#OC-Heavy Fics

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

My Work

Hi, this is my Tumblr. My name is Zee, and the TLoU brainrot is real. Currently working on the series: People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse, featuring these two:

(Art by @mote-of-star-dust) 🎸 First Fic: Go Your Own Way 🎸 233,277 words / 31 chapters Joel Miller / Benny Cooper (Original Female Character) In the winter of 2025, two strangers are found in the wilderness outside of Jackson, and are brought back to the settlement. One is a doctor with infallible optimism, the other is just trying to find a life worth living. (@toointojoelmiller featured this fic as part of her Saturday Story Spotlight series, including a review from @march-flowerr that still makes me weep.)

★ Second Fic: As Long as You Follow (WIP) ★ Currently 197,202 words / 14 out of 17 chapters Joel Miller / Benny Cooper (OFC) | Ellie Williams / General Badassery Three years after the events of Go Your Own Way, Ellie is given another chance to save the world.

🔥 Bonus Fic: Warm Ways 🔥 6,290 words / one-shot Joel Miller / Benny Cooper (OFC) It's smut. That's it. That's the fic.

Good Things Happen Bingo Fics:

🦋 Sunny Side of Heaven 🦋 5,845 words / one-shot Joel Miller & Ellie Williams | Joel Miller & Sarah Miller Joel Miller, his daughters, and a whole lot of butterflies.

Other Fics:

🐈 Winds of Change 🐈 5,472 words / one-shot Joel Miller & Ellie Williams | Ellie Williams & Fuzz Aldrin the Cat Ellie wants a cat. Joel...does not want a cat. So they compromise, and Ellie gets a cat.

🩹 What Makes You Think You're the One 🩹 2,498 words / one-shot Joel Miller / Tess Servopoulos Small one-shot about Tess and Joel going from smuggling partners, to...maybe something a little more. Maybe.

#The Last of Us #TLoU #TLoU fic #TLoU Fanfiction #The Last of Us Fanfiction #Joel Miller #Ellie Williams #Archive of Our Own #Ao3 #fanfic #Joel Miller / OC #Joel Miller / OFC #Benny Cooper #Tess Servopoulos #OFC #OC-Heavy Fics

[mustainegf]

Can you do a step dad/current! James Hetfield smut??its fine if you can't I completely understand!!(srry if its so short I was in a rush!!)

this is actually so good and I had so much fun writing!!

❕ FEMALE CHARACTER IS 18+ ❕

WARNINGS: use of “daddy”, use of “princess”, stepdad x daughter, Reader is 18+, oral m & f receiving, unprotected sex, creampie

My breaths came out quick and hoarse, my fingers disappearing inside of me over and over.

I was so turned on by my new stepdad, but I couldn't do anything about it since he had just moved in a few months ago.

He was in his fifties or sixties and looked hot as hell with his broad shoulders and muscles. He had this sexy silver-grey hair that made him look more attractive than ever.

He was also very tall, almost towering over me. I kinda avoided him so he wouldn't sense how horny I'd get in his presence.

I continued to work at myself, imagining his cock inside me instead. I whimpered out. "J-James!"

I was home alone so It didn't matter.

I wanted to feel him inside me so bad. I didn't care if he was with mom, I wanted him to hold me down and fuck me as hard as he could.

Being alone, I didn't try to filter my vulgar noises; letting them spill out into the quiet room. "Daddy! Daddy, just like that!" I whined.

I rubbed my clit fiercely, just picturing his face.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum!" I shook.

But before I could feel that sweet release, the sound of someone clearing their throat echoed from my doorway.

I gasped, and tugged my blanket up to cover me, my eyes darting to the doorway where the tall man stood.

Leaning agaisnt my door frame, a grin plastered over his face, was James, my fucking stepdad.

"Oh my god," I stuttered, my cheeks heating. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in." I tried to act cool even though I knew I wasn't.

He took a step forward. "You were really enjoying yourself there." My blush deepened as I stared at the ground.

I didn't respond I was far too mortified. James sat up and stepped into the room.

"Look at me," he said softly. I met his gaze. His eyes glittered with mischief and desire.

"I'm not going to judge you, sweetheart. I see it all the time when I look at you. You are always so hot and bothered around me."

Hidden by the blanket, I couldn't help but apply a small bit of pressure to my clit. "I could hear you saying my name.." James whispered.

"How often to you masturbate to me, honey?" He continued, ghosting his fingers under my chin.

"E-Every single night," I admitted.

“That makes me so happy, sweetheart. Are you gonna quit playing games with me? Tell me what you want." He stated calmly, lifting the corner of the blanket to uncover my wet panties that cling to my body.

"Y-you.. James." I whined as his fingers brushed last the damp fabric.

"Don't call me that honey," he said under his breath, staring me down as his fingers toyed with me.

He shoved the blanket aside, kneeling in bed ahead of me, looking down at me. "Speak up, baby."

"If you don't say what I know you want to, then maybe I should just leave.." he taunted, setting his hands on my knees.

"Daddy, please!" I whined.

He grinned as I gave him what he wanted, his hands spreading my legs apart. I was terrified to do something like this with my stepdad, but It was all I wanted

I needed it. And I trusted him enough to let him have his way with me. A strong hand gripped me by the thigh, bringing me closer to the edge.

"I think about touching this pretty pussy all the time, Princess." He hummed.

The air grew thick between us as he leaned in closer. My chest heaving with rapid breaths, I nodded. "Yes, Daddy. Please!" I moaned. My eyes widened in surprise when he grabbed my ankle and dragged me toward him.

He grabbed my panties tugging them down my legs and illiciting a breathy gasp from me.

"You are so beautiful," he praised. "Thank you, Daddy," I whispered. "I have never seen anyone look as sexy as you do right now."

He said, his voice husky. "Your pussy is glistening. So perfect, just like I thought." He rubbed his thumb against my clit, making me cry out.

"Hmm. Maybe I should start here," he murmured, kissing my inner thigh.

"Is that okay?" He asked. I bit my lip, nodding.

"Whatever you want, Daddy." I breathed. His fingers skimmed over my legs, dipping into the valley of my hips. "Such a good girl for your daddy."

He cooed, kissing my lower stomach before licking his way down until his tongue was lapping up every drop of my juices. "Mmm..." He groaned.

"You taste delicious, little princess. "

He paused. Lifting his head, his Light blue eyes fixed on mine. The look on his face told me he meant every word.

This was one of the hottest things I'd ever witnessed. I loved it.

“Keep going, Angel. Your daddy wants you to cum so hard you can't walk tomorrow." My eyes rolled back as I came undone.

His tongue was ruthless. I felt him swallow every ounce of my orgasm down. I cried out as my body tightened, he licked me clean. I lay there, spent, my heart thumping wildly against my chest.

"Now it's your turn missy.." he leaned upright and towards me. "I want you to suck me off," he growled in my ear.

I could hardly wrap my head around the fact that my stepdad wanted me to suck his dick. I loved it.

James switched places with me, tugging off his shirt.

I admired his stalkish build, and the slightly faded tattoos that lay beneath the thin layer of silver hairs on his chest.

"Don't be shy, honey," he cooed, helping me undo his jeans and tug them down.

He kicked off his jeans, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. I could easily see the huge bulge that strained beneath the fabric. Fuck.

"Take 'em off baby, you're a big girl," he taunted, nudging his hips just slightly.

With a gulp, I reached for the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.

The moment they passed his ankles, I gasped. God, he was massive. He watched me, chuckling under his breath.

"What did I tell you, baby?" he asked with a smirk. I stared at his cock, licking my lips. I had never seen anything quite like it. My stepdad was seriously well endowed.

It looked so smooth and soft, the head swollen.

James eyed me as he gripped the base, waiting for me to put my mouth to use.

"Suck it, babe. Show me you mean it." I moved to straddle him, taking his cock into my hand. It was a bit thicker than I thought it would be, and it was longer too.

I had known he was hung, but seeing it first hand was crazy. There was so much of it to grasp onto. I hesitated before putting it in my mouth. No turning back now.

Gripping it firmly, I slid the length of it into my mouth. Fuck, it tasted so good. I got lost in the flavor. The vein running along the side of it was silky, yet rough. The tip was sensitive and made me salivate.

Leaning forward, I swallowed his length and let my tongue lick over the sensitive tip. "Fuck, princess," he grunted. "You're such a good girl." He murmured, petting my hair. A shiver ran through me at his words. "Such a dirty girl, sucking your stepdads cock."

He moaned. I bobbed up and down, loving how it felt in my mouth. I was able to fit a lot of it in. "So good," he breathed. The feel of him in my mouth caused me to get wetter. My clit throbbed, demanding attention.

If I had been standing, I would have fallen. I sucked harder, moving my head faster. I loved how my stepdad was using his free hand to play with my breasts, tweaking my nipples.

They were so sensitive. "Just like that, babe," he encouraged. I looked up, locking eyes with him.

His eyes were closed as he rocked into my mouth, driving deeper.

Ohhh, my god. I loved everything about it. How he felt in my mouth, the taste of him. James was truly the best. He was good at everything. In my eyes, there was nothing better.

"That's it princess, bouta make me cum..." he groaned.

I bobbed my head faster, letting my saliva drip down his length each time. James gripped the back of my head, shoving me down further as I gagged.

I didn't Protest this though, I wanted to do anything to make him cum.

"Right there, right there, fuck..." James panted, still forcing me down, I could feel him swelling in my mouth.

I moaned around his cock, holding it tightly in my throat. "That's it, baby," he grunted. "Swallow my cum, Princess." I could feel his balls tighten. He was close.

His hands were in my hair again, pulling me up. I kept his cock deep in my throat, milking him. His body shook. "Fuuuuck!" He shouted. He filled my mouth. He came so much. So much I started to gag, choking on his cum.

"Good girl, good girl, you're such a good girl," he babbled, petting my hair, stroking me until I stopped coughing. I milked him until he finished emptying himself down my throat.

"Daddy.." I whispered, my throat finally free as he pulled his dick out.

"I can see that look in your eye, baby. You want me to be inside you, honey?" He cooed, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

"Please, please daddy.." I begged, crawling into his lap.

"So eager, aren't you princess?" He smiled, giving his cock a few pumps.

I grabbed his face, locking my lips with his for the first time. It was an odd concept; kissing my stepdad, but it felt right. And so good.

He kissed me right back, tongue forcing its way into my mouth.

I groaned, opening wider to allow him access. My stepdad was so hot. I couldn't imagine being without him. I just wanted to be with him forever.

James broke the kiss, looking me in the eyes.

"How bad do you want daddy to fuck you?" He hissed soflty, my body suddenly filled with the sensation of him running the tip through my folds.

My breath caught in my throat. "Bad," I moaned.

"Very bad." He chuckled. "You better not scream too loud, princess. I don't want anyone to hear you."

I rocked my hips on the pressure of his cock. I was a little worried that he wouldn't fit inside me, I'd only had sex once or twice. Him on the other hand was extremely experienced, not to mention huge.

I didn't want to embarrass myself by not being able to take him. But I couldn't go any longer without feeling him inside me. I needed him. Desperately.

"Daddy, please.." I whimpered, my neck twitching.

He ran his hand up and down my spine, then trailed it down my ass, pushing my legs farther open. "Hmm, what's that baby?" He purred, sliding the tip inside me.

I squirmed at the sudden penetration, gripping his shoulders as I whined loudly. James' hands gripped my hips gently, holding me in place.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he urged. "I need to hear the words, princess. Don't make me stop." I looked up at him, meeting his stare.

"I want you, Daddy. I need you. Please."

I whimpered, wiggling my hips against his. He chuckled lowly. "Lord knows, I need you too, little one. I've wanted you for so long." He grinned as he slid his cock inside me in one powerful thrust.

The pain was intense, and I clawed at his shoulders. "Shh, baby. Just breathe. Feel your daddy inside you. Relax." He repeated as he held me still.

I was right, it stretched me a lot, but it was also the best feeling in the world.

James bounced me on his cock, thrusting up alongside. "Fuck! Daddy!" I cried out.

"Right there honey….. god, I think you're the tightest I've fucked." he groaned.

"Mmmm, that's right baby, ride that dick, just like that. Fuck, your wetness is driving me wild." He hissed, still pumping into me.

“Ooh, that's right... daddy, harder, fuck me harder, daddy." I bucked my hips.

He squeezed my thighs with large tattooed hands, gripping me tighter, ramming me into the mattress. I could barely keep up with him. I rode him until I couldn't anymore.

