#why is writing in present tense so hard tho

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IV)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.8k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Reader's parents are fucking irresponsible and disgusting people, mentions of a dead parent, Homelander!!!! (he's a fucking warning), sexual assault (touching, kissing, etc.) and some after thoughts, you know the usual questionable stuff on TB universe, Ben's point of view and presence=red flag.

Notes: more about reader's past in here! And just want to add that this is how i imagine her suit on this chapter. I'm also using a lot of inspo from Sue Storm of the Fantastic Four because I love her, so yeah. And thanks so much for reading it means a lot to me! ^^

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @blacknoirr @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part IV: Countdown

2009

"Spectrum, turn around, please," the lady on the other side of the camera ordered.

You did as she told, turning slowly and showing a complete view of your suit. Made of unstable molecules, the suit was your best creation at the time. It was all white with black details, and finally you had something covering your whole body that'd turn invisible when you commanded. Your boots were the same, specially built to disappear and blend with your powers when needed.

"Great, show us what you can do," the woman said.

You nodded, your heart beating so hard on your chest. You didn't want to fuck it up. Not for your mother. She was the main reason why you were there in the first place. You took a deep breath, with eyes closed you raised your palms at your chest level and created a force field around your figure. The force fields you learnt to make over the years of self training were like gigantic bubbles that allowed you to float around if you said so, and they protected you or anyone or anything they were covering.

The camera, the couch, the table, and any single thing you found in the room were now surrounded by the fields, lifting them up a couple of feet from the surface. And once you thought it was enough, they landed slowly on their place, the fields vanished just like the one around yourself. Though the lady on the other side didn't seem amused or surprised.

"I also turn invisible," you said for the first time after your personal presentation was over.

"Go on," she plainly answered.

And within seconds, you slowly disappeared from her sight. The fabric of the suit faded away.

"I created this special costume to turn invisible without, you know, being naked," you commented.

Still, there was no clear answer on the face of the woman. She was just busy taking notes and filming your audition with the steady camera on the table. She said nothing, her eyes glued to her writing. Disappointed, you made yourself visible again.

"That's impressive!"

You gasped. It was that voice you heard so many times on TV. His steps came closer and he stopped by your side with a smile on his face.

"Homelander," the woman called with a wide, fake grin. "You weren't supposed to be in here."

"Just passing by, wanted to say hi. I'm really amazed by you, darling."

You tried to smile the best you could. But you were so tense and flustered now that he was in front of you. Your childhood hero, coming to see you at your audition. Even before you got a clear response from Vought. It felt like a dream. Any child had dreamt of it at some point.

You grew up with him and the Seven. He was one of the reasons you forgot every single problem and responsibility your dysfunctional, selfish family put you through from a young age. To them, you were just a doll to play with and show off. The perfect daughter. But seeing the Seven was totally different. You wanted to be like them. Too sad this part was also linked to your mother and her self-centered shit. If only...

"Thank you," you barely answered with a soft voice, looking down on your boots.

"I've been out there, hesitating if I should come in, since you created those force fields. Wow!" he praised, making you chuckle. "You left the door open on purpose, didn't you two?"

All you could do was chuckle again, you felt your cheeks burning at his banter. He smiled along with you before turning his eyes to the lady.

"Hey, Greta. Can you leave us alone for a moment?"

"But I have to-"

Homelander chuckled, cutting her words. "Absolutely no, I can continue for you. Remember?"

Greta, as he called her, swallowed thickly and her eyes switched between you and the supe. "Sure, sir."

She lifted herself up from the chair, took her things and went out. You noticed the camera was still in place, that meant it was still rolling.

Once the door closed. "So..." he began, walking a circle around you. "How'd you create this... costume of yours?"

"Well, I like science," you nervously smiled, playing with your glove-covered hands. He passed by your face this time and paced around one more time. "It took me a while to figure out how but I did something with the molecules, created my own patent of the matter and did this complete costume."

Homelander stopped at your back. He hummed. "Smart. Tell me..."

His pause made you answer what he was looking for. "Spectrum."

"Spectrum, why do you want to be part of the Seven so bad?"

Homelander dragged your alias with a dark voice, one that replaced the long warm and welcoming tone he had with you at first. You licked your lips, anxious and out of words. Once behind your figure, he angled himself so close to one of your ears that you felt his hot breath on your skin.

"So? I know you have something to say, dear."

"I- I just want to help others... Do what you guys do..."

The next thing you felt was the supe's strong body pressing on your ass. You gasped loudly as his hands grabbed the sides of your hips forcing you to fall back against his chest.

"Go on," Homelander whispered.

One of his hands roamed over your stomach slowly, right under your breasts, and you were absolutely caged on his grip. You took deep breaths, closing your eyes as he touched you over the suit.

"I- I know science, I told you. Also I can help the team w-with new inventions of my own... Create technology t-to fight very bad threats," you stuttered.

"Mmmh, yeah, I like the sound of that," Homelander chuckled against your neck, his lips tracing soft and unwanted kisses on your skin.

"Please- ah!"

He harshly pushed you against his groin. Your breath caught in your throat at the feel of his crotch. This wasn't what you thought it was. This was not what your mother signed you up for.

"Tell me, did your father know how much of a fucking slut you are?" Homelander hissed, his hand cupping your covered breast.

Something inside you emerged at his question. His touch was disgusting and it was making you sick and the mention of your father, your dead father, made it even worse.

"What do you know about him?" you asked in a dark whisper, still planning your next move.

Deep inside, you were scared of Homelander, it was a new face he had yet to show to the world.

"Just the basics, honey," he said plainly, forcing you to walk with a grip on your arm. The supe sat on the couch and pushed you to his lap. "He was quite the rich man, Edgar knew you'd be a great deal to the company, well, your money of course."

You let out a gasp. "What?"

"Honey, he was one of our most valuable shareholders," he playfully answered, his hands cupping your cheeks.

And it clicked. Your mother supported your dream just because she'd still be getting profits from Vought. The firm was now under her name, and she needed something more to strengthen the relationship between Vought and your father's inheritance. The fucking witch. And then, your father. He was the one financing this piece of shit sitting between your legs. Were all supes like this behind their masks? If so, fucking crap. Everything you believed in was bullshit. A circus. And they clowned you so well. And above all, the sickening man that had been touching you without your permission the past endless minutes...

"Oh, poor thing, you didn't know," Homelander's intense blue eyes widened when he immediately noticed your confused, blank face.

Your eyes filled with tears and still, you refused to cry in front of the asshole you once admired.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you here with us," he smirked. His fingers on your neck, feeling your pulse. You closed your eyes so hard, your nose wrinkled and you held back a sob when his hand added pressure around your collar. He leaned closer, his lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss as you tried to resist his touch. "So fucking useful," Homelander whispered against your lips. He gave you that mischievous grin of his. You shivered. "I can't wait to ruin you. Every single inch of you."

The same past memory of Homelander haunted you the next day. The way you found out about your father's business with Vought and how the supes showed their real faces was the main reason you were here now.

You remembered you had to hit Homelander as hard as you could to escape from him and use your force field to protect yourself before running away and leaving the tower, fully invisible. Not that it was a great help since Homelander had a lot of abilities with his vision, and he could hear the beating of your heart miles away, but for you, it was worth the try. It was a surprise he didn't follow you that day. Instead, Vought got a new deal with your mother for the budget and you hated that. You cut all communication with what was left of your family after that day, knowing it could've been so much worse.

Homelander and Vought, however, were after you now. And he was a difficult face to forget. Not only because he was faking everything from the public but because Vought was after your father's money. And deciding to step away from all the illegal stuff they did, you left for college. Science was always a part of you and it's what got you here, under Grace Mallory and the CIA, doing different jobs you were not so proud of, but now, you were looking for a cure. It was all that mattered those days, until you found out that your mother had been experimented on during her pregnancy. A fucking lie. That's what your life was. That's why she cheered you to go to that stupid audition and fell into the hands of that monster at twenty-three years old.

The thought of your father supporting the horrid things Vought and the Seven did for decades was unbearable, and since Homelander's visit the night before caused those memories and nightmares to be back. It took a great effort to get out of bed and come to work that day. You'd make sure to compensate yourself for it later. But now, you were in a hurry to your daily session with Soldier Boy. You saved your phone in the pocket of your trousers after checking the time as you walked down the aisle, grabbing tightly the report of your patient with your other hand. Well, thirty minutes late wasn't nothing.

"Doctor!" you heard a female voice running towards you in the halls that made you turn on your heels. It was your young assistant.

"Hey, Bianca. What's wrong?" you asked as you noticed she was a little out of breath.

"We ran another test. The supe survived," she blurted, handing you a tablet that you didn't take. Sometimes the change in the results was minimal.

"That's great. Any significant improvements?"

"Well, just minimal effects. Right now some fever, fatigue, dehydration, and uhm, low pulse."

You sighed after another illusion. "Right. I don't think those are minimal effects, Bianca. Please check our patient and see how the powers are working. Run blood tests, all tests you can and then you can provide me the results. I'm a little busy right now."

She nodded with a shy smile, looking around subtly. "Sure."

You smiled back as best as you could. "Anything else?"

"No, it's just- I see you go this way a lot," Bianca pointed to the direction you were heading with her gaze. "That's Soldier Boy, isn't he?"

Your brows furrowed. "Why you ask?"

"Nothing, well, my grandpa used to talk about him all the time," she giggled. "I was just curious, sorry."

"No problem. I get it. But I really have to go, please make sure those results are on my desk by the end of the day," you ordered kindly.

"I will."

"Thanks, Bianca."

With that, you gave a last smile and began your walk again away from her, slower than before. For some reason something was off since you entered the building. It felt different. Totally weird. For the record, since Homelander threatened to have your head off, you paid twice the attention to your surroundings and the people around. You didn't know if there was something big planning right now in front of your nose. You just walked a couple of feet when you felt someone following behind, that was probably watching over you. In a swift movement, you turned on your heels but no one was there. The aisle was empty.

Bianca was already gone and almost no one would wander on this wing of the building, for obvious reasons. With caution you resumed your steps, telling yourself that you were not going insane.

"Robert Singer and I have been hard at work bridging the divide between the human and Superhuman communities. I've seen that divide firsthand in my three years running the FBSA—"

Ben scoffed, taking the TV controller to turn the screen off. "Bullshit."

He stood in the middle of the room with nothing but a towel hanging down his hips after taking a shower, taking the last smoke of his blunt. He grew tired of waiting for you, so he just took a shower and now, everything on the fucking channels was the stupid campaign by Victoria Neuman being supported by Vought and the fucking brat he was supposed to call his son.

With a deep breath, he finished the weed and threw the remains on the ashtray over the new coffee table. His mind started to wander away, realizing he had been a little calm the last couple of days after he almost blew up the fucking place to the ground. Inside, Ben knew your words and actions were a lot of help for the small sense of serenity that started to grow within his chest after that moment. Absolutely that was something he wouldn't admit, ever. But if he was to say, he was actually relieved.

Taking a look around, his place was not that big of a mess. You were certainly used to his clothes around the floor and the sofas, so it wasn't really important. What he found annoying though was you pushing him to read the stupid books and write down his feelings. He wasn't going to do that. If you were there to medicate him, so be it. He wondered why you took so long to do it. Probably he should be stoned enough to not feel anything. That was fucking better.

Just as he started to go over his mental plan to get the hell out of your prison, the door opened. He smirked at your sight. As always, an useless armed man standing behind your figure. You dispatched the guard and stepped inside Soldier Boy's place, the door closing with a loud sound.

You stopped your tracks just a few steps away from him. He noticed your eyes tracing his half bare body in a quick motion, before turning to his face with an arrogant smirk on your lips.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" Ben teased.

With a light chuckle, you held your head high. "Don't be delusional, it's just basic instinct."

"Believe me, I fucking know that," he snarked, taking over your figure with his green eyes the same way you did before. "Basic instinct."

You rolled your eyes. "So," you sat down in your usual place to start the session, making a pile of three of his shirts in the empty space. "Make yourself decent and then we can continue."

Ben took some sweatpants and a shirt from the floor and started to dress himself in front of you, without much care. He smirked as you turned away your gaze to focus on the report lying on your lap.

"You're late," he remarked, taking his own seat once he was done with his clothes.

"Yeah, I had some things to do," you mumbled going through the pages. "But I see we can start now."

He took a deep breath, staring into the distance. "Don't make it boring."

You grimaced, looking back at him. "Can't promise that."

Ben sensed a playfulness coming from you. Could it be that, after recieving your comforting words, he was seeing another side of you? Like the side that would actually trust him, because you still arrived. You were sitting in front of him. You were with him, in the same fucking room where the sun was far from getting. Yeah, you were there but he was too full of ego to bring his walls down again. He wanted to convince himself he wasn't vulnerable. He knew he was more than that. He was Soldier Boy, the man who had to stop Homelander and his fucking kid.

He smirked. "Well, sugar, I can ask you to try."

[kpchrs]

I think between shippers (and this is me saying this, an outsider to both ships) there’s Def the nagging voice saying “Coriolanus sucks irl” in everyone’s mind

So that’s Def a part of the civility in my opinion. Like why fight when the main guy in your ship is the worst guy alive. Bonding moment IG lol

LMFAO You are so right, Anon. Bonding moment for real. As some people in the post's comment said, "we both share the toxic blond" and also "we're trauma-bonded".

But I think it's not really a nagging voice. We all know Coriolanus Snow fucking SUCKS. If you compile all of my thoughts about him from everywhere, the majority is me clowning on him actually. I want to do violence to him.

It's funny, and I'm sorry for the out of topic, but this...wish makes me fantasising about a "Coriolanus Snow & Conscience!Reader" Crack AU. I've told some of my friends but just for fun I will tell a little bit here:

Okay, the premise is right in Chapter 1, we the readers/the fans whatever you wanna call us, get inside his head and it's up to us to try to put him on a good(?) path. (Emphasis on TRY.) Or actually, it's just an excuse or catharsis for us, especially me, to clown him in his head tho, because his thoughts are so deranged, yeah? It will be fun to mock him, tease him, and "scold" him, and we will bicker a lot, and he can't do aaanything about it.

So it's like this (below has some real excerpt of Chapter 1 of the book [page 3-4] but switched to present tense):

This morning he went to her room at daybreak, only to find both his cousin and the shirt missing. Not a good sign. [...] He thinks of people putting a price on her. With her long, pointed nose and skinny body, Tigris is no great beauty, but she has a sweetness, a vulnerability that invites ab-- NOOOOOOOOO! WHAT ARE YOU SAYING ABOUT YOUR OWN COUSIN?! The voice -- scream -- comes out of nowhere and echoes very near in his ears (inside him?). To say it surprises Coriolanus is an understatement. Grabbing on air, he fails to stop himself from slipping and falling on his bottom.

Lol.

I'm not sure I want to write it because writing, even more in English, is daunting, but it's really fun to think about. It will be on the Snowbaird route, though. I imagine we will follow his love story with Lucy Gray, but I think...we will unfortunately fight over her.

LOOK! At Lucy Gray's arrival, The Voice screeches annoyingly loud in his head. It's my girl! Even after weeks, Coriolanus still hasn't decided if The Voice is a crazy part of him or an entirely separate entity somehow attached to his mind. However, the possessive term it used tugs the wrong string deep in his chest. Whether it makes sense or not, he hisses at it, 'She's not your girl.' The brief silence that follows is the most peace he gets these recent days. Oh shit, you are jealous. 'I am not.' You totally are. Just like with Billy Taupe. C'mon, I'm inside your head. I know. 'I am not.' Listen, Coryo-- 'Stop calling me that.' --just accept that Lucy Gray is everyone's girl, okay? She's my girl. She's not really just yours. 'Who in the Gem of Panem is everyone? Who even are you?' I can't tell you that. It's against the rules. 'What rules?!' Uh-uh, still can't tell. Give it up already, Coryo. Coriolanus is losing his mind. He has had a talking creature inside his head for weeks and it is just now he truly feels he is losing his mind.

Lol. Writing is hard, huh. Okay, I'm not sure this is categorised as a character & reader fic now that I used third person, not second person pov, but eh xD

I'm willing to talk about it more though, if anyone is interested!

Thank you for the ask and the space to bullshit, Anon!

[levmada]

Canal pt.1: Monster or Man

work summary » You think the greatest feat of your career is upon you when a mythical creature is stolen from the sea and thrust into your life—then, stubbornly, into your heart.

You both learn there is more to each other than circumstances, and appearances, let on—until an accident threatens to tear you apart. Soon, both of your fates depend on defending everything you’ve worked to build, or setting him free.

ch.summary: The opportunity of a lifetime is upon you, not only for the sake of your career, present and future—but your hero. Whether you can handle a vicious merman comes into severe question, but it soon becomes obvious that "vicious" is far too harsh a word.

content/warnings: chaotic+lovable Hange, themes of grief (past loss of a parent), kind of a meet-cute, very vague description of injury/blood, crippling perfectionism issues, anesthesia awareness, Levi is secretly adorable

wc: ~8.1k

a/n: hi hi! i feel like i wrote a chapter of smth at reasonable length for once, unfortunately there's some exposition (3 parts is 3 parts), so it's a good thing removing unnecessary scenes makes part 2 halfway done!

no way im finishing this before the end of mermay tho

also, im trying to write in past tense for the first time so pls excuse mistakes.

work masterpost・next part

Leading to your own little world, Sector 3, was a long, trailing hallway Hange (Dr. Zöe, you should refer to them as) referred to as the ‘canal’. You could, and you often did scoff at their unprofessionalism, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. 

In the mouth of its sealed sliding door, you slipped on your sticky gloves and plastic face shield—tasks you used to agonize over, years and years ago. These days it was more like putting on a second skin.

Today, Berner didn’t lecture you on why in the world you kept in your jingly earrings after all these years if you were forced to remove them every time you step into your own sector; that was your guarantee that Hange hadn’t exaggerated—that today was not only special, but extraordinary.

They always kept a perpetual bounce in their step, but today it was hard to keep up with them. Above you the floodlights buzzed. Berner could only try to keep up as they fidgeted, bounced, and rambled: “Oh, don’t be a party-pooper. I want to keep it a surprise. You’ve never seen anything like this, I guarantee it, and, ah!—I’m so excited I can’t wait.”

You chuckled. “Do you know how unprofessional you sound?”

“If I haven’t changed after 10 years, don’t expect a change yet!”

“You know I don’t like surprises.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Please? I’m even saying please. I’d like to know about the goings-on in my own sector.”

“D’awe, you’re so cute.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. You feel red. “Erwin loves to talk, but he just called this urgent, which could mean anything, knowing him.”

They burst into more giggles as Berner made a pained noise behind you both. Directly beneath the overhead floodlight at the very end of the hallway, Hange stopped dead, causing Moblit to smack right into them. They promptly ignored them, and then, with a resounding sigh, they swiped three crinkled photographs from the endless depths of their lab coat.

