retreats to Qinghe and watches and waits

Jiang Cheng, meanwhile, is at loose ends.

He is *engaged* which is the first actually new thing to happen to him in years, at this point.

The war is over, he is as he remembers except Lotus Pier never burned down, so he doesn’t have to rebuild. (He’s earned the loyalty of the disciples in the war, that hasn’t changed, but they’re different disciples, more and less familiar. He does, however, convince his father to open recruiting to their sect – if nothing else, the war and actions of the Wen have left a lot of resentful energy. They’re going to need to cover more cases over greater distance or risk a second Burial Mounds

His parents are *alive* which is great, but even after their heart to heart (or maybe because of it) his father constantly looks surprised to see him and his mother sees far too much. They’re getting along better, but nothing like the couples Jiang Cheng knows who actually love each other.

Wei Wuxian is in Gusu, and his absence is perhaps the most familiar thing, for all that Jiang Cheng occasionally finds himself frustrated and looking for him in the places where he would hide to drink after the war. (and it hurts that it’s only now sinking in how wrong that was, and what kind of leader was he that his head disciple, his brother, was in so much pain and he didn’t see it)

Maybe he should get a hobby? He misses his dogs something fierce, but refuses to allow dogs on Lotus Pier.

I AM OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS AS TO WHAT HIS HOBBY SHOULD BE. I’m sure Nie Huaisang also has some ideas

Jiang Yanli is in Lotus Pier, and Jiang Cheng is shameless about following her around. He missed out on 16 years of his sister, he’s not missing one more minute. Yanli thinks it’s pre-wedding jitters (for both of them). She’s not *entirely* wrong

Jiang Cheng ends up spilling the beans to his sister. He’s just so tired, and it *all* comes spilling out. Time travel, Lotus Pier in flames, the death of her and Zixuan, Wei Wuxian being the weapon pointed at them, raising Jin Ling, his core—and he *cries* and Yanli cries with him and when it’s over, they have soup

Yanli invites Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji to lotus pier the next day, with the idea that they’d spend the time between now and the hunt with them and go back to Gusu after the hunt. She insists (and she’s right) that they all need to be with each other. And that Wei Wuxian needs to be told.

So, Jiang Cheng writes to Nie Huaisang, appraising him of the situation. Nie Huaisang is the mastermind, after all.

Nie Huaisang has about 3 days of painting/poetry/porn before he grows tried of it (and oh, the irony), and begins his study of the yin iron shard that Xue Yang left behind, beginning by recreating his notes, and what he can remember of Wei Wuxian’s (and what he knew of what Jin Guangyao kept in his treasure room)

Meng Yao finds out and tells Mingjue because some things should not be kept secret. He gets very angry – the war didn’t do his qi any favors.

Huaisang comes clean the way he only does with his brother and Jiang Cheng – as long as the Yin Iron is around, it will be coveted and we will end up with another Wen Rohan sooner or later

Meng Yao immediately realizes Nie Huaisang is talking about Jin Guangshan. “There are faster ways of solving that problem.” “I’m not letting you assassinate him, no matter how much he deserves it”

….WOULD THIS BE A GOOD PLACE FOR A VERSION OF FATAL JOURNEY?!? Only one that is less fatal.

Nie Mingjue proposes the sword castles to suppress the Yin Iron, that it could perhaps be used instead of corpses?

Nie Huaisang brings the shard with him, but of course it all goes wrong. They get separated from the disciples (and have their wonderful heart to heart – Nie Huaisang comes clean about doing this all before. Nie Mingjue comes clean about him and Lan Xichen considering propositioning Meng Yao) and have to fight off the sword spirits raised by the Yin Iron. Which they do, together, and escape. Nie Zonghui brings Nie Huaisang back to The Unclean Realm while Mingjue oversees the settling of the castle.

Nie Huaisang makes a crack about being glad they didn’t accidentally kill Sandu Sengshu’s fiancé

Nie Huaisang gets Jiang Cheng’s letter and confesses that Nie Mingjue now knows. It may be time to start letting people know, strategically. So yes, tell Wei Wuxian…but wait for me to start research!

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji arrive in Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng tells all. Wei Wuxian hugs him so hard they both fall off the pier

Something fishy is happening. There are upticks in resentful activity that is ascribed to the fallout of a war involving the Yin Irons, but Nie Huaisang’s little birds smell something fishy. He begins to play closer attention to Jin Guangshan

Flower Mountain Hunt

No Wen prisoners this time, but Jin Zixun continues to make an ass of himself, natch

Riding in, Jiang Cheng makes DAMN sure that Nie Huaisang has flowers because they are courting and that is what one does (and Jiang Cheng has a habit of blurting out exactly what he thinks and it is at times incredibly romantic), and is *completely flustered* when Nie Huaisang beats him to it. He’s almost used to affection between them in private, but *was not prepared* for public courting when HE is the target.

Jiang Cheng refuses to look at Wangxian being themselves because of course they are. He’s mostly happy that he knows Jin Zixuan will be better behaved towards Yanli. He’s already told her he likes her, so no awkward confessions in the woods.

But, of course, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang come across Wangxian rustling some bushes, and have to VERY LOUDLY delay Zixuan and Yanli until they emerge, sheepishly pulling twigs from their hair.

They advance as a group and come across Jin Zixun harassing Wen Ning, who was until then doing very well in the hunt (because he’s a damn good archer) but he doesn’t have his years as a fierce corpse to give him the backbone he needs to tell Zixun to take a hike.

This is one step of Jin Guangshan’s plan. He wants information on how to use the Yin Iron and is convinced that Wen Qing knows something, and if she knows, then Wen Ning might know something, too. So, the purpose of this is “what do you know?” with a combination of “tell your sister to cooperate”

Without The Yilling Patriarch, there are no impostors, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t demonic cultivators - people like Xue Yang but not him because I don’t like him so he’s dead. (Wait for it!) FUCKING SU SHE!! 

Jiang Cheng - “I thought he died in the war!” “He was supposed to...”

I know his focus is on transportation arrays, but he’s also desperate to prove himself and Jin Guangshan is *good* at exploiting weakness

So, we get a “demonic cultivator” who knows just enough to be dangerous because of what he doesn’t know and can’t do. 

Despite the interruption, Wen Ning ranks in the hunt, as does Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen.

During the banquet, Jin Zixun tries that “Drink with me” bullshit to “apologize” for his shitty behavior, and to celebrate Lan Xichen’s standing.

Jin Guangshan has seen the ways the others are closing ranks and instead of saying “I have an in through my son, and possibly my nephew if he had a personality transplant” he wants to gain leverage over them.

He straight up tries to marry Zixun to Wen Qing again, thinking it’s only a matter of time before the Yilling Wen are a major house again. Wen Qing will not have any of it, because Zixun is a) odious and b) mean to her brother. 

The date for Yanli’s wedding is announced, some two months hence.

Yanli is already pregnant, and Wen Qing notices (she’s the only one)

She’ll be around just 12 weeks when they marry, and while her due date gains her some serious side-eye from her mother, Zixuan is head over heels about the baby and is the softest father – but more on that later

There is a brief meeting to discuss the state of things. They plan to meet in Qinghe after the Banquet to compare notes and study the piece of Yin Iron to which Huaisang has access (the one in Gusu is still in the hands of Lan Qiren, who would not let them experiment, and there’s no way they can get to Lanling Jin’s artifact room.)

Nie Huaisang invites everyone to Qinghe for a night hunt

Everyone shows up like “okay, why are we really here” and are surprised when he says “no for real, a night hunt”

What are we hunting? “Xuanwu of Slaughter” the fuck you say?

Jin Zixuan mentions that his father is getting a bit too interested in the fact that Jin Zixuan is friends with the heirs to the main clans. Jin Zixuan tells him nothing except a very politely worded “fuck off” that Jin Guangshan doesn’t truly understand.

Jin Zixuan reunites with Meng Yao, and makes a formal offer of “brotherhood” 

Nie Huaisang tips Jin Zixuan off on Qin Su and Mo Xanyu, who is now a year or two old

Fighting the Xuanwu isn’t easy, but it’s easier with more people/weapons.

Wangji uses chord assassination but with the actual guqin and the help of zidian.

Wei Wuxian still goes inside the Xuanwu as bait, finding the sword.

Wen Ning uses arrows and Zixuan is rathter good with his sword, actually. Nie Huaisang fights with talismans and the occasional fan

The beast dies in 2 hours rather than 6.

“At least we didn’t have to swim for it this time.” “And I wasn’t left behind in Qishan”

They  take the sword back to Qinghe and begin their experiments in earnest. They are looking for a way to purify, destroy, or suppress the metal. Along the way, Wei Wuxian is gaining a clearer and clearer understanding of demonic cultivation.

“I have an idea, but it’s going to require huge amounts of resentful energy.” “You should go with Wen Ning to Yilling. There’s a place called the Burial Mounds” “Huaisang, no!” “Huaisang, yes!”