"Such a good girl," he growled as I collapsed, hardly having enough energy to keep riding him.

"Just relax while daddy fucks you."

He ordered. Ilaid my head on his chest, breathing heavily. I wasn't sure I could handle more. He held me up, still inside me, cradling me in his arms as he rammed into me.

"Yes, Daddy, yes, that's it..." I whined, my body getting used to him, and I became more flexible.

"Oooh, yes! Yes, yes!" I cried out. James's pace picked up.

I arched my back, causing him to push harder into me. I was soon screaming out his name, throwing my head back. "James!" I cried out, holding on for dear life as I was transported to another plane of existence.

He continued to thrust into me. I was so full, I thought I would burst. "Daddy, daddy, I'm going to cum again." I squealed.

“Cum all over daddy's cock, princess. Let it happen." He encouraged.

I cried out his name as my walls pulsated around him. "Ohhh, daddy!" I gasped. "Ohhh, fuck, I'm cumming too." James slammed into me, jerking his hips as he shot rope after rope of seed into me.

"That's it baby, cum on my cock. That's it." He growled. He continued to hold me, both of us breathing heavily. When he started to soften, we both dropped onto the bed, both of us exhausted.

I couldn't believe my own stepdad had just cum inside me. I loved it.

"You're gonna make me addicted to you, Princess." He murmured, rubbing up my back.

#metal #reqs open #metallica #request #smut #thrash metal #smutshot #james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #metallica x reader #james hetfield headcannons #james hetfield x you #james hetfield x oc #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield fic #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fanfiction #James hetfield imagines #metallica headcanons #metallica fluff #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #heavy metal #metallica imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #mustainegf

[darlingsart]

Some lighting practice I used as an excuse to draw modern au Pat and Achilles being loving parents to their son 🥺

#patrochilles #tsoa #the song of achilles #angies art #my ocs #modern au fic has been on my mind so heavy I had to draw it #I hate lighting and I hate shading but I thought I should practice anyways #Max my special little guy <3 #OH I also used an old brush that I used to use to see how I feel about it now #if there’s one thing about me it’s that my lineart is gonna change every time I post LMAO

[birdcatt]

ok so i KNOW hero/darkrai and/or partner/darkrai is very much a road of hurt/comfort. HOWEVER i think hero/partner/darkrai has Comedic Potential

forbidden version where leaf doesn't have floppy ears below the cut

#art tag #oc: emerald (pmd) #oc: leaf (pmd) #oc: bronze (pmd) #pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #had to redraw part of this bc i forgot part of leafs design is her inability to lift her ears. theyre too got damn heavy for her!!!! #oh yeah and the others too #grovyle #darkrai #celebi #raichu #glaceon #leafeon #i wonder who people think are the hero and the partner if they havent seen my oc posts for them #also if anyone else is reading the tags. i just edited this in. anyways #if youre reading the tags and you know of more hero/darkrai or partner/darkrai content. can i have it #the only other hero/darkrai content i know of is a single fic and theres like nothing for partner/darkrai #least of all hero/partner/darkrai

[crookedteethed]

STORM’S be heavy soon (1) Billy the kid

Pairing: Billy the kid x Rich girl reader

Summary: Billy is hired to be the bratty Y/N Bristow guard on a five-day trip to Macon, GA; who knows what may happen on the long trail?

WARNINGS: Original characters, Cursing, reader's last name is "Bristow", mentions of guns, gun usage, reader is snotty, Eventual smut , (gonna add more warnings as I go)

Authors note: Typically I don't write for this show, but this idea popped into my head a few nights ago. Also, I haven't watched this show in months, so I'm just going off my imagination/what I remember. Enjoy!! <3

Word count: 2k

Divider cred → @saradika-graphics

New Mexico, 1881

On Ovid Bristow's hand-crafted cherry wood desk lies the sand color sack of silver dollar coins he'd just offered Billy.

The sack had been plopped on the desk and sat there untouched for a whopping two minutes, two minutes in which Billy been debating if he should take Bristow's offer.

Surely, Billy wanted the money. He could use a new rifle--ou--two new rifles, afford a new pair of boots, and maybe even a new horse--a quarter horse since quarter horses were the best for ridin'.

However, Billy had a sinking suspicion of immorality towards Ovid Bristow a sinking suspicion that boils in the pits of his stomach whenever he sees the aging, gray haired man with a deceitful smile on his face (Billy always smiles back, though). A sinking suspicion that's been brewing in his stomach for a while now.

But to mention this "sinking suspicion" Billy had wasn't suspicion at all; everyone knew Ovid Bristow was cruel; Bristow himself knew he was a cruel man, so he couldn't blame his wrongdoing on his ignorance.

It was just last week Billy had been playing cards with Ovid, along with several other aging gray-haired potbelly men, inside Ovid's new Saloon and Brothel (it used to be the old church house, but Ovid paid the church house's landlord twice as much as Pastor David did to own the building.)

Normando something (Billy had forgotten the man's last name, but it doesn't matter now since he's dead.) claimed he won the game, showing all the men his hand. A royal flush, he had one 10, one Jack, one King, one Queen, and an ace of spades.

Poor Normando; if he hadn't been smiling so hard and gloating about his win, he would've seen it when Ovid drew the gun from his holster. And then that was the end of Normando something, shot in the head by a colt revolver. Ovid said Normando had been cheating; he saw the stash of cards underneath the table.

No one doubted this, as you don't want to provoke the man with a gun in his hand.

In the present moment, Billy thought of this: how cold Ovid had been to murder someone over a card game (a card game?!). Billy imagined what Ovid would do to him--how worse his punishment would be if he: "Lost sight or let anything happen to his darlin'."

And that's where Billy resides in the place of dubiety.

"What? Did ole' Ovid Bristow scare you?" Bristow laughs, a flock of seagull-type laugh; when Billy doesn't join in on the laughter, Ovid suddenly becomes serious.

"Look," Bristow says, standing up from his desk, now face to face with Billy. "I'll give you some more money if that makes you feel any better."

He goes into his left breast jacket pocket, pulling out a rolled-up wad of cash. Bristow tosses the wad of money onto the sack of coins.

"1,500 in total." He says. "It's all there, you can count it."

As callous Ovid been, Billy knew he wasn't a liar. He believed that the sack of coins and the wad of cash had amounted to 1,500.

Billy stayed silent, as silence is the loudest response.

"C'mon, Billy, I wouldn't be asking this of you if I didn't trust you, you're one of the only men I trust, let alone trust you being around my darlin'."

Ovid sits on the edge of his desk with disdain, his stare not particularly on Billy but just above Billy's head.

"I see how those bastards look at my little Y/n at the Saloon, they look at her like she's one of those harlots at the whore house." He spats. "How I wish I can put a bullet through every one of those no good lookers head."

Ovid stands to his feet again.

"But you Billy, you don't stare at my daughter like she's a piece of meat, to you Billy my daughter ceases to exist. I like that about you."

Billy seemed calmed on the outside, but in the inside, he heard the bells ringing in his head.

Of course he looked at you, every man looked at you when you walked by. You were enchanting, the most beautiful woman Billy had ever saw.

Billy did most of his staring when you or your father hadn't been looking. Most of his staring had been from the corner of his eyes or below his hat.

The first thing Billy noticed about you was your bright eyes. They were a pretty shade of (your eye color) that matched your pretty crimson-colored lips and rosy cheeks. You were light on the makeup, which Billy had liked. You'd done your makeup in a way that almost seemed like you weren't wearing makeup at all; Billy liked that about you too. He also liked your elegant collarbones that sat right before your cleavage.

What Billy liked the most about you was that you were educated. You were going to college soon, the first woman Billy had known to do something like that--hell, the first person.

But if it weren't for you getting accepted into Wesleyan College in Macon, GA, Billy wouldn't have been asked to escort you there.

"It's only a week there and week back." Ovid told him at the beginning of the conversation; then Billy had his mindset that he wouldn't take you.

But now, thinking about you--thinking about anyone but himself taking you to Georgia, one of those no-good lookers Ovid described somewhat infuriated Billy.

What if one of them were to take advantage you? Or try to harm you? What if one of them were to kidnap you, take you to one of the many enemies Ovid Bristow have made and hold you for ransom?

Ovid had said it himself, he trusted Billy, so if the job was to be done, Billy was the one to do it.

So as Billy left Ovid Bristow's office, he had the 1,500 stuffed down in his pockets.

Walking Billy to the door, Ovid had his arm snaked around Billy's neck, with a wide smile on his face.

"I knew you wouldn't let ole' Ovid down." He says. Ovid then instructs Billy to arrive at his manor tomorrow by a quarter till seven and pack lightly, as the rest of the wagon is reserved for his "sweet darlin'. "

Leaving Ovid's office, Billy thought he might've seen you inside the waiting room, but it was just that harlot--the one that works at the Brothel that looks like you.

It was 6:45--a quarter till seven when Billy arrived at the Bristow's manor.

Ovid Bristow's riches had been by pure luck. He used to work in the fields, digging holes to plant crops, and one day, he accidentally struck oil. The best kind of accident that could happen to a man.

Ovid Bristow was the Rockefeller of New Mexico.

Approaching the manor, Billy was greeted by a heap of men and women, all housekeepers, butlers, maids, and landscapers, all of whom had been waiting to give Y/n Bristow a farewell. Plus there been a marching band of all men standing at ease.

He didn't know if he could go inside the manor to tell Ovid he'd been here right at a quarter till seven and was lightly packed, because the doors had been locked shut.

So Billy waited with the rest of them, alongside the coachmen who was to take you and him to Georgia. He slips his sack into the back of the wagon.

"Warner." The man introduces himself as, he was a fellow old enough to be Billy's grandfather, Billy questioned Warner's ability to ride for five days straight day and night.

Your entrance was rather grand, ostentatious.

As soon as the white and gold doors flung open, the marching band began to blow their trumpets and bang their drums.

You stood in the doorway, a demure smile on your face, until the marching band's song (which sounded like a bunch of commotion) ended.

"Farewell, my good people, as this is yours truly last day on Bristow's Manor." You spoke dramatically. "Goodbye Nettie, I'll never forget that day you yelled at me for breaking that vase, and then I nearly gotten you fired for raising your voice at me." You waved to an older woman in a maid's uniform, who looked like she was suppressing an eye roll. "Goodbye housekeepers, whom I've never learned the names of, Goodbye Landscapers who kept planting thorn bushes even after I pricked my finger on one when I was five, Goodbye…"

As you continued saying your goodbyes the word "Shallow" was on the tip of Billy's tongue, but he hadn't want to make his judgement. Though he saw you around town, normally accompanied by your father, he hadn't spoken to you yet.

He'd been too scared he'd get shot or beaten by Ovid for simply saying a "Hello" to you.

Ovid had been beside you as you said your goodbyes, carrying a round pink leather suitcase, presumably yours. Behind the both of you were two butlers carrying the rest of your luggage—ten suitcases in counting, all pink, some round, some rectangular.

"Jesus Christ." Billy mutters to himself.

"Goodbye--" you stop in front of Billy, scanning his face--those dark curls and dark blue eyes--wondering what was his occupation on the manor. He'd look familiar to you, but then again he didn't.

Trashman? The stableman? Daddies assistant? No, he was to ruffian like to be Daddies assistant.

Then you suddenly remember--yes, that's who he is.

"Farewell, stablehand, I don't have any memories of you, but I shall wish you the best of luck cleaning shit for the rest of your life at Daddies stable." You smile.

A scowl had formed on Billy's lip.

That shallow bit-

His thinking is cut off by Ovid's laughter. "My sweet darlin, this isn't the stablehand, this is Billy. Billy here's a gunslinger. I hired him to keep you safe on the trail to Georgia."

You hum, a slight smirk on your lips. You raised your dainty hand to Billy and introduce yourself.

Billy puts his rough hands in your warm, smooth ones. You feel a jolt run through body, you wonder if Billy felt the jolt too.

It wasn't like you didn't know his name now, so Billy just tipped his hat and called you “Misses.”

"Fantastic," Ovid says with a deceiving smile. "Darlin', why don't you make yourself comfortable inside the wagon while Billy and I exchange a few words," Ovid tells you. "And gentlemen, why don't you start loading up darlin's luggage," Ovid instructs the butlers.

As you get onto the wagon (with the help of Warner) and the butlers start loading your things, Ovid pulls Billy to the side by the scruff of his neck.