You stared at them like you’ve just been offered a handful of dope. “And where did you get these?”

“Not by following protocol,” they murmured mischievously, “that’s for sure.”

“Dr. Zöe—” Moblit tried, but the crisp photos, recently printed, were already in your hands. You inspected the backs first for additional information, but there wasn’t much: today’s date and a serial number, which identified any boat on any and all expeditions; these were taken on an ordinary fishing boat.

You whistled severely, as if surveying a bad crime scene, which you might as well have been. At first, you think you were staring at some gutted, red fish, but it was blood—bright red upon bright red upon a glossy white boat deck; parts looked like someone dipped a red paintbrush and flicked it at a clean canvas, but it was all smeared severely, like someone tried to mop it up and gave up.

Hange was jabbering something, but you weren’t listening. The next one was the deck again, but with four severe gouges taken out of the glossy teak—a synthetic material that didn’t scratch easy. This was the work of a very strong, pissed off animal.

Moblit shook you both. “We’re going to be late, you two.”

“It’s just like Nessie, or the colossal squid! A real-life mermaid, but a man! With the tail of a fish!” Hange was whispering, more like hissing, into your ear. At that moment Director Erwin, donning scrubs for once, appeared at the end of the canal. He parted the rubber flaps and called for you all, expectantly.

You cursed under your breath. Moblit abruptly cut in front of you as you both moved on side-by-side. 

While trying to process what they just said, you scrambled for the last photo. “Say again, Hans?” 

The last one—the image blurred by the shaking photographer—carried weapons. You were able to make out a few, mainly spears; one was split in half like a pencil, but all were painted in blood.

Their big brown eyes sparkled. “A man. With a fish tail. I heard all this secondhand but apparently there were three—but he was the only one who made it. Poor thing fought as hard as he could, and in the end it took five shots to tranquilize him. Can you believe it?”

“Hange—”

“Oh, I know it’s gory, but—” they throw their hands up, “—isn’t this incredible!?” they cry out. Your colleagues—including Mike and Nanaba, heads of their own sectors—now swarmed you two, and winced at the sound.

Information was on a need-to-know basis only, you found out: the Director, of course, was the only person who knew anything about him; the only exception was Hange, who got what they could through more illicit methods. You get the feeling they spoke to Armin—the overseer of the marina itself—who spoke to someone, or someones, who saw this supposed ‘merman’ firsthand. 

You believed them, though. Sector 3 specialized in large sea-mammals, the bigger the better. 

A merman, you thought. Hope pounded in your chest. This better be true.

The doorway was only welcoming for one person, so you were forced to cram to get in, but the crowd parted for you, first. Your reputation demanded it.

Erwin, formal and confident as always, already stood waiting beside a towering metal cylinder as wide as two double-doors. He nodded knowingly, and you nodded in return.

You forced a straight face; you couldn’t let yourself get too excited in case you were let down. Usually, aquariums like these were used as incubation tanks for pregnant orcas. Thus the glass wrapping around was thick, not to mention the sleek metal casing itself; they were also specially fashioned to allow more oxygen to circulate than any given tank a creature was kept in.

Thrill washed over your belly. An extraordinary day, indeed.

Once the few select personnel besides you, Mike, Nanaba and Hange were gathered, Director Erwin spoke frankly. Unfortunately, he gave the same report Hange had given you earlier, just reworded. Your interest only climbed, like balancing atop a high cliff, so high the sea was no more than a blue floor, preparing to jump.

You thumbed at the photographs now tucked away in your pocket as Erwin nodded to Hange, who clapped their hands once, bright and loud. They grandly presented the tank with both their arms thrown out to the side.

“Well then—doctor? Ready to take a look?” Hange asked, sounding genuinely seductive. “Up close and personal?”

You wanted to leap at the chance. Only briefly, lips slightly parted and eyes round, you shared a cautionary look with Erwin, who smiled and gave you a look that read, ‘Well? It’s up to you.’ 

Now that you were making the leap you crossed your arms, finally grinning and nodded for Hange to continue. On cue, your colleagues tensed and the air became like oil; no matter that your team was present, as well as the heads of each sector for that matter.

Hange fiddled with the keypad etched into the side of the dome. With a cheerful beeping noise, the metal casing began its steady slide open, like two walls crawling away from each other.

Even your jaw fell slack at the sight before you. At first, and brief glance, what you saw is an unconscious man suspended in still, distilled water—coated in rolls upon rolls of thick bandages, but a man nonetheless—following one hell of a fight. Now the photographs made sense.

So taken by his face, you studied the webbed curve of his ears before the obvious; what looked to be regular cartilage bled into a warm blue color, so you craned your neck to get a better look. You then had a front row seat to the gills which gently contracted just a tad below one of his ears—just as a normal fish has.

The man wore an uncannily neat haircut too: short, chopped, and a color so dark it could rival midnight. Your eyes raked his midsection, and even beneath the bandages it was plain to see he was well-built.

Not to mention—

A shocked breath fell off your lips as nervous chatter bubbled up around you. Moblit confirmed his height as just over 5 feet, but the long, hulking length of his tail made him look enormous. The tail . 

You caught the end of a sentence behind you: “—a sea monster.”

The appendage was not simply one boring shade of blue; if you could’ve put this beast under a microscope, you still wouldn’t have been able to fully capture its speckled azure, its milky blues, the dashes of midnight, some the hue of rich jewels, the ocean at sunrise, a clean afternoon sky…

Like scattered pebbles, scales erupted in random spots where his hipbones should’ve been, and swallowed the entire lower half of his body in a fish’s tail where there ought to have been legs—if this was a man. 

Webbed tailfins, similar to his ears, flared gently, wading in the water on either side of his waist.

You felt like Hange at that moment. You wanted to press your face to the glass to ogle the powerful fin kissing the flat metal bottom of the tank, but Hange beat you to it. 

In their excitement—as always, never mind what Moblit told them—they did something outrageous and dangerous. They planted their palms down dead in the center and gawked up at his sleeping face. Hungrily.

“Zöe!”

That was Erwin, but it was too late: they launched up on their tiptoes, and as if he had been waiting for this moment, he came alive inside the tank, thrusting his fists out in the direction of Hange’s face with such force the tank shook—helped by the whips of his powerful tail.

Hange shouted a curse and launched back in Mike. Everyone froze for a moment; it was the kind of pause that erupts when a car explodes in a crowded street before the chaos begins.

He, it, snarled at all of you, bubbles streaming up from his mouth. The sound could only be compared to a drowning bear. 

You were the first to pounce on the keypad, thrusting the thick metal halves back the way they were so all that remained was the twist in his venomous expression, the murder in his eyes; his sharpened talons made a horrible screech, like nails on a chalkboard. The glass would be scarred. 

You looked on in frightened awe. There was no chance of him making even a dent in it, and yet he pushed on anyway. Fear or excitement—primal, burnt, unmistakable—pounded through your head and ran thick in your veins.

“That’s enough!” Erwin barked. He wrangled the situation, mostly those who bore witness—especially a red-faced Hange. It was the first time in a long time when, after they pulled a stunt like this, they shared your expression of bewildered fear.

No one stayed behind except you, Hange, and Erwin—but he stayed the same. The square window made his face perfectly visible; his curled lip displayed teeth like a human’s, a daggered glower holding gunmetal eyes like a human’s, and the murderous rage plenty of humans are capable of.

You wondered who those other two were that were like him, those who died. If he was capable of attachment, of relation, then who were they? Family? Friends?

Erwin was busy laying into Hange, so you were the only one left staring up wide-eyed while he kept that same hate-ridden expression. Either brave or stupid, you didn’t care. 

Eventually, he seemed to realize his efforts—Could he have possibly waited for the perfect moment to break the glass? To terrify us? —were futile. The pounding stopped, but his lips remained curled in a snarl, sharp eyes tearing through you from above. He waited for your next move. 

Behind your forced neutral expression, you felt in your blood that behind his eyes lied cold, hard intelligence. Monster or man, you couldn’t show your fear if you wanted any hope to communicate effectively in the future. It was that simple to you.

Two voices strained and rose behind you; Hange’s was the first to fall for obvious reasons. Their outright genius, and your good word, had saved them their job from the brink many times in the past.

“It will not happen again,” Hange repeated after Erwin. “I had no idea he was capable of planning!”

The creature (Could he have a name? Likely, if he was found with others) antagonized you still. It never weakened, never relented. 

You wondered how, and why, and where; you held no concrete questions, only a special yearning sprouted from plain ignorance. What if he could talk? Where had he come from?

No matter the challenge, you wanted to figure him out—all the way from the deep dark depths of his past to this very moment in time.

Then Erwin called your name, and the spell was abruptly broken. “I want to speak to you in private. Dr. Zöe, you’re dismissed.”

Hange faltered. “You don’t mean dismissed, dismissed, correct?”

“No,” Erwin sighed, tired, but no longer angry.

After you nodded them away, you asked him, “Are you worried he can understand us?”

Erwin put on one of his trademark smiles, the one that dripped wit. “I’d be worried if it didn’t, after all the sacrifices that were made to capture it.”

As he spoke, you followed him through another pair of sliding metal double-doors. “You and Dr. Zöe are the only ones that call it ‘he’. Did you notice?”

You smirk, just a little. “Yes, well—appearances don’t make the man, don’t you think?”

He chuckled. “I have to agree.”

You and the Director shared a long, winding history all the way back to graduate school where he had taught, and even had coached you on your dissertation. Even though you were no longer a long-running teacher’s pet—even in high school, when you hadn’t been proud of it—years later your back-and-forth with him remained the same.

The room you stood in now was standard use for security, crammed with monitors and control consoles that gave eyes to every corner of Sector 3; yours out of the five the facility holds. It’s the perfect place for sensitive discussion.

Erwin explained everything he knew: A fisherman had been the one who spotted the three of them, and he had also been the one who had called others to aid him in throwing out a blanketed, barbed net without consulting facility staff. They had had no way of knowing what they were dealing with.

But by then it had been too late, and three creatures just like him had gone on the offensive; one, for her size and shape, had seemed to be a young female.

“None except the female were affected by what tranquilizers were on board, but by the time it was over, it had already succumbed to its wounds,” he tells you gravely. “The other male died as well.”

You hummed, short and stressed. Only so much information can be gathered from, for lack of a better word, dead bodies. “It’s hard to believe deadly force was necessary.”

Erwin’s expression grew tight. “Three fishermen and two researchers died, four of those fatalities due to, well, the man. Those on the deck had no choice, but even if they did, neither of us were there to change their minds.”

You were stunned into silence. No wonder everyone had been afraid, but would it have made you a bad person that that information intrigued you further? 

“Did they speak a language?”

“Not on the ship,” Erwin replied. He smiled again. “You’re still interested in this case, then.”

You huffed a laugh and looked away. If it were anyone else (excluding Hange, you imagine), you’d be called heartless for your persistence. You’d be a fool not to be wary of a creature like this, but his potential spoke to you louder than your fear.

Yes, you were interested. 

“If he doesn’t have a name, then I’ll assign him a number,” you mused. “Is this your way of assigning him to me, Director?”

That trademark smile. “It is."

Your first three encounters with the subject (despite what you had told Erwin, you decided not to assign him a name or number until you knew for certain whether he was capable of giving one) reminded you more of autopsies than appointments: he was too volatile to be kept conscious around the staff at first.

On the first day, a couple more after he was captured, you tugged on your rubber gloves beside two of your most trusted assistants beside you: Nifa and Petra. 

Together you collected blood and hair samples, as well as a clipping from one of his nails. They were more like talons, but you opted not to trim the rest while you were at it—the procedure was invasive enough already. 

And, if you angered him, it’d be harder to earn his trust.

While Petra scooted the cart along containing the samples, you further popped open the plexiglass domed top until it gaped open. 

Inside what would serve as his home for the foreseeable future, he idled on his back with his arms pinned by his sides, unconscious and restrained. Enough heated salt water circulated from the tank’s various tubes and pipes that when you lowered your hands to turn his head towards the ceiling, a few ripples kissed his chin.

Your mind wasn’t so narrow to assume the tank was anything more than a drop of water compared to that endless blue sea. It was tragic, but good intentions always shined on most (injured, disabled, or sick) animals the facility took in—just not in this case, arguably. 

Your opinion? This would no doubt be worth it in the end.

You sighed silently as you skirted your gloved pointer finger across the delicate, almost iridescent scales decorating his high cheekbones. They were very thin, indistinguishable from the ones decorating his hips.

Now that you could examine him more closely, you dove right in. 

His wounds healed quickly, certainly inhumanly so. There was no more need for bandages after day five. Incredible.

His tail, that brilliant cacophony of blues, began its wide slope where his hipbones didn’t exist. Long fins, firm yet slippery, decorated each side. You imagined he used these to maneuver easier in the water. 

Further down his tail, just before it unfurls into a tough, flexible clam shell, was thick enough to rival your forearm.

What a wild, beautiful creature. Silently you marveled, a smile pinching your cheeks without your realizing.

Now onto your least favorite part: his face—not because he was hard to look at in any way, but because it was the opposite. For a sea creature, he was uncannily handsome. Strong, yet feminine facial structure, and soft features.

It was creepy.

Carefully you carded his bangs away, keeping an eye on the display to your left showing rows of colored lines: his vitals.

It was imperative he didn’t wake up during this exam: besides the trauma, and the aches and pains that would be the first to greet him, the sticky pads on his chest and clipped to his fingertips gave you the readings; if he broke free, which you wouldn’t put past him, the paperwork for damaged equipment would be a bitch to fill out. 

Your own safety was pointless to worry about. Thick glaring restraints bridged not only his wrists, but his neck and the dead-center of his tail.

Regardless, you walked a precarious tightrope here. Not only were the stakes high, but you had given him a limited dose of anesthesia. His x-rays showed that—despite all his human characteristics—his lungs are much larger than a humans to subsist underwater for unimaginable stretches of time. 

Supplying him with a constant dose was too big of a risk. He was too special.

With a clinical touch, you examined beneath his eyelids for more abnormalities, beside yourself with interest. There were so many possibilities: light-sensitivity, maybe he was nocturnal and perhaps even colorblind like most sea animals.

You half expected him to snap to life again, biting, thrashing, chomping—but he remained as still as ever inside the tank. 

His iris was a gloomy pool of gunmetal and dark waters, but you didn’t pause to ogle. You recorded down your findings as usual, set down the clipboard with a small clatter, before charging ahead. With his jaw cradled in both hands, you parted his lips slightly, but you didn’t even get that far.

Your attention snapped to the monitor. The endless stream of lines, his heartrate, spiked aggressively in kind with the rising beep-beep-beep.

You hissed a curse and snatched the oxygen mask by your side. More anesthesia.

Heart pounding, you struggled to snap the buckles around his head with his head swaying from side to side the way it was.

When his eyes pinched tight and you were still one buckle short, you knew it was too late and ripped the mask off. It was your fault he lurched to life with that awful a gagging sound, caused by his binds buckling on their screws. 

His eyes flew open, expression twisted into deadly surprise. The rest was a mystery; you were too busy rounding the tank. Your lab coat billowed wildly behind you as you lurched it up before it slammed shut like a cement block slamming into concrete.

Somehow, he fought hard enough to rock the water to the domed top. Your equipment, shredded. The tank, wobbled by the wild flopping of that fierce tail. No wonder it had taken five men to overpower him on that boat.

But the fight drained from him quickly. You watched from the sidelines, fingering with your lanyard; clipped on was a fat yellow button that would alert security, but the anxiety evaporated now that there was no need.

His chest heaved hard and his back bowed back sluggishly to escape the restraints. It was useless, which made it that much harder to watch.

At least dropping restraints was procedure for these types of things. You thumbed the control panel until they shot back, but there was no pounding on the walls. The tank was still.

You waited on bated breath. The look on his face, you could have only compared it to a hurt turtle as he pawed at the glass. Left in his wake were pale, jutting lines from his nails. 

You knew there wasn’t a crumb of comfort he would accept from the person at the scene of the crime, so you turned your back for the door. 

Painkillers would be perfect—the tanks of which weren’t on hand in that room. You knew how to install them yourself.

Only, right as the sliding door whooshed open, you smacked right into Nifa, who—thank god—wasn’t carrying anything important. An orange crate crammed with protective equipment clattered to the floor.

You told her what you needed in a flurry of sentences, but she easily peered past your shoulder to get an eyeful of the disaster ensuing behind you. Your stomach dropped like a stone in a lake.

“What—?” She brushed past you a few paces, looking on in exasperated devastation. What she saw was his face twisted into a grimace, his fists flexed hard over his chest.

She whirled around. “W-Why medicate it? We should just anesthetize it again, there’s so much left to do—”

“He’s in no condition to keep going,” you argued, and stepped forward. “Waking up from anesthesia in the middle of a procedure is traumatic enough, just as it is for any other animal.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then jabs a finger in his direction helplessly. “I have to disagree, doctor. With how precious—”

“Exactly,” you interrupted. “He’s precious, which is half the reason you’ll do what I tell you. The other half is because I told you to do it.”

His eyes had gone wide and afraid now, having noticed Nifa. Whining plastic tore through the air as he clawed and snarled, a low and dangerous sound. His ears, shockingly blue, flared out wide.

It was his only option, you knew. He was only acting out out of desperation—and that made you snap.

“Go, Nifa!” you barked, and mimicked her by pointing at the door. “Now! Not another word.”

Tearfully, she did. You breathed hard, hands shaking on the knobs of the control pad as you set about making him more comfortable. 

You had a habit of muttering under pressure, and now you murmured, “Just one second, I’ve got it, I’ve got it it’s almost over…”

The water tank broke into a chugging noise, which only served to startle him more: his head shot about wildly in search for the source of the noise, hissing at nothing.

You rounded the tank, standing none too close to him, and put your hands up in surrender.

“It’s okay!” you said, in as reassuring a tone you were capable of. “I’m warming the water, so it’s gonna circulate faster for a minute. The air is also decompressing, so you can breathe.”

A sound rumbled in his chest, brow sunken in defiance as the water inside the tank swelled. What you said didn’t register, that much was clear—but you couldn’t be wrong about him.

So, you put it in simpler terms instead.

To your relief, he relented a little. Where he was curled up as far away from you as he could get, he curled up a little more, his tail bumping the glass, and finally laid his head down. 

Being half-submerged didn’t bother him of course. His expression didn’t change, but the day had clearly caught up with him.

“Good. No more,” you told him, and you meant it. You may have been ambitious, but you knew when to stop. “We’re done.”

This is exactly what you told Nifa and Petra later, after taking the canisters the former retrieved. After Petra helped you set them down by the tank, looking apprehensive, you excused them both to other jobs. You wouldn’t forget Nifa’s insubordination—not by a long shot.

Then it was back to work. He fought sleep in hard blinks as he peered over the edge at your crouched form, installing the hulking white tanks.