Before they go, Jiang Cheng reminds Wei Wuxian than he has to be happy, healthy, and whole for Yanli’s wedding. Wei Wuxian says not to worry, there’s a few things he wants to check in Gusu’s library before he tries anything

In Lotus Pier, wedding prep is in full swing, and Jiang Cheng throws himself into everything he can

It’s different than last time, last time Yanli did a lot of her prep in Lanling as Lotus Pier was still under construction

Her wedding will be perfect, damnit

True to his word, Wei Wuxian appears (sans Wangji) to escort Yanli to Lanling. For everything that’s been happening, Wei Wuxian is focused entirely on the wedding.

A-Jie’s wedding

It’s Jinlintai, so it's tacky as hell, but it’s also extravagant as hell.

Jiang Cheng weeps openly, and Nie Huaisang only mocks him a little before handing him a handkerchief. It’s odd, but so much better to have Wei Wuxian next to him, also weeping openly, but that’s Wangji’s problem.

Everyone (minus the wedded couple) end up in Jiang Cheng’s room after the wedding, and Jiang Cheng is able to ignore their absence only because of Jin Ling

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji leave for 9pm curfew (though Jiang Cheng is horrified to know that they won't be sleeping yet. He’s seen that look too many times to know differently), and one by one they all leave, leaving Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang alone for the first time in a while. Something they take full advantage of

The next morning they are woken by an alarmed Wen Qing - Wen Ning has gone Missing. They find him just over the border in Qinghe. (transportation array! Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng know IMMEDIATELY who it is - “WHY ISN’T HE DEAD?” “I don’t know!”) He’s very badly hurt, so they take him first to The Unclean Realm, bringing Wen Qing there to treat him. He’ll recover, but it will take time. Possibly, we’re looking at the return of Ghost General!Wen Qing. He was absolutely experimented on and left to die

The place they find him has been abandoned, but only recently. 

This puts Nie Mingjue and Wen Qing together, and she gets brought in on the whole “our method of cultivation makes us more susceptible to qi deviation” issue to offer medical advice, as an exchange for “allowing” Wen Ning to recover there

Like Nie Mingjue was going to kick out Nie Huaisang’s friend. Pssh. 

This is where Meng Yao approaches Wen Qing with a solution for her marriage issues (which might honestly boil down to “I’ve been in touch with my brother and he’s informed the ladies and I don’t think Jin Guangshan will be an issue any longer)

Jiang Cheng returns to Koi Tower to report to Jiang Yanli. She’s relieved that Wen Ning (and A-Qing, and when did they get so close??) are okay. She’s sad for Jiang Cheng that Nie Huaisang had to stay in Qinghe to host, as Nie Mingjue was still at Koi Tower, though he doesn’t stay long, ultimately.

Jiang Cheng returns with his parents to Lotus Pier, and is only mildly horrified to realize that his mother is beginning the preparations for HIS wedding almost immediately. Luckily, he’s able to put her off by telling her that Wen Ning was absolutely abducted by the Jin Sect. With Yilling Wen being a recognized house (and close neighbor to Yunmeng Jiang), Madame Yu is in favor of fostering good relations. She is (unfortunately) out of children, and Jiang Cheng only has to yell a little to remind her that he’s marrying Nie Huaisang and that *nobody* would be happy if he had to break his engagement to marry Wen Qing.

After his recovery, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji arrive to escort them to Yilling, where Wei Wuxian begins his task at the Burial Mounds. This puts him close enough that it makes *perfect* sense for Nie Huaisang to visit his fiancé in Lotus Pier (and assert that yes, *he* is going to marry Jiang Cheng. Wen Qing doesn’t even want to marry!)

This is the beginning of the end, everyone!

The Breakthrough

This happens “off-camera,” but basically, Wei Wuxian throws himself into the Burial Mounds, and with the help of Lan Wangji, learns how to manipulate resentful energies. With the background of his own (from another timeline) research, he’s able to stumble upon a more sustainable path very quickly.

I want it to have the side effect of purifying (at least in part) the burial mounds. It’s a form of suppression that, over time, purifies.

Absolutely, this is something that will also work on the saber spirit. This is a fix it, damnit

The End: SangCheng wedding

It all comes to a head at their wedding. It’s a natural end to both their romantic plotline (the shift from friends, to friends with benefits, to power couple, to terrifying husbands) and the other driving action (things only seem to happen near the great sects.) 

It’s a week of party, and everything goes down right before the wedding, like, the night before

Wen Ning was the test subject, and the Class of ‘84 is abducted (via talisman) to a secret location, the goal of which is to turn them into (non-zombie) puppets so that Jin Guangshan can control them. Thing more Manchurian Candidate than Renfield

This is, of course, a blatant parallel to the Guanyin Temple, where the major players are either brought back or subbed in. 

Jiang Cheng, Nie Mingjue, WN, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji are all there, as is Su She

Jin Guangshan takes Jin Guangyao’s role, Jin Zixuan takes Lan Xichen’s place (I trusted you!) and Jiang Yanli takes Jin Ling’s place

Wen Qing and MianMian are also there, though they don’t have a direct parallel

I think Wen Ning still arrives, like, half way through and bursts down the door with Nie Mingjue, because that’s fucking poetry right there. (Lan Xichen should also get to have fun, and if they’re there, Meng Yao is there)

And if Meng Yao is there, then perhaps he should have a stab at Jin Guangshan. Though, I don’t think Jin Zixuan would like that

I think the most fitting end is that Jin Guangshan is subject to the weight of his own hubris. His cultivation is high, which helped to a certain extent, but this isn’t the sort of cultivation that can be brute-strengthed. Best case scenario, you have Wen Rohan. Worst case, you blow yourself up. I’m not sure if a Qi Deviation or literal explosion would be better here. 

They marry, and live happily ever after

Jiang Yanli might also announce that she’s pregnant...and Jiang Cheng might cry “HIS NAME IS JIN LING COURTESY RULAN AND HE’S A GODDAMN MESS BUT HE TRIES SO HARD I MISS HIM SO MUCH"

Well, that’s all she wrote, folks! I’m going to be writing bits and pieces of this, at least, and I’m more than willing to take suggestions! If there’s something you want to see written out, let me know!

[the-lightning-mage]

Inquisition OC as a Companion

I’ve already made a post about some stuff about Holly, but I love the format @little-lightning-lavellan​ made, and it really made me think. The picture is my best attempt at making her on artbreeder. 

You have selected Holly Trevelyan to join your party!

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Class: Mage

Specialization: Rift mage

Background:

Holly Trevelyan is the second youngest of seven children born to Bann and Lady Trevelyan. Born in 9:12 Dragon, she is also the only mage of the family. She came into her magic when she was 12, and thus spent most of her life in the Circle. Due to the more lax nature of the Ostwick Circle, and her being from a noble family, she was able to regularly send and receive letters. The only person she ever really got letters from is her younger sibling. This caused them to be incredibly close despite the distance.

In her early years she spent most of her time studying healing magic in hopes it would help let her get out of the circle. After lots of discouragement, she ended up giving up on that dream. Instead she focused her studies on storm based magic, as she had always found rain and thunder comforting.

After reading several books, and hearing several accounts as to how much more advanced Tevinter magic could be in certain areas, she had a new goal. She decided to try to harness electrical based magic so that it could be used as an energy source. This path has led to her becoming one of the most powerful storm based mages in Thedas.

When the talks of rebellion began, she was a part of them. She hated being cooped up all the time, and she had heard horror stories of how other mages were treated. When the rebellion began, she was not so involved. She was horrified by the levels of wrathful violence some of her peers employed. She spent a lot of time helping people escape. When she herself did, she knew that the entirety of the rebellion could not be like that, and she seriously considered joining them. Instead she decided to go find her younger sibling. That choice only solidified when she heard of what happened to the Conclave.

She becomes a rift mage because that is what either a. Killed her sibling or b. Almost killed them.

Dragon Age: Inquisition

She arrives in Haven shortly before the party leaves to address the Chantry in Val Royeaux. She shows up not to necessarily join the Inquisition, but in an attempt to find out what happened to her sibling. She can be found just outside the gates near the stables arguing with Cullen, demanding information.

If the Inquisitor is human, and thus her sibling, the conversation to recruit her flows a lot more smoothly. She will then ask to be part of the Inquisition, saying she damn near had a heart attack when she thought they had died, and that they had been apart for far, far too long. If she is refused, the Inquisitor will tell her to go home. There will be a war table mission to ensure she gets there safely. If she is accepted, she rises through the ranks rather quickly due to her skill. Solas will accuse the Inquisitor of nepotism.

If the inquisitor is not human, she will get emtional, wanting to know where her sibling is. She will demand to join the Inquisition to get justice for her fallen sibling. If denied, she will join the rebel mages instead. If they are sided with, she will technically be part of the Inquisition, but not as a companion. If not, she discovers Dorian, gives him what info she has, and flees. If she is accepted, there will be a war table mission to find her sibling’s remains or something they had on them.