"Now, remember yesterday I said I trust you, Billy. Darlin's all I got, Billy, it be a shame if something were to happen to her while she's in your care… It be even more of a shame what'll happen to you." Ovid says in a calm voice.

"Promise me that you'll take good care of her during those five days, promise me that Billy."

"I promise, sir." Billy says, looking at you from afar, you yell at the butlers for "manhandling" your "valuables."

Ovid catches Billy staring. "Also, Billy hear this, I know my daughters a pretty girl--she gets her looks from her late mama--god rest her soul, but I swear if you even must lay a finger on her with the intent of lust; I'll have you castrated, you got that boy?"

Billy thought about it , walking around town without his manhood, be known as the man without a cock.

"Y-yes sir." he sweats.

"Good!" Ovid exclaimed, letting Billy go.

"Daddy!" You yelled "I'm not getting any younger here!" You say impatiently.

Then, as you, Billy, and old man Warner left the gates of Bristow Manor, the marching band played another loud commotion. The blaring drums and tubas still ranged in Billy's ears as you all were 2-3 miles down the road.

Billy looked at you, cocking his head--you'd been filing your nails.

A Rose thorn bush, Billy labeled you--so amusing to look at, tempting to touch; when he felt the courage to touch it, he'd realize he gotten pricked and was starting to draw blood.

*I plan on making this a two part series*

#tom blyth #billy the kid smut #billy the kid #billy x reader #old west #fanfiction #fan fic #crookedteethed #billy the kid x y/n #ocs #part 1 #Storms be heavy soon #I only watched billy the kid because of Tom Blyth

[nerdalmighty]

BG3 Tag Game!

I was tagged by @khywren!!! Thank you!!!!!!

I'm going to tag @vanilkaplays @okthisway @maladaptive-menace @riddlerosehearts @starkspi and anyone else who wants to play along!

Favorite romance: It will surprise no one to know that it's Astarion. I find his backstory so incredibly interesting and I love his dumbass personality. At the end of the day, he just wants to do whatever is the most hilarious and I adore that. I especially love how soft he gets when you get together in Act 2. I could go on and on but I'll never be able to fully articulate my love for him.

Favorite class to play: Bard! I love that they're really the jack of all trades and are pretty good at everything, including spells and sword fighting. Persuasion and deception are SO helpful in this game, plus playing music to distract crowds and cause shenanigans in Baldur's Gate is wonderful.

Favorite NPC: I think Raphael. While yeah he absolutely SUCKS, I'm obsessed with his obsession with his own voice. He's a thespian, he's a freak, he's an idiot. I love it. But yes, I did kill his ass.

Favorite song off the soundtrack: Probably the Harpy Song. I listen to it a lot in my spare time, especially when I'm working on a specific fic I'm attempting to write. I'm a big fan of haunting melodies and, unsurprisingly, the concept of hypnotizing music.

Tell us a little about your Tav: I wrote a pretty long post about her here, but my Tav is named Birdie and she's a bard who was born and raised at the Water Queen's House. Previous iterations of her had her as a siren (hence the deep love of the Harpy Song), but I'm still not 100% sure if this version of her is. Basically, she's a mermaid ass goof whose main gang of idiots include Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart. Chaos often ensues.

Something you wish was in the game: I know this game is huge. I know there's probably stuff people haven't even discovered yet. But god would I love some more camp animations. More interactions between the companions AT camp. Cut scenes where there should probably be cut scenes (The second time Astarion drinks your blood, Wyll celebrating the defeat of Ansur, etc). I really really love this game, but I'd love to hang out with my friends EVEN MORE.

Do you create fanworks? Share something with us: Oh boy I'm TRYING. I've never really written fanfiction before but the stupid vampire has inspired me to do so. I'm in the process of writing two different fics (one multi-chapter, one one-shot on the longer side) and am having a blast but I'm not sure if/when I'll post them. I've noticed my writing style is very similar to the way I write scripts, which is what I went to college for, so they're full of dialogue and quick, dumb banter. It might not be for everyone, but I'm having The Most Fun! Let me know if you'd maybe want to see more? Here's a silly excerpt from the one-shot (she may or may not get smutty later on 👀):

There was no sign of the vampire, save for an open hatch beneath the stone of the tower leading into what you presumed was a cellar of sorts. Off to the side was a discarded set of Thieves’ Tools. Yup, that’ll be him.

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you began to descend into the basement below. 

Before you could even make it to the bottom, however, you heard Astarion’s voice tinged with annoyance. “Don’t bother, darling. I was just coming back up.”

You paused on the ladder and looked down at him. “That bad?”

“Eh, a few coins, some food. Nothing worth risking one’s life over. Foolish gnome.”

“Shame,” you pouted down at him, not an ounce of real sympathy behind the word.

He smirked as he met your eye. “Go,” he said, indicating you should climb back up the ladder. “There was a rather large amount of smoke powder though. That could be fun.”

When you emerged back into the early evening air, you turned to help Astarion out. “Maybe you can blow up a quaint little gnomish village.”

Astarion’s eyes glittered with delight. “Oh, do you think there’s one around here? That would be- Oh. You’re joking.”

You nodded.

“Gods, you’re no fun.” He sighed dramatically and then started back towards the Blighted Village proper. 

You scoffed in mock offense. “I’m a lot of fun!”

Astarion tsked. “If you have to say you’re a lot of fun, odds are, you’re lying to yourself.” He shot a challenging half smile at you from over his shoulder.

“How dare you,” you laughed.

“Such a pity, too,” he went on. “Aren’t bards supposed to be entertaining?”

You made a sound of agony, which had Astarion fully turning back to look at you. You threw a hand to your heart and staggered towards him. “You wound me, Astarion. Look upon me with pity and remember me fondly!” You set an arm on his shoulder and let your body weight go, as if collapsing from a killing blow. 

Astarion was quick to catch you under your arms. He made a show of groaning about how heavy you were now that your body had gone completely limp. After you’d hung loosely from his grip for a few seconds, he finally yielded. “Alright, enough.” 

You resumed control of your body and stood up straight, a smug look on your face. “I’m fun.”

“Dramatic.”

“Theatrical.”

“Annoying.”

“Endearing.”

“Loud.”

“Enthusiastic-”

Just then, a loud howl came from a barn a little ways off. 

You and Astarion eyed each other.

“Was that you?” Astarion asked.

“‘Was that me?!’ I’m not THAT loud.”

“Could have fooled me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on.” You started in a light jog towards the barn.

Astarion groaned. “You can’t be serious.” He caught up with you easily. “Haven’t we done enough heroing for today?”

You looked at him thoughtfully. “One more act of heroism probably won’t kill you.”

“It might!”

“Oh, now who’s being dramatic?” You came to a stop at the double doors.

“I-” Astarion floundered, then pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

“That’s what I thought.”

#this section is especially dialogue heavy #but it gives a good sense of the silliness #it may or may not be an astarion x virgin tav fic #if that interests anyone #khywren #thanks for the tag! #tag game #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #mine #my writing #my mutuals #birdie harp #my ocs #emma blabs #love them #great game #whoops now i'm embarrassed

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Loud and Heavy

This is part 1 of my why choose Teen Wolf Fic.

Fic Summery: Harper McCall falls for both Stiles and Derek and has to choose one. Or dose she?

Part Summery: Harper goes with Stiles and Scott to find a body in the woods. What happens when she gets separated and bitten by something.

Warnings: None?

Let me know if you wanna be tagged.

I stood in my bedroom soft music playing from the computer as I tried to pick out what to wear tomorrow. It was the first day of school. The first day of the rest of my life. Both me and my brother Scott decided that we were going to be who we wanted to be in school this year.

He was going to play lacrosse and I was going to do well…something.

Problem with me: I had no idea who I wanted to be. No big dream I wanted to have in high school. This was my last year to live the high school dream but what even was that?

Be asked to prom? I don’t know, haha. Parties. I always wanted to be invited to one of the parties more for curious sake than hanging out with a bunch of drunk teenagers.

I guess me and Scott were different. Well I was. I wasn’t the girly girl, or the nerdy goth. Sweet and shy or bubbly and outgoing. No, I was always in the middle, always being pulled in two different directions.

So here I stood staring at my bed trying to decide what style I was going to wear. Who was I going to become?

Why was I worried about my clothes so much? Because I had to have something that told others who I was.

I was just as much in the middle on the outside I was on the inside.

Everything about me was average. Average height. 5’4, average weight at 170. I have brown eyes only a few shades lighter than my brothers. Brown medium length hair that has just enough body it wouldn't stay straight and not enough waves to hold a curl. Like I said I was average.

My thoughts were cut off by a strange sound coming from outside. Glancing out the window I didn't see anything making me leave to go find Scott.

I jumped, seeing him in the hallway holding a bat.

“Did you hear something outside?” Both of us ask at the same time, making me giggle and Scott look unamused.

“Let's go check it out. I'm right behind you.” I say, holding on to his hoodie.

He smiles and shakes his head at the thing I've done since we were toddlers and starts walking towards the front door and outside.

Rounding the corner of the house my heart nearly stops when someone hangs from the roof Scott yelling along with the culprit until we all realize it's Stiles.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Scott says, sounding annoyed as he puts his bat down.

“You weren't answering your phone. Why do you have a bat?” 

“I thought you were a predator.”

“A pre…what?” Stiles says, the look of confusion and shock on his face makes me giggle.

“Hey Harper.” He says smiling at me.

“Hi.” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear and smiling back.

I'm sure it was no surprise that I had a crush on my brother's best friend but it was kinda hard not to. He was funny and just the sweetest person.

“Look, I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called-- they're bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police.”

“For what?” Both me and Scott say that at the same time but with opposite reactions.

Where Scott had a frown on his face I had a look of curiosity. I guess you could say I got my rambunctiousness from Stiles, us always getting into trouble together.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.” Stiles says, the glee of mischievous clear in his eyes.

Stiles lifts himself untangling from the trellis and drops to his feet in front of us. 

“Like a dead body?” Scott asked, confused and horrified.

Stiles moves to lean on the railing of the porch looking at Scott like he's dump.

“No, a body of water.” He says, sarcastically, making me snort out a laugh which he smiles at making me look down to hide my blush.

“Yes, dumbass a dead body.” He says rolling his eyes and climbs over the railing to join us on the porch.

“Were they murdered?” I ask, the nosy side of me coming out.

“Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.”

“That's horrible.” I say, frowning. 

“Hold on.” Scott says, both of us looking at him.

“If they found the body, then what are they looking for?”

Stiles practically grins, tickled with the drama of the night.

“That's the best part- They only found half.” He says, his face growing serious.

“We're going.”

“I'll grab my shoes.” I say turning towards the house.

“What? No you're not going and neither am I. I have tryouts tomorrow.” Scott says grabbing my arm to stop me.

“Oh come on Scott it's the last night of summer break let's do something fun.” I pout, sticking out my bottom lip.

“I got this. Go get your shoes.” Stiles says placing a hand on each of our shoulders.

“Thank you.” I say, moving back into the house.

I jog up the steps not worried about the noise. Mom was working tonight so there wasn't anymore in the house.

Ignoring the tightening of my asthmatic lungs I start to grab my shoes until I see myself in the mirror.

I was in pajamas. No makeup, not even a bra on.

Blushing, realizing Stiles saw me like that I quickly moved to my bed to fix the situation.

I grab the first thing my hand touches and get dressed. I didn't really care about the no makeup thing but I at least needed a bra on.

Pulling on my shoes I grab my inhaler and rush back downstairs seeing the boys getting in Stiles' jeep.

“Wait for me.” I call out to them, my lungs already bothering me.

“You okay?” Stiles asks, looking me up and down.

“Fine. Just outta shape.” I laugh climbing into the back of his jeep and taking a puff of my inhaler.

Getting inside Stiles starts the engine and away we go.

Pulling up outside of the beacon hills preserve Stiles stops the car tuning it off.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Scott asks, looking over at his best friend.

“Come on brother, live a little.” I say grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.

“How many energy drinks did you have today?” He asks, looking back at me.

“Umm three why?” I ask, holding up three fingers.

“I told you I planned on pulling an all-nighter so I could work on my style.” I say, waving my hands down myself.

“I think you look great.” Stiles says, giving me a once over then turning back to my brother.

“Of course we are doing this. You're the one that's always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” He says but I'm not really listening.

My heart flutters my cheeks hot as I look at what I'm wearing.

I was in jeans, a T-shirt and a flannel. My hair was in a messy bun. A few stray hairs fell around my face and I had on my glasses instead of my contacts.