“Painkillers,” you offered, feeling his mild suspicion. You didn’t look up. Out of a lack of response, you over-explained when only a muffled scoff broke the air: what was going to happen, and how it would make him feel.

Once it was all said and done, you stood, swiping your forehead of a thin sheen of sweat.

His blue-greys, opened into slits, watched you without faltering. You stared back in case words left his half-parted lips, but you knew he could tell what you wanted; he snapped his jaw shut.

A little closer. He inched back, but didn’t snarl. 

“Did you hear what I told my assistant earlier? The woman that was here?”

After several beats, he nodded and made a light clicking sound. That meant that he was content, from your experience with dolphins.

He of course wasn’t a dolphin, but you took what you could get. 

And it was the truth. Your humane techniques were a big reason you headed the sector for exotic sea animals in the first place. 

You tried to explain that part to him too. When it came to ‘humane techniques’, his brow only knitted in sour confusion, but he knew 'truth'. No smiles, but you were satisfied.

You cleared your throat. “I’ll remain—” you recalled his limited understanding of your language, “I’ll be here for the next hour, for you. Then I have to go. You can sleep, if you want. You should.”

He said nothing, as usual; there was only a disconcerted little him. As you had for the entirety of this nightmare, you settled for the bare minimum. 

Only when you were seated on the nearby stool—pivoting its wheels from one spot in the room to another to wrap your research up and contact the Director on this development—did he finally move. 

His sneaky shifting reminded you of a mime who froze when he was being looked at, and came alive when he wasn’t. Light water swished in the tank as he maneuvered onto his other side; that massive tail curled with his frame, unable to bend completely.

To your surprise, he didn’t so much as shut his eyes for longer than a long blink for the whole hour. The painkillers couldn’t put an elephant to sleep, but they were always effective. That dose was ordinary for creatures almost twice his size. 

He didn’t trust you, but could you blame him? Did you have a right for frustration to roil beneath your skin? 

How could you slip up, making such a disastrous mistake? You were too lenient in the anesthesia; at the same time, you were tearing down the path blind. Nobody even knew something like him existed before a couple days ago.

Still inexcusable, you settled on. 

At the end of the hour, you only briefly cracked open the tank. You needed to retrieve the oximeter and untangle the cords that had gotten twisted around in all that thrashing—which you prefaced before you acted. 

You felt ridiculous asking for consent from a sea creature, even more so when he frowned, unimpressed, before shoving the bundle of tangling down, then away, like it burned to the touch. 

“Ah,” you muttered dumbly. “Well, thank you.”

He locked up like a vice as you reached your hand in, but the chore was painless, in the end.

When that was done, you double-checked his habitat conditions. 

Good. But then, open endless deliberation, you held down a fat orange button; it extended the size of the tank from one perfect for a pregnant orca—which was so small for him that his tail fins had to stay pinned to his sides—to one comfortable for an overweight male one. 

That was as freeing as it got.

He blinked, curiously, then ducked around to the small round pipe dispensing the water, and plugged it with his palm, then letting it go. It looked like he was experimenting with it.

You craned your neck to watch despite the wince on your face for your action. This was a total insult to procedure. It wasn’t routine, it wasn’t right, a yellow puzzle piece in a totally blue picture—but neither was he. 

He plugged it for over five seconds, brow furrowed, and then when he popped his hand away, a load of water spurted from the pipe and blasted in his face.

A laugh escaped you before you could help it. You clapped your hand over your mouth as he lurched back, shaking his head like a puppy after a bath.

Surprisingly he seemed entertained by this, snorting, rubbery ears twitching. He only sent you a single dirty look before scraping his bangs off his forehead and starting all over again. 

It was rather… cute.

You let your eyes fall shut for just a moment, sighing from the bottom of your lungs. 

You’re done for the day.

However, your mistake followed you into the next day, and the day after that. What you did, and didn’t do, ate away at you. Aggressively. Constantly.

In your career, you’d never made such a drastic mistake. It didn’t matter that you knew next to nothing about him, it didn’t matter that it was the worst-case scenario: waking up during surgery; that you, nor him, were brutalized in any way—you didn’t make mistakes, period.

During your degree, you’d recalculated entire strings of statistics if you got even an inkling that one decimal was off. If the vitals on an animal had been a few notches off, you had examined it and adjusted until all was right. In your final dissertation for your PhD, you had skipped out on life and rewrote it twice to make certain it was golden, and you had graduated valedictorian in your class for it. 

Now, in the dead of night bordering on morning, you held your speech for the next day pinched between both hands. It was imperative (in your mind) to review it for mistakes, but only squiggles and jumbled lines stared back at you. 

You had an important seminar tomorrow afternoon. Distractions would be troublesome, especially self-hating ones, which this one was. That pained madness etched across his sharp features was all you could see when you closed your eyes.

You had Hange check on him throughout the workday instead of your own team, because you trusted them more than anyone else, even your team. They were a wild card no doubt, but they cared for you.

Your explicit instruction was to do no more than bring him food. It was a simple task you couldn’t bring yourself to do. What if you’d already set yourself up for failure? Despite the treasure trove of data now at your disposal, it was not in its entirety, and what the hell was it worth if he continued lashing out in the future. Or worse? 

For once, you found yourself at a loss. It wasn’t in you to treat your animals, much less one as precious as him, as a simple lab rat. That, more or less, was procedure—you worked in a lab after all.

As a result, you’d dropped a brick wall between you and Hange (and Erwin for that matter, even though he wasn’t what you called few people: a friend) the past couple days. 

The brick wall was a pretty common occurrence for times like these, so Hange hasn’t badgered you too much. Yet.

They would, no doubt, even though you weren’t as close as you were before what happened three months ago. You’ve been stuck together since your college days.

Thinking back on it opened a pit in your stomach.

You let your burning eyes drift shut as you massaged a crick in your neck. Letting the frames from that night flash in your mind felt like snaps of a whip. You should’ve just talked about it, but you haven’t, and you haven’t been back to the houseboat since then, either.

Narrowing your focus, that was what you should do. Until it was over, the seminar tomorrow was all that existed. He could wait.

You’d share your findings—on a completely different subject, no less: global warming’s effects on wave currents—and reap what you could of praise and opportunity, if it happened that way. 

Erwin always insisted it would, which is what always ended up happening, but it was never guaranteed in your mind. 

If you got confident, you got complacent. And if you got complacent, you got sloppy; a mantra that was hammered into your brain when you were a kid.

You’d become a charlatan, and that wasn’t what your father would’ve wanted for you.

There was a tiny part of you that whispered that this way of thinking wasn’t sustainable, but that way of thinking only grew into a scream after your father passed away. He had meant well, always.

This phenomenal discovery was everything he had yearned for before his sudden death, and you’d be a fool not to pursue this once in a lifetime opportunity with everything you had.

This was your chance. You had to get it right.

Thick grey light stretched through your curtains before you were happy with your speech, so you made a choice: liquid adrenaline over sleep.

Nothing new. Not lately.

The concert hall was packed, from the most brilliant minds in zoology to the young people crowded near the rear isles, taking notes like their lives depended on it. 

As a skill you’ve refined over the years, it was easy to mask this big ugly mishmash of issues of yours and carry on. The applause following your final words made your head spin.

Afterwards Hange tackled you in a tight hug, and Mike congratulated you in his own reserved, bundle of sunshine way.

A dinner sponsored by the concert hall itself followed thereafter, so despite how just the smell of your sweetened tea made nausea squirm in your stomach, you chowed down on a meal just like the rest that circled your table: Mike, Nanaba, and of course, Hange.

The topic of work was unavoidable, especially at an event like this. You could only nod and ask Hange to elaborate on their current research for so long before the specificities grew microscopic. Your coworkers clamored to learn more about your new “project”—the merman. Vagueness in the public eye was essential.

“Well …” You fiddled with the napkin knotted between your fingers. This would be the first time you’ve spoken about specifics to any capacity; the only exception being the Director. “…I may or may not have hit a roadblock.”

“Oh?” A smirk crept onto Hange’s face. “Do tell.”

Then, like popping off a cork, you rapidly launched into an explanation of your experiences with the subject so far—which, by the end of your retelling with the anesthesia, morphed into a frustrated rant. 

You were afraid to move forward due to your past mistakes. He was already extremely volatile to anyone and everyone, let alone a person who harmed him. The road ahead held similar procedures, more invasive experiments. 

As confident you were that he could speak, this wall meant that he was more likely to shut down completely. You’d get nowhere, and you would have failed not only yourself, but your father’s aspirations (the second detail you chose not to mention). 

If you could only hit a breakthrough, you could gather all the knowledge you needed to complete your study, and as an added benefit, you’d be rolling in the highest success of your career (as high as it would reach, you concluded). 

Then, your subject would be out of your hands. It was unlikely in this specific case he would ever see the ocean again, but you’d never have to agonize over him again. 

Mike had one fist propped up beneath his chin by the end of your speech. Hange looked positively pensive. They were analyzing, which reassured you. You admired their mind most of all.

“Well—” they stalled, “—we all know you’re bad at the people thing, right?”

Your lips parted, then snapped shut. “I'm... I’m not ”

Mike hummed skeptically as you glared at Nanaba, who was snickering behind her hand. 

Mike began. “In my opinion, you’re overthinking it. You said it yourself—he, it,  communicates differently from us. It seems like he behaves more like a seal than a person—”

“I’d say a dolphin,” Nanaba cut in. “He played with the piping, right? Maybe he likes trinkets.”

She worked in animal intelligence.

“That’s not the point,” Mike sighed. 

Hange pouted, having been cut-off. They tapped the table impatiently.

“Anyway, he sure as hell looks different, too. You should retrace your steps entirely and treat him like what he is: an animal. He’s a test subject, not some wayward sailor.”

You groaned. “No, there has to be some other way.”

“I kind of agree with both of you,” Hange said, tapping their cheek as the gears in their head turned. “How about treating him gently, like a feral kitten, you know?”

Nanaba laughed at this. She was totally ambivalent. “We know this: he’s an incredible creature. Maybe you could,” she gestures vaguely, “grow some sort of attachment? Maybe he’s capable.”

“No,” you stated, hard enough to leave no room for argument. No attachments.

Hange. “As I was saying, I think you’re on the right path. Coddle him, domesticate him even. He’s an adult, as far as you know, right? It’ll take time, but his awareness of people is obviously limited. No attachment needed.”

You hummed thoughtfully. Like gradually training a fostered feral cat not to hiss and bite when you pet it before giving it to another home.

They smiled. “Ah, yes, you’re agreeing! How about this: Talk about something he really cares about—I don’t know what, but you should—but only bring it up gradually, in a totally indirect way.” Then they lean back fully in their seat “Whaddya think?”

Your heart glowed. “ I think… that you’re full of brilliant ideas.”

Hange grinned.

One week before everything changed, there was a catalyst that would shoot your relationship with the merman into foggy, yet beautiful skies.

You had forgotten your lanyard at the lab and checked back in to retrieve it late. Very late.

You chastised yourself; not just for forgetting it, but with it you had access to a special private coastline, the owner being an old friend of your father’s. Every year you dropped by to pick bright daylilies and wide open gaillardia flowers—for your father, of course. 

It would be five years since you lost him.

Only, while passing down a certain hall that included a certain room with a certain new specimen, you froze mid-step, not even daring to breathe. Just beyond the door, you could hear something softer than even a murmur, but you heard it.

With a furrowed brow, you crept in close. There wasn’t a chance any staff were still working at this hour, let alone with clearance to see him without your permission.

It must have been him. You squeezed your eyes shut, lungs burning and tight.

The smooth metal was a chilling slap to your cheek; even it felt like it impaired your hearing. 

But what was he saying? Your heart throbbed in your ears, too loud. He was repeating something, softly, reverently.

It was no prayer, but the fact alone that he was speaking had you beside yourself with the ceaseless mania of being proven correct.

Your feet felt like cinder blocks by the time you thought you had it. No wonder you didn’t recognize the words, because they were names.

Isabel... Farlan. Isabel, Farlan.

“Hey doc, why’re you still here?”

You jumped off the door, and whirled around. “Jesus, Eren! You scared the crap out of me.”

His brow shot up as he held up his hands in surrender. Distantly, staticky feedback was fed into his ear by the headpiece he wore. He murmured into it while you collected yourself.

Eren was the head of security detail. Technically, part of his job was sneaking up on people, and he was damn good at it. It was also his responsibility to patrol after hours, especially in your Sector, whose research is considered “delicate” (top-secret).

Your moment had ended. If you were to try again, you knew you wouldn’t hear a thing, so you swiped a pen from your slacks and scribbled the names on your sleeve while also tugging Eren along down the hallway.

He went willingly. He had always reminded you of one of those humble old dogs that sometimes lied beyond a decrepit property sporting the sign, BEWARE OF DOG below a menacing sketch of a vicious rottweiler.

When you were finished, you asked him if he had ever overheard anything similar to what you did just now, and he shook his head, looking torn.

“That room has always been quiet. Damn.” He leaned against the wall casually, looking bummed. His job was usually only as exciting as watching a dolphin jump over water on video surveillance.

You shook your head, mustering a small smile. “Well, not tonight.”

Since you knew the merman heard you shout, and that he would undoubtedly remember it and resent you (possibly further) for eavesdropping, you made a choice. After jamming your key into the lock on his door, you stepped inside to find him wide awake. 

You’d never seen him asleep naturally, and that night was certainly no exception. 

He didn’t look up. The way he simply floated, tense, yet lifeless, reminded you of a crisp autumn leaf idling on lakewater.

You cleared your throat, but still nothing. 

Words would be useless. Instead you turned your attention to the untouched bowl of tuna on the shelf inside the chamber, and approached calmly.

Even as close enough to notice the little scales dusting his cheeks shimmer, as close enough to hear his muffled breathing, he pretended as if you were a ghost. 

But you were relentless, and eventually his gaze darted to you only for a split-second before he turned his head, arms crossed tight. Wisps of midnight hair danced in the water.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t conjure anything to say. At the module attached to his enclosure, you stretched it wider again. At some point, it had been reverted to its tinier size.

As the machine whired, “I couldn’t tell what you were saying. Don’t worry.”

He craned his neck back and shrewdly glared at you upside down. The result made it seem like he was smiling, which made you snort. At least that wasn’t a deception.

It weakened a little.

“I’ve been gone the past couple days, you probably noticed,” you began, terribly awkward somehow. “I felt—horrible about what happened. I don’t usually make a mistake like that.”

A grunt.

“But I’m still assigned to you, and I’m going to oversee you.” Even if you hadn’t been for some reason, you would have fought to. “I don’t think there’s any need for anesthesia in the future. What, what made you sleep.”

There’s a gentle sound as you round the module, like air hissing out of a balloon. Those sharp blue eyes were back on you, but he looked rather placated.

“Are you relieved?” you asked. He could speak, you knew for certain now, but you only received a long blink in return.

Again, the bare minimum with him. You put on a blank face and slid your rolling stool until you met his side at eye-level. Ever so often, the water would circulate, causing him to bob ever so slightly.

“Do you not eat meat?” you go on, nodding to the tuna.

Old myth says that mermaids possessed a siren call that would lure sailors to their deaths, torn apart by talons and razored teeth. When you explained that much, he showed the most emotion yet: his lips parted in disgusted disbelief.

“Plants, then?” you quipped, and hesitantly, he nodded. 

The strange… innocence of the conversation warmed you. 

Part of you didn’t think he was capable of that. For as long as he has refused to speak, it was always exceptionally clear what he wanted to communicate.

You observed him, an anxious kind of fascinated, as he reached up—there was no need to restrain him with the enclosure locked—and braced his hands on the round dome of the tank. 

With that, he could dunk his head under the water. Air bubbled up before he surfaced, and, like you weren’t even there, he combed his hair back, made a whistling sound, and rolled onto your side, powerful tail swishing below him.

“Are you grooming yourself?” you asked, fascinated. By then you were resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t get a verbal answer; what you got was a throaty snort, like it was obvious.

You went on. “Can you eat clam shells? Barnacles? Algae?”

His lip curled in disgust. It contrasted wildly from the way he rested his head on his crossed arms, gills flexing under the water.

“Okay… How about seaweed?”

This caught his attention. His eyes grew a touch wide before he blinked rapidly, abruptly glaring at you; before anything else, he wanted it made clear that he didn’t trust you.

All he’s been fed so far was fish meat. No wonder. You had to physically bite the inside of your cheek not to smile to yourself.

“I’ll change your diet then. I’ll get some. Would you like that?”

It was funny. He turned away from you so half his face was submerged in the bubbly water before nodding. 

Inwardly, you completely deflated in relief. Since he arrived here bandaged within an inch of his life, biting and snarling, you had concluded he would never cooperate like this. 

Then again, you’d been kind to him back then.

You decided that it was in your best interests to stay a little longer that night in hopes of learning more. Sleep could wait.

It was almost heartbreaking. In your next report, you wanted, and you had to describe in detail what you heard: his voice, those names; likely belonging to the merpeople whom he was found with; along with questions. Why was he speaking them? Could he be spiritual? How did they even come to have names?—Were there parents?

So not only would you be lying to him, but deceiving him too. 

But it had to be done. Mike was at least partly right: this merman wasn’t a human being.

Your priorities were crystal clear—or they would be for the following week. Little did you know, everything, especially your priorities, was about to come crumbling down.

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

[glove23]

ALL. ALL THE NUMBERS.

thank u ily

1: Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

Meeting Your Maker (Literally) which like. I've already sort of done dkdjsjsjs but I think if I started completely fresh with it I would do a lot of things differently! I love it tho it's my baby

2: Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

hmm not so much Unable as it's just hard but I struggle a lot with Smut. it just takes practice

3: How would you describe your writing style?

hmm. vibe based

4: Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

mmmm I sure do. they're all lovely and it's a time travel story I just have to write it dkhjsjdjs and the hardest part is always starting KDHAJDJA

5: What's a tag you never want to use for your works even when it applies?

okay so. I use whatever tags apply but like. sometimes,,,,I love Major Character Death and sometimes I don't want to use the archive warning for it skfhsjdjs so I only use the actual tag. but that's literally it djdjsjsj

6: What's your ratio for rating your works?

almost all of my fics are rated T, with a handful of G and a few M, but the majority is definitely T

7: Your favourite ao3 tag.

Major Character Death ksjfksjxs

8: How slow is a slow burn?

too slow. I'm so impatient, I can't stand to write them for more than a few hundred words

9: Thoughts on cliffhangers.

my favorite. I LIVE for a good cliffhanger I aim to get yelled at at the end of every chapter for where I end things skfhsjdjs

10: Top three favourite fic tropes.

bedsharing, time travel, AND FOUND FUCKIN FAMILY 😭😭

11: Three tropes that are fine but overrated.

uhhh. all of them cksjdjsjs uh coffee shop aus. is that a trope. I don't care sofhwjd it's what I'm putting, they're SO overrated like have u ever worked in customer service

13: Rate your worldbuilding skills from 1 to 10.