In Haven, she can be found near the Inquisitor’s cabin. In Skyhold she can be found in one of the unused towers near Cullen’s office. It will have fancy looking equipment for her experiments.

She can be used to gather rebel mage support.

Approval and Romance

As they are siblings, human Inquisitors will have an easier time gaining approval, but for certain situations, they will face greater disapproval than non-humans. For example, non-humans will get “Holly disapproves” if they conscript the mages instead of treating them as allies, but humans will get “Holly greatly disapproves.”

When it comes to the big decisions, like what to do with the Wardens, who goes into the Well of Sorrows, etc. She tends to take in all of the “what ifs?” and bases her own opinions on that rather than her own morals. She may not like a decision, but if she thinks it will ultimately have the best out come, that is the one she goes with.

She likes to view most things from every angle she can. She prefers more merciful forms of justice, and can tend to be very forgiving. She likes it when the Inquisitor tries their best to understand others, while not necessarily condoning their actions. She likes it when they help those in need, though not as much as Cole does.

She can only be romanced by non human Inquisitors for obvious reasons, and she can be romanced by both men and women. If neither she or Cullen are romanced, they will end up in a relationship together. Instead of having a big romance scene, at high levels of approval, human Inquisitors will get an emotional scene where she tells them just how much she was worried about them.

Her personal quest involves her closest friend from the Circle. He sends her a letter telling her that he alive, and would love to catch up. It turns out to be a ploy, as he betrays her. He can be killed or talked down and shown mercy.

Her romance quest involves taking her to a few different locations throughout Orlais and Ferelden.

Trespasser

High Approval: She stayed with the Inquisition over the last to years as their advisor on matters of the Arcane. She presents them a unique weapon she had been working on in free time. Romance does not change this.

Low Approval if Cullen was romanced: She spent the last two years traveling. Seeing the world she never could see before. She helps and sends word back to the Inquisition when need be.

Low Approval if Cullen was not romanced: She remains with the Inquisition, helping where she can. She spends a lot of time helping Cullen figure out how to best utilize the mages.

Post trespasser: She spends much of her time working, and when she is able to get a working prototype she presents it to whatever Mage authority there is, and gets funding. It helps propel mages into good opinion. Details about her relationship are shared.

Combat Comments

Killing an enemy:

“Block this!”

“Eat ash!”

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me!”

Low health:

“Do we have another healer?”

“Armor failed me.”

“Help!”

Low health Inquisitor and Companions:

“Inquisitor!”

“Brother/Sister!”

“I’m on my way Dorian.”

“Maker, someone help the Seeker.”

“I’ve got you, Varric.”

“Shit... Bull!”

“Cole’s down!”

Other

Approaching camp: “I’ve always want to go camping.” “I’m not expert, but this seems like a lovely place to stop?”

Approaching a High Dragon: “Are they really that big?”

Using an ocularum for the first time: “Are you sure you don’t want me to examine it first?”

Picking up shards after finding the temple: “What are these doing all the way out here?”

Location Comments

Arbor Wilds: “It’s a shame we have to fight here.”

Old Crestwood: “No wonder they’re having problems with undead. Look at all the spirits.” “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Emerald Graves: “Am I the only one who thinks this place is beautiful?” “Wow....”

Emprise du Lion: “This... this is why I wear a cloak.” “I should summon some lightning. Start a fire and destroy the red lyrium. Two birds with one stone.”

Exalted Plains: “They really could not think of a worse name.” “A place that is a monument to humanity’s evil taken over by demons. Ironic.”

The Fallow Mire: “Ugh.” “I think I saw a bug the size of my hand.” “I love nature, but I hate this place.”

Forbidden Oasis: “This place would be nice if it weren’t for the Venatori... and the giant.” “I’m confused. Why is they’re a temple here? Who built it?”

Hinterlands: “Can we visit Redcliffe?” “So much chaos....” “We can help the people here, right?”

Hissing Wastes: “How do I have sand in my armor?” “Dwarven ruins on the surface? This is a dream come true.” “Great. Venatori.”

Storm Coast: “Crossing the Waking Sea was my favorite part of getting here.” “I actually quite like the weather.” “I wonder... is this place more prone to lightning storms?”

Western Approach: “Talk about a wasteland.” “Poison hot springs and chasms into the Deep Roads? At least there are ruins.” “I suppose this is a good place for nefarious deeds.”

Advisor and Companion comments

Blackwall: “She’s very dedicated and has a good heart. She’s what people should think of when they hear “mage.””

Cassandra: “She is very dedicated to the cause, though I worry she might set fire to Skyhold with one of her... experiments.”

Cole: “Trapped. Walled in. Caged like a fancy bird. Not anymore, but she stays because she wants to help. Is helping. She’s good, like her healing spells.”

Cullen: “She’s dedicated, clever, and very, very persistent. She’s been a great help with the mages.”

If in a relationship with her: “She’s... amazing, isn’t she? I’m not sure what she sees in me.”

Dorian: “You don’t find many people so open to new ideas, or people that are that accepting. She is excellent company.”

Iron Bull: “She’s different from the other mages. Too entrenched in her work to boast about it. Way more practical. I have a lot of respect for what she’s trying to do.”

Josephine: “Though I wish we could make better use of her noble ties. She is invaluable, and holds great conversations.”

Leliana: “It’s not often you meet someone who has truly nothing to hide.”

Sera: “I dunno. She makes too much sense for a mage, ya know? At least she’s pretty.”

Solas: “Holly? Ah. We don’t particularly get along, but I approve of what she is trying to do, and has accomplished.”

Varric: “You wouldn’t guess it, but Bookworm is just as good in battle as she is in that tower of hers. Thank the maker it takes a lot to piss her off. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of her lightning bolts.”

Vivienne: “I’ll be honest, I do not agree with her on everything, but at least she is loyal. Her work ethic is to be admired as well. She dresses rather simply though.”

Trivia

At first, everyone thinks Holly is the nickname Varric gave her. It doesn’t match her personality.

While she may not believe Dorian about the time magic, she immediately believes him and Felix about the Venatori. She had heard rumors about them before the events of Hushed Whispers, but nothing concrete enough to tell anyone.

Her relationship with Cullen starts with him asking her if she can soothe headaches. She has somewhat of a reputation for her healing magic, even if she doesn’t use it much.

She is an excellent singer.

Like Solas and Varric, she acts like a parent towards Cole.

If the Inquisitor is a human man who romances Dorian, she’ll tease him for having a type.

[antihero-writings]

Blood and Mercury

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Symptoms of mercury poisoning may include: irritability, excitability, delirium, insomnia, vivid dreams, depression, and suicidal tendency.

There must have been a lot of mercury in Break's past for him to show so many symptoms.

|| A modern AU about Break's past struggle with drug abuse and suicidal thoughts, and his current struggle with the Mad Hatter's illness, and how much of that struggle he should tell Sharon about.

Character Focus: Break

Notes: 1. Warning! This fic deals with topics of suicide and drug abuse. Everything is described very subtly and poetically, and it's not explicit, but it is about that. However, although it's heavy for the first part, there's some definite comic relief at the end if you can get that far!!

2. This is a modern AU. Not the reincarnation AU, an actual modern AU, where the plot of the series happens in modern time. (I mean, I guess it could be a reincarnation AU if actual events repeat themselves...but I don't think they do). So, in case it's not clear, Break's sick from his second contract with the Mad Hatter, just like in the series. Although I do like the idea that it's actually mercury poisoning.... a) I didn't even think about that until I'd already written it, b) coughing up blood and stuff isn't a symptom of it, and c) that's a really cool idea that I'd rather focus on and do justice in another fic. (Let me know if you'd be interested in reading that!!) The time frame for this is meant to be towards the end of the series--around the time Break was teaching Oz sword fighting.

3. I've always headcanoned Break (or more Kevin) as being suicidal because of the "So...you wanna die?" line. I don't know if the line was actually supposed to mean he was directly suicidal, or if it just meant he was depressed and not doing well, and/or just didn't care about his life, but that's how I've viewed it. And even if he was suicidal, I don't know that he ever attempted it. It could just be that he was suicidal inside but never did anything with those thoughts. Regardless, I do think he wanted to die in some fashion, and to me it makes his story more impactful (especially when he ends up wanting to live at the end), and relatable if he was actually suicidal. So I really wanted to play with that idea in at least one fic (though I'd enjoy playing with it in the context of the actual series too).(You don't have to read this part if you don't want to XD I just wanted to put it up front)

This fic was inspired by the song "Colors" by Halsey!

If you enjoy this fic, I'd really really appreciate if you could leave a comment!! Even the shortest comments can truly make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Chapter 1: The Candy Shop

Collapsing. Blackness. Scratches in his lungs. And the taste of blood.

He never complained but his blood tasted like ash, and regret, and the blackness that overtook his sight was far from empty; an abyss, the memory of one, engulfed his world before he even felt the ground.