I was definitely rocking the nerdy look at the moment but plus one for it if Stiles liked it.

“I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.” Scott says pulling me back to the convention.

“Right, 'cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.” Stiles says, almost rolling his eyes.

“No, because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making first line.”

Stiles looks at Scott in disbelief then turns to look at me. Him asking if he's serious with his gaze.

I blush and shrug not knowing what to say 

“Hey, that's the spirit! Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.” He says smacking Scott on the shoulder and turning to open the car door.

“We're going to get in so much trouble.” Scott says, looking at me.

“It'll be fun, come on.” I say, turning to hop out of the Jeep and head towards the woods.

We all three walked in silence for a little while. It was a clear night letting us see how to move through the woods without tripping over our own two feet.

“Just out of curiosity, what half of the body are we looking for?” Scott asks, mimicking Stiles' sarcastic tone from before.

“Huh? I didn’t even think about that.” Stiles says, glancing at me with a sheepish look on his face.

“And Uh…What if whoever killed the body is still out here.”

“Also something I didn’t think about.” Stiles says flat out embarrassed.

“You two are going to get me killed.” I say looking at them.

“Me? You were the one who wanted to live a little.” Scott says.

“Well yeah, but…” I trail off not having an answer. We were also starting to climb up a hill. No way would I be able to talk and climb at the same time.

“It’s comforting to know you planned this out with your unusual attention to detail.”

“I know.” Stiles says through labored breathing.

Reaching the top of the hill I bend over holding my knees, my ears ringing as if I've been holding my breath for too long.

I close my eyes not listening to the other two, just focusing on my breathing.

When I lift my head I’m alone. Looking around I see no flash light and I don’t hear anything other than my ragged breathing.

“Guys?” I question, walking forward to catch up with them.

“Scott? Stiles?” I call out my heart rate starting to pick up at the thought of being alone out here.

Hearing a snapping twig I turn to head towards the noise knowing they can’t be too far away from me.

Walking around a large tree I freeze when I see something glowing red in the distance.

Thinking it’s a police car I duck behind a tree not wanting to get in trouble. Stiles Dad would know I was out here with him if he caught me.

I blush at the thought of having to explain that to him.

Hearing rustling leaves I stay perfectly still scared of being found. When the sound stops I let go of the breath I was holding.

Peaking around the tree I see the same red glow yet it’s closer. Right in front of my face and its eyes. A pair of glowing red eyes are only inches from my face.

Them set into the face of a very large animal. I don’t get a chance to look at it before it lunges at me. 

I scream as it tears into my skin biting down hard into my shoulder. I try to pull away from it, hitting it as hard as I can.

It lets go and takes off running leaving me there. I jumped up and pushed myself in the opposite direction, scared that whatever it was would come back and finish the job.

I go as fast as I can ignoring my burning lungs scared the thing was right behind me. I don’t slow down even when it starts to rain.

Fear piping through me drives me forward. I don’t stop until I run out into the road the sound of screeching tires and a horn fills the air.

Headlights blinding me as a car stops inches from hitting me. I stand there shaking as the driver door opens and someone walks up to me.

“Are you okay?” Asks the man who got out.

He is taller than me, his broad shoulders making him seem a lot bigger than me as well.

“I…It..something is out there.” I say my eyes burning as tears start to run down my cheeks.

He doesn't say anything, his eyes jumping to my shoulder. I could feel the warm trail of blood running down my back. 

I let out a hiss when he lifts what’s left of my ripped flannel off my shoulder.

“What happened?” He asks, looking at me, his jaw clenched.

“I don’t know. Something bit me.” I sniffle out.

“Okay. Come one I’ll give you a ride home.” He says, wrapping his arm around me.

I let him, feeling scared but not as scared as I was in those woods moments ago. He opens the passenger door and helps me get in.

I wrap my arms around myself as he jogs around the front of the car and gets behind the wheel.

We don’t speak as we drive back towards town. I sit there shaking the heat cranked up.

“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” He says, clearly not used to comforting people by the tone in his voice.

“I don’t even know what happened.” I say, staring at the dash.

He didn't say anything, the ride to my house was silent after I told him the address. I should have gone to the hospital but I didn’t want to worry my mom or get any one in trouble.

I get out of his car when he pulls up the crack of thunder sounding overhead, the rain only increasing.

Wrapping my arms around myself I head towards the door surprised when he gets out.

“Thank you.” I say looking at him.

He nods, handing me a paper with scribbled numbers on it.

“I’m Derek.”

“Harper.”

#derek hale #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf derek hale #teen wolf #stiles x reader #stiles x reader x derek #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles x oc #stiles stilinski #derek hale fanfiction #derek fanfic #derek hale fic #derek hale fanfic #derek x reader #derek x oc #Loud and Heavy #why choose

[aceghosts]

Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning?

Summary: Stuck in an Arasaka Facility, Rooney Shepard makes a new friend/ally, an unexpected one: Yorinobu Arasaka. Title comes from Spiritbox's Too Close/Too Late.

Rating: M

Warnings: This fic deals heavily with Rooney's death, their resurrection, and subsequent feelings around this. Rooney is also a human being experimented on, and thus, this fic also kinda deals with that (Not much as death). It also discusses a near death experience involving dead family members and guilt over that. Also, Yorinobu and Rooney are kind of assholes to each other at the beginning. You have been warned; please let me know if I need to tag for anything else.

Words: 6,462 words.

Author's Note: Takes place before the events of CP2077, roughly six years before.

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @nightbloodbix, @clicheantagonist, @theelderhazelnut, @strangefable, @voidika, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @cloudofbutterflies92.

AO3

For once, Rooney is alone-blissfully, mercifully alone-and it’s sending them into a paranoid spiral. A day spent working on a fixer-upper of a motorcycle would be fantastic, under any other circumstances. But in an Arasaka facility? Where they are being held? And monitored continually? Where they are being put through tests to push the limits of their experimental modifications? Rooney snorts, shaking their head. This wasn’t a gesture of kindness or a way to help them heal, no matter what their physical therapist or psychologist might say. Rather, it was a carrot on a stick, a reward dangled in front of them to keep Rooney obedient and indebted. Make Rooney less of a stubborn pain in the ass.

Rooney also assumes that it’s meant to keep them distracted, from snooping around while the scientists are in facility-wide meetings today. They would love to snoop, but Rooney knows they’re at a disadvantage. Outside of the necessary tests, their combat mods are disabled. Their other mods are only left to do essential functions. Plus, they’re locked in the room with guards stationed at both ends of the hall, unable to leave until someone fetches them, which has only happened a few times. But Rooney knows that they have additional opportunities to snoop. When you’re silent and unassuming, most forget you are there, casually talking about matters that you shouldn’t hear.  As Rooney stays silent during their testing or checkups, the scientists talk, leaving Rooney to listen and learn. They’ve learned that most of the scientists don’t care for the lead, Dr. Yūto Maeda, on the project, but don’t want to miss working on a subject as rare as Rooney. They’ve learned about the inner drama between some of the scientists, some of it useful and some of it irrelevant. Rooney also learned more about the Arasakas, especially the failed one, Yorinobu, whose wild escapades always seem to be a topic of gossip.

Sighing, Rooney pushes the thoughts out of their head, focusing on the motorcycle in front of them. When they were left to work in the room this morning, they realized the motorcycle could use some TLC. Well, a lot of TLC. They have made significant process since this morning, now into the late afternoon. As they pick up the wrench, placing it on the bolt, starting to turn it loose, Rooney hears the sound of expensive dress shoes coming down the hall. They stop, their muscles tightening as their body shifts into fight mode. Rooney’s heart pounds loudly in their chest, adrenaline coursing through them. By the door, out of your enemy’s sight line, their instincts tell them. Grab a heavier wrench; use it as a bludgeon.

Rational thought kicks in a moment later. It’s probably a corpo executive coming to check on them, make sure that the expensive line item on Arasaka’s R&D budget (A.K.A. Rooney) hasn’t attempted to kill themself yet. If someone wanted to hurt Rooney, they would need to be quiet. Without the element of surprise, any enemy would be in an uphill battle against Rooney, even without their combat mods. As for dealing with the executive, Rooney would stay silent and be about as interesting as watching paint dry. The corpo would talk for a few minutes and leave once they realized nothing would be gained. Unless it was him. Please don’t let it be him.

As they focus on the bike, the footsteps stop, a beeping sound as someone keys in the code. Rooney does not look as the door slides open, loosening the bolt on the motorcycle. A few seconds later, he clears his throat, and Rooney still doesn’t look. They hear a dramatic, annoyed sigh as the person shifts, finally speaking, “Shepard.”

Goddamnit, they were right to feel paranoid. It was him, Yorinobu Arasaka, the Emperor’s son and the last person Rooney wanted to see. “Shepard,” He says their name again, his tone louder and sharper this time.

Rooney keeps their attention on the motorcycle, wishing he would leave them be. But Yorinobu isn’t one to be easily swayed. They hear him sigh in frustration, presumably pushing off the door. Rooney tenses, as he comes closer, ready to protect themself. Yorinobu is no Adam Smasher or Morgan Blackhand, but considering his history with the Steel Dragons, he is still a threat. Out of the corner of their eye, they see Yorinobu kneel next to them. He snaps his fingers in front of their face, Rooney flinching as he smirks. “Get your hand out of my face,” Rooney threatens, glaring at him, “unless you want to lose it.”

Yorinobu looks frightened for a moment, drawing his hand away. He eyes them warily as if Rooney might still make good on that threat. “You ignored me,” He replies like a petulant child, trying to justify his actions.

“Have you thought that I might not be interested in talking to you?”

“You were talkative during our last meeting.” Rooney’s mind flashes back to their last meeting, the first time that they met Yorinobu.

—

“Almost done, Shepard,” Elias says, tweaking some of the internal components of their mechanical arm, “Then, you can go to your physical therapy appointment.”

Rooney doesn’t respond, not that they ever do. The Arasaka staff learned very quickly that Rooney will not speak unless they need to. Most have grown accustomed to it, but for others, it’s frustrating. At their last therapy session, their psychologist, Dr. Naomi Kimura, broke down in tears, begging Rooney to say something, anything. But they wouldn’t, lest they give up something for Arasaka to use against them. Elias looks up from their arm, eyes widening as he glances over to the doorway. “Yorinobu-sama!” He exclaims, getting up to bow. “I didn’t know that you were coming to visit.”

“Last minute decision,” Yorinobu says, a lazy, unbothered tone to his voice, “I was curious about the old man’s new project.” Rooney looks over, their blue eyes meeting his brown ones hidden behind black square glasses. For the last few days, Rooney heard whispering from the Arasaka employees about him. Some seemed nervous, others annoyed. A third group seemed interested, leaving Rooney to question their sanity. All seemed to agree on one thing: Yorinobu was the fuck-up kid, Saburo Arasaka’s major disappointment of a son. Rooney holds his stare, staring blankly at him. He raises an eyebrow, almost waiting for Rooney to greet him. Instead, they look away, returning their gaze to the same spot on the wall.

“Don’t mind them!” Elias excuses, shooting Rooney a small glare for their perceived rudeness. “Shepard always behaves that way.”

“Do they?”

Out of the corner of their eye, they catch Elias glancing nervously between them and Yorinobu. He nods, rambling, “Shepard is always silent. They make the security robots seem chatty. But I guess that is what made Shepard a good soldier. Quiet and unfeeling, a hell of combo.” Rooney’s frown deepens, feeling like they’ve been smacked across the face. Not the first time that they’ve been told they are too emotionless, not human enough. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.  

Yorinobu tilts his head. “What do you think of what Elias said, Shepard?” Huh, they hadn’t expected him to notice.

They stay silent, refusing to look at him. “Shepard isn’t going to answer. You’re better off-.”

“I heard you,” Yorinobu cuts off Elias sharply, “I want to hear from Shepard. Are you going to answer my question? Are you even still human?”

Funny he should ask the question that Rooney has been asking themself lately. What if they are some AI that is supposed to think it’s Rooney Shepard back from the dead? And how much of Rooney has to be replaced with metal and chrome before they are no longer human? Before they are no longer themself? An uneasy feeling settles in their chest, their stomach churning as they look down at their arm. What exactly are they? Does the old Rooney Shepard still exist? “Would you like to see the schematics for their arm? It’s a new design, one made for Shepard specifically,” Elias cuts in, sparing Rooney from more of Yorinobu’s interrogation.