3

14: Write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.

"It has to be said: some bodyguards just aren't as skilled as others."

15: What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?

sharp objects. sharp objects. shARP OBJECTS

16: Are one-shots really underrated?

by fandom? yes. I live and breath one-shots and ppl don't fucking appreciate them enough.

17: Past or present tense? Why?

past tense. it sounds better and I like the idea that all stories are being Told, like they've already happened, ur not witnessing events as they play out, ur being told a story.

18: First, second, or third person?

third. it's better. first only sometimes, usually Percy Jackson related. but mostly. third.

19: Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

“You shouldn’t be up, you’re still healing.” He murmured.

Her gray eyes hardened and she stuck out a foot to kick him lightly on the shin. “This is kind of time sensitive, so if you could stop wallowing out here on the balcony, we could use you inside.”

Annabeth turned and skulked back inside, taking all the warmth with her. He shivered, the rain seeming to seep in right through to his bones. He took a deep breath and followed Annabeth inside.

20: Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

many. badly. KSBDKWHDJS got so many ideas so little energy. some things get finished as soon as I start them and others get poked at for months. it's just. life

21: Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

uhh yeah pretty much. it's usually how detailed the idea is and how many different branches it's gonna have. I do always still feel like a wizard when I guess correctly

22: What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?

it's all the in between that's the fun part, bc it's different everytime. even if it writing the same idea, it's always gonna be different from someone else. the anticipation of it all, knowing how it's gonna end up and watching all the pieces fall into place over and over again....it's just Fun

23: Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

dialogue. I love dialogue so much. description just doesn't come as naturally so I like it less dkdhsjjds tho it is still very fun, especially when it's the main focus of the story with very little dialogue. mmm. tasty

24: Thoughts on flashbacks/flashforwards.

like. they have their uses and I do love making the timeline funky but sometimes they are definitely the lazy way out OFJAJDJSJ

25: Is writing the whole thing beforehand better or worse than writing it as you go?

is writing the- DO PEOPLE DO THAT?? WRITE THE WHOLE THING FIRST AND THEN POST IN LITTLE INCREMENTS??? god. well I guess that answers that question. I am a write as I go kinda person, tho writing it all beforehand is definitely impressive

26: What would you describe as OOC?

this is literally different for every character ksbdjsn if they don't sound like themselves. doing things they wouldn't do, and u haven't given a good reason for why they're doing this OOC thing. I love characterization so much, it is definitely a big passion to get characters Right so when they're not,,,,

27: Do you agree that one shouldn't start a story with a piece of dialogue?

fanfiction? or like a legit pro published work? cuz uh either way? do whatever the fuck u want skdhsjsh. sometimes the vibe is dialogue to start!! sometime it's exactly what the story needs

28: Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

write every day. forreal. it doesn't matter how much u write, but write something everyday. it helps build the habit and legit makes it easier to start

29: What's the hardest thing about writing?

writing

30: Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

I have zero memory so no oshdjwjd I will not

31: What was the most difficult fic for you to write (but in the end you made it)?

sharp objects.

[wildcatofgreen]

Dear past me,

Send me one "Dear---" and I'll write a letter to this person

They're doing this on purpose, right? First future, now past? What's next, present? Talk to yourself for a while, Carol--have a cup of tea and angst about all your problems while dreading actually dealing with them.

Wait, is it possible that there's another her somewhere? She travels the multiverse, after all. She's met alts of Sonic before, she remembers that much.

It never crossed her mind that speaking to herself in the present tense was actually way more likely than she could've ever prepped for. In fact it was kind of freaky. She didn't like thinking about it.

She's her own person!!! Another her coming around and doin' her sierra would be a whole can of worms she didn't even want to entertain. Stone's sake.

She was getting sidetracked. The letter. She needs to focus on the letter.

...

What would it be about, really?

Maybe warning herself not to fall for purple girls so easily.

Maybe warning herself not to take the green gem out of the random blue box that fell out of the sky.

Maybe she'd warn herself about Brevon? Or Merga? Or all those times she got harrassed by weirdo grays.

She was a different person from back then. Whether it be a year or two or ten, she was ever so wildly different than the person she is now.

Would that past Carol even listen to her advice? Would it even matter? Probably not, right?

Despite her mantra, despite how she never actually wanted anything in her past to change, it didn't stop her from having regrets.

Her childhood sucked balls.

But it's not like that was something she could control. She was in the scarves for as long as she could remember. It'd be hard for her kiddie memories to not have a pang of regret next to them.

So...

She was kind of at a loss. Back of the pen tapped the side of her head, as if it'd jog her brain with what to write.

Maybe she should just...

Tell it how it is? Let her past self know about everything. Tell her how good life was gonna get.

She didn't really pick a specific age in her head for this. Just ''the past'' was good enough for her.

dear past carol

yoooo hows it goin girl? you doin okay? scarves treatin ya right? LMAO

bet you already left those bastards. good on ya carol. theyre the worst, truly. cant think of much that suck more

actually i can think of one thing

but ill go on about that later. so, hey! i bet you feel fucked up feelings for lilac right? dw so do i im YOU so i know everything.

something good concernin that tho. youre gonna confess to her soon! well. IM gonna confess to her soon. youre probably not gonna any time soon. but you should! itll save you a lotta trouble later on yknow

if sierra's a lil rocky rn then just stick through it. it gets better. i should know, im currently WAY BETTER

oh and upgrade your bike more often girl. you cant stick with that trashy thing for forever. its your BABY. you need to take better care of it. give it a new kickstop, swap out the engine, figure out how to make it boost.

make it CLIMB WALLS, make it WORK UNDERWATER, make it SUPER COOL!!! no matter how long it takes.

itll be worth it, TRUST ME

but yeah anyway youre gonna get some super cool friends soon. and an awesome boyfriend as well

though youd think that if we got a boyfriend-turned-fiance we'd get over lilac right?

haha

Confess to Lilac, please.

She knew she wasn't gonna send this out--and couldn't, time travel didn't exist yet--but felt the need to put extra emphasis on that phrase either way. Just to make it extremely clear.

speaking of bad stuff there's also a super evil intergalactic warlord coming your way. yes aliens exist, you become friends with one :3c

in fact it turns out that earth dragons were aliens to begin with. and the magister is an earth dragon. and his people genocided the water dragons

kinda explains why lilac's the only water dragon youve seen, right?

anyway bombshells aside WE GET SO MANY COOL FRIENDS

like milla!!!! you probably dont know her yet. she was kinda too girlie at first when we first met her but then we actually started bondin with her and stuff. and she started creating these WEIRD POTIONS AND YOU SHOULD DECLINE EVERYTIME SHE WANTS TO TEST ONE ON YOU

decline without remorse DO NOT FALL FOR HER PUPPY EYES, THEYRE EVIL

you also meet this super cool lemur from another world but its way later than milla. and you also meet this DUMB BIRD GUY WHO THINKS HE'S FASTER THAN YOU. BUT YOU KICK HIS ASS (probably the jury's still out on that one) IN A RACE AND GLOAT OVER IT EVERYTIME

those two are probably your coolest new friends. you also make friends with like, grim reaper herself

or because of multiversal whatever its A grim reaper. she's cool tho she doesnt try to kill us or anything. i like her

she's got WIT and i love that about people

anyway uh

youre gonna be okay, really

im bad att transitions so we're just talking about deep stuff now okay you and lilac are gonna be pretty scared for a while. and like, that's okay. youll hafta do some shady shit to survive but itll be okaay. as far as i get it, we win in the end. like in general

you ever thought you'd be livin in SHANG TU PALACE??? its AWESOME in here. AND we're friends with the girl who runs the whole damn place. its super sick!!! she's grouchy tho. won't spoil who it is you should figure that one out by yourself~

idk. youre gonna be okay. keep believin in yourself and in lilac and in all your friends. its gonna be CRAZY, like it doesnt STOP being crazy. but itll be fun, too. life is gonna be SO MUCH FUN

get through the hardtimes, then the fun times await ya, girl. i should know, ive BEEN THROUGH IT ALL! :3

have fun, carol. you wont regret it

love

carol

Yeah.

It was kind of messy. Kind of all over the place. But she liked it. When wasn't she all over the place anyway?

Fold it up. Pocket it. She'll keep this somewhere, too.

Past her didn't know what was comin'. And honestly, it made present her laugh. Quietly, though. Didn't wanna wake up Sony.

To think, she'd go from bein' a Scarf, to bein' a fugitive, to savin' the world, to bein' a multiversal traveler, to savin' the world again, and now she's a mechanic/Battlesphere Champio/multiversal traveler wife.

Fucking. Wild.

Guess that's why she's a wildcat.

She snickered to herself.

[cats-thoughts]

writing

Hey I have an urge to write to procrastinate schoolwork, my very favorite thing to do. I am a professional at this point. At procrastinating that is my writing is subpar, and I have been told present tense first person sucks. I can't be assed to learn a new way of writing tho so,,, anyways two questions 1) would anyone want to Read something I wrote and 2) what would you want me to write. like toss out a concept or something I can probably roll with it. if I haven't already written it I've got maybe 250 stories sitting in my note app (a couple are even finished) and at least 30 of them are lifesteal bc I brainrotted very hard. anyways if you wanna answer you can shoot me an ask or reblog or something lol

(oh also ive been wanting to address this so why not now, my way of talking/humor is A LOT of deadstops and exaggerating emotions and I never realized until recently it could come off as like, not fun? bad at explaining, sorry. but uh this lil side note is to say I'm never genuinely upset over anything or anything like that, and on the rare occasion i might be ill like mention it or something? Ya boi just bases its humor in exaggerated emotions and fullstops, and I think I got at least half of it from Techno haha he was a part of my life for like 6 years or something like that so I got a lotta speaking mannerisms from him)

[meggie-stardust]

3, 17, & 31 for the writer asks! 💕

Thanks for the asks <3!

3 How would you describe your writing style?

Ohhh good question... I'm not sure. I don't think it's overly complicated, but I do like to set up a world to a degree (this is why I'm bad at PWPs). I like to have a good amount of humor, and banter, and some sort of interesting situation for our heroes. And I always "Kevin Smith" any action sequence that is needed, meaning it happens off screen, even it's critical to the plot.

17 Past or present tense? Why?

I write both, and it kind of depends on the vibe I'm getting when I start the first few paragraphs. Often I will start in one, and then change it pretty quickly. My last two fics were in present, but the one before that was past, so it really does change every time, tho I think I prefer present.

31 What was the most difficult fic for you to write (but in the end you made it)?

Probably Stuck Between Stations. It's a re-telling of the s6 episode Radio Silence, but with the added complication of a time-loop. I wasn't sure how much direct from the episode I should put in to set up the loop, and the writing style both for dialogue and descriptions was hard to adapt to my style, and it took a while to find the right balance of canon to fic. I also wanted to make this as minor of a canon divergent as possible, so I spent a lot of time rewatching Radio Silence and Riders on the Storm to be able to slot my fic right into the story (and that's hard in and of itself, given that those episodes are so dark I had no idea what was going on half the time). I also realized half way through I need to do some setup earlier in the fic to make the ending work, so I had to go back and add some foreshadowing and such, but I am so proud of how this one turned out.

[noteguk]

Hey nala! I loved bad attitude, I can’t wait to see more of the oc teasing jk 😭

Thank you!! I really like exploring the dark side of the force that overtakes the oc every once in a blue moon. So I hope you guys like this one! (The timeline is after bad reputation, but before bad attitude) 

[ ! ] this is a drabble for bad influence. You can read it as a stand-alone. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, sexting, badboy!Jungkook x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits/enemies to lovers, dirty talk, taking and sending pics (not nudes), jk’s skirt thirst, a glimpse into the chaos that lives inside the oc 

— words; 1,2k

~ 

Years of high school (and now college) excellence did wonders to disguise your impulsive side. It was a common misconception to believe that, just because you were disciplined enough to keep your grades high and your responsibilities in check, you didn’t act on dumb, random thoughts that popped up inside your head. You kind of wished it was true (it would’ve saved you a lot of drama in your personal life) but you also had to admit that you had your fun indulging in your more chaotic needs as well. 

Jungkook’s answer came quickly, but not as quickly as you had first expected. Which meant that he was either busy or distracted — past tense — and that it would be slightly more fun than you thought. 

With a smirk growing on your lips, you turned around on the bed, reaching for your phone. His answer was simple, only one word, but it was more than enough for you to realize that your machiavellian plan would be fruitful. 

jk tutoring 🚫: dont.

If years of perfecting self-restraint didn’t stop you, his half-assed warning wouldn’t. With your phone in hands, you propped yourself up on your elbows as you typed a response. 

You: Why not? 😔

As you nervously waited for his text, the picture you had previously sent him was staring you right in the face. It wasn’t anything outrageous, just a simple mirror selfie of you sitting on the edge of your bed, legs crossed and head slightly tilted to the side. It was something so innocent, so gentle and casual, that you could almost pretend that you didn’t know exactly what you were doing when you picked that skirt.

It wasn’t any revolutionary discovery to claim that Jungkook had a thing for your skirts — he had mentioned about a million times already and, even if he hadn’t, it was extremely obvious from the way he explored your body with a lot more eagerness when you wore one. What was a revolutionary discovery, however, was the piece of clothing you found hiding in the corner of your closet, something you had long discarded because Yongsun had managed to shrink it the first time she washed it. 

It was practically impossible to wear it outside, but, well, it was the perfect tool to provoke Jungkook with. Because if karma didn’t take care of him, you would. 

Finally, his messages popped up on your screen: 

jk tutoring 🚫: in a lab rn dont wanna get hard thx

jk tutoring 🚫: but it looks rlly fucjing hot 

jk tutoring 🚫: wanna see you riding me in it bby 

jk tutoring 🚫: in front of that mirror ;) 

You bit your lip, bubbles of expectation starting to pop in your stomach. Sexting Jungkook was the free trial of being a chess genius — you were always ten steps ahead, predicting his following words with almost perfect accuracy. Was it mean, perhaps a little twisted of you to be doing that while he was (miraculously) in class? Maybe. But you had a lot of things in your mind and mercy wasn’t one of them. Especially after the months of torture he had put you through. 

You: whatever you want 🥰 

You: I’m surprised you even go to class tho, that’s news 

jk tutoring 🚫: u took the day off to pester me? 

You: maybe I did

You: maybe I’m also home alone for the rest of it 

jk tutoring 🚫: dont fucking say that 

In true supervillain fashion, you had to laugh at his apparent desperation — a high-pitched, victorious laugh that seemed to come straight from your soul. Jungkook very rarely found himself in that position and you absolutely lived for it. It was one thing to provoke him in person, when he was much stronger than you and could shut you up in no time, but, through the screen, only equal rights. And equal methods of torture.

You: why? You don’t wanna come over? 

jk tutoring 🚫: u kno I do 

jk tutoring 🚫: ill ttyl

You: not later!! Now 🥺 

jk tutoring 🚫: baby this isn’t the best moment 

jk tutoring 🚫: Im already hard n im almost done here ok

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, giving the angel and the demon on your shoulders time to present their case. The collected, rational part of you told you to leave it at that: he would come over later, you had managed to provoke him enough to piss him off and get the reaction you wanted. You won. But the impulsive, evil side of you told you that you didn’t win hard enough. 

Before you could think too much about it, you took another picture, feeling blessed enough to get a good shot on your first try. Your thumbs flew over the keys, typing fast to get the message sent before Jungkook decided to put his phone away. 

You: but these are the panties that you like 😔 

Like clockwork, there was a long moment of tension between your message being viewed and those little dots appearing at the corner of your screen. Once again: you knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew that a picture taken underneath your skirt, presenting him with a full view of your red laced panties, would be the cherry on top. 

jk tutoring 🚫: I fucjing hate u

You: don’t think you do 

jk tutoring 🚫: im saving these 

jk tutoring 🚫: gonna fuck u so hard bby 

jk tutoring 🚫: not even gonna take those off 

jk tutoring 🚫: just gonna push them aside n see u coming all over my cock 

Playing like that with Jungkook was like russian roulette — only, it was only you, and all chambers were filled. You knew it would backfire, you knew that the second he walked in your room all your control would go flying out the window, and yet you pushed on. Impulsiveness was a drug for someone that rarely indulged in it, and you were too high to care about the consequences when they seemed so far away. Or, even worse, when you kind of liked them. 

That was what pushed you to write your following messages: 

You: come over now? Please? 

jk tutoring 🚫: wait like 10 min we’re wrapping up 

You: now 🥺 

You: I’m so wet kook 

You: my panties are soaked 

You: don’t you wanna come and take them off? 

You: Or maybe I can take care of myself today and I can see you another day 😔

jk tutoring 🚫: dont fucking dare

You: I bet I could come super quick too I’m so turned on 

You: I want to feel you inside me 

You: I’m so tight too I can barely put my fingers in

You: please? Come over? 

Checkmate. The forces of chaos inside you were rejoicing, every cell of your body anticipating the impact of your words. You, however, already knew you had won even before he answered you. 

jk tutoring 🚫: im coming over rn

~

check out the rest of the bad influence collection!

tag list >  @minyoongiboongi  @bvrrym0re @marcoazam2 @shojotae @youurkryptonite @fan-ati--c @btstrasht @crazy4myself @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky @imluckybitches @gyukult @jinsalpaca @we8joon @gamerkooks @study-clouds @myanswer-is-you @pb-n-juju @disaster-rose @spicybangtanwings @fairymagdalene @seagulljk @she-is-dreaming @jjktthpmj1 @pinkysunsett  @1aekooks @jkficsiliketoread @ellesalazar @wearenot7withu @codeinebelle @erraaxh @lovelyloverlia @dayjeons @illwritetomorrow @dreamsindreamss @limee7 @pixiejjk @dancing-queenf @storms-and-stars-blog @un-love @knjoobs @yopjm @pixiejjk 

[shangsclaws]

Betrothed

Includes: Fujin/Shang Tsung x reader (and shang being a huge bitch lol)

Summary: Shang Tsung is visited by a talented and seemingly innocent artist, who is actually a spy working for the storm brothers. The snake takes quite the liking to them, but Fujin had eyes on them 'first'.

Note: i know i said i was taking a break but i finished writing this a few mins ago and had to post it >.< still on that break tho! hehe

/

Shang Tsung eyed the soul phylactery with quiet intrigue, not quite admiring the gear, but more the artist who had gifted it to him. Yes, he liked it, he answered their sheepish question, and he would very much like more.

It wasn’t so much that the artist was shy, but rather terrified. Shang Tsung was a dangerous weapon if nothing else. Why did they ever agree to this?

The artist grinned crookedly to the sorcerer, bowing with their hands tucked neatly in front of them. They were glad he enjoyed it.

The snake chuckled.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, dear. I keep people like you around, you know.”