The last thing he had heard was Sharon shouting his name, and at Oz to get the medicine—and do so quickly. She didn’t say why, but they all knew it was because every second they wasted was a second he no longer had to spend.

Sharon’s voice, doused with pain. All that hurt and care, and thinly veiled tears, crammed into a few words. He’d never tell her, but he could care less about the wasted seconds, if only she would promise never to cry like that again.

He had collapsed this time. That wasn’t exactly abnormal, still, little by little, line by line, every little sign, he was getting worse.

“Don’t push yourself, Xerx.”

Reim would scold him for not listening.

And maybe Break would laugh, say some quip about how he worried too much, how he needed to let loose. Or maybe he’d say nothing at all. But they both knew—words or no—at some point, this would be all that was left; a few laughs, a drink or two, and the words Xerxes, don’t throw your life away.

What a fool he was.

With Sharon it was different. Different because she was young, and she didn’t understand, not fully, not enough. Or because she understood too much, and everyone pretended she didn’t. He didn’t like to entertain the thought, but maybe that included herself; maybe when she told them to get the medicine, she was telling herself it would work.

Which was the scarier thought; that she didn’t understand? Or that she understood completely, and pretended not to?

What about before? When she was a child laced in light. Was it worse then, or better?

She was younger—so, so young…had they really known each other so long? Was he really so old?…little girls shouldn’t be forced to deal with the broken shards of someone like him.

They might get cut on the pieces.

She didn’t know. She didn’t need to pretend. Still, they tried to hide his pain from her young impressionable brain. And this was not easy, nor fun, but neither were the tears and the questions.

That all but went out the window when the little girl found him, collapsed on the bathroom floor, along with the desperate spill bottle of pills, meant to override the circuits in his brain. Salt thrown over his shoulder.

For good luck on the other side.

Shelly’s face. No anger. No disappointment. That kindness was in Sharon’s smile too, now—and did this kindness mean more if she knew the truth? If he’d known the capacity of their smiles, would he not have tried it?

Sharon had led her mother to him—her voice was desperate, shouting, crying, back then too…some things never change—laying there on the floor, on a date with death and a bottle whiskey and cyanide. As if toasting to the thought We are born drinking from bottles, why not die that way too? Instead of throwing them away he had tried to throw away his life instead.

Bottle up his life, slap a label on it, set it on the shelf. You can take it down on special occasions. Sell it, throw it away, it doesn’t matter. Throw away his life with the very thing that was meant to heal it. Not many murder weapons were once medicine. An overdose on ineffective salvation.

Hadn’t wrote a note either. Hadn’t given them a reason, hadn’t detailed his pain, or plan for revenge.

Just tried to leave without a trace, and left too many.

And when he woke up and, to his chagrin, was still alive—no heaven or hell, just here on an earth that was both—she hadn’t scolded him…well, not at first. She hadn’t demanded to know what he was thinking, or tried to ingrain within him him how much they cared, and how terrible it would all be if this plan of his had worked. She had just smiled, and spoke softly. And later, when she cleaned him up, she had said…

It was always the same. The same now. Black and white and red all over. Sharon’s cries, instead of choking down all the pain, forcing herself not to feel, like he did, she took that pain on her tongue and let it spill out into the open air.

Maybe that was all she could do. Shout his name, and pray her words would pull him from the beyond the veil, and try to discern if there was such a thing as medicine after all. Maybe she wanted to feel useful, because just sitting here, waiting for the end to come and grab him with teeth and claws, was more than she could bear. And in some way he was grateful, because he’d rather she pretend she could save him, than see the real pity, the hopelessness in her eyes when she realized she couldn’t. When she realized the Red Queen and the Black King had her Mad Hatter after all, and she couldn’t break him out of their dungeon.

One day, he was sure, it would all become too similar to a snowy night long ago—a night dressed in black; black cloak, black coffins, black sky, and black around those red eyes, which his own became indistinguishable from too quickly. Maybe Sharon would even say those words too: Break, please don’t leave me, because he’d never had the guts to tell her what his past was made of. And then…he would do just that.

He’d rather have her believe the lie he might live than say to her face I’m going to die and nothing can stop it.

He wasn’t afraid to die. We all die at some point. Some sooner than others. Why should he get more time when he wasted so much of it? Save your breaths. Save your tears. Save your lives, not mine. We all lose the fight eventually. He had spent his whole life fighting, maybe just once he could go quietly into that goodnight; meet death as a friend. He didn’t deserve more time than anyone else.

He just…wanted a few more minutes awake. A snooze button on life. Five more minutes. Ten. Twenty. A year or two? There were a few more things he needed to do. He wasn’t going to let death take him down easy.

All that talk, and not-talk, of medicine and death led him here, today, with a prescription container in his hand, and an ache in his head.

He swung open the lid to the cabinet, a mirror hanging limply out, glinting in the cold fluorescent light.

Why do they put mirrors on medicine cabinets? Like you need a second look to tell you—Yep, I’m crazy— before you pop the little capsules in your mouth, which promise This will make things better. And you tell yourself plastic and paperwork, lab coats whitewashed as their promises wouldn’t lie.

He lifted the container to put it back in its proper place in the cabinet, but paused, letting it rest on the tip his fingers, sliding into place in his palm. His arm dropped back down, eyes scanning over the label, darting to the rest of the contents of the cabinet, as if staring down an old foe.

White ones, and blue ones, red ones, yellow ones…like some candy store for the sick, the insane, and the empty. It wasn’t just pills either; powders, and needles, and glass that breathes fumes into your lungs and brain; a delusion’s kiss, that makes everything just a little bit better, just a little bit funnier. Needles that, needless to say, could take you a real wonderland if you shoved them in far enough.

He’d tried them all at some point in his life. And when they didn’t work, the stash sat dormant in his closet, his drawers, cabinets like this one, while new-fangled solutions took their place. He didn’t throw them away—you never know when one day you might need to fly—like he was keeping illegal souvenirs of a worse world.

There are worse things than bottled happiness. And ‘happiness’ can do more damage than a decent amount of sorrow sometimes.

They smelled like walls that someone puked on at one point, but they painted over rather than clean up, and you could still tell by the smell something was wrong, closer to the woodwork. But they were too easy to keep contained; to not smell, to not taste, too easy not to realize what they were really made of.

He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a few hundred, maybe thousand or more, dollars* here staring back at him in hollow color. The amount of money they cost only comparable to their unending ingredient lists—full of the names of chemicals he couldn’t pronounce, and titles that he could, but wouldn’t waste breath on. He didn’t care about the money, or what they were made of, or the warnings of how much more damage they would cause—asking you to decide between your brain and your liver. All promising happiness, and not-perfect-just-better, and a decent night’s sleep.

He tried not to care about much.

None of them worked. Not for him at least.

And, no, that wasn’t an exaggeration. Wasn’t just an excuse to get more, or him not trying hard enough. There came a point when his body just wouldn’t respond to their signals.

There came a point when too much of him was already too dead to respond to anything but mad scientists, calling upon lightning storms in old abandoned castles. Besides, the Mad Hatter’s malady wasn’t exactly something an ordinary doctor could fix, or even name.

In truth, he could handle the physical aspects of it; the blood in his lungs, the passing out, and the loss of vision—which would be more than a temporary side effect before long. But there was something else—what do they call it? The soul? The heart? Something like that. He’d forgotten long ago. Those parts, that pain, was harder to take, to tolerate, and rotted the longer he stuffed it down. Like he was barricading the door to the monster’s lair with the bodies of those monsters that had gone before, and he knew full well none of them were quite dead.

There was an old picture on the countertop. A woman with hazelnut hair and a sunflower smile, a man in turquoise with a begonia eye, tragedy woven into the petals. And a little girl who thought flowers were bandages.

He picked it up, brushing the dust off their faces, trying to smile, though it was stained as his eye back then.

People need hope. They need this thing to tell them to keep going, it’s not over yet, not to give up. It’s like the glue to the gingerbread house that is you. When you don’t have it, your life kind of…falls flat. Like soda that’s been left out; no longer bubbly, no longer worth drinking. When someone doesn’t have it, it doesn’t mean they can’t live anymore, that life is undrinkable, it just means this thing we called living, once, doesn’t have the same carbonation.

But hope is a funny thing, elusive, reclusive, and volatile. Picky about the things it can eat. Difficult to keep alive.

That’s why this candy store was so full, what its stockers promised to fix, to feed; that beast, hope. That’s what the dealers promised they could provide; something they all knew couldn’t be borrowed, or bartered, or manufactured.

Hope’s not something that can be bottled. We’re all like children, unaware fireflies, those pretty blinking lights, will die without air.

He set the picture back down, turning his gaze to the container still in his other hand.

The only reason he kept using them was for them. For Sharon, Sheryl, and Reim. For Oz and Gilbert, and the rest. As long as it didn’t hurt, or make it worse, if it gave them hope—(a hope he could never have)—for him to take the medicine, he’d do it.