“Yes, please show me.” They hear Elias sigh in relief as he and Yorinobu walk over to his desk, going over their arm schematics.

The minutes pass, and Rooney sits quietly, listening as they wait for Elias to finish with Yorinobu so he can return to work on their arm. Yorinobu asks plenty of questions, some surprising Rooney. He seems awfully interested in this project. Yorinobu is rather perceptive, catching small details that Elias tries to skim over, but rather impatient. They notice that he seems to get short with Elias when he thinks Elias is taking too long to get to the point.

As they listen to the conversation, Rooney realizes they will be late for physical therapy if Elias does not finish soon. Physical therapy is the only thing that Rooney finds useful, a way for them to get back to normal or as normal as they can be. Clearing their throat softly, Rooney watches the pair. Elias seems unaware, but Yorinobu looks up over his shoulder, meeting their eyes once again. He smirks, a challenge in his eyes. Great.

“Elias,” Rooney’s voice sounds a little rusty, “I hate to bother you, but-.”

“Now, you are able to speak?” Yorinobu asks, crossing his arms over his chest as Elias turns to face Rooney with a surprised look.

They ignore Yorinobu. “Would you please finish working with my arm?”

“Do not go to them,” Yorinobu orders Elias, who freezes in place, “Shepard-.”

“I don’t want to be late for my physical therapy appointment.”

“Answer my question.”

“Which one?” They ask.

“Are you still human?”

Rooney tilts their head, narrowing their eyes. Why does this matter so much? “Why?”

“Answer it.”

What a frustrating, annoying man. “No,” They lie, giving the answer that everyone already believes, “Elias, would you please-?”

“Liar.”

Elias glances between the two of them, fear stricken. “Excuse me?” Rooney asks, their tone frosty.

“I do not believe you,” He uncrosses his arms, coming closer to them.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. That is my answer.”

“You are happy with-?”

Rooney cuts him off. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but I’m not interested in playing your game. Elias, would you please finish with my arm?”

Yorinobu holds out his arm, blocking Elias. “Do you think you are better than everyone else?” Not even remotely. Rooney is well aware of their skills and strengths, but also keenly aware of their faults. Did Yorinobu think that Rooney thought they were too good to speak to the Arasaka staff? Mighty rich coming from Yorinobu, who definitely thought that he was better than everyone else here. He comes closer, and Rooney feels the disgust toward them radiating off him. “Do you believe you are special because you were chosen for this? Do you think my father will see how well you are behaving and reward you for being a good little soldier? Do you think Arasaka will not toss you in the trash the moment you are no longer useful to them? Or do you think you are the exception?”

Rooney clenches their right fist, the human one, fighting the urge to punch Yorinobu. Did he seriously believe that Rooney wanted Saburo’s attention? (Frankly, they hoped that Saburo choked.) What was Yorinobu’s aim here? Was he jealous? Was he here to make everyone as miserable as he was? Whatever the reason, Rooney had enough of this little tantrum. They were going to put an end to this.

“I understand now,” They state coldly, giving him a slightly pitying look, “You’re jealous.”

“What?”

They nod, using their words to twist the knife. “You’re jealous. You gave it away when you started talking about your father. We all know about your strained relationship.” Well, the Arasaka employees did; Rooney just picked it up from listening to them. “Everyone knows that you ran away, and when you couldn’t cut it on your own, you came back, tail tucked between your legs, begging for your father to bail you out.”

“You know nothing,” Yorinobu hisses, glaring at Rooney, rage palpable, “You do not know what you are talking about.”

Elias steps between them, perhaps afraid that a fight will break out. As he should be. Rooney might be one arm down, but they’re still going to put up one hell of a fight.  “Yorinobu-sama, please,” He begs, “Allow me to finish with their arm, and I can tell you about the rest of the project later.”

Yorinobu watches Rooney, glaring at them with intense disgust.  “Fine,” He acquiesces, and Rooney feels a sense of relief, “Report to me immediately after you’re done with them.” Yorinobu turns away and walks out, leaving Elias and Rooney both alone.

 “You,” Elias snarls, turning to Rooney, “You should apologize. The Arasaka Corporation is the only reason you’re still alive.” Rooney doesn’t acknowledge his words, Elias scoffing as he returns to work on their arm. Why was Yorinobu here? And why was he interested in the project involving them?

—

“No more insults about how I am the failed son?” Yorinobu’s words bring them back to reality. They shake their head, unwilling to dignify him with a proper answer. He pouts, seemingly frustrated with their cold demeanor and lack of reaction. “Why?”

Was he asking them about their lack of insults? Truth be told, as they reflected on their words, Rooney regretted them. They don’t regret standing up to Yorinobu, but they do regret taking the low road. It was unbecoming of them, and Rooney was better than that. Everyone always expects them to be the bigger person, and they need to live up to that expectation, just as they would live up to every other unrealistic expectation set upon them. “Why volunteer for this?”

 Rooney frowns, looking over at him. Wait, did Yorinobu not know? They just assumed that everyone knew that Rooney didn’t have a choice in being here. “What benefit do you get from this? Is it worth it to become a better soldier?” He grabs their left wrist, the metal one, a shiny new black and red arm, courtesy of Arasaka. “Why allow them to mark you like this? Do you think you will be rewarded for this? Do you think this makes you special? That you are the exception?”

“You think I volunteered for this?” A realization dawns on Yorinobu’s face before Rooney looks down at their wrist in his hand.  Ever since Rooney woke up in that damn hospital bed, the arm never felt real, never felt like their own. It was a parasite, one that they couldn’t remove. Well, Rooney had thought about removing it once or twice, but they knew that the Arasaka scientists would make damn well sure that Rooney would never be free of it. Their head spins, chest tightening. Everything starts to feel like it’s a million miles away. A numbness settles upon them, a faint static feeling in their limbs.

“Shepard?”

“Yes?” They ask, their voice sounding like it was coming from another room.

“Do you feel well?”

They hate the concern and pity in his voice. “Yes,” Rooney replies, looking Yorinobu in the eyes as they compose themself, unable to read the expression on his face, “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” He responds, but it’s softer this time, not a damning indictment but rather unwanted recognition, “Come with me.” Yorinobu releases their wrist, standing. He holds out his hand for Rooney to take.

“Where are we going?” Rooney asks, staring at his hand suspiciously.

“Somewhere we can talk privately.”

A war rages within Rooney. They know that they should probably stay here and continue to work on their motorcycle… but Rooney can’t deny their curiosity to know more despite their disdain for Yorinobu. Mutely, Rooney takes his hand in their metal one, allowing Yorinobu to pull them up to his feet. “Follow me.” He leads them through the labyrinthine halls of the facility, never letting go of their hand.

 After a short elevator ride and a walk through the hallway of the executive level of the facility, Yorinobu opens the door, holding it open for Rooney as he lets go of their hand. Rooney steps into the luxurious office, clearly meant for Saburo or his son. “This will be my office for as long as I am at this facility.” Wait. Does that mean? “You and I will see each other often, Shepard.” Their eyebrow twitches in annoyance at his smug tone.

“Sit,” Yorinobu orders, Rooney taking a seat on the black leather L-shaped couch. Neon red lights decorate the edges of the couch, a black coffee table in front of them. As they look around the office, Rooney notices that all the furniture is black with hints of red lighting. They look back to Yorinobu, who is shrugging off a maroon and black leather coat. “Here,” he tosses the coat towards them, “You are shaking.”

Rooney catches the coat, only now realizing they were shaking. They pull on the coat, noting the woodsy scent. Was that cedar? And maybe a hint of nutmeg? “Would you like anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea is fine.” What they really wanted was a beer, but Rooney doubts he would be able to get that for them.

Yorinobu refuses to accept that answer. “What do you really want?”

They pause. “I want a beer, but I doubt you could find the kind I normally drink here.”

He laughs, slightly surprised by their answer. “If I leave for a few minutes, promise me you will stay?”

“I promise.” Their curiosity has gotten the best of them; Rooney will see this through to the end.

“I will return.” With that, Rooney is left alone in the office, crossing their arms over their chest. As they sit in silence, Rooney wonders: Have they misjudged Yorinobu? Why he is being kind to them? Obviously, Yorinobu was seeking information on the project involving Rooney, but they remember the way he looked at them earlier. That was something else, something Rooney couldn’t quite identify. The door opens, Yorinobu returns with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in hand. “It is not beer, but I hope it will suffice.”

They give him a small smile. “Anything would do right now, even if it tasted like drinking pure gasoline.” Yorinobu smiles, sitting on the other side of the couch, leaving some space between them. He places the glasses down, before opening the whiskey bottle and pouring. As they watch the amber liquid pour into the glass, Rooney asks, “Is it Arasaka protocol for executives to drink and work?”

“When the occasion calls for it, Kaneko likes to drink while he is working. Fortunately for us, he is out of the office. Otherwise, he would insist on joining.”

“I’m glad he isn’t joining us.”

“Do you find me to be a suitable drinking partner?” Yorinobu asks, sliding one of the glasses over to Rooney.

“You’ll do,” Rooney teases, “Normally, the people I drink with are much rowdier.” Nights out with their fellow soldiers were always interesting. Rooney usually played babysitter, making sure the younger ones behaved and stepping in when the situation called for it.

Yorinobu smirks, a playful edge to his tone, “You have no idea how rowdy I can be.”

“I’m sure I don’t.” They take a sip of the whiskey, relishing the taste. It’s nice to have something expressly forbidden, even something as mundane as alcohol. Rooney’s diet was strictly controlled, lest any of their dietary intake mess with the mods. The scientists also wanted to make sure they were getting enough calories to have enough energy for the tests. Their mods burned up more energy, an unintended side effect.

He takes a sip, the smirk dropping from his face. “Does my father have someone special to you?”

Rooney tilts their head. “What do you mean?”

“My father,” Yorinobu sneers those words with such venom, sending a chill up Rooney’s spine, “will use a person’s loved ones to manipulate them, to force them into doing what he wants.” He glares down at the whiskey in his hand, and Rooney realizes how much he must hate his father. Another realization dawns on them. Was Yorinobu now concerned that Rooney was being forced into this, under the threat of their loved ones being hurt? Yorinobu looks up from his whiskey glass, an earnest, pleading look on his face. “Who does my father have on you, Shepard? Your family? Your child? Your lover?”

 “Saburo doesn’t have-.”

“You do not have to lie for him, Shepard,” Yorinobu cuts them off, placing his whiskey down on the table, “We can help you protect them. You have to tell us.”

“He can’t hold my family hostage because they’re dead. They died when I was sixteen.” Just like the rest of their town when it was attacked by bandits, leaving Rooney the sole survivor of the slaughter.

Yorinobu recoils in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. “I am sorry for your loss,” the typical response of most to that revelation, not that Rooney could blame them, “Do you have a child? Or a romantic partner?”

Rooney shakes their head, taking another sip. “I don’t have any children, and I don’t want any.” They had already made sure that would never happen. “As for a romantic partner, there is no one.” Any potential partners usually left when they realized that Rooney would always choose duty over them. Rooney couldn’t blame them; they deserved someone who could put them first. Not some broken soldier, who seemed to live for their mission. “You’re asking the wrong question. You should ask: who gave my body to Arasaka?”

Yorinobu’s face drops as Rooney finishes off their glass of whiskey. They hand the glass over to him, silently asking for another. He pours Rooney their glass, handing it back to them. Yorinobu picks up his glass, finishes his glass, and pours himself another. “You were not alive?”

“I was not.” Their right hand, the human one, holds the glass tightly, trembling as the memories rush back. Fire. Explosions. The vast emptiness of space. Choking. Panic taking over as the world grew dark. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part came after they died.

--

Rooney awakes, standing amongst the golden wheat. Above them are blue sunny skies, no clouds in sight. Ahead of them stands their childhood home, an older white farmhouse. Rooney was home; they were really home. They pull off their helmet, casually tossing it to the side as they breathe in the fresh air. The helmet lands with a thunk in the dirt. If they were home, did that mean-?

They start running, their spacesuit slowing them down as the farmhouse comes closer and closer. Rooney climbs up the steps, onto the porch. They open both doors (a screen door and a red one), before stepping onto the fake wood floors of the home. Heading towards the dining room, Rooney hears familiar voices. They pick up their pace, sliding to a stop in front of the entryway to the small dining room. At the dark brown table sits their family: Jack (their younger brother), Danny (their cousin), their aunt and uncle, their dad (Aiden Shepard), and their mom, Hannah Shepard, at the head of the table. Their mother rises from the table, walking slowly over to Rooney. Tears burn in their eyes as they try to hold back a whimper. Is that really her? Is that really their mom? “Rooney, my baby,” She comforts them, pulling Rooney in for a hug.