Around? Perhaps he meant to say alive…

“Artists are free from my cruelty. Or their creations, rather. Things like this are hard to come by these days,” the snake began, setting the phylactery down onto the nearest tabletop, “so long as you continue your work, then I’ve no reason to be rid of you.”

They blinked, nodding and saying nothing. The poor thing was unsure whether to be thankful or to cry. Or to run.

“Come with me, my dear. I haven’t had a visitor like you in ages.”

/

“This is ridiculous, brother.”

“We instructed them to alert us should they come into any danger. They know how to contact us. Calm your nerves, Fujin.”

“Calm my nerves..." Fujin echoed under his breath, exasperated, "it’s been hours. We’ve heard nothing.”

The thunder god merely sighed, knowing full well what was on his brother's mind.

"Set your preferences aside, Fujin. The information we gather through them will be vital to-"

“I am leaving," the wind god interrupted, beginning his pace out of the sky temple.

"Fujin-"

"Their life is more important than all this damned information."

/

The singsong jingle of his armour could have entranced the little artist then and there. Shang Tsung walked two and three paces ahead, head held high enough to practically greet the storm brothers above, reeking of a pleasant Outworld musk. If it wasn't the clanging of his belt that hypnotized them, then it was the scent that the sorcerer left in his wake. Was it his hair? His clothes?

He said he'd bring them to the courtyard.

"I've been looking for a replacement for my other craftsman," he began, raising his voice slightly as he did not turn to face the artist, "they died by means unknown to me."

Shang Tsung stopped squarely in the centre of the courtyard, as if all the stars aligned in that spot of his island, turning around finally to reveal a placid grin. "I'm glad you look just as delightful as your work, dear. Simply refreshing." He complimented.

"Admittedly I cannot say the same about my last one..."

The snake's eyes left the artist's at last — any later and he would have relished their nearly bloodshot cheeks — before the whole island began to shake. A rumble, akin to the distant chuckle of thunder, followed. "Take my arm," he told the artist hurriedly, "quick."

Drawing near, the visitor took the sorcerer's arm into their own. Their heart began to race at his scent, the proximity of his hardened bicep to theirs, until a violent flash of green suddenly suspended itself in midair. The ground shook violently now, ghastly and pained groans sounding afterwards, before the artist realized that Shang Tsung was in the midst of summoning his entire well of souls. They held him flush against their chest, warry they might fall from all the shaking.

When the chaos had ceased, Shang Tsung looked to the artist teasingly.

"You can let go now."

"Oh," they muttered, "...right."

Adorable.

Shang Tsung took a step forward, gesturing his hand towards the souls suspended in midair before them, "I have these many souls I'd like to be stored in your phylacteries. By when, I've yet to set a date..."

The snake drew closer, taking their right hand into his own, "...although I'm sure these fingers are hardworking."

The sorcerer bowed, his coal black tresses spilling over his shoulders. His lips fell gently upon their knuckles, whilst his eyes, dark and severe, never deterred from theirs.

Was he sizing up his next victim? And must he do it so endearingly?

"Sorcerer!" barked an airy voice suddenly, interrupting Shang Tsung's gesture, "move away from them!"

Fujin's unmistakable stature stood a few inches from the two, his crossbow trained imposingly at the still bowing snake. Shang Tsung straightened his posture, letting go of his visitor's fingers to fall back to their side.

Hands tucked neatly behind his back now, the snake's brows pulled themselves taught. "I can never have nice things, can I?"

"Step back. Now."

The snake sighed, bearing his palms as he raised them to the level of his eyes. Two steps backward were all he took.

"Are you alright?" The wind god began pacing towards the artist, still trying to comprehend how Fujin arrived so silently, "did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," they informed him, now further baffled by the hand that he placed on their shoulder. Fujin squeezed, as if to assure them that things were alright. Or perhaps to give himself his own peace of mind.

The artist had never seen such worry in his eyes before.

"Raiden's ideas are always ridiculous," he muttered silently to himself, before turning back to the sorcerer. "You will do no business with them, Shang Tsung. They work with me."

"Work," the sorcerer scoffed lowly, "you look at them as if they're your betrothed. Are you not aware of how incapable you are at lying, demi-god?"

The artist blinked profusely, "betrothed?"

Fujin struggled to find the words for a moment, a panicked expression washing over his hardened features. He quickly shook his head then, either to rid himself of his racing thoughts, or out of denial of the snake's observations. "You are speaking nonsense."

Shang Tsung's chin tucked into his neck slightly, a teasing and devilishly amused grin gracing his face. He had discovered something he clearly wasn't supposed to have.

"Have you any...unspoken feelings, demi-god?" He prodded.

"...none, Shang Tsung," replied the wind god venomously, “and that should never concern you."

A grin turned to a blatant smile, the snake tilting his head tauntingly. "Then why the nerves? I might have laid a finger on them, but I didn't hurt them?"

Fujin remained silent, the snake seeing his opportunity to continue.

"...I only kissed their fingers, Fujin."

A frightening mixture of embarrassment and bloody hostility had presented upon the wind god's face. The artist was too terrified of his expression to even bother putting two and two together, tensed as they waited to hear what Fujin had to say next.

Without a courteous warning, Raiden's brother summoned a wind beneath the artist. They yelped, shocked by the sudden sensation of their feet off the ground. "We are leaving," Fujin hissed finally, summoning his own wind beneath him.

They moved swiftly away, up and up from the island and towards the sky temple. But, before the artist could notice the blood red flush upon Fujin's cheeks — was he furious or… or what? What was he? — the sorcerer let out a bellowing laugh.

"He's worth nothing, my dear!" The snake jeered from below, the sound of a loud smile in his tone, "at least I'm more well spoken than that coward!"

masterlist

[keyboardink]

“oblivious” [part two]

[ part one / part two ]

kairi has a crush on her best friend, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

pairing: kairi “valkyrie” imahara x reader / media: apex legends

genre: angst & fluff (this part is more fluff!) / word count: 1.6k / rating: pg / warnings: none :)

a/n: once again, this was requested by @multifandombtchedits ! this is the fluff you’ve all been waiting for!! if you like this, check out more of my writing here!

> Y/N : hey are we still on for movie night?

> Y/N : unless youre still on that date lol

You decided the "lol" would hide whatever terrible feeling was brewing in your lungs. You didn't know how to pinpoint it. Was it hurt? Anger? Jealousy? Why would you even be jealous? It's not like you didn't get this exact same feeling whenever she was talking about her latest hookup, right?

You were back at your place, laying on your bed, trying to pay attention to a random TV show in order to distract yourself from thinking about Kairi. It was a few hours after she had walked out on you at lunch. You'd been wallowing in nervous jitters since then, but she was the only person you wanted to talk to about the thoughts bouncing around in your head. You were worried about what had gone down at lunch, so when you did finally text her, you tried to avoid any touchy subjects. You waited for what felt like hours before your phone buzzed.

> KAIRI : yeah we're on. my place instead tho?

You let out an exhale, thankful that she didn't seem to be upset anymore. You and her had weekly movie nights, another tradition just like your lunch break meet-ups. You alternated hosting every week, and this week would've been your turn. Guess a bunch of stuff didn't follow the ordinary schedule today.

> Y/N : i'll bring the popcorn 😊

You rolled off your bed and walked to your closet, searching for an outfit. You knew you could show up in sweats and have it not matter to her, but the tension in your chest urged you to look at least a smidge more presentable than usual.

Half an hour later, you knocked on the door of her apartment, wearing a comfy t-shirt and tight leggings that she always complimented you on. Casual so you didn't look like you were trying too hard, but nice enough that you didn't look like you had a dumpster in place of a closet.

She opened the door, smiling at the sight of you. There was a hint of hesitancy in the way her lips turned up, like she was still thinking about lunch, but you decided it was your mind playing tricks on you. She was dressed in a similar casual-but-cute outfit: black joggers and a graphic tee that she had turned into a crop top with scissors. You saw a sliver of her stomach that made your knees weak.

She moved out of the way to let you in, and you entered like it was your own home. She had already set up the cushions on the couch for your usual set-up, complete with a 2-liter soda bottle on the coffee table and the lights dimmed. Before she followed you to the couch, she grabbed a large bowl from the kitchen counter for the popcorn you brought.

You plopped on the couch, ripping open the bag almost immediately. She held the bowl out to you, and you proceeded to pour the popcorn into it. She kept it between the two of you on the couch as she reached over to press play on the remote. Neither of you spoke, mainly because the only thing on both of your minds was what you started discussing at lunch. You just sat together, her on your left side, keeping distance as you watched the movie in silence.

You both would laugh at the jokes when they were delivered, but you couldn't bring yourself to fully focus on the movie. Your mind was in another place, your leg shaking at the same pace as your racing thoughts.

"Alright," she spoke suddenly, turning the volume down. "What's up?"

"What do you mean?"

She picked up the bowl and placed it on the coffee table. She rested her elbow on the back of the couch, twisting her body to face you. "Your leg has been making the popcorn sound like maracas since you got here. I know you. Something's on your mind, so what is it?"

I know you. The statement gave you butterflies.

"It's nothing," you said. Your cheeks flushed, embarrassed that she had taken note of your nervous habit and yet touched by the way she had picked up on the small details. You second-guessed your lie. You didn't want to have her walk out on you again, but you had to say what was on your mind. Plus, it was her apartment - she couldn't walk out, right? Just go for it. "How was your date?"

"My date?"

"Yeah, the one you left our lunch for?"

She raised her eyebrows and nodded, as if she was just remembering it. "Oh... it didn't happen."

Your brow furrowed and the corners of your mouth turned down. "Did she stand you up?"

"No, uh..." She played with her hair at the back of her neck, staring at the floor. "It just didn't."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry," you replied, unsure of what to say.

She shrugged. "How was your date?"

"I didn't have one?"

"Sure, didn't that coworker who asked for your number also ask you out while she was at it?"

"What are you talking about? You know if anything like that had happened, I would've told you. We're best friends, Kairi."

She pursed her lips, silent. She understood the hidden jab underneath your statement, realizing that her lie must've hurt you a bit more than she thought it would.

"I didn't have a date," she confessed, finally meeting your eyes.

"What?"

She wiped her palms on the couch. "I made it up. I just got... jealous, I guess."

"Jealous?" You almost laughed. She never struck you as the jealous type. She was cool, calm, collected Kairi. Always had been.

"Yeah," she muttered, her cheeks starting to flush.

"Why would you be jealous? You go out with other girls all the time."

"I used to. Not anymore."

You look at her, your confusion written all over your face. You stayed quiet, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Months ago, yeah, I did," she continued. "But then... then I couldn't stop thinking about you. I kept wishing it was you instead of some random girl, and I knew that wasn't fair to them or me, so I stopped. I only told you I kept seeing them because I wanted to make you jealous."

Something in your chest lit up at her confession. This whole time, she hadn't been seeing anyone and it was all because of you, and you had never even noticed.

You laughed. "I mean, it worked, but... God, I really am oblivious, huh?"

She laughed with you, the nervous tension in the air dissolving. "Tell me about it." She smiled at you, but when you met her eyes she suddenly tensed again. The realization that she had just told you one of her biggest secrets came crashing down over her. The fears that you wouldn't feel the same, that you wouldn't stay friends started to rise in her chest.

You noticed her nervousness and shifted closer to her. You placed your elbow on the back of the couch to mirror her and rested your hand on hers. You gave her a sweet smile, silently telling her that everything was okay.

She smiled in reply, some of her confidence returning. "Can I kiss you?" she asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt or hesitancy. You nodded, and she leaned in to meet you, your lips finally connecting. Her lips were soft like you had always imagined them to be. Your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, always meant to have been together. Her touch was gentle and kind, like she was trying not to break you. You smiled against the kiss, and she couldn't stop herself from doing the same. You burst into giggles, the shock of the situation finally hitting you.

"What? Am I that bad?" She asked, leaning away.

"Of course not." You leaned forward to her, cupping her cheek in your hand. "I just can't believe we just kissed."

"We don't have to change anything, you know," she quickly said as if trying to cover up a mistake. "If you don't feel that way, we don't-"

You cut her off with another kiss, slightly harder than the first but just as sweet and genuine. You pulled away and whispered, "This is fine, Kairi. You don't have to worry."

"Well, good," she replied with a grin, "because I'm pretty much in love with you, ya know."

She froze, realizing what she just said. The entire atmosphere seemed to be on pause. Even the subtle sounds from the movie stopped. Confessing that she wanted to make you jealous was one thing, but confessing her love was a much larger secret.

You couldn't stop your cheeks from turning pink as your lips spread into a wide smile. Your heart swelled and fluttered, almost making you dizzy.

"You don't normally say that to your one-night-stands, right?" Of course the only thing that came to your mind was a joke. Your best friend just told you she's in love with you, and you responded with a joke.

"No," she choked out, still nervous.

"Well, good," you echoed her words from earlier, "because I'm pretty much in love with you, too."

Her expression softened, all of her tension melting away. She beamed at you, unable to contain the joy she felt. "Come here," she said, opening her arms to you. You rested your head on her chest, cuddling up against her as she turned the volume back up. You continued to watch the movie, her placing occasional kisses on your forehead as she rubbed your back for the rest of the night.

[flowercrown-bard]

Hey there! You mentioned in the tags of the pining post that you wanted to write a lil som-n som-n~~ Prompt of Jaskier and Geralt, number 36? (If you want of course!)

36: Characters are tied together/shackled/forced to share a small space for a long period of time

I absolutely want to write that! Thank you so much for the prompt!

Ah, so this somehow got less pining-y and more angsty? Like, seriously angsty. As in, almost mcd angsty. I hope that’s okay tho

Word count: ~7k

Note: I will post this (and the other prompted fics) on AO3 once I have time to do some editing. But that’s going to take a couple of days

Summary: Jaskier wakes up tied back to back with Geralt. That wouldn’t be so bad. It happened before. But this is the time there is no hope of escape. And they’re running out of time before the vampire who is out for blood them will come back.

Content warning: injury, blood (both explicitly described), heavy angst, gruesomeness (no major character death)

"Jaskier?"

The voice came to him as if through a thick fog. His head was buzzing and it felt like tiny hammers were pounding against his temples from the inside. Simultaneously, the voice coming from somewhere behind him, urgent and almost afraid was too loud.

Jaskier tried to lean away, to put distance between himself and the voice, but all that did was send a strain through his chest, where something – a thin rope that kept him sitting upright? Binding him to something behind him? – cut into him with the movement, tight enough that it was hard to breathe.

"Jaskier! Are you awake?"

That voice was familiar. It was safe. Geralt. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head, trying desperately to get that fog in his mind to go away.

" 'm fine," he groaned and blinked against the dark splotches in front of him until they slowly receded. Not that that did him much good. He didn’t recognise the room they were in. The fancy furniture certainly didn’t belong to a room at an inn. The bed that stood at the wall was lavish and fit for a lord. Jaskier was rather certain that he would remember such a bed if he had seen it before. "On second thought, I might be having a problem."

Geralt huffed out a humourless laugh. "No shit." He sounded strained. As if he was trying his best and still failing miserable to keep fear out of his voice. Why was Geralt afraid? Geralt was never afraid.

Jaskier tried to move again, to turn to Geralt, but once again the ropes prevented him.

“Stop moving,” Geralt growled and only now did Jaskier recognise what he was leaning against. He was sitting – or rather bound– back to back with Geralt. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together tightly in frustration and looked down on himself. Sure enough, the ropes didn’t seem as if they would come loose by him wiggling around. He furrowed his brows when he saw something dark and crusty on his doublet. He had seen something like this too often to mistake it for anything else. It was dried blood. His blood.

His stomach churned and he had to suck in a deep breath to stop the bile from rising. It was a shame too. He had loved this deep blue doublet. Which was mostly because even Geralt had seemed to like it. The image of Jaskier presenting two doublets to him and Geralt telling him with a strangely fond look that the blue one fit his eyes would forever be seared into his mind. He could smell on himself that he had donned his favourite perfume – his favourite because it was the one Geralt had complimented once – thinking that maybe just this one time Geralt would notice him in the way he wanted to be noticed. As something more than just the bard that followed him like a stupidly loyal puppy. He remembered how excited he had gotten after that, knowing that Geralt would think he looked pretty when they got to the ball.

Wait.

The ball?

He squinted and searched the room again. It was true, the fancy decoration did look like it would belong to people rich enough to throw a ball. But that didn’t explain why Jaskier and Geralt were tied together and apparently left to rot in a different room from the jovialities. It also didn’t explain why Geralt had even gone to a ball without complaining in the first place.

Jaskier swallowed thickly. He opened his mouth but closed it again fruitlessly, when too many questions stormed his mind – far too many to decide with which one to begin.

In the ensuing silence, muffled laughter reached him through the walls. Laughter and music.

Strangely enough, the thought that shot through Jaskier at the sound was That should have been me.

And that had been Jaskier, he was sure of it. As he listened to the music rise and fall as if accompanying a complicated dance, his fingers twitched as if finding the chords to the sing without having the lute in hand.

There was no doubt in his mind. He knew and had played this song. He could almost see it: The ballroom full of dancing couples, admiring looks and the feeling that maybe later when Jaskier could excuse himself for a while, he would be able to gather the courage to ask Geralt for a dance.

But Geralt’s golden eyes hadn’t been part of the crowd of people watching him in admiration. A sinking disappointment came back, more memory than real emotion. He felt his heart drop as he remembered Geralt turning away and leaving him almost as soon as they had entered the ball room. The last glimpse Jaskier had caught of him had been his face set in a deep scowl and his shoulders had been tense.

And suddenly Jaskier knew which question was the most important one.

“Did you come back for me?”

“Jaskier-“ Geralt sounded strangely strangled.

“Did you? Or are you here with me now because you were forced to be with me? Is it somehow my fault again that we are in danger?”

Geralt remained quiet for a long time. Jaskier was almost certain that he would remain silent, when he felt Geralt shift behind him.

“I did come for you. Just not in time. I – I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

His voice was almost broken and Jaskier was sure that if he had been able to look him in the eye, Geralt would have averted his gaze. Bound as they were, Jaskier could do nothing but press his back closer against Geralt, by however little that was possible and pray that the feeling of Jaskier’s heartbeat against Geralt was enough to remind him that Jaskier was still alive – they both were – and Jaskier didn’t blame him.

Now that he thought of it, Jaskier remembered distinctly how he had seen a head of white hair weaving its way through the crowd towards him.

For a moment his head sped up, before he remembered the eyes of the person that had come towards them. They hadn’t been the honey-gold he had hoped for.

But they had been unusual enough to make it impossible for Jaskier to look away. To make him think that for a little while he could pretend. And those eyes had looked at him almost hungrily. It had sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. He had relished in the attention and obvious interest.

It hadn’t been what – who – he had wanted. But it had been the closest thing he would ever get.

When finally the time had come for Jaskier to take his break, he hadn’t searched for Geralt to ask him for a dance after all.