Sheryl had been the one to suggest the medicinal path in the first place. It made sense; she had dealt with this sort of thing before. Shelly had been sickly all her life, and medicine helped—(Helped. Didn’t save her life. And Shelly would have argued she didn’t need it either, and had often refused them herself). But this wasn’t the same. This was deeper than skin or bone. Still, she was kind, and he respected her—or he came to…not to mention he didn’t want to cross her.

Reim had agreed; regiments and tangible, scientific solutions appealed to his personality. He liked when things were concrete, it was more promising to him than whimsy, and words.

They had yet to learn of the concrete things that were tea and sugar, which work a lot better at lifting the spirit than things you aren’t supposed to taste.

Life is about tasting. About watching, and listening, and really feeling. Life is about living. Not swallowing and trying not to taste. Not existing and trying not to live.

It was Shelley who had told him that. She had let them try out their methods, but she told him if he didn’t want them to work, that they wouldn’t. That he could try them, but they were useless without resolve to go with them. She told him that the ones the doctors give are from a factory, made of greed, and half-baked promises that rubbed too close to lies. Not belief, and real promises, and laughter—(which is, of course, the best medicine). And even the ones they don’t give you are too strong to grant you something you can call life. That maybe he oughtta just throw them away after all.

She told him a smile and a day in the sun was all he really needed. That they can’t bottle and sell hope and sunshine. That you can’t pull life out of death, and hope needs to come from something alive—from something free of charge, flickering in the air, that can’t be put in a jar, or tamed. She pointed to his chest and said that hope hails from there. The last thing in the box is always hope, you just have to really empty out the rest of the crap in the box first.

Shelly wasn’t someone you could hide these sorts of things from. She had this sixth sense; she could speak with the already-dead. One way or another, she’d find out—(even if she had to wring it out of you). But instead of sending you to the doctor, telling you that something was wrong with you, that you were crazy, she would smile. Like all you needed were a few kind words, and she’d send you back into the world, heart humming. She could be unbearably compassionate. When she talked about happiness, it was like she was speaking of an old friend of hers. She’d say that it doesn’t come in shots or smoke, it was more elusive, and can be found in a kind gesture, at amusement parks, and in sunsets, in a really good cup of tea, or a homemade cookie.

And when she’d cleaned him up, after finding him on the bathroom floor, she’d said:

“So, you want to die?”

Did he? Did he really want to die? Or was it something else? Something darker? something brighter?

He wanted to sleep. To rest. He knew that much. His sleep was always interrupted and irregular, and he had forgotten what real rest entailed.

Knives and blades rested comfortably in his hands, but he had broken the skin too often, of too many others, for it to provide any semblance of relief when used on himself. Besides, he didn’t want to die naked in a bathtub painted red. He didn’t want to lay in a coffin with stitches on his neck and flowers growing out of his wrists. He didn’t want the world to find him hanging from the ceiling like a criminal in town square. He didn’t want scars to tell his secrets, or his death to show him weak. Very little about his life had been elegant or dignified. So he wanted to die, at least, softly, with some measure of dignity. Make some music out of the cacophony. Without a scratch, or a word, or a second to spare. Something subtler would be his weapon of choice: the prick of needle, the taste of poison, the promise of happiness in a bottle—just enough happy to kill you.

Because that’s how it was, then—during that time when they had found him on the bathroom floor. That desire wasn’t flashy and boisterous. It wasn’t the rich smell of steel and iron, it was more insidious; the smallest pinprick of the soul, or something he may have swallowed at one time or another, that withered his insides slowly. It wasn’t something to parade around, or cry out to the town, and it wasn’t something he needed them to rescue him from. It was just there, nagging at the back of his heart, like a sore soul.

He didn’t cut, and he wouldn’t bruise or burn, and he wouldn’t ask for their help, or tell them a thing either.

His cries were veiled, veiled behind those times he shouted at them, or insulted them, even now still veiled behind his jokes. It wasn’t obvious. The pain was a shadow behind his words and actions, a demon behind him at all hours.

Back then, there had been days when he wouldn’t move from that windowsill, unless Shelly shoved him off.

Sometimes he felt like a shadow himself when he was around the living—like he wasn’t really there. Already dead, an imprint, a faded image of some past, some distant version of a self who may or may not have existed. He couldn’t share their happiness, or even their grief, because he wasn’t a real thing, here, now. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here, with a new young mistress, a doll with his old mistress’s name, and a heart full of regrets. I mean, really, shouldn’t. Time had bent for him, and he feared the bends were becoming breaks.

“You wish to die…so you do not suffer anymore. You simply want to save yourself.”

Was that true? Was this not about death, or even rest, but about…salvation?

He wanted to live. And that’s why he tried so hard to die.

Sharon, Reim, Sheryl, Shelly, and…Oz.

He ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the thought of Oz seeing all this. Sharon had assigned him the task of medicine-caddy after all. He imagined the boy saying to himself What does Break need all these for? Then backtracking in his mind Oh, right, which would either be followed by, Oh, right, he’s crazy or Oh, right, he said he wouldn’t last the year and take an extra few moments to find the right ones before running back.

Usually Reim was the one to do this. Reim knew about the whole not-working thing. He had told him to stop taking them, to tell Sharon that they didn’t work. To stop pretending they did, that he’d never know what more damage they were doing to his body by taking them. But he also didn’t force him to tell the truth. Perhaps protecting Sharon was for the best. They were like her older brothers—a little too protective at times. Neither of them wanted to see her cry.

He didn’t usually let anyone besides Reim look in this cabinet—best not let the world in on his little secret candy shop—but he hadn’t had his medicine on him at the moment he fell, and Reim had been busy running errands for the bird-brained duke at the time.

He tossed the still-full container into the trash, where it gave a satisfying swish and clang as it tumbled into bottom.

Such a simple action. Why had it taken him so long?

He should have listened to her earlier.

He rested his hands on the sink, closed his eyes again, blowing out a breath.

The yellow pills don’t contain happiness, in as much as the red ones don’t contain anger, or the blue ones sadness. The red pill and the blue pill don’t sit in the hands of the god of dreams, asking you if you want to wake up. We may be made out of dust, but some dust in a capsule can’t patch the rips in our souls.

Can’t fix the hole where his eye is meant to be. Can’t undo the brand on his chest.

Doctors can sew back the skin, but they don’t know how to stitch together a ripped mind. They try, they think they can plug the hole up. But you can’t come to them with the broken shards of your heart and say Hey doc, can I get a new one?. You can’t walk in with a messed-up mind and say Clean it for me, will ya?

There was nothing they could do about his eye, except give him one made of glass, and he had enough broken shards in his brain, and enough falsity in his smile. And they couldn’t rewind the clock burned on his chest. His time had already reached zero, so it made sense he was dying.

He could handle being broken, being Break. In fact, a little penance could do some good. He’d could handle pain.

It was the memories he wanted to tear to shreds and return to sender. But he was not granted the grace of amnesia, unlike little girls named Alice. Just bad dreams, and reminders on his broken body telling him he was less than worthless.

He didn’t want to go to the doctor, especially not a psychiatrist. And Shelly wouldn’t have made him go, until faced with Sharon’s eyes, blurred with tears, asking when he was going to get better.

He didn’t need a shrink to know he was crazy. What would he talk about anyway?

Well, let’s see here, I’ve killed a hundred and sixteen people, so that might be weighing on my conscience a bit.

Why? Because a demon told me I could change the past. To tell you the truth, I could, and I did, but you know what demons don’t tell you? You can change the past, but that change may mean the difference from bad to worse. I made it worse. And in my version of events; the changed past I sought so desperately, that one little girl who survived ended up feeding her family to another demon to save her sister, in the same way I wanted to save them.

I wasn’t there to stop her. And I know she failed. I am what success looks like.

And it’s my fault she’s dead. I killed her. I killed her. I killed that little girl—

Yeah, no diagnosis necessary.

Sometimes he wished he could be diagnosed with something normal. That they could say he had a disease, or a parasite that was slowly eating at his mind. But this wasn’t something that could be found in text books. It was closer to magic—things from the Abyss are not for doctors to diagnose. The blood he coughed up wasn’t from a disease, or pent up abuse or torture, it was something more mysterious; contracts, and scars, and mirrors. It’s not quite the same as an illness, not something they can just cure. They couldn’t explain the whole some of us-don’t-age-anymore thing, why would they be able to explain the blood, and the coughs and the dying just because it was more serious? There weren’t exactly Chain doctors. There are just doctors and either it’s in the books or it isn’t. And even if there were, it wasn’t exactly common for an illegal contractor to survive their trip the Abyss.

Besides, he didn’t ask for help, not even from those close to him, so why would he ask a doctor?

It was easier that way. It was easier to say it didn’t matter, easier to disappear, than to admit that he cared.

So the one time he did go to the whitewashed walls he told them something, some story that was only half based on a movie he’d seen, and they sent him away with a note to the one who bottled the happiness.

And that’s just the explanation for the prescribed ones.