Her arms feel so real, and oh God, they had their family back. The one thing Rooney yearned for all this time. Rooney cries into her shoulder, only able to cry ‘mommy’ over and over as their mom rubs their back.

As Rooney openly weeps into her shirt, holding on tightly, their mom speaks, “You can’t stay here.”

“What?” Fear grips their heart as they look at their mom, sadness in her eyes.

“Your mom is right, honey,” Their dad gets up from the table, “You can’t stay here with us.”

“You don’t belong here,” Jack adds, getting up from the table.

Are they being punished? For not being able to protect Jack and Danny? For not being good enough? Rooney can be good enough; they’ve tried so hard to prove that. “I want to stay. Please let me stay. I promise I can be better!”

“You have to go, baby.”

Something starts to pull on them, fighting to rip Rooney from their mom’s arms. “Mommy, please!” They beg, holding on as tightly as they can. “PLEASE! LET ME STAY! I don’t want to be alone; I want to be with you!”

“I’m sorry, but you have to go, Rooney. Be brave for me.” The force pulls them from their mom’s arms, dragging them back down the hallway.

They scream. For their mom. For their dad. For their brother. For their cousin. For someone, anyone, as they fall into the darkness. Suddenly, they awake on a surgery table, Arasaka scientists standing over them. Rooney starts swinging as someone yells for them to be put back under. The darkness swallows them once again, pulling them into a dreamless sleep.

—

Someone touches their hand. Rooney looks down to find Yorinobu taking the glass out of their hand and placing it on the table. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

He does not look convinced, brushing away tears on the right side of their face. “Please tell me: why are you upset?”

“No,” Rooney shakes their head, wiping at their eyes,”It doesn’t have anything to do with Arasaka, and I don’t want to talk about it.” That dream…hallucination…vision…whatever one wanted to call it was one of the few things that Arasaka could not touch. Could not take from Rooney. Could not taint.

“I think it is related. Tell me.” Yorinobu sounds like he’s trying to order them. 

“No.” Their voice is sharper, a definitive end to this conversation. Rooney won’t tell him; Yorinobu can’t make them tell him. He might not be part of the group who did this to them, but he is still Arasaka, and Rooney would not allow him to take this from them. They could not allow him to take this from them.

Yorinobu sighs in frustration, mercifully letting it go. “How did you die?”       

“Our spaceship was attacked. The pilot and I were the last two people on the ship. Eventually, it came down to one decision: my survival or his. And I chose his life.”

“Why?”

“Because he is my best friend.” Jeff’s face flashes in their mind. Rooney hopes he is okay; they really do. Jeff was their first friend in the military, eventually becoming like a brother to them. Rooney would trust him with their life, and they would gladly sacrifice it again for Jeff. “He’s like a brother to me; I wanted him to live.”

“Even-?”

“Even at the cost of my own life,” Rooney picks up their whiskey glass again, “If you’re going to ask me if I regret it, I don’t. I would do the same again if given the choice.”

They take another sip as Yorinobu asks, “Who gave Arasaka your body?”

“The Northern California Militia. I served for them during the Unification War and was still a part of the Militia after the war.”

“Do you plan to return to the Militia if you are able to?”

The question catches Rooney off guard. Arasaka couldn’t keep them forever, right? At some point, they had to return. And even if Rooney wanted to go somewhere else, which they didn’t, where would they go? The Militia was now their home; it was their family. Without it, Rooney was alone, completely and utterly alone. “Yes.”

“You would return to them? After what they did?”

Rooney nods. “Yes. Where else would I go?”

“Anywhere,” Yorinobu looks at them with pity, thinking they are pathetic for crawling back to the Militia like a beaten dog, “You could go anywhere else.”

“That’s a nice sentiment, but it ignores reality. I don’t have a safety net like you do. If I leave, I’m on my own. I’ll have no one; I’ll have nothing.”

“You think Arasaka is a safety net?” He retorts bitterly. “It is a cage; one you and I are both stuck in.”

“If Arasaka is a cage, why come back?”

“I tried,” He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, “I tried, but I could not get done what I wanted from outside.”

“Which would be?” He doesn’t answer, picking up and sipping on his whiskey instead. Perhaps, asking a different question might yield them the answer they want. “Does Arasaka normally do this to people?”

Yorinobu looks uncomfortable, unable to look them in the eye. “Arasaka does many terrible things.”

Not an actual answer. “I’m not the worst of it, am I?”

“You are not,” He confirms, looking back at them wearily. Yorinobu seems like a man who has been burdened by many secrets, both his family’s and his own. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

“I think I would,” They answer honestly, “I’ve seen a lot of strange and terrible things. I doubt what you have to say could surprise me.”

He shakes his head. “No, I will not put you in that position. You still have a chance to get out.”

“And you don’t?” Yorinobu doesn’t answer, looking back down at his whiskey again. Something else nags at them: Yorinobu’s hatred of his father. Obviously, Saburo was a bastard, but Yorinobu’s hatred of his father seemed to run deeper than just hatred for his father being a bastard. “Why do you hate your father so much?” His face darkens, pure rage in his eyes as he looks at them. Rooney holds his gaze, refusing to be deterred.

Yorinobu sighs. “For many reasons. My father is the type of man, who believes it is better to be feared.” He takes another sip of his whiskey. “He uses people’s weaknesses against them to bring them under his rule. Families, Secrets, Ambition, Money, whatever will be easiest to collar around their neck. He doesn’t even need to do anything, just the threat alone is enough to bring others to their knees. He is an old fool, stuck in his ways. He believes in a world that no longer exists and refuses to be part of the world that does. My father does this all in service of making Arasaka more powerful, to bring back an empire that has long been destroyed.” His hand tightens around the whiskey glass. “The world fears him, believing he is too powerful to bring down. They refuse to stand up to him. If they refuse to stop him, then I will.”

“How?”

Surprise overtakes him for a moment, before he narrows his eyes, slightly suspicious of Rooney. “When I admit to having plans to take control away from my father, many believe I am crazy, heretical even.”

“I’m not most people,” Rooney sips their whiskey before honestly admitting, “I think you mean it. You sound like it at least. Whether you will succeed is a different story.”

He rolls his eyes, unamused at their light jab. “What do you know of the bombing of Arasaka Tower in Night City in 2023?”

Not much. Rooney read some of the books available on Night City, curious to know more about the autonomous city. Fellow Militia members, who grew up in Night City, also mentioned the disaster, especially some of the old-timers. They heard more about it when Arasaka started supplying the Free States with weapons and soldiers. “I know the towers were bombed, and it devastated Night City for a while afterwards. Quite a few of the history books covered it in extensive detail.”

Yorinobu looks pained. “History books?”

“I was born in 2042.”

He mumbles something under his breath. “On that day, I learned that nothing could stop Arasaka or my father, except for that nuke. It is the only time that I have seen the old man falter, truly fear something with all of his heart. I knew that he could be stopped, that he was still a man. I will be the nuke that destroys Arasaka from the inside, once and for all.”

“I hope you stop him, Yorinobu,” Rooney means every word of it; they hope Yorinobu can bring Saburo and Arasaka crashing to the ground, “I hope you stop him and Arasaka once and for all.”

Yorinobu looks touched, perhaps not expecting that from them. In return, he says, “I hope you make him and Arasaka regret doing this to you.”

“I will.” Rooney will get out of here, and when they do, they are determined to be a huge pain in the ass for Arasaka. Reflecting on his words, a thought occurs to Rooney. Yorinobu must be here for information, and Rooney can provide that. Or at least, they hope they can. It might be information that he already knows, but it is all that Rooney can do to help. In this facility, Yorinobu is a potential ally, someone they might want on their side. “Do you have a holopad?”

He tilts his head, slightly suspicious. “Why?”

“You came here for information, right?” Yorinobu nods slowly, unsure of what they are getting at.  “I can write down what I know for you. What they’ve modified and any additional information that I know of. The scientists and engineers talk when they forget I’m in the room,” They admit, slightly sheepishly, “I don’t know if any of it will be helpful, but if it can set you on the right path-.”

Yorinobu raises his hand, stopping them. “Shepard, I cannot involve you in this.”

“Why not?” They don’t fear danger; Rooney is well aware of the risks of something like this. “I know what is at stake. I’ve made a decision and decided that I’m okay with that risk.”

“You have no idea, Shepard,” he responds, “and you are making that decision after drinking.”           

“If I was sober, would you accept my help?”

He searches their face, looking for any possible deception. “I would think about it.”

“Ask me tomorrow.”

“You do not take no for an answer, do you?”

Rooney shakes their head. “Not when it comes to something important.”

Yorinobu smirks, a playful look in his eyes. “So, I am important?”

They roll their eyes at his teasing tone as he lets out a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He asks, still teasing them. “I think I like you thinking I am important.”

They scoff, rolling their eyes again. Rooney finishes off their glass, looking down at the bottle. “I think we finished it.”

“We did,” He confirms, looking down at the watch on his wrist, sighing, “Allow me to escort you back to your room.”

Rooney nods, placing their glass down as Yorinobu stands, holding out his hand for Rooney to take. They place their human hand in his, allowing him to pull them up from the couch. “Follow me,” He orders, releasing their hand. And they do.

As they walk down the hall, Rooney comes to a realization. They need to apologize to him. From the beginning, they had Yorinobu all wrong. (Granted, he hadn’t made it easy.) After his kindness this afternoon, even if it was a ploy to get information, Rooney owes him one. The pair reach Rooney’s sleeping quarters, a small room they’ve been given to stay in at the facility. Shrugging off his jacket, Rooney hands it to him. “I need to apologize for what I said the other day when we first met. My comments were rude and uncalled for-,” Yorinobu smirks, a small snort of laughter escaping from him as they frown, “I’m being serious-.”

“Do you think that is the worst that anyone has said to me?” Rooney doubts it. Others have probably said much worse, including his father. But that did not excuse their behavior. “I will accept your apology. I must apologize as well; I misjudged you.”

“I think most people would just assume that I volunteered if they weren’t aware of my death.”

“Not only that,” They tilt their head slightly as Yorinobu’s hand comes up to their face, tucking a dark strand of red hair behind their ear, “When I asked you if you thought you were still human, I did not think you were. I knew your answer was a lie, but for the wrong reason. I think you are very human, Shepard, but I do not think you are used to others treating you as such.”

“Yorinobu, I….” Words seem to fail them.

“Go to your room,” He motions, “I will see you tomorrow.”

They watch as he leaves, their shoulders dropping. Yorinobu’s words echo in their head: “I think you are very human, Shepard, but I do not think you are used to others treating you as such.” He was right. Everyone always expected the best from them, a dedication to a mission that could not be swayed. Now, Rooney has a new mission: helping Yorinobu gather information. First step: convince him that they were serious about this. Second step: find something to record their observations with.

As they step into their room, they catch sight of the black leather journal and pen. Dr. Kimura suggested that journaling might be easier for Rooney than speaking. They never wrote anything in it, knowing that Dr. Kimura would read it and use the contents to further harass Rooney. Grabbing the journal and pen, Rooney heads to the bathroom, slightly closing the door. If anyone came into the room, this would hopefully buy Rooney time to hide the journal. They open the journal and uncap the pen, slightly daunted by where to start. Perhaps they could start with their implants, working through what they know about them one by one. Afterward, they could write down what they knew about each scientist.

This also posed another question. If someone did find the journal, what would stop them from reading what Rooney had written? A solution pops into their head. During the Unification War, Rooney and their team used code to communicate with command, especially on sensitive missions. The code was crude, but it would buy Rooney time if someone at Arasaka was to discover the journal. Hopefully, it might dissuade the person that it was nothing but junk. They put the pen to page, furiously writing. One way or another, Rooney would help see Arasaka fall even if they were just a pawn in a larger game. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cp2077 #yorinobu arasaka x OC #kate writes #the rooney fic tag #I won't let fear compromise who I am #commander rooney shepard #OTP: It always comes right back to you #I'm sorry I had to post this today #otherwise it was going to be edited into purgatory #also very funny that I am posting this on Easter weekend lol #anyway this is a heavy fic #totally understand if you need to skip it #do what is best for you #also Rooney and Yorinobu aren't quite together yet #this is the second meeting fic #which is going to play into another fic

[rosenongrata]

heavy in your arms – i

Summary: After losing a challenge against Dr. Ratio, Kagome feels herself to be indebted to him. She returns the “favor”, only to be surprised by his sudden compassion and consideration.