He didn’t remember if he had been the one to approach the alluring white-haired stranger first of if he had been the one to be approached. It didn’t matter. He clearly recalled following the man willingly – no. That wasn’t quite the right word. Will had had nothing to do with it. He had wanted it, certainly, but thinking back on it now, Jaskier didn’t think he would have been able to leave this man, no matter how strong his will.

But who was he kidding? He wouldn’t have tried to leave anyway. Not when he had looked at Jaskier in the way he had longed for. Not when he had looked so much like the man he wanted to look at him in that way.

He remembered wanting whatever the stranger was willing to give him.

And then he remembered screaming. For Geralt. But not in pleasure. No, that had been the farthest thing from his mind. He had screamed and whimpered and begged in agony. A sudden, sharp, searing pain in his neck.

Now, that pain was little more than an irritated throbbing over his pulse-point.

He didn’t even notice that he let out a soft whimper as the memories of the stinging in his neck came back to him, but he felt Geralt tense and twist as if that he would be able to look at him.

“Jaskier?” Geralt grunted in frustration and flexed as if that could loosen the ropes. It must hurt him. The ropes must cut into him just as much as they did into Jaskier. And yet he didn’t stop, as if in this moment nothing was as important to Geralt than being able to see him. “Jaskier, what is wrong?”

Jaskier let out a dry laugh. “Do you want a list?”

There were too many things that were wrong, Jaskier was sure he didn’t even recall all of them, but at the very least he was here with Geralt.

He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. He didn’t want to be alone. Whatever was going on, Geralt’s presence at his back, his touch although involuntary, made it so much more bearable. But Geralt evidently wasn’t able to escape the bindings. He too was forced to sit on the cold floor and wait for whatever was about to happen. Maybe nothing would happen at all. Maybe they were to stay here until they died of thirst, forgotten by whoever had discarded them in this room.

It was simultaneously the worst and best thing, having Geralt here with him.

Geralt, who was still struggling to turn towards Jaskier.

And he wanted it too. More than anything did he want to be able to touch Geralt, to cup his cheek as he reassured him that he was alright. He wanted to see Geralt’s eyes.

He turned his head and sucked in a sharp breath. The wound on his neck had opened up again at the movement and Jaskier could feel a drop of warm blood trickle down his throat.

Geralt’s movements became even more urgent. It was only when they became harsh enough to jostle Jaskier about and making him cry out, that Geralt became deathly still, as if afraid to move even a single muscle.

“Don’t move, Jaskier. Don’t – I can’t risk you losing any more blood.”

“Don’t you mean I can’t risk it?” Jaskier teased, though his stomach twisted into knots at Geralt’s slip of the tongue.

Geralt remained silent for a long while. His reply was but a breath, so quiet that Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he had really heard it or if it was just his panicking mind hearing what it wanted.

“I can’t lose you, Jask.”

Jaskier’s breath got stuck in his throat. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to reassure Geralt that he wouldn’t lose him, that he would stay with him till the end – which might be nearer than he had imagined. He wanted to ask him what he had meant. He wanted to beg him to tell him that it meant more than just Geralt feeling guilty for Jaskier’s injury.

But no words left his lips. Instead he complied and stilled. He rested his head back against Geralt’s, relished in that contact as if it was something more intimate. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that the way their bodies were pressed together was because Geralt wanted it and not because they had no other choice than to stay like this.

Geralt didn’t move his head away. If anything, it almost seemed as if he was leaning into the contact as well.

It was most likely just wishful thinking, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Jaskier wished he too could hear Geralt’s heartbeat. As it were, he barely could hear his breathing. He knew it was there, but his own ragged breath and his own racing heart was too loud in his ears.

Geralt’s touch wasn’t enough. For years it had been what Jaskier had craved. Every evening, he had wished to be brave enough to breach the gap between their bodies as they shared a bed and press himself against Geralt. Every time Geralt was hurt by monsters or words, Jaskier had to remind himself not to let his comforting embraces linger and turn them into something unwanted. He had dreamed about Geralt not shying away from his touch.

Yet now that he had nothing but his touch, it was too little. His chest was aching with the need to see him; the small crease between his brows as he frowned, the slight upturn of his lips when Jaskier said something that Geralt wouldn’t admit out loud he found funny, the way his eyes would sometimes soften when their gazes met while Jaskier played slow songs by the camp fire.

He needed to see him and yet he couldn’t.

Jaskier had learned to love Geralt’s silences. There was a grace in his ability to move unheard and a beauty in the way he only spoke when he felt comfortable enough to do so. Jaskier had relished in the trust Geralt would show when he opened up and let Jaskier in.

But now he wasn’t comfortable and Jaskier had nothing. Nothing but his touch that was burning him and still could never be enough. He needed more, more proof that Geralt was still here, that Jaskier wasn’t alone in this, that Geralt was alright. He needed to hear him. Be it a rustling of his clothes or one of his grunts.

Jaskier’s tongue darted out as his mind raced, trying to come up with something that would get Geralt to talk.

“You know,” he began slowly. “I am surprised that I even have any blood in me at all. That man…he was a vampire, wasn’t he?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. Jaskier’s heart skipped at the beat and he held his breath, praying for something more.

Through some miracle, his wish was granted. But when Geralt spoke up again, his words were harsh and angry.

“Congrats on figuring it out,” he almost spat. “After you already let yourself be lured away by him. I told you to stay with the crowd. I told you not to follow me while I searched for the vampire.”

“I didn’t follow you,” Jaskier threw in meekly.

It evidently was the wrong thing to say, for Geralt let out a frustrated grunt.

“No you didn’t. Instead you followed the vampire. Why? Is it really so easy for everyone else to make you want them?” The angry words contradicted his earlier apologetic whispers, though the frustration in his voice stayed the same. Somehow Jaskier didn’t think it was directed towards him. “How could you not notice his eyes? They were gleaming as it got darker. He looked like a freak, he- “ Geralt’s voice broke off.

“He looked like you.” The words slipped past Jaskier’s lips before he had time to realise what they implied.

Behind him, Geralt froze. Jaskier could feel his muscles tense against his back and he knew if Geralt had been able to, he would have put distance between them.

“No, Geralt, that’s not – you know that’s not what I meant. You aren’t a freak. You are my friend. And I –“

“And you are in danger because of me.” He let out a frustrated grunt.

Jaskier huffed. “Really, Geralt? Are we doing this now?”

“Might not get any other chances.” Geralt sounded grim, all fight leaving him. “They are going to come back and finish what they started. And I can’t protect you. I couldn’t before and I sure as hell can’t now.”

“But you did protect me, didn’t you?”

Jaskier’s insides were cold and he knew Geralt must sense his quickly rising fear. Years ago, Jaskier would have said that Geralt was just being dramatic. That there was no way he wouldn’t be able to get them out of this situation alive. But a lot had happened since then. Too many times had Jaskier seen Geralt lying in a puddle of his own blood and on the brink of death. If Geralt said that they would die today…Jaskier trusted him. He trusted Geralt’s skill with a sword. But he also trusted his words.

At least they would be going together.

He closed his eyes, focussing fully on the feeling of Geralt leaning against him. He turned his head, not enough to tear the wound open once more, but just enough that Geralt would be able to feel the motion, that he would know that Jaskier wanted to look at him.

“I’m not dead.” Jaskier forced a cheer that he didn’t feel into his voice. The least he could do was make sure that Geralt wasn’t eaten up by guilt about this. Whichever way this ended, it wasn’t Geralt’s fault. “Granted, this situation isn’t ideal, but I am still alive and able to talk your ear off. So obviously you must have saved me.”

“I didn’t,” came Geralt’s harsh reply, almost like a bark. “I couldn’t. You are not safe.”

If Jaskier had been able to move, he would have put his hands on his hips. If Geralt had been able to see his expression, he would have made a grimace that made it clear what exactly Jaskier thought about Geralt’s self-deprecation

But he couldn’t. So he settled on putting as much challenge into his voice as he could.

“Oh yeah? Then why did the vampire leave? Because I very much remember being sucked dry by one – and not in the fun kind of way.”

Geralt let out an unamused laugh. “He said he left because your perfume was too bad.”

Jaskier really wished he could see Geralt’s face right now. He wished he could see his smile, even though he knew it wouldn’t be there. In any other situation, Geralt would wear a grin as he teased Jaskier about his perfume. Now though, Jaskier was almost certain that he scowled even as he told the joke.

Jaskier’s fingers itched to smooth out the crease of worry that was no doubt etched onto Geralt’s face.

“Oh haha, very funny,” he said instead, trying to put as much teasing into his voice as possible, a vain attempt to get Geralt to smile even now. “Come on. If this is as dramatic a situation as you believe, you could at least humour me. One last story to tell me. So, why am I not dead?”

“Because this vampire is a sick bastard,” Geralt bit out. “Likes to play with his prey.”

“Play?” Jaskier’s voice was squeakier than he would ever admit should anyone ask. If he even lived to tell the tale, that was.

Geralt hummed. “He likes his prey to be awake. So he can hear the screams and pleas.”

A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Jaskier’s neck and he did all he could not to shiver at Geralt’s words.

“Alright,” he said, chipped. “So that explains why I’m alive. But what about you? Why didn’t he kill you? Not that I’m not very grateful that you’re alive, of course.”

Geralt hesitated and Jaskier could practically hear him think. When Geralt finally answered, his words sounded almost like a confession.

“Like I said.” Geralt squirmed; another useless attempt to free himself. “They want to see their prey desperate and begging.”

A snort escaped Jaskier that quickly turned into laughter. It was fuelled by panic and was bordering on hysteric, but it felt freeing to laugh nonetheless. Geralt didn’t join in.

“Why on earth would you beg? Remember Dol Blathanna? This is just like it was back then. It ends the same way it began. It’s almost-“

“If you say poetic, I will beg that vampire to kill me first just so that I don’t have to listen to you talk about making this into a song.”

“You wound me, Geralt. But this is exactly what I am talking about. Back then, you practically did the opposite of begging, what with your whole noble sacrifice act.” When Geralt didn’t reply, Jaskier tried to nudge him with his elbow. It didn’t work. “Come on, Geralt. Even you must admit that it’s hilarious that this vampire really thinks you would beg for anything.”

Geralt remained stoically quiet. There was a strange tension in his silence that froze Jaskier’s grin and made his chest squeeze painfully.

“Geralt –“ he began, but was interrupted by the doors flying open.

Without thinking, he turned his head to see what was happening. It stung and he pressed his lips into a thin line, but he barely registered the pain. There was no space for such a trivial thing when cold terror filled him instead at the sight of the white haired man striding into the room with an air of complete confidence.

Though man was hardly a fitting description anymore. Where he had possessed an almost ethereal beauty before, he was now grotesque. The hunger in his eyes had turned into starvation. His smile that had been charming before was too wide and filled with too many teeth. His fingers were more reminiscent of claws than human hands.

Everything about him screamed predator. Death.

He walked towards them in graceful, measured steps as if he had all the time in the world. He moved with the superiority that only came from nobility or a hunter that knew his prey was lying helplessly by his feet with no hope for escape.

A low growl rose in Geralt’s chest and Jaskier could feel the rumble in his back. It did nothing to soothe him.

They all knew that this was it.

Jaskier was staring death in the eyes when his entire being longed to see another pair of eyes instead. Maybe that was the worst part. Jaskier had never put much thought into his own death. But he had always hoped that in his last moments he would be able to look into Geralt’s eyes, maybe even see some hint of affection in them.

Now, he had not even this.

“Geralt,” he whispered. From the way the vampire’s eyes lit up in delight, it had been a pitiful attempt at keeping his desperation hidden from him. It wasn’t important. All that mattered was that Geralt heard him.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt answered, equally quiet, a bittersweet pretence that their would-be murderer didn’t hear every word. “I’m sorry, Jask.”

“I’m not.” Jaskier’s heart was pounding in terror and his palms were damp with sweat, but of this, he was certain. “I’m not sorry that I am here with you. I would follow you everywhere.”

Geralt didn’t answer, but he twisted in their restraints until Jaskier could feel callused fingers touch his hands. The ankle was uncomfortable, but Jaskier clutched Geralt’s hand with all his mind. Geralt gave him a light squeeze that said more than any amount of words could.

For an insane yet peaceful moment, Jaskier thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. There were worse things than dying with Geralt holding his hand.

“How adorable,” the vampire drawled as he took in their linked fingers with a mocking half-smile. “You two are disgustingly sweet. It’s almost ruining my appetite. Do you have any sappy last words too?”

Jaskier did. There were things he had never told Geralt, that he needed him to know. But he would rather die silent than let this vampire witness him baring his soul.

Instead he ran a thumb clumsily over Geralt’s knuckles, praying that he understood everything that Jaskier didn’t dare put into words.

“No?” The vampire looked almost disappointed. “I would have expected more from you, bard.”

“What can I say?” Jaskier gave him a falsely sweet smile. “I live to disappoint. And I can’t say you weren’t disappointing either.”

The vampire’s face twisted into something ugly and within the blink of an eye he had crossed the room. Jaskier flinched back as the vampire crouched down before him and caressed his face with a mockery of tenderness.

“Oh, quite the contrary, my dear Jaskier,” he said, honey in his voice but his eyes filled with ice. “You could never disappoint. Not when you beg so beautifully.” His fingers left Jaskier’s cheek to trail down to his neck, as softly as a lover would. A whimper escaped Jaskier when the vampire’s fingers caressed the wound his teeth had torn into him before. The vampire looked at it almost in admiration. “Do you remember how you screamed? How you begged your witcher to come save you?” He got closer, until his too sharp teeth were right next to Jaskier’s ears. “I want to hear you scream again.”

Teeth sank into his flesh, tearing him open. Obscene slurping noises and moans filled the air as the vampire drank Jaskier’s blood.

It was an utterly inappropriate thought, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Jaskier remembered the romance novels he had read when he was younger, about how sensual it felt to have a vampire drink from someone. About how they had special venom that numbed the pain.

What a load of bullshit. There was nothing sensual about this and the vampire dragged his teeth through Jaskier’s flesh as if he wanted to make this as painful as possible. If that was his goal, he was succeeding.

Hot fire raced through Jaskier’s blood and he could feel the tips of his fingers begin to tingle and the dark spots from before crept back into his vision.

He was beginning to lose all feeling in his hand and somehow, despite the pain, the fear, the certainty of his impending death, that was the worst part. That soon he wouldn’t be able to feel Geralt’s hand in his.

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt so much, but Jaskier pressed his lips together as tightly as he could, refusing to let a single cry leave him. He wasn’t a brave man and he wasn’t heroic. But he wouldn’t let Geralt hear his screams as he died. He couldn’t do that to him.

And yet, there were screams.

It took Jaskier’s sluggish mind a moment to realise that those weren’t his own screams. They were Geralt’s. For a moment, he almost thought they were but memories of Dol Blathanna, but no. Back then, Geralt had told the elves to leave Jaskier alone with no feeling other than responsibility and guilt.

Now, his voice was laden with fear and unbridled desperation.

The words he screamed didn’t make sense to Jaskier, but he knew the emotion behind them. It was the same thing he had felt every time he had seen a monster charge at Geralt or when he had been forced to press his hands against a wound in Geralt’s stomach, pleading with him to stay with him.

There was a word for it. Jaskier was sure of that. But he couldn’t for the life of him think of it now. Everything was too muddled, burning too hotly, agonizingly.

And then the vampire drew back. A sharp gasp escaped Jaskier and he would have fallen forward, had he not been held upwards by the ropes.

“Jaskier,” Geralt asked, panic surging through his voice.

“Still alive,” Jaskier panted with a crooked smile, though he knew that Geralt wasn’t able to see it. Perhaps he could hear it in his voice. “And by the looks of our new friend, my blood doesn’t taste too good.”

The vampire bared his fangs at Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, don’t you worry, pretty one.” The vampire’s tongue darted out to lick a stray droplet of blood from his lips. “You taste delicious.”

“Thank goodness,” Jaskier deadpanned through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you drink some more then? Maybe you’ll choke on it.”

“Jaskier!” Geralt warned him harshly.

The vampire’s smile widened. He ran a hand through Jaskier’s hair, almost soothingly, before he gripped his hair tightly and yanked his head to the side.

Jaskier braced himself for the sharp pain to pierce through him again, but instead of biting into him, the vampire took a long sniff at his neck before drawing back in disgust.

“You would be truly perfect, my dear,” he said coldly, “if it weren’t for that disgusting smell. I can barely scent your blood through it.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Really? You’re about to kill me and you complain about my perfume? Pardon me for not exactly being sympathetic towards your great woes right now.”

“No matter,” the vampire said, ignoring Jaskier’s words completely, “doesn’t change a thing about the taste.”

The vampire opened his mouth once more and Jaskier could already feel the teeth gracing his skin, when Geralt jostled him to the side.

“Spare him,” he growled and there was something broken about his voice. “Don’t kill him.”

The vampire tsked in disapproval. “Now, you know I won’t do that. Why don’t you try again, come up with a better suggestion?”

Glee stood in his eyes. Every sign of him enjoying this torture made nausea rise in Jaskier’s throat.

“Then kill me first.”

“No! Geralt, don’t say something like that!” Jaskier twisted his head. The movement sent piercing agony through his neck, but he fought back against it. He needed to see Geralt. He clutched his hand as tightly as he could, as if that could somehow dissuade Geralt from this madness. Quieter, barely louder than a breath, Jaskier added, “Don’t make me listen to you die.”

“Oh, now it’s getting interesting.” The vampire tilted his head to the side, his eyes darting from Jaskier’s wide-eyed expression to Geralt who must look as stoic and undeterrable as ever. “The both of you, begging for each other’s life. The question is only, who is begging more beautifully?”

“He’s a bard,” Geralt spat. “If it’s words you want, he has more of them than I do. And look at him.” Geralt’s head jerked back, nodding towards Jaskier. “He’s not going to make it long is he? I am a witcher. You can drink from me for longer.”

The vampire let out an appreciative hum. “You would do that to the bard? You would prolong his suffering and listen as I drained you for hours?”

Geralt hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was so unexpectedly soft that it made Jaskier gasp.

“I am sorry. I promised to keep you safe. This is the best I can do.”

“It’s not enough.” The vampire taunted, but his words were dripping with truth. “You will both die. But before he does, I will make him look at you, see how loud he can scream when he sees what I’ll have left of you.”

Jaskier whimpered, a plea leaving his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t stop the images of Geralt’s lifeless body from assaulting his mind.

“I’ll hate you,” Jaskier whispered. “Geralt, if you make me go through this, I will hate you. I’ll never forgive you.”

A harsh breath escaped Geralt and this thumb brushed oh so tenderly over Jaskier’s knuckles.

“I’d rather you hate me than me having to live knowing that I could have saved you.”