The rest fit under the motto ‘Well, if you can’t beat the crazy, might as well join it.’ And those were the kind Shelly especially wanted him to throw away.

Crazy. Mad. Mad Hatter.

They say hatters used to go mad because their glue contained mercury, and the fumes polluted their brains. A mad hatter, with stitched up hands, ash-white skin, smoky eyes and a mercury turned brain…yeah, that sounded just about right.

If hope is life’s glue, then his contained mercury.

He looked up into the mirror, tilting his head to the side, and smiling wryly to himself at the thought;

There must have been a lot of mercury in his past for him to go this mad.

One day, they all stopped working. Like when he found out he couldn’t get drunk anymore. Two kinds of poisons, no longer effective, because he was already dying. No matter prescribed or uninscribed. Maybe that’s how it was with mercury poisoning; one day cures just stop curing, time stops ticking, hearts stop yearning.

Too crazy. Not crazy enough. And nothing works either way anymore. Maybe she was right, and he just throw them all away.

“Hey!”

Break started, turning to see Oz standing in the doorway.

“What’s up?” Oz leaned into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the contents of the cabinet.

“That depends on if you’re sitting on the floor or the ceiling!” Emily sang.

Oz was used to his absurdity by now, and ignored it; “I was going to ask,”—he bounced on his tiptoes like a curious three-year-old—“what’s that green turd?”

Break tried not to laugh at his naiveté, and folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the cabinet, shutting it with his body.

“Sorry, Oz-kun,”—he smirked—“but there isn’t any children’s medicine in here, you’ll have to check elsewhere.”

Oz glared at him. He was known for being a pain in the ass…but Oz was known for being one too.

“Is it pot?” Oz continued his line of questioning, smiling like the cheeky brat he was…according to Break at least.

Break’s own smirk faltered, not realizing he was asking out of understanding rather than ignorance.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” Oz mused out loud.

“Is that so?” The smirk was back on stage.

“Yeah!” He bounced on his toes again. “Seems like fun!”

“You know Gilbert-kun just might just kill you if he found out.” He said it like that would be a good show for a Saturday afternoon.

“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?” Oz pouted, his eyes narrowing.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Oz grunted.

“Maybe you and I could come to an agreement.” He inclined his head towards the cabinet.

“What’s there for me to tell? Are you upset I saw inside there?” He pointed with his thumb to the medicine cabinet. “It might be a little weird, but it’s not my place to judge…Honestly if you’re taking all that, it explains a lot.”

Break snickered. “You think too highly of yourself, Oz-kun; if I were upset, that would imply I care what you think.”

“Whatever.” Oz smiled; he had enough insanity of his own. “I know you love me.”

“Oh sure, the way a farmer loves the cute little rabbits eating his crops.”

Oz made to leave, but before he exited he spun in an attempt to get at the cabinet. In a flash, Break grabbed the broom from the corner, and tripped him with the end, sending him to the floor.

“Ow,” Oz rubbed at his head, which he had knocked against the doorframe.

Break didn’t apologize.

“You’ve been skimping on our lessons.” Break leaned on the broom.

“Why do I have to learn sword-fighting anyway? …It’s like you’re from another century”

“My, my.” He twirled it around so the end was at his pupil’s throat. “Just last week you were saying how excited you were to learn.”

“That was before I realized ‘go easy on him’ doesn’t register in your brain.”

“How else are you supposed to learn~?” Oz sat up, pushing the makeshift sword away from him.

He paused a moment before asking,

“They don’t work, do they?”

Break’s eye widened for a split second. He followed Oz’s emerald gaze to the medicine cabinet.

He gritted his teeth. “Cheeky little brat.”

Oz put on a sad but proud smile. “I knew it.”

“You really aren’t cute at all,” Break muttered under his breath.

“Does Sharon-chan know?”

Break looked away, pretending like he hadn’t heard the question.

“Why don’t you just tell her?”

Break laughed. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I made my lady worry?”

“Come on, seriously. I mean, what good does letting her believe they work do?”

“There’s good to be found in even the strangest of situations.” Emily twittered.

“I’ll watch the twelve o’clock special later, thanks.”

“He doesn’t want to make her cry,” another voice broke in.

They looked up to see Reim in the doorway.

“Oh, Reim-san~! And we were just getting used to your absence!” Break joked.

Reim’s hand clenched into a fist.

“Spare me the pleasantries.”

Reim walked in to help Oz up, giving Break a reproachful look before saying, “I hope he isn’t causing you too much trouble.”

“Always. But I can handle myself. He’s just mad a saw inside his medicine cabinet.”

“Ah, yes, his little ‘candy shop.’ I have been telling him to just tell Sharon, and throw them out, for years.”

“Years? Break, you should really throw those out! Why don’t we help you?”

Break looked away. “Tch. You really think I need help from the likes of you?”

Oz got a mischievous look. “What if I tell her myself?”

“Then I’ll tell Gilbert-kun you want to take up smoking weed~?”

“Oz-sama!” Reim’s grabbed Oz by the shoulders. “You want to start smoking drugs?!” He shook him, before spinning him to Break as if presenting him. “Xerxes this is exactly the reason I tell you to throw them out! You’re polluting the young lord’s mind!” He shook Oz more.

“Eh.” Oz shrugged. “My mind was plenty polluted already.”

Before Reim could react to that, Break spoke,

“See?” Break put his hands behind his back and stepped up to Oz, leaning down so he was eye level. “That’s the mild version of the lecture Gilbert-kun would give you.”

Oz sighed managing to break free of Reim.

“Come on,” he spoke to Break, returning to the previous subject. “Do you really need to keep taking them if they don’t do anything? Seems like a waste of time and money if you ask me.”

“That’s what I keep telling him!”

“You should just tell Sharon-chan. She’s stronger than you think. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Well, boys,” Break patted them on the shoulders as he walked by, “not that this isn’t fun, but I have some serious work to catch up on.”

“You’re going to play video games again aren’t you?” Reim crossed his arms.

“Break!” Oz called.

Break sighed, eyes lidding, before turning to Oz.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“He’s not alone!” Emily chittered, “he has me!”

Oz rolled his eyes, and Reim facepalmed.

******

Notes Cont.:

*I know this probably wouldn't be "dollars", but a) I don't remember them mentioning the name of their currency in the series, b) a more generic word like "money" didn't fit the sentence, and, c) as an American, something like "euros" (which, while probably closer to the correct term) didn't sound as natural to me.

I don't know if anyone will believe me, but I actually wrote this a VERY long time ago. I started it sometime around July 2018, before/right when I started posting my writing online. It was one of my very first PH fics, and has even informed some fics I've posted--(I got the name "Black and White and Red All Over" for my halloween fic last year from this fic. Well, I got it from the joke/expression, but this fic is what tied that phrase to Break in my mind). I would periodically work on it over the years, and I really enjoy the language, so it was fun to continually return to it.

The first part has been postable for a long time, the problem has always been the end. Lately I've been going through my old fics and making myself post them even if they're not perfect. Usually the way to do that is just to break them up earlier than I wanted to. I really wanted to add a heartfelt ending to this fic (still do!) but for some reason I had the toughest time transitioning to more of an actual scene at the end and actually writing it, so it ended up just getting stuck on my computer. The other issue is that I have zero experience with drug abuse, so I think I just felt like I was describing things wrong and got cold feet about posting it. If I got anything wrong, please kindly let me know!

Do you think I should write out the memory of Break’s suicide attempt in ch2? I kind of wanted to actually write it out but I wasn’t sure if it’d be too heavy...

Oz and Break's relationship is actually one of my favorites in the series, and I absolutely adore writing for it...but it seems I have trouble doing so. I have one more Break and Oz fic that I absolutely adore that's been stuck on my computer for about the same amount as time as this one, that I also got stuck on the middle/end. (I actually might have written it before this one, as I recognize some similarities XD) Hopefully I can break it up and post it soon too!

Thanks for reading!! Once again, if you could leave a comment, it would mean more to me than you know!!

[xb-squaredx]

Please Don’t Sleep on Hades

2020’s…been a real year, huh? At a time when in-person gatherings aren’t much of a thing and people have to stay in, video games are suddenly a pretty attractive option. That said, few games have really grabbed me this year; in a roundabout way, 2020’s been a year of reruns, as I go through a lot of games I’ve already played or games that are just yesterday’s news (but new to me!). However, in the nick of time, the folks at Supergiant Games delivered unto us their latest title, Hades. While they’ve been working on this game for years, with it hitting Early Access on Steam back in 2018, the full version of Hades finally hit Steam, the Epic Game Store and made the leap to consoles with the Switch, which is where I picked it up. It has been a WHILE since I’ve had a game grab me so strongly so early on, and I’ve been hearing this game’s praises for years now already, so allow me to happily state why I think Hades is worthy of the hype and is a fantastic game I’d easily recommend!