A/N: RAHHHH I LOVE THESE TWO TOGETHER FOR SOME REASON. WHAT. FUCK IT WE BALL?? anyway. this is. very much didn't have a definitive plot in mind lmaooo. enjoy anyway ? might write a pt2 or smth. lol we'll seeeee

c.w/s:MDNI/NOTSFW. OC x Canon, OC-insert. soft Ratio hours. slightly implied past SA in the OCs past (not by any characters), but it's rly vague. oral sex (OC/fem receiving). soft soft soft times. have i said it's soft? anyway, if i forgot something, hmu!

w.c: 1.2k

“Dr. Ratio…” Kagome mutters, gloved hands on his thighs – he can feel the nervous tremble in her palms, extending to her whole body. “Please…be gentle with me—” She clears her throat as she sits on her knees in front of him, “Th-this is a mere favor, s-so don’t test my patience—”

“You can call me Veritas now.” He sighs, one of his fully unclothed hands snaking its way to cover her own – but it only makes her tremble and grimace further. “This is no demand from me, I am certain you know this… Correct?”

“Y-Yes, sir…” She nods and stares up at him, her pupils constricted with what he assumes is fear.

He sighs again, eyes now laden with mild frustration and mostly confusion, “Kagome.” He grabs both of her hands, causing her heart to jump into her throat as he pulls her to her feet, “I will not allow you to do this if you are frightened. I do not know exactly what is causing your fright, but I will not be taking advantage of it.” He informs, voice heavy with severity.

“My apologies…” She turns her head away – eyes screwed shut – but he’s quick to angle her face back toward him, “Huh?” Her eyes blow wide open again while a nervous sweat breaks out on her forehead and neck.

“Do not apologize for whatever you believe you did wrong. You have neither offended or upset me thus far. So, quit apologizing over nothing.” He commands with an abnormal amount of fragility in his tone.

“I-I– But, I–”

He presses his lips against her own – deep and fierce, but not with an ounce of roughness. One of his hands slips over the back of her head while the spare one cradles her lower back. She gasps from the shift of words to action, a moan soon following after – leaving wonderful tingles along his lips.

“If you cannot stop apologizing, then I will simply have to silence you.” He smirks, soft and hot breaths brushing against her velvety smooth lips.

She blinks repeatedly – for once taking a long moment to register what’s happening. He lets her take an adequate amount of time, his gilded stare watching her diligently – taking in every subtle reaction she has. Despite their many years of knowing each other, he’s never seen her so emotional – let alone distraught – before now. It makes the hardy plaster around his heart crack a little – it’s not everyday you get to see a member of the Genius Society fall apart before you.

He takes no pleasure from this experience of witnessing her be so scared of him, yet he finds so much intimacy in being what feels like the first person to see her like this – fragile. While he may be as sturdy as stone, he keeps a silent promise to treat her like porcelain.

The fit of giggles that break out from her tears him away from his thoughts, eliciting him to raise a thin dark purple brow.

“What is so funny?” He inquires, leaning dangerously close to her face again.

“Aha– I’m so sorry. I just– You…you’re really, truly, utterly horrific at kissing.” She continues to giggle, “A-And you’re so dorky… So confident about everything you do and are, even smirking when you get a reaction from me… It’s…rather cute.” She flusters, her laughing dying down as she glances anywhere else that isn’t him.

“…I am truly flattered, Kagome.” He deadpans, his voice flooded with sarcasm. “Then, if you are so skilled at kissing… Teach me.” He smirks once more, slowly backing her up into the nearby wall of his office – all with his hands firm on her curvy hips.

“…Proposal accepted. However…” She breathes – the sweet scent of the sakura mochi she had earlier hits his senses, “Do know it’s merely a matter of…experience.”

“I am happy to inform you that I am more than willing to learn.” His lopsided smirk evens out into a thin smile.

Her eyes latch on to his thin lips, all while her hand brushes some of his dark locks away from his eyes. “And…take your time, there’s no rush… I plan to give you ample time.” She snickers, planting a hesitant yet soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

The praise brings an odd sense of warmth and shyness to all of him, a blush rising to his cheeks despite his slight grimace.

“Hush,” He commands, “Let me conduct my experiment now.” He pivots his head to fully meet her lips again, pressing his mouth deep against her own with his body flush against hers. This time he holds back on his passion, easing his way into her heart – all with her soft, delicate lips in mind.

“V-Veritas!” Kagome heaves, soft moans rolling off her tongue, “Y-You’re improving so quickly – ngh!” Her toned leg quakes as it rests over his broad shoulder, her other leg is the only thing barely holding her up all while he noses her clit and devours her core with heated, fervent licks and sucks.

When he removes his head from her heat – lower face covered in her wet lust – he grins up at her while licking his lips.

“A higher rating… Now I am more than confident I will get you to cum with no more wasted time.” He immediately dives back in, his licking and sucking even more passionate than before.

His suspicions are correct, too – so he swiftly takes her other leg and rests it over his free shoulder as well. She gasps – with her tearful eyes and broken smile – she finds his ability to hold nearly all of her weight up sexy and endearing. She braces one hand against the wall she’s pinned against, her free hand grabbing a fistful of his thick locks and pulling him further into her.

One of his hands leaves her thick thigh, moving to slip two fingers into her heated, dripping wet hole. A sharp gasp and heavy moan leaves her as she shakes and screws her eyes shut. She moans loud and clear when his fingers curl against her walls, pressing onto a sweet spot.

“Yes, that’s a good girl.” He detaches his mouth from her overstimulated clit, “Now, cum for me.” He commands before giving her clit a hard suckle.

“MMH – NGH–!” She bites down on her bottom lip, nearly breaking skin. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she throws it back against the now warm wall.

She does cum – all over his chin and mouth, leaving streaks of white fluid along his lips which he promptly licks off. He even sucks his fingers clean, groaning softly at the taste of her.

“Delectable.” He remarks, leaving kisses on her folds a few times before he rises to his feet, moving her legs to wrap around his still-clothed hips while he shifts his position.

“Wh-what a good boy you are, Veri…” She whispers lustfully, grabbing his chin between her thumb and two other fingers. “Now… About that…favor.”

“Do not worry yourself to death about that damned favor. All I need you to do is sit back and relax… I will take the utmost care of you.” He presses several gentle kisses up her neck, moving his way to her jawline one kiss at a time. “…Are you ready now or shall we wait until a proper time and place? My office is hardly the ideal location for me to take you.”

“Let’s have a nice little date first… No formalities or facades – only ourselves in all earnesty. You can pick the time and place… I don’t mind.” She pulls his face to her own, planting a feather-light kiss on his lips,

“Impress me, Veri.”

#mine #oc #original character #oc: kagome ikeda #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr oc #hsr x oc #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio x oc #notsfw #mdni #YEET LETS GOOOOOOO #dr ratio smut #fic: heavy in your arms

[mistressofdekarios]

BG3 Fanfiction: Quiet Rituals

Quiet Rituals is the story of a warlock whose arduous journey for revenge is interrupted by mindflayers and wizards. This is a complicated tale that adheres to canon but often zigzags off a cliff to kill covens of hags, save possessed children, and thwart loathsome fey. Additionally, you can enjoy tropes such as grumpy and sunshine, only one bed, memory loss, and many more. It's 160k words of pure angst, and we're not even done with Act II. Spice in Chapter 18 if that's what you're here for!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale #gale x tav #gale x oc #heavy angst #enemies to lovers #slow burn #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #gale of waterdeep

[optiwashere]

Since I had Shadowheart do what she thought was right with her parents, I will probably get some sort of different ending for her and Asheera re: Shar and that last thing I reblogged

BUT

There's mentions of "fending off Sharran assassins"

BLADES IN THE NIGHT IS NOW CANON

FUCK YOU ALL I WIN

#bg3 epilogue spoilers #bg3 #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart #oc: asheera #my fic #but seriously: [HEAVY BREATHING] #this is a joke (i don't give a shit about “canon” in this game) but it's also the best news

[izscha]

Metallic Figment has FINALLY been updated! Enjoy this chapter from Chase's POV :)

Summary:

As weeks go by, they start to talk about what goes on in their daily lives: Chase with Jack’s constant, meaningless break-ins, and Omi with his sparring sessions with his teammates. It was only through Omi that Chase learned that Raimundo was the one who was chosen as the Shoku Warrior—not that it amuses him, but he is surprised that it was him that earned the title and not Omi. Chase had asked him how he felt when it happened, secretly hoping to see the side of Omi that isn't pure and noble as he claims to be. Instead, he was greeted by an earnest smile on the little one’s face as he says in the softest of tones, “To be quite honest, I am most pleased that the universe has chosen the most deserving warrior of the title.” ‘The most deserving.’ What a joke. // Or; teatimes, tall tales, and the treachery that comes from pride.

#xiaolin showdown #chase young #xiaolin fanfic #fic update #metallic figment #honestly this chapter was so hard to write due to the fact that i got sick for the longest time orz #next chapter will be VERY oc heavy so look out for that

[mustainegf]

Can you write an early90’s! Jamesxreader where they are having really hard and passionate sex and they get so into it that they don’t hear the guys walking in on them. But james and reader just keep going and when they’re finished, the guys just keep teasing them.

Love💋

I love writing stuff like thissss 🕸️

This happened most nights, me and James would end up alone in his room, we'd end up making out, which would lead to touching which would eventually lead to where we were right now.

James grunted as he pounded his cock into me, holding me close as we went at it, his blanket hardly covering us. We made love like this most nights.

I whined out, not caring if the guys heard. James continued to grind his hips into me, his dick pulsing between my gummy core. "That's it baby, that's right..." he mumbled, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

The sound of the door opening hardly reached my ears, both me and James ignored it, it didn't seem important right now. "I love you, James... I- fuck, I'm gonna cum!" I whined, my fingers ringing into his flexing back. "Yes, baby... yes, cum for me," he coaxed. I could tell he was close too by the way he twitched inside me.

He looked up, his pretty blue eyes meeting mine.

My face contorted in pleasure, still holding him as I trembled, feeling myself begin to cum. "There you go, oh that's right, baby..." James groaned, flinching his hips before I felt him spurting inside of me.

James moaned into the room, a thunderous sound that never ceased to get me off. James pumped a few more times, forcing the final drops of his seed into me.

I couldn't help but laugh when I saw his face, sweaty from exertion. "You always look so sexy when you cum," I said. He kissed me quickly on the lips. "Fuck, I hope that got you pregnant," he chuckled. He knew I was on birth control, but he always said something along those lines after cumming in me.

James pulled out and collapsed beside me. I sighed with a smile, glancing around the room. That was when my heart sank.

The door was open. I could've sworn that we had shut it. "James, you said you locked the door," I muttered to him, my voice slightly panicked.

He blinked at me, obviously having been distracted during sex, his gaze darting towards the door. "Did I?" he asked. "What? Yeah," I told him, still panicking. I hadn't wanted the others walking in on us.

Not that they would have cared, hell, that's what I liked about them. They didn't care. But I was still embarrassed. "Shit," he cursed. We both sat up and looked over the bed, but there was no sign of them.

James throw on his boxers and I quickly found a robe, too distracted to clean myself up.

I walked out of James' room, he followed behind me. Walking into the kitchen, we're 3 guys. Lars, kirk, and Jason. All with stupid expressions on their faces. Lars pretended to hump Jason over the counter. "Oh James!! Oh James I'm gonna cum!" He wailed. Kirk giggled at the stupid sight.

I glared at them, beginning to feel James' cum drip down my thighs. "Seriously." I muttered.

"That's what happens when you guys fuck like rabbits," kirk shrugged, flashing his crooked teeth.

#metal #reqs open #metallica #smut #request #smutshot #thrash metal #james hetfield #metallica x reader #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield x you #james hetfield x oc #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fic #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica headcanons #metallica fluff #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #heavy metal #fanfic #fanfiction #mustainegf

[spinchip]

Never the Dark

CHAPTER 17

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

warnings: discussion of past child death, drug abuse/addiction

HOW BEAUTIFUL, THESE THINGS YOU DO // IN CASE THEY HELP, THESE THINGS YOU DO...

Tumbling headfirst into another Realm is never a graceful thing.