Jaskier wanted to shake his head, to protest, but the vampire’s grip was still tightly holding him in place. Jaskier’s eyes burned and his throat was impossibly tight. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his chin, his neck and he could feel them mixing with his blood.

“I can’t,” he sobbed. He hadn’t wanted to say this. Not like this, not in front of their murderer who watched the exchange hungrily. But he couldn’t stop himself. He needed Geralt to know. “I can’t hate you. I- Geralt, I love you.”

Geralt let out a strangled noise, before he found his voice. “Then let me do this.”

Jaskier’s shoulders wrecked with his sobs, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up again. He had said everything he could say. Now the only thing he could do was let Geralt be the hero Jaskier had always known him to be one last time.

Jaskier’s silence must have been answer enough for the vampire. Ever so slowly, the grip in Jaskier’s hair loosened and the vampire stood to his full height.

“Don’t worry,” the vampire told Jaskier as if he was a parent calming their child. “I will make it slow. You will have your beloved by your side for as long as possible. And it won’t take you long to follow after him.”

Relishing in every second of Jaskier’s agony, the vampire slowly rounded him until he came to a halt before Geralt.

Geralt didn’t scream, didn’t even draw in a sharp breath, as if he didn’t want Jaskier to hear what was happening.

It was in vain.

There was no mistaking the stomach-churning squelch of the vampire biting into flesh.

It was the most horrible sound Jaskier had ever heard. He couldn’t listen. He needed to drown out those sounds. Words tumbled from Jaskier’s lips. Pleas, screams, whispered words he was desperate for Geralt to hear.

If Geralt were to die now, the last thing he ever heard shouldn’t be Jaskier’s cries. It should be reassurances of how he couldn’t have done anything different, of how Jaskier didn’t blame him for a single thing, of how much he was loves. That more than all else.

Jaskier had no control over his words. He couldn’t tell what else he was saying, only that time and time again, he repeated the words he had been too much of a coward to say before it had been too late.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It felt like hours. Geralt’s body was tense and Jaskier’s voice became hoarse, giving out and leaving nothing but the horrible sounds of the vampire killing Geralt.

But nothing was as terrifying as when the sound of the vampire devouring Geralt suddenly stopped.

Jaskier’s blood turned to ice and claws of despair plunged into his chest.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered into the silence. There was no reply. A pit opened up in Jaskier’s chest. He wanted to scream, to cry, to beg, but all of his words had dried up. What use were words anyway? They hadn’t been able to save Geralt and now that he was gone, there would be no one to listen to them other than the reason why Geralt would never again say another word.

The vampire must have held Geralt up, for when Jaskier now heard the rustling of clothes as the vampire stood up again, Geralt slumped over and dragged Jaskier with him to the ground.

Jaskier’s side hit the floor painfully, but he was too numb to care.

He looked up with all the contempt he could muster as the vampire came into his view again. But there was something off about the way he moved. He had been slow before, but there had been a regal elegance to it, perfectly controlled. Now his movements were sluggish and almost wooden.

He didn’t crouch before Jaskier as he had before. Instead he fell to his knees.

“It’s your turn again,” the vampire purred – no, slurred.

Jaskier’s brows drew together and he narrowed his eyes. They widened again when they landed on the blood that was smeared around the vampire’s mouth. It was black.

The same colour of Geralt’s blood after he had drank his potions. The potions that were toxic to anyone who wasn’t a witcher.

But why – the vampire should have been able to smell it. He would have never drunken poisoned blood. Except…he hadn’t been able to smell the blood, had he? He had said so himself. The perfume had been too strong, strong enough to even overpower the smell of the toxins.

A disbelieving laugh escaped Jaskier. The vampire whirled around as if to fix Jaskier with a death-glare, but his eyes were unfocussed. He bared his teeth and surged towards Jaskier.

He didn’t reach him alive.

With a heavy thud, the body landed on Jaskier, unmoving. Dead.

For a terrifying moment, Jaskier didn’t dare move. The only sound in the room was his own panting breath. The noises of the ball had long since subsided.

He was alone.

The knowledge sank into his chest like a stone dropped into the ocean. He was alone. Geralt had saved him – had given his life to save him – and now he’d have to save himself.

With more strength than he thought he still possessed, Jaskier twisted in his bindings, kicking at the vampire’s body until it moved.

Bile rose in his throat when his free hand found the vampire’s head and pried his mouth open. He fumbled and he cut himself on the teeth, but he persisted, yanking the rope as good as he could against the sharp teeth until finally, they snapped.

Jaskier rolled to the side, panting heavily, as his chest finally was no longer restricted.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he counted his own heartbeats.

Ten. Ten heartbeats he allowed himself, before he clenched his jaw and faced Geralt’s body.

Tears stung in his eyes and his face was contorted to a grimace of grief and pain as he grabbed Geralt’s heavy body and rolled him onto his back.

He wouldn’t be able to get him out of here. Even if Jaskier had normally been strong enough to carry him, there was no way, he would be able to do so now, with his vision swimming at the tiniest of exertions.

Still, his insides twisted painfully at even the idea of leaving Geralt all alone here lying next to the man – the monster - who had killed him.

Jaskier’s eyes darted frantically through the room before they landed on the bed. It wasn’t what Geralt would have wanted and it was worse than he deserved, but it was the best Jaskier could do.

Jaskier’s hands shook, as he grabbed Geralt beneath his arms and tried to hoist him up. As he more dragged than carried Geralt to the bed, his knees gave out under him more than once and he had to furiously blink away the darkness that threatened to swallow him once more.

When he finally heaved Geralt onto the bed, Jaskier nearly collapsed on top of him.

When he had gathered enough strength to right himself once more, he felt his heart jolt in his chest. Geralt didn’t look peaceful as he lay in a stranger’s bed. He didn’t look like he was just sleeping. Half of his neck was smeared with blood and his skin was deathly pale. Jaskier had seen him like this before, every time Geralt had taken his potions that had drained his face of all colour. But he had always known that sooner or later, Geralt would open his eyes again.

He wouldn’t ever do so again now.

For once he had gone where Jaskier couldn’t follow.

Taking a shaking breath, Jaskier reached out. His hand found the cool metal of the medallion. It felt wrong taking it from him. Geralt never took it off. Never.

But Jaskier needed to give it back to his family. They deserved to have this. And Jaskier was selfish enough that he wanted to keep something of Geralt’s with him too, for as long as he could.

His breath hitched. He would have to return to Roach alone. He would somehow have to make her understand that Geralt wasn’t going to come back to her.

His hand trembled and slid off the medallion, landing on Geralt’s chest, right above his heart. How often had he pressed his hand against this place and complained to Geralt that he could feel nothing? That his heart was too slow? Now, he would give everything to know that that was the reason why there was no beat beneath his hand.

After a too long moment of hopeless hope, Jaskier lifted his hand off of Geralt. It came away sticky with blood.

Jaskier worked almost mechanically. Wiping away the blood, first from his hand and then from Geralt’s neck. He used random pieces of fabric to bandage the wound as he had done so often before. He knew it was useless, it was too late, but still, there was a comfort in the familiar motions.

He didn’t know how long he worked like that. It didn’t matter. He treated Geralt’s wound as best he could until there was nothing left for him to do.

His mouth went dry, as he brushed a strand of Geralt’s hair behind his ear. He was so beautiful. Jaskier wished he had had the strength to tell Geralt before it had been too late.

The certainty that this was the last time he would ever see Geralt buried itself into Jaskier’s chest like a blade.

“You did it,” he whispered, a watery smile on his lips. “You saved me.” It was already too late. Geralt couldn’t hear his words anymore, but Jaskier couldn’t leave without telling him. He owed that much to him. “I don’t care what you said before. I am alive. Because of you.” A sob interrupted his words. “I will never forget you. I promise. I love you. I-“

His voice broke one last time. Too many things had he left unsaid between them and now he would never get to say them in any way that mattered.

His fingers trailed over Geralt’s face, desperate to memorise every scar, every feature, as if those weren’t already branded into Jaskier’s mind.

His finger’s came to a halt above Geralt’s slightly parted lips. Jaskier could almost imagine a faint breath ghosting over his fingers. But that was impossible. Wishful thinking, nothing more.

Still, he let his fingers linger and leaned closer, grasping onto this last impossible hope.

And then it happened. Geralt’s lips moved. No sound left them, but Jaskier could still understand the word they formed. It was a name. His name.

“I am here!” Jaskier’s other hand cupped Geralt’s cheek. “Geralt, I’m here. I am safe. You are safe. You did it, you – you’re alive!”

“’s loud,” Geralt mumbled faintly, but his lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile. His eyes opened just the tiniest bit, but the sliver of gold they revealed was the most beautiful sight Jaskier could imagine.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice got stronger with the word, though his shallow breaths were laboured and it was obvious how much it pained him to speak.

“You bastard.” Jaskier let out a laugh that might as well have been a sob. “You made me think you were dead. Don’t ever do that to me again!”

“I won’t.” Geralt’s expression softened impossibly. “And I… I wouldn’t leave you without telling you…”

Geralt tried to lift his hand, but the effort was too much. Jaskier caught it mid-air and pressed it against his own cheek.

“What? Tell me what?” he breathed.

Geralt’s thumb caressed his cheek with aching tenderness.

“That I love you.”

Jaskier’s heart felt like it would burst, like all of the agony, all of the fear and despair had been chased away with just these four words that he had never dared to dream he would ever hear come out of Geralt’s mouth.

“Tell me again?” he asked with a shaking voice.

A glint entered Geralt’s eyes and his lips twitched slightly. “You first.”

“I love you,” Jaskier said without hesitation. “I love you. And you better not wait until the next time I think you’re dead to say it back again.”

“I won’t.” For a moment Geralt looked at him, searching his face as if Jaskier was a miracle he couldn’t figure out. “I will say it as often as you want to hear it. For however long you are willing to have me.”

“Forever?” Jaskier had aimed for a teasing tone, but instead it came out tentative and small.

He could see Geralt’s throat bob labouredly as he swallowed. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. I never want to lose you again. I can’t.”

“Then you’ll have me forever.” He paused. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned his face slightly, just enough to press a fleeting kiss against Geralt’s palm, but still holding eye contact. “Yes?”

“I can’t lose you either. I love you.”

[neptuneofthesky]

MCYT Incorrect Quotes

Featuring | Dream, Gerogenotfound, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Karl Jacobs, Quackity, Philza Minecraft, Technoblade, Wilbur Soot, Tommyinnit, Tubbo, Ranboo, Michael, The Egg, Red vines

Next Part

Skeppy: I'm sad

Bad: (puts an arm around him) hey, it's ok, I'm here for you

Dream: George, I'm sad

George: mood

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Dream: I'm good at hiding my crush

George: hey guys I'm back

Dream: I-i have to gay- I mean GO-

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Dream: I love sunglasses

Dream: am I looking at that tree? am I looking at George's ass?

Dream: you'll never be able to tell

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Skeppy: *admiring bad* he is so cool, he could hit me with a car and I'd thank him

Techno: we'd thank him too

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Wilbur: you know when I first met you I thought u were a real bitch

Tommy: so, what changed?

Wilbur: I still think you are a real bitch, I've just grown to like that about you

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Dream walks into Sapnap's room

Sapnap: hello Dream I hope you are well

Sapnap: so you may be wondering why I am glued to the ceiling

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George: crushes are the worst

Dream: yeah, whenever I'm near someone I have a crush on, I start acting stupid

George: you are always acting stupid

Dream: yeah, don't think about that too hard

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George: I fell-

Dream: from heaven?

George: no, I actually fell-

Dream: in love with me the moment you saw me?

George: MY ARM IS BROKEN

Dream: ok but do you think I'm pretty? be honest

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Tommy: is the pink panther a lion?

Techno: ........ say that again but slower

Tommy:

Tommy: I don't get it

Wilbur: he's the PINK PANTHER

Tommy: okay?? But is he a lion?

Philza: Tommy, he's a panther

Tommy :

Tommy: is that a kind of lion?

Wilbur: no, its a PANTHER

Tommy: I just googled it, they're not pink tho

Techno: AND LIONS ARE?

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Tommy: yesterday I yote my water bottle down the stairs and almost hit Tubbo

Wilbur: I- did you just use yeet in the past sense?

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Tubbo: wanna hang out tomorrow?

Tommy: can't I have a doctors appointment

Tubbo: say you're sick or something and just cancel

Tommy: ......

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Philza: can I speak to you for a minute?

Tommy: oooooh someone is in trouble!

Philza:

Tommy: it's me I down know why I did that

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Bad: why is Karl laying on the ground screaming into a pillow?

Quackity: oh, he's been like that for a few minutes.

Bad: but, why?

Quackity: Sapnap giggled at his joke.

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Dream: love is in the air

George: *spraying a can of Febreeze and holding his shirt over his nose* not anymore.

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Philza: In your opinion, what is the height of stupidity?

Techno: *yelling* hey Tommy! how tall are you?

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Techno, talking on the phone: Phil, I have good news and bad news

Philza: just give me the good news

Techno: the smoke alarm is functioning perfectly

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Skeppy: who do you think is hotter, me or the sun?

Bad: the sun

Skeppy: okay, let me rephrase it. who do you think is hotter, me, your amazingly adorable best friend who loves you very much, or the sun?

Bad: the sun

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Quackity: I have an idea!

Karl: no bullying Bad today

Quackity: I no longer have an idea

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Wilbur: is the past tense yeet or yeeted??

Techno: yeet is the present tense, but yote could be the past tense too!

Philza: I just want to know who threw Tommy out of the window

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Bad: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE!

Bad: *aggressively throws water bottles at everyone*

Geroge: uh...

Dream: he's trying to yell mental health and wellbeing into us

Bad: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU

Sapnap: *crying* it's working

----

George: I hate you with every inch of my body

Sapnap: That's not a lot of inches

----

Bad: I don't know if they'll notice, but I slipped a little note in each of my friend's bad to let them know that I love them

Skeppy, pulling out a twenty-five-page note: what the fuck-

----

Dream: I don't know. I just feel like we are destined to be together. I mean, look at how fate keeps throwing us together!

George: it's three am and you're stuck in the middle of my window. how did you even get here?

Dream: I just told you. fate.

----

Philza: Tommy, I know you three toilet papered my garden

Wilbur: *whispers* play dumb!

Tommy: who's Tommy?

Techno: *whispers* not that dumb!

----

Bad: tell us a secret, Dream.

Dream: uh, okay! I have a crush on George!

Sapnap: no, dream, he said secret.

----

Wilbur: Tommy is in the pool and I don't think he is waterproof

Philza: what

Techno: I think he means Tommy is drowning

Philza: oh okay

Philza:

Philza: WAIT WHAT

----

Quackity: can I get a strawberry milkshake with two straws, please?

Karl, thinking: aw, that's cute... he wants to share his milkshake with me

[later]

Quackity, putting both straws in his mouth: hey, watch how fast I can drink this

----

Quackity: I- I think I saw a monster

Tubbo, terrified: w-where?

Quackity, pointing at the door: THERE

Tubbo: SLENDERMAN!!

Ranboo, opening the lights: shut up, it's just me

[This one is because Tubbo and Quackity are one of the shortest ;) ]

----

Philza: who broke the flower pots?

Techno: it was Tommy

Wilbur: it was Tommy

Tommy: it was Tommy

Philza:

Tommy: dammit

----

Policeman: so, what's your name?

Tubbo: don't tell him, Tommy

Policeman writes down: okay, Tommy

Tommy: dammit Tubbo

----

George: Interrupt my sleeping and I will interrupt your breathing :)

----

Sapnap: hey, is anyone else d-

Tommy: dead?

Wilbur: depressed?

Dream: drained?

Techno: deprived of sleep?

Sapnap: ...done with your work? What is wrong with you people?

----

Karl: hey, how much money do you have?

Quackity: uh.. 69 cents

Karl: ayy, you know what that means!!

Quackity: *choking up* I don't have enough money for chicken nuggets.

----

Ranboo: *exists*

Tommy: you got a problem mate?

Tommy: I mean, you are so tall, you must got a problem

Ranboo: I'm just sitting here

Tommy: WAS UP

Ranboo: a-are you trying to fight me?

Tommy: WAS UP

----

Tommy: why don't women have to take the DNA test to see if the child is their's

----

Michael: papa, there's a monster under my bed!

Ranboo, tucking him in: Don't worry bud. There are no monsters in this house.

Michel: can you check, please?

Ranboo: alright.

Ranboo: *kneels down to check*

Techno: subscribe to Technoblade

Ranboo: *startled* WHAT THE-

(Credits to @/your.gehenna on Instagram)

----

George: I think Dream was right.

Sapnap: I'm surprised he hadn't marched in here to say 'I told you so.'

Geroge: he wouldn't do that.

Dream: you're right, George. For once in your life, you're 100% right. I would never say that.

Dream: *turns around, the shirt he is wearing says 'Dream Told You So' on the back*

----

Sapnap: You lying, cheating piece of shit!

Dream: Oh yeah? You're the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Dream: I'm leaving you and I'M TAKING GEORGE WITH ME

Bad, picking up the monopoly board: I think we're gonna stop playing now

----

Quackity: why are Bad and skeppy sitting with their backs to each other?

Karl: they had a fight.

Quackity: then why are they holding hands?

Karl: they get sad when they fight

----

Ranboo:*serenading* with you, 60 minutes feel like an hour

Tubbo:*almost in tears*

Tommy: what the fuck

----

The Egg: I just ended a four-year relationship.

Red Vines: oh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?

The Egg: hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine. It wasn't my relationship.

*Bad and Skeppy fighting from across the room*

----

[sadclearance]

could u do male reader's been friends with todoroki from mha for since ua (they're newly pros now) and tells him ily and is like ik ur not good with that stuff tho so it's no big! i don't expect an ily back! and todoroki's like :O and doesn't say it back but later when reader's hurt during a mission todoroki's like oh dang i do love u but it's too late cuz he died

pairing: shoto todoroki x male!reader

summary: todoroki says "i love you" back eventually. it just happens to be too late.

category: angst

warning(s): death

word count: 1649

key:

s/t - skin tone

italicized - text

he's not sure how he got to this exact moment.

if you had told him at the beginning of his high school years that not even just a year after graduating, he'd be running around a deserted parking lot with the cold breeze of the night air nipping at the skin that wasn't covered by his pajamas--which happen to be from a two-years-old matching christmas set with the person he's trying to catch--todoroki would've looked at you as if you were a lunatic.

never in his wildest dreams could he ever imagine this.

but he thinks this is part of what being friends is, and back then, he never would've dreamt of having one of those either.

he doesn't notice the warm breath right next to his ear until a steady voices says, loud and clear, "i love you."

he turns his head so fast his face almost smacks into y/n's, and y/n laughs out visible puffs in the crisp air.

todoroki doesn't even speak. he just stares with wide eyes, not knowing what to do.

this is all just too new to him, and this came out of absolutely nowhere.