DADDY ISSUES

OK, so first things first…you don’t actually play as Hades in this game, but rather his son Zagreus. Ol’ Zag has had it with his father, and tries to literally fight his way out of hell to reach the surface, and no matter what his old man puts in his way, Zagreus (and the player) will meet the challenge. And probably die, but hey, that’s OK! In the underworld, death is more of an inconvenience than anything else, so after taking a moment to dust himself off, Zagreus will head out for another attempt. For as long as it takes.

Hades is a rogue-like, meaning it’s a game based around randomization and adaptation. On any given “run” of the game, the level layouts, enemies present and the variety of power-ups Zagreus can find will be left to chance, with the player challenged to amass the best build they can to eventually break out of hell and reach the human world and if you die…start from scratch. That said, Hades is among the ever-growing sub-genre of rogue-lites, in that there IS some permanent progression, which takes a bit of a sting out of dying, but more on that later. Now, most games of this type aren’t really big on story. They have a premise that’s little more than an excuse to play. Splunkey wants you to explore a cave, The Binding of Isaac sees you escaping a basement and in Enter the Gungeon you uh…e-enter the gun—you get the point! But what separates Hades from most rogue-likes/lites is that there actually IS a very interesting story that unfolds as you play.

There’s more to Zag’s desire to get to the surface than just getting away from his father, though their strained relationship certainly doesn’t help matters, and over the course of your many, MANY escape attempts, players learn of the rather screwed-up nature of Zagreus’ family of deities, though any mythology nut could tell you to expect that. Hades has an incredibly charismatic cast, superb voice acting across the board, and some real sharp writing that really got me wanting to meet anyone and everyone and learn more about this world. You’re likely to run into Hypnos first, who always has a “tip” ready for you when you meet your end to a given enemy or hazard, or the fabled hero Achilles, who acts as a mentor to Zagreus. There’s Dusa, the adorably frazzled flying gorgon head who acts as the House of Hades’ maid, and of course…Megaera, of the Furies.

She serves as the first proper boss in the game, and will be a pretty sizable challenge for most players, but as you eventually overcome her again and again, she and Zagreus end up attempting to reconnect with each other, and her recurring fights become an excuse to flirt and test each other. I may as well say too that it’s easy to fall in love with the characters in this game because…I-I mean, just look at them! This game is a bisexual’s paradise, that’s all I’ll say.

A bit of a fun fact, but Zagreus’ voice actor, Darren Korb, is also a composer at Supergiant, so he’s a man of many talents, since Hades has a killer score. From the laid-back tunes at the House of Hades where you can unwind and recharge after a botched run, to the pulse-pounding boss theme, there’s some GREAT music on display here. And that’s before you meet Orpheus and Eurydice, two characters with amazing singing voices that, if you play your cards right, might start singing together. The game’s visuals, meanwhile, aren’t a slouch either. While the level layouts are randomized, everything manages to look well-crafted, each region of the underworld having their own distinct look and feel. The fiery pits of Asphodel end up juxtaposing well with the paradise that is Elysium. Now, character models are generally less-detailed since the camera stays zoomed out to give players a good view of the action, but the portraits for the various characters more than make up for it with their distinct, detailed designs. A-And I’m not just saying that because everyone’s hot! Now, admittedly you might take a look at Zag and think he’s nothing but an edgelord and the game itself might be taking itself too seriously, but in reality, Hades strikes a pretty good balance, and definitely carries a sense of humor. Characters love to snark at each other, the various Shades chilling in the House of Hades’ lounge have some funny conversations you can listen in on and all told, the game only gets serious when appropriate. Really, I have no real complaints with the game on a presentation level; it’s all aces so far, and thankfully the game-y part follows suit!

LIVE.DIE. REPEAT.

Hades is best described as a dungeon-crawler. You have an isometric view as you move about, avoiding hazards and fighting off enemies as you climb each chamber on your way to the surface. Defeat every enemy in a chamber and get a reward. Sounds simple enough until you factor in all of the various permutations of events; Hades aims to make sure no two runs are alike, with different enemies, power-ups and challenges awaiting you. All of this is doled out slowly, as with each subsequent playthrough you begin to have more of the game unraveled. First and foremost, Zagreus can gain various Boons from the other Olympian Gods, who are sympathetic to his plight and lend him some power if he makes contact with them. Each God has their own twist on the abilities they grant Zagreus. They can all increase his stats in some way, or affect either his dash ability or his Cast, a projectile attack. For Zeus, naturally, all of Zagreus’ moves will gain an electric effect, whereas Artemis focuses more on upping Zag’s critical hit chance. Dionysus, the God of Wine, grants you the “hangover” status effect, allowing your attacks to uh…make enemies drunk? Sure! You’ll be given a random selection of three Boons to pick from, of varying rarities. Over the course of a run, you might try to nab as many Boons from the same God as possible, or vary it up and see which abilities synchronize together. At times, you might even be granted a Duo Boon, where two Gods decide to combine their power for a special ability that plays to both of their strengths. Still, at other times, you might be forced into a Trial of the Gods, where you must choose one God’s Boon over the other, with the snubbed God lashing out afterwards. Hey, just because they’re Gods, doesn’t mean they’re nice. Of course, you’ve also got a variety of health and weapon upgrades too. In fact, let’s gush about the weapons for a second, shall we?

At the time of writing, Hades has six weapons to play with. You start with a sword, which is the all-rounder of the set, but as you gain keys to unlock more weapons, you can start to really experiment. The bow and rail cannon serve as ranged options with different approaches, while the spear is the melee weapon with the best range at the cost of pure power. The shield grants you absolute defense at the cost of range, while the gauntlets let you unleash your fisticuffs on underworld scum, though leave you with limited ranged attacks. Each weapon has specific Boons and weapon upgrades you can find as well, some of which can radically alter how a weapon works. The rail cannon, for example, fires a lot faster than the bow, but this is balanced by needing to manually reload…unless you get a weapon upgrade that gives you unlimited ammo with the only catch being that you can only do burst fire. Adding to this, players eventually unlock hidden Aspects of weapons, morphing them into different forms which can also influence their moveset. Change the shield to the Aspect of Zeus, and when you throw your shield Captain America style, it stays out and continually spins, dealing tons of damage over time and effectively forcing enemies to get sliced to bits if they want to get near you. I didn’t expect this game to have half this many weapons or to have them balanced so well. Really, just like anything else, weapons are another tool you can poke and prod and experiment with until you get a truly killer collection of Boons and upgrades that let you just demolish anything in your way. It’s very satisfying when you finally clear a run with a great build…though depending on the RNG, you WILL get some crummy builds, but that’s the nature of the rogue-like!

It’s likely that a bad build (or really, just getting hit with a new boss or enemy you aren’t prepared for) will lead to a death, but as already established, death isn’t really that much of an inconvenience in the underworld. Zagreus just spawns back at home and is free to immediately try to escape again, but this brief reprieve lets you chat up whoever happens to be around, give them gifts, advance some side-quests, pet your dog Cerberus and practice with weapons and such before you’re ready to go at it again. It’s after a run that you also get to spend a lot of the spoils of your escape attempts. While you lose Boons and weapon upgrades and the like upon death, there’s a LOT of various items you keep with you that have plenty of uses. Darkness shards are used for permanent skills that can be applied to Zagreus, like Death’s Defiance, which grants Zagreus another life upon dying, which can eventually be upgraded to give him THREE extra lives, just as an example. Precious gems can be used to fund a variety of cosmetic changes to the House of Hades. Just because Zagreus doesn’t want to live there anymore, doesn’t mean he can’t at least make it look good! Nectar can be gifted to other characters to improve your relationships with them, with bottles of Ambrosia being required later on, while special keys can be used to unlock weapons, more upgrades for your Darkness shards, or just used as a secondary currency for trade. There’s really a LOT of different items to mess around with, though admittedly if you’re the type to want to max out EVERYTHING you’ll be in it for the long haul, as there is not only a LOT of stuff to upgrade and purchase, but the random nature of things means rewards are never a guarantee. Though it’s worth noting the game’s totally beatable without going nuts with completion. Which I guess leads me to the biggest compliment I can give this game: even after “beating” it, I still can’t stop playing, and there’s plenty of reason to keep going.

REPLAYS AND REWARDS

So, full disclosure, I’ve gotten Zagreus to the surface. Several times, actually. But I haven’t quite “beaten” the game yet. In fact, at the risk of sounding pretentious, it is as if the true game begins after you’ve beaten it once. Without getting into specifics, let’s just say the game gives you a very good in-story reason to keep playing, and you won’t reach credits without several completed runs under your belt. And even then, there’s still stuff to do. I’m almost 30 hours into Hades and I’ve barely scratched the surface honestly. Every major character has their own sidequest you can undergo, but it can be slow goings when it comes to advancing them. Trying out all the weapons and boons and different combinations will easily take dozens of hours to fully experience, though the game has a handy in-game list of what you’ve done and haven’t done, as well as in-game achievements with tangible rewards that will spur you on. I was admittedly surprised at how dense of a game Hades can be. A successful run will likely take you somewhere between a half-hour to an hour, which is pretty devious. Just long enough to stay engaging throughout, and short enough that I can keep convincing myself that I have time for “one more run” and then suddenly several hours have gone by. Strangest thing.