Wu’s words before he’d sent Zane flying through that portal are playing on repeat- He can see his face drawn and shuttered in sorrow as he splattered the realm tea across the throne room floor, “I am sorry I couldn’t protect you,” He says as the ground under the Ice Emperors feet grows unstable, “I am so proud of all you are, Zane- The white ninja, the first nindroid, my student, and my friend. I hope one day you can forgive me.” Zane has never seen Wu cry before.

the ground vanishes beneath him, and he’s falling.

Nindroid. Nindroid. Nindroid.

NINDROID.

He’s a nindroid. He’s- he’s-

The impact is not gentle. He lands in mud at least, the cushion of it just barely enough not to snap his spine with the force of it. Back first he crashes on the side of a wet hill, a mound of earth slick with muck that he tumbles down until he rolls to a stop at the base in a mess of broken armor and tangled limbs. His mouth tastes like old blood and oil and he can’t think- can’t- can’t calm the utter horror and panic crawling up through his wiring-

Memory floods his processor hot and uncomfortable, his world expanding from a tiny cold pinprick to an unfathomable reality of loss. He didn’t realize what he was missing- couldn’t understand the absence of it. Now it's all he can feel. A gaping chasm opening up in his chest that eats and eats until all that remains is the memory of a good man and the bloody remains of a bad one.

He’s Zane. He’s Zane Julien, Dr. Juliens son- he’s supposed to protect those who cannot protect themselves. He- oh FSM all those people- the krag- Blood blood blood. Blood and ice. A flash of that awful blade when he didn’t feel bothered to freeze, a flash of the blade when he needed to make an example out of the insignificant resistors- no,no, no, he didn’t do that. That couldn’t have been him, please.

He rolls onto his hands and knees and dry heaves. He hasn’t eaten in sixty years, nothing comes up. Everything aches, his body buzzing with the echoes of power that burned out everything that he was. The delicate sensors lining his body are raw and frazzled, overwhelmed with a constant flux of power that leaves his synthetic nerves overworked and raw. It feels like each of the tiny nodes had been scrubbed down to its copper insides with steel wool. His head is pounding as if he were a human who’d cracked open his skull. He’s half convinced if he reaches up to touch his forehead his fingers will turn wet with his coding- spilling out of him like blood.

The staff was gone. Not in his hands. His thoughts- so nebulous and thready while on the throne- connect together again with the humming under his skin contained and the remaining pieces of his sanity back. He feels so dizzy and wrong footed, everything in the world turned on it’s side and it will never, ever be right again. What did he do what did he do-

There. In the dirt, only a few feet away. The staff glows faintly, enticing him.

His body shudders with the afterimage of a constant, brutal ice-burn.

His stomach rolls with the taste of blood.

He lunges for the scroll, white-hot panic overwhelming every sense in his body until he’s got the delicate parchment in both hands. He tears it in two before going back again, rending it to pieces until every drop of that caustic power flickers and dies. He keeps tearing it far past that, until the pieces are so small there’s no chance it could ever be reconstructed. He’d tear it to atoms if he could get a better grip on it. He can still feel it in his mind. He can still feel blood on his hands. What has he done?

His vision is obscured by black spots. The panic and fear won’t subside. The soul crushing agony of who he’d become is suffocating him. He can feel his fans kick on into high gear in a desperate attempt to cool his insides down but it’s no use. He doesn’t even know where he is, if he’s safe-

Did any of the people under his rule ever feel safe? Does a monster like him deserve to feel safe? 

Wu didn’t think so.

His chest spits sparks and Zane gasps in pain before his elbows fold and he finally, mercifully passes out.

He wakes up in a cave. That should alarm him, but he’s so exhausted all he does is blink blearily up at the ceiling. It’s still hard to breathe- to move air through his aching, hot insides- but in a different way from panic now. It’s as if he doesn’t have the strength to force his fans to turn. His limbs feel heavy in the absence of the scroll's power and he’s so numb to everything around him. The ceiling above him flickers from the light of a fire. It’s warm, wherever he is. A face appears above him and he can’t focus on it- featureless, smooth, empty.

”Rest.” A voice orders, but there’s a motherly lilt to it that has Zane closing his eyes.

Part of him worries he might die here.

What does he deserve?

The next time he wakes up he’s scrambling out from underneath the blanket of furs cocooning him so he can dry heave onto the floor again, his whole body is trembling in pain. The numbness has retreated and in its place a bone-deep ache that leaves him wrung out and hung up to dry. It’s as if his wires were torn out and ran through a washing machine before being haphazardly shoved back inside. His vision is muddled with black-and-gray splotches, all blurry on the edges, and all he can hear is the sounds of his fans straining to cool his inner mechanisms. He’s deaf and blind and so vulnerable it makes his power source stutter. Fear fades away into pain and confusion- where is he? Why is he here? What did he do? He can’t keep his head on straight to answer any questions. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He hurt so bad he was certain he would die.

A hand rubs circles between his shoulder blades.

The final time he wakes up, he still feels exhausted. Not so bad that he would immediately fall asleep again, but it’s lingering. A thick weariness that lays across his shoulders like twenty pound weights. His skeleton aches and his sensors cramp- despite how lifeless he feels, his body is still wound tight with tension. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the green firelight.

He’s laying on his side this time, and there’s a bucket by the pile of furs he’s sleeping on. His head is still pounding and he has to continuously dismiss blaring red WARNING pop-ups from his vision as he struggles to sit up. The amount of effort it takes to get his uncooperative hands underneath him is monumental, his joints refusing to listen to him. A baby treehorn just learning how to walk flashes across his mind, and he almost smiles at the thought. It’s only once he’s vertical and leaning back against the cave wall that he realizes he’s not alone.

They’re sitting just on the other side of the fire, staring at him through the dark eyes of an expressionless mask.

His body is too exhausted to fight, so he simply stares back and tries to measure up the person across from him. His mind races- this was the same mask as before. This person was trying to- to help, “Were you the one who took care of me while I was incapacitated?” He says slowly into the space between them. His words crackle in the fire.

They don’t acknowledge him, simply looking down and continuing to stir a pot set near the fires edge, in the warm pale embers. The air smells sharp with spice and it makes Zane’s weak stomach turn.

He waits for a long moment, “My name is-“

”Don’t care.” Her voice comes out cutting and disinterested.

He wants to ask her more questions, but he bites his tongue. She didn’t seem like she was in the mood to talk, and frankly neither was he. Even mustering up those two sentences was a monumental effort. He allows silence to fall and tries to pool his strength, looking her up and down to try and glean any information.

She’s dressed in thick green wraps and furs, and on top is a set of carefully crafted armor. It’s the same off-white as her mask. If Zane had to guess, he’d say bone considering the texture. The bone of a massive creature, that is. It’s painstakingly carved and sanded down smooth and sharp in all the right places. Fully articulated gauntlets that don’t hinder her work over her dinner, an intricately whittled chest plate and pauldrons, arm guards, shin guards, plated armor sitting over her hips and stomach. Everything is lined with decorative curves and swirls. He doesn’t ask her about it, even if he wants to.

He fidgets awkwardly, looking around the cave next. It strikes him suddenly just how… lived in the place feels. It’s not a temporary camp, but a home.

Below his sleep mat was long pieces of burgundy wood and when he shifts, he feels the tell-tale flex of raised flooring. The fire she cooked in was recessed into the ground and surrounded by stone bricks to protect the wood around it, and a hole has been meticulously chipped into the ceiling to allow smoke to pour out safely. The cave is large, stretching deep and wide and other than her own bed across the fire, the space is filled with all sorts of luxuries and amenities. Furs are spread across the floors like rugs and there’s a space along the wall where sheets of paper are hung to dry- there’s a whole space for paper making, large jars filled with lye and pulp and frames for sifting. Next to that is a station for making paint and brushes. Next to her bed there’s a woven basket filled with rolls of hand-dyed fabrics and sewing supplies and the fruits of that labor are all around the home- pillows in bed, cushions at the table, curtains by the bath and laundry basin, even what looks like a bean bag made from the furry hide of some speckled animal sitting near his bed with a clutter of paper, charcoals, and other art materials pilled messily in a basket next to it.

There’s clearly a kitchen area tucked away in the far corner, wood shelving filled with rows and rows of dried herbs and spices, preserved fruits, breads and crackers and blue rice. A low counter of stone for food prep, Knives, spoons, pots and pans- two cups set out to drink from, two bowls and two spoons. She had everything in duplicate, even the stone table had two cushions on either side for another person to sit. There were more woven baskets, wooden chests, a laundry hamper, dying flowers in vases, and-

To his left, at the foot of the bed, is a stuffed pigeon hand sewn from soft fuzzy fabrics. It’s rumpled and bald in some spots. Well loved.

He blinks and his eyes flicker to the decor hung on the walls. He’s skimmed over them first, not really looking- but he does now.

All of that handmade paper is taped up and filled with child-like drawings of animals and plants and two people holding hands. The most prominent is a drawing of a large, poorly drawn armored woman wearing the same mask as the woman across the fire wielding a sword and protecting a smaller figure from a large monster trying to attack them. In nearly illegible script, with arrows pointing to the two figures respectively, they are labeled “MOMMY” and the other “ME.”

Without thinking, he reaches out to touch one when the woman speaks again.

”Do you eat?” She asks sharply, snapping him back to attention. He blinks, confused, “You aren’t human. Do you need to eat?” She clarifies, sounding almost annoyed.

”Yes, I can eat.” He answers.

She jerks her armored hand towards the table, “Sit.” She orders, taking the pot of soup over to the table and settling onto the green cushion with her legs crossed.

Zane is slow to follow because his whole body still aches. He stops short of the table when he notices the staff of forbidden spinjitzu propped up against the wall. It’s just a normal staff now that he’s torn the scroll off. That feels… wrong. Too anticlimactic. It should have ended another way.

She motions to the seat across from herself and he lowers himself onto the red cushion gingerly, wincing as his knees hit the ground harder than he intends.

In front of him, scratched into the stone in that same childish script, is the name Kiryu.

She serves him a big bowl of the food she’d prepared, covering the name completely. His stomach is still feeling touchy, and the strong smelling food does nothing to entice him to take a bite. He doesn’t technically need to eat, under normal circumstances. Nothing about what has happened is normal, though, and his body is begging for fuel to burn. So he picks up his spoon.

She’s mastered the art of eating under her mask, keeping her face completely covered while she picks at her dinner. It’s mustard yellow, thick, and filled with mystery chunks. When he finally hypes himself up enough to take a bite, he’s surprised at how bland it is. He might actually be able to stomach this. After his first swallow, his hunger makes itself apparent and he starts to eat a little more animatedly than he had before.

The woman finishes first, pushing the nearly-full bowl away and wiping her mouth off on her sleeve, “Do you know where you are?” She says finally, after watching him eat for an uncomfortable amount of time.

He places his spoon down slowly, unsure where this conversation could lead, “No, I do not.” He answers respectfully.

She regards him for a long moment, “You are in the Realm of Madness. You were sent here because you did something terrible, I imagine.”

The world stalls.

“What?” he says blankly. Sure, this place was- was strange, weird, whatever but- of course Wu didn’t send him back! He wouldn’t unleash the ice emperor on ninjago, no- but he thought- why would he think he had any chance at going home? His stomach turns violently against the food he’d just eaten.

“Calm down.” She orders sharply, and he hates the part of himself that latches on to that. The part of him that wanted someone else to tell him what to do.

He balls his hands into fists and consciously moves his internal fans, the equivalent of taking a slow deep breath.

“We all call this place something different. Exile, eternal prison, hell- the kids from Chima have this silly, flowery name for it. Tomb, or something close. Ninjargons the only one that doesn’t call it what it is- a form of punishment.” She stands up, going into the kitchen and taking out two cups and a leather bag, “They only send the worst of us here to suffer. They consider it kinder than death. I used to agree.”

He focuses on the one thing in this conversation that doesn’t make him want to scream, ”Who is they?”

She sits again, popping the cap on the leather bag and pouring a dark spiced rum into her cup, ”Anyone who opposes you. The good people, the ones who don’t have the stomach for blood.” She caps the bag and slides it closer to him, offering.

He can hardly swallow past the lump in his throat, ”I did not want to hurt anyone-“

”Don’t make excuses for yourself.” She says coldly, any trace of maternal inflection replaced by a viscous intolerance for pity. She looks at him hard, “I know what that was.” She nods to the staff by the wall, “I know what you are. That staff in the hands of an elemental master- well, it’s not hard to connect the dots.”

He shakes his head, “no- it was not like that-”

“What, then?”

Zane