"glad that got your attention," y/n smiles when the silence continues. "you were so lost in your thoughts you just stopped moving. i was starting to think you didn't want your phone back."

todoroki now remembers the reason why he was chasing his best friend of four years around an empty parking lot at this ungodly hour, where half of his body was uncomfortably cold.

he does want his phone back, but he doesn't go back to running.

"was that why you said that?" todoroki eventually asks. was it only for the surprise factor? because if so, he's both relieved and disappointed--two things that he recognizes as contradictory and doesn't understand. well, todoroki's never been too good at understanding feelings, so that's not really news.

"nope," y/n answers without skipping a beat, and if todoroki didn't know better, he'd think y/n wasn't nervous at all. the s/t fingers playing with the edge of todoroki's phone case lets him know otherwise. "don't take it too seriously, though. i get it."

get what?

that answer doesn't make todoroki happy at all. now his brain's just muddled and confused, and he can barely process his surroundings. what's he supposed to make of that interaction? don't take it too seriously? he gets it?

when y/n's ran a lap or two without todoroki making a move to get his phone back, he lies down on the floor.

todoroki settles on "you're going to get dirty" because he wants to get back to the present. his head hurts, and thinking isn't getting him anywhere right now.

"come look at the stars with me," y/n reaches his hand up toward the skies, and he looks ridiculous, but todoroki complies because he wants to enjoy the time they have together for as long as he can. they won't have time to see each other for a while, being busy growing heroes and all. 

"is this considered stargazing?"

"we're gazing at the stars, so yeah, i'd say so," y/n jokes.

and now todoroki's out of things to say that aren't questions about y/n's confession.

y/n turns his head to look at todoroki, and todoroki instinctively does the same.

"you're taking that thing i told you not to take seriously seriously, aren't you?"

"i'm having trouble understanding everything you've said in the past few minutes," todoroki admits, turning his head back to face the stars again.

"okay, well, i love you," y/n says.

"you've said that, but--"

"but i don't want you to take it seriously because i get it."

"again, you've said that in almost those exact words." todoroki feels like a frustrated child who's getting cranky over a math problem he doesn't know how to solve.

"i love you in the way that i want to kiss you and go on dates with you and maybe do more stuff," y/n's face reddens at his own words, but his voice is firm.

todoroki's eyes go back to y/n's, and he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

"i know you don't see me that way, and it's all good. i didn't expect anything in return. i just wanted to say it."

"i... i wish i could give you a response, but... you already know that..." todoroki struggles with his words. were these the right ones to say? which are supposed to come out next?

"that you're not good with people stuff. yeah, i remember the first year of me trying to court you into this friendship," y/n laughs.

todoroki wants to laugh while reminiscing the memories too, but he doesn't feel like doing so, especially with how he's pretty sure he just rejected his best friend.

"i told you, no expectations here. just wanted to get that off my chest." y/n rises from the floor and todoroki's eyes follow. "c'mon, we should get going. it's cold, and our schedules are packed for the week. we can't afford to be getting sick."

"yes, it is late," todoroki nods and gets up as well.

the car beeps to signal that the doors are open, and todoroki's about to get into the driver's seat when he sees y/n walking off somewhere else.

"y/n?" todoroki calls out.

"i'm gonna take the bus," y/n answers before todoroki even asks.

"they aren't running at this hour."

"my place is close. i'm gonna walk."

"but--"

"text me if your schedule clears at all!" y/n waves without turning around to face todoroki.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

it's been a week, and todoroki still feels the pressure of having to give a proper response.

y/n said it was fine, but even someone with as little experience with these types of things as todoroki recognizes that it's not kind.

i haven't thought about--

i've never kissed anyone--

human relationships--familial, romantic, platonic, and otherwise are all things that are new to me--

no matter what he types, he feels like the words are all wrong. what's in his drafts are all things that y/n already knows. that's why he said he "gets it".

but todoroki's still so frustrated. he wants to respond properly. he feels like it's only right.

but holy shit is it hard to come up with anything at all.

before he can come up with another poorly worded apology, excuse--whatever it is that he's trying to say--he gets a notification.

assistance required in x prefecture. requesting all available heroes.

todoroki, being the good hero he is, rushes to the sight as soon as possible.

he recognizes the name of the location, but he brushes it off as past experience. after all, within the past year, due to his rising popularity, he's had a lot of opportunities to work in different places.

"what's the situation?" todoroki asks one of the heroes that's trying to stabilize the building that the villain appeared to be in.

"one guy with a geokinesis quirk. he's alone, but his quirk's pretty strong. took out the whole village one town over. we don't know his goal, but the whole building's stone, and we don't want to take any chances."

"is there any way you would like me to help?"

"i'd say ice the whole building, but this guy's got quick reflexes. try going in discretely and trap him in ice when he's caught in surprise."

todoroki nods and is about to enter the building when

"also, try not to ice the other hero in there. i think his name's y/--"

the building crumbles at an incredible speed, and he barely has time to throw both himself and the other hero out of the way.

once the other man is stable, todoroki goes to assess the damage. the rocks are still tumbling down, but they're slower now.

they feel a lot faster when todoroki catches a glimpse of an all too familiar hero costume.

"y/n!" todoroki shouts as he loses the ability to think rationally. he runs with his heart in his throat and a terrible tense feeling that starts to overwhelm his entire body, trying to reach y/n before the large boulder does.

ice spreads from his feet and meets with the chunk of stone before it can fall on y/n's head.

"i'm going to get you out of here," todoroki promises when he makes it to y/n. he calls for help while looking over the pieces of the building on top of y/n's body.

"todoroki," y/n coughs weakly, and todoroki notices a pool of red slowly start to grow on the concrete below them.

"don't talk." todoroki's voice sounds so weak and helpless, and he hates it.

y/n just smiles, but the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth keep it from spreading warmth and happiness within todoroki like it usually does.

todoroki's already seen lots of tragedy in his one year of hero work, but he's never felt so panicked in his entire life.

he tries to shift a rock, but it only makes y/n groan.

"help!" todoroki yells again, but everyone's too preoccupied with catching the villain and tending to their own serious injuries to come and rescue y/n.

"shhh, todoroki," y/n says weakly.

"don't talk!" todoroki yells this time. it's still helpless, but it's loud, and y/n starts to laugh to the best of his ability.

"hard when... when you're just so funny. that's why... i..."

"don't close your eyes." todoroki feels like his heart's stopped.

"i..." y/n's eyes droop.

"look at me!" todoroki shouts with wild eyes.

and so he does. y/n looks at him with tired eyes, but todoroki can tell that he's straining himself to do so.

"i love you," todoroki's eyes feel heavy and his nose burns. "please... i love you, too..."

but it's too late.

the open eyes are quick to lose their life, and y/n's skin loses its color.

"i love you."

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

a/n;

deadass i was listening to my discover weekly on spotify and when i was writing the last few sentences i love you by wavves came on

i didn't know what to title it so i just left it

i hope it was satisfactory anon!

[fan-da-nerd]

“we don’t tolerate that here” a Hermitcraft fanfic

yso i saw an anon post from @give-grian-rights that gave me inspiration to write a Hermitcraft one-shot based on the Sam’s funeral... story? anyway, i hope you enjoy

TW: panic attacks, trauma, death, beating abusers to death, vomiting  mention

no one planned for it to happen, no one really even knew. but that changed one day when mumbo was just wandering around the forest and found himself at the foot of Grian’s mansion. the prismirine build towered above him, casting a shadow over him in the late day sun. The mustacheio’d man decided to have a peek inside the mansion just to see if Grian was there and if he’d done anything new.  

he strolled inside, past the map corridor into the main room. he huffed quietly as he looked around at the sprawling sorting system. you really need to get on that he thought to himself. he continued to look around, not seeing Grian anywhere. 

just then he heard crying. quiet and whimpering from behind the rows of HMMMMM. Mumbo made his way around them, looking around for the source of the noise. he found it in a bundle of red jumper and shimmering wings. wings wrapped tight around him as he laid curled on the floor. mumbo moved swiftly over to him, slowing when he got close. 

“Grian?” he spoke gently as he took a step closer. the man on the floor curled up tighter with a yelp, shaking with unsteady breath. “its ok Grian, its me, mumbo.” he whimpered again then gagged and cough roughly. this continued, gagging and wheezing so much then he uncurled  and braced himself up. mumbo hurried over to his friend and rested his hand on his back. Grian flinched in surprise but continued to cough. 

“hey, hey, Grian look at me. its ok, what do you need? mumbo asked in a panic. Grian wheezed again, but finally looked up at mumbo. eyes bloodshot and face pale from fear and pain. the dark haired man moved quickly when Grian started gagging again. grabbing the nearest composter and moving it in front of his friend, helping him get up and lean against it. 

“what happened, did you eat a pufferfish? do you need a health potion, milk?” he continued berating him with questions as he started to get up to grabbed whichever liquid he could find first. As he started to stand he felt a hand rest on his knee. he looked down and met Grian’s eyes, where the shorter man just slowly shook his head. tears ran down his face and his breathing still jerked and wheezed. Mumbo slowly kneeled down again as Grian turned and coughed again, starting to claw at his throat. 

“Grian, don’t. what’s happening?” he muttered in distress. Grian didn’t speak for a moment the muttered.

“pan- panic” 

mumbo thought for a moment panic, panic, panic- “panic attack?” he asked quickly. Grian nodded, holding his throat and coughing like he was trying to cough something up. 

“water” he muttered, and mumbo began rummaging though his bag for a water bucket. he pulled it out and handed it to Gri, who chugged it in less than 30 seconds. he coughed but finally leaned back, his chest rose up and down sporadically.

“hey, hey. breath Grian. in for 5-”

they continued like this together, in, hold, out.in a couple minute Grian had stopped crying,  and his breathing had steadied to a normal steady pace. mumbo moved in front of him slowly. “ok, Grian. what happened? you don’t have to tell me, but if you are willing to. I want to help.” Grian stared off into nothing, his eyes started to well up with tears again as he seemed to see things no one else could. Mumbo could hear him trying to force his breath to stay calm. Grian took a deep breath, then everything began to spill out.

“I saw a white rabbit and it sent me spiraling and i couldn't stop thinking and he hurt me it hurt so bad he cut my wings, forces plastic down my throat he tried to MURDER me Mumbo he put a knife in my side and i still feel like there's plastics lodged in my throat and I want to scream and cry whenever i think about it and Sam so many and done so much terrible things and he didn’t get his karma-” this vent ended is mumbo grabbing him and pulling him close, trying to stop the spiraling before it gets back to how it was when he found him. Grian's shoulders when slack and he leaned into the hug, and they sat there together in silence. 

mumbo sat there, trying to think of something to say to this. he knew that Grian didn’t like talking too much about his early past. sure they’d learned some things, other worlds like Evo and projects he did in his own world but they never knew much. and definitely not this. he thought for what felt like an hour before finally asking. “are you ok now?” He could feel Grian hesitate, but nod. “ok. whatever happened in your past, its not the present. you’re with us now.” 

Grian took a breath and pulled away from his mustached friend. His eyes softened and he smiled. “thanks mumbo.” he nodded and stood up, offering a hand to his shorter friend. Grian took his hand and pulled himself to his feet, stumbling but standing. 

“hey Grian?”

“yeah?” 

“is it ok if i tell X about this? so that more people can know about your triggers and avoid-” he made a vague gesture “this? its ok if not” Grian thought for a moment then nodded.

“probably easier than me trying to talk though it” he chuckled quietly at the end. Mumbo smiled, half happy half concerned before glancing at the door. 

“ok, then I think I’m going to leave now. if your ok-” Grian cut him off with a nod. Mumbo waved goodbye, then took off with only 20 rockets. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mumbo flew around, weaving between the towers of the jungle looking for the Admin.  he eventually spotted him in his main tower and landed on the balcony. Xisuma was setting his ravenger helmet, no doubt having just changed after a decked out run. he spotted mumbo and spun around, grabbing his Bee helmet on the way around. “Mr. Jumbo, what do i own the pleasurer?” 

“hey X...” Mumbo started, very suddenly realizing he did not know how to open this conversation. “I wanted to let you know about something that happened with Grian.” X’s face fell a little as he tilted his head to the side 

“is he ok? 

mumbo sighed and shrugged “not really. i found him having a panic attack in his mansion. he said he’s ok now but i thought you should know.” 

“oh,’ Xisuma’s voice softened as he sat down against the wall, locking his helmet on as he went. “mind telling me what happened?” Mumbo sat down across from him and began to explain everything he could remember. Clipped wings, attempted murder, stabbing, harassments, unfulfilled karma. it was a little hard to see Xisuma’s expression behind the black visor, but Mumbo could make out concern with tinges of anger. an expression he was not used to seeing on the bee man. when mumbo finished X was deep in thought. he nodded slowly before looking down at his communicator. the device they use to message, research, change worlds, ect. 

“did he say who this was?” Mumbo pauses for a minute as he tried to remember. 

“it was... Sam? the spiral was also caused by a white rabbit. that's all i really know.” X nodded and looked back up at Mumbo.

“thanks for letting me know.” something about his voice sat oddly with the dark haired man but he let it go. to be honest Mumbo was angry himself. that someone would hurt Grian like that and not his due. he stood up and nodded at X, who nodded back. something told him that X understood what Mumbo was feeling. He turned around and jumped off the tower, taking off into the blue. “Sam.. rabbit.” X muttered to himself as he began to type into his device. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the next morning came with an odd message from X.

‘if anyone would like to join me in punishing, meet at the SD between the diamond trees in 5’ -Xisumavoid

‘sounds fun. I’m in’ -TangoTek

‘what?” -impulseSV

5 minutes later roughly half the server was there. some out of curiosity, some trusting that if X wants to punish someone its probably reasonable.  Etho, impulse, Ren, Mumbo, False, tango, Iskall, Wels, and of course Xisuma were all gathered together in front of the whirling portal.

“mind explaining why we’re gathered here?” Wels asked as he looked around at how many people had arrived. X took and breath and walked in front of the group. 

“ladies and gentleman, today we’re here because a member of our community has terrible trauma and an abuser who got away without punishment. an abuser who killed, maimed, manipulated, and injured multiple people in a non responing world” silence fell over the group in surprise. “I believe they deserve to get punished. you in?” no words were spoken but Wels stood up tall and pulled his sword. others followed suit and did the same. Etho pulled his bow and tango loaded a crossbow with a rocket. X nodded, and began to type into his device. 

as they stood around, none of the notice and short man in a jumper flying into the district. he started towards the barge but turned when he saw a gathering of half the server who looked like they were ready for homicide. he didn’t want to interrupt so he kept to the side and just watched. of all the things he thought could be happening, Sam Gladiator falling from the sky was not on that list. every muscle in his body tensed, wanting to book it or throw hands but instead it just froze stock still. 

The Bunny boy plummeted from the sky and landed with a hard thud. he stood, with everything spinning but saw himself surrounded by people he did not know. at first. then, hiding beside a large blue sea creature he saw an old friend of his. glancing around, the multiple armed adults was... surprising, but not too concerning. Everyone was dying or killing back home. he stood to his feet and took a step towards the older kid. as he did this, mumbo followed his gaze and spotted the small bundle of red and gray, panicking instantly. without thinking he lurched forward and shot his blade out, blocking Sam from getting to Grian. 

he looked up at Grian and only saw fear, he had taken a step back in perfect sync with Sam stepping forward. Instantly, mumbo only saw red hot rage. X’s voice broke the daze as he spoke of the crowd. “you are the one who hurt him, aren’t you?” his tone implied that he wasn’t really asking. 

Sam turned to him and laughed. “Its not that bad-” 

“You. abused. him.” X snapped back, exasperated and pissed. “and we don’t tolerate that here. Go.” that was all that was needed. 

The fight broke out instantly, a kid with a knife clashing with explosions and swords. People of both sides had blades stabbed into them and the bunny boy held surprisingly well in the fight. that does not mean he did well. he died multiple times and every time he responed again and got back into the fight. it was nearly impossible to head over the clash of metal and fireworks a yard from your face. The incoming storm did not help, the distant roar of thunder and shocks of light made the whole thing even more disorienting. 

Grian watched this go on, seeing the people he loved and the land he called home. for the first time in a while, he looked at the white rabbit ear and still felt safe. they were willing to research, summon, and fight a guy they don't even know except as a murderer. just because he had hurt Grian. his muscles relaxed as he blinked the shock out of his eyes. he watched the fight rage on, the dark clouds coming in, and got an idea. he slinked into guardian goodies and found the ender chest. he rummaged through it and found what he was looking for. standing up and pulled out the glistening trident, lightning crackling between the prongs. he climbed up guardian goodies, stood up on the top, and he smiled. He felt absolutely honored and loved by the hermits, but it was time for him to face his past. this was his fight, and he knew that the hermits were by his side in the battle. 

he pulled up his device and typed two simple words.

‘get back.’- grian

everyone looked around, and when they finally saw him his eye were sharp on Sam. Trident lifted above his head, crackling with power and magic. his knuckles turned white as he thought about all that had happened, everything that he’d done. everyone pulled away from Sam, leaving him exposed as Grian finally shot forward and let it all go.

lightning cracked down on sam, and this time he didn’t respon

no proofreading, we die like men

[spotsupstuff]

You did an amazing job on that fic. It was kinda hard to read just cause i felt tenseness through the screen lol. If I may ask tho, is this like the start of a story where we see Mac evolve and stuff or is this just a one off story?

aw thank you!!!! glad it was Feelable gjklsdgjkls

the fic is a part of the fruit twins au that i share with @/grollow so any content on Here that is tagged as such belongs with it and is Somewhere on the timeline of the au. currently i dont really have any plans of telling the entire story in a fanfic format - if you look at my ao3 profile, i attempted doin that in h0llow kn/ight fandom with the Wondrous Wanders AU, which is currently kinda sorta abandoned, even though i still have my schemes, ideas and wips still saved for it. it is unfinished and hasnt even gotten really far plot-wise, all of the larger more important fics planned for it kinda got left in the dust

by that i mean to communicate that i dont really have confidence in both my writing and my ability to keep to the project in That form. what im planning right now for the au is mainly establishing the past (how Six Ear was born, how the conflict between Sūn and Six Ear came to be, how and why it ended how it did n so on...) and establishing the characters that u dont really see in LMK (Mǎ, Bèng and Bā, relationship between the main two boys and the three other Stalwart Generals, relationship between Red Boy/Son and Six Ear...) so it would be easier to understand whats going on in “present”/LMK time with Six Ear and the others ✨ internally ✨, all ideally in proper comic form

i might not be a bad writer, maybe i could even be called decent or good, but im mainly a drawing artist n so most of my skill points r There

the fic was inspired by a quick lil dialogue idea between Bā and Six Ear that came to me when i woke up which i then made into the published thing throughout the day (which i normally dont actually manage), so there Is a chance that i will write more, but its prolly gon be lil snippets caused by random convo ideas between characters