Something that’s become a bit of a staple of Supergiant’s work is customizable difficulty, various modifiers you can flip on to make the game harder if you so desire, which in Hades takes the form of the Pact of Punishment. After a successful run, you can turn on a given pact to spice things up for subsequent runs. Maybe enemies do a bit more damage, or you give yourself a super strict time limit to clear a run. You can give enemies armor that makes them sturdier, or jack up the in-game shop’s prices. You can even be forced to give up Boons in order to advance past certain doors! Probably the most impressive Pact is Extreme Measures, which ends up greatly affecting the boss fights in the game…trust me when I say you won’t be ready for them the first time you flip that on. Activating a given pact increases a “heat gauge” that, should it reach a given level, will end up granting you various special items to help with fully upgrading and unlocking stuff. Of course, with each successful run completed with a given Pact activated, you’ll have to raise the heat more and more in order to keep getting these upgrade materials so be prepared. You can also still gain these materials (albeit at a much slower rate) playing through the game normally though, and there’s really no penalty for choosing NOT to activate a given pact. On the flip side of things, there’s also a God Mode you can toggle on that makes Zagreus a little stronger with each death, which can help those that want to see more of the story but are struggling with the game. Have your God Cake and eat it too!

All and all, this game just delivers on every level and I’ve been devouring it since release whenever I have a spare minute. You can see that Supergiant is taking all the lessons they learned from each previous game and combined it to make what is easily their best game yet. I don’t throw around words like “masterpiece” lightly, but Hades is just such a slam dunk that I’m sorely tempted to call it just that. I mean, if you hate rogue-likes, I’m not sure if Hades will really push you over the edge admittedly? You get way more rewards retained after death than just about any other rogue-like I’ve played, but if you’re the type that hates having to constantly adapt and not being able to memorize what’s coming, I can see this not working for you. But for me at least, I’ve had an absolute blast with the game and the only issue I really have with it is a small nitpick at best. When it comes to getting to know various characters, you can talk to them and give them Nectar or Ambrosia as a gift right? But what happens if they don’t show up on a given run? Or what if they DO show up, but they’re locked into a conversation with someone else? That means you can’t really advance anything with them until a given dice roll pities you. MEGAERA I THINK YOU’RE COOL, PLEASE JUST TALK TO M—oh sorry, don’t know where that came from… So yeah, that’s the nittiest of picks.

I adore this game’s cast, the voice work and music is excellent to the ear, the combat is engaging, the gameplay loop is addicting…need I say more? I mean, I’ve said almost 3000 words, but to really sum it up…I highly recommend Hades and I hope you don’t pass it up if you’re even remotely interested. You can find it on Steam, the Epic store and Switch as of right now, and I don’t think you could go wrong with any version.

Blood and darkness await you.

-B

[spinelwritings]

First off,let me tell you,your writing is amazing,now I would like to request spinel with an s/o who gets shattered,I need me some angst BoI,(if you're not comfortable doing it that's fine)

Thanks! And I love writing angst, so I was always going to write this lol

------------------------------------------------You weren’t really a good fighter, was never fond of it. When the other gems sparred with each other and taught each other, you stayed on the sidelines, happy just to watch. 

Now you wished you had bothered to learn something. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so helpless, the large quartz standing over you with a smirk, her weapon, a big, ugly looking sword, in her hand. Spinel and Steven were in a similar situation, facing down even more gems. You didn’t know why you were fighting or why they were so angry. All you knew was that there was no way you would make it out of this unscathed.

The gem lifted her sword high above her head with a laugh, swinging it down. You only just managed to move out of the way, stumbling back and managing not to fall on your but. Fear clawed at your chest, but you kept moving, trying to figure out what you were supposed to do. How were you supposed to fight someone like this. Think think! What did you see the others do?

You managed to dodge another attack, stumbling forward, when you felt something hit your back, sending you sprawling onto the ground. You winced, rushing to get back to your feet but the gem slammed their foot onto her back, forcing her back down with a yelp. You struggled to get out, the gem laughing above you. 

“Not much of a fighter, are you? Too bad.”

You froze when you felt the sword on your back, digging in painfully, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Spinel!”

The last thing you heard was the pink Gem yelling your name before you poofed, your form going out in cloud of smoke. 

Spinel spotted you just before your form gave in, saw your gem fall to the ground and get picked up by the quartz, a glint in her eyes as her fist tightened. Panic and fear gripped her chest. She growled, poofing the gem in front of her by wrapping her limbs around them and squeezing. In a moment she was by the large quartz, lashing out at her and forcing her back. The gem just laughed, jumping back to dodge her, your gem still held firmly in her hand. 

“Let her go!”

“What, you mean this?” She tossed your gem and caught it, laughing in the pink gem’s face. “Stars, she didn’t even put up a fight. What a worthless gem she must have been.” 

Spinel’s hands began to shake, rage bubbling at the center of her form. She clutched them into fists, charging at the quartz to punch her in the face. How dare she talk about you like that! How dare she lay a hand on you, to hurt you! And Spinel was much faster than the gem but that did little to help when she would just laugh it off. But she kept going, trying desperately to get your gem out of her hand. She just wanted to make sure you were safe.

But even if she was fast, she wasn’t fast enough.

“Come on, give me a good fight!” The quartz roared, swiping at Spinel who dodged to the side, getting a hit on the gem’s side that barely phased her. “Bring it on! Or do you need some encouragement?”

And the gem smirked a terrible smirk, hand outstretched with your gem like she was showing it off. And then it seemed like the whole world slowed done and Spinel could only watch in shock and horror as the gem tightened her grip, your gem cracking, the sound louder than anything she had heard before.

But that was nothing compared to the sound of your gem being shattered. The shards rain down, shimmering in the sunlight. Spinel felt some part of herself shatter with you and she couldn’t really remember what happened next. Everything just went red and there was a horrible scream, unbelievable loud, filled with so much pain, loss, and rage, more than she had ever heard before.

When she came back to herself she felt numb, empty. Steven was there, holding her back from … something, an odd look on his face. In front of you, laying on the ground, was a gem, the quartz’s, and she wanted to shatter her. She wanted to shatter that gem. But Steven held her fast.

“Spinel …” He said in a soft voice. “Enough, you got them.”

And he was right. All the attacking gems had been poofed, laying on the ground, and in the middle of them all…

She felt the pain return, but this time there was no rage to distract her, no enemies to take her emotions out on. It was just her, broken and lost and your shattered pieces.

She fell to her knees, screamed without making a sound. It was too much, it was all too much. It was like something was tearing her apart from the inside, not just her body but her mind too. And your shards glittered on the ground, mocking her. She couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t handle it. The edges of her mind started fizzling, her form struggled to stay together. She heard Steven yell before her form gave out completely.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Spinel wasn’t the same after that. She couldn’t be the same, not when you were gone. 

Your shards were bubbled and put in the temple. All but one. That shard she kept close to herself, brought it everywhere with her. She just… she needed something! Some sort of reminder that you were there, that you existed. 

She started avoiding people more and more. She just didn’t feel up to dealing with people. She was too tired. 

She spent a lot of time just walking, usually in the woods where she knew she wouldn’t run into anyone. She distracted herself by picking out all the individual sounds, like the rustling of the leaves, the chatter of squirrels, or the singing birds. It helped her not think, at least for a little bit.

When night came, she would walk through the quiet town and sit on the cliff with the lighthouse, the one that overlooked the sea. This was your favorite spot. You always liked watching the sun rise over the water. The thought would always leave an aching emptiness deep inside her. She tried not to cry but almost always failed.

It was one of those nights. She was trying to be quiet but the tears poured down her cheeks and dripped into the grass below her. She didn’t notice someone approaching her until a hand was put on her shoulder, making her tense.

“Go away.” Her voice came out raspy and quiet. Her request went ignored and the gem sat beside her. It was Garnet. She wasn’t wearing her visor, a rather sad look in her eyes. Spinel tried to ignore her.

For a long while, neither moved or spoke, just sat next to each other silently. It took a while before Spinel admitted to herself that the company was actually pretty nice. She hadn’t realized how lonely she had gotten, spending all that time alone. 

Finally, Garnet spoke up.

“It’s going to get easier.”

Spinel shook her head, looking up at the taller gem with pain and desperation clear on her face.

“When? When does it stop hurting?”

Garnet sighed, putting a hand on the other gems shoulder and when she spoke it was with a soft voice.

“The pain never goes away. You just learn how to handle it until it starts to fade.”

Spinel sniffed, looking back out to the ocean.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“The first step is to get support from your friends. We’re all here for you, Spinel. We want to help.”

They continued to sit in silence for quite some time. Spinel tried to think, to get through the fog of pain and decipher what Garnet was telling her. She sighed, a sad little smile on her face.

“Okay. Thanks, Garnet.”

And she did feel a little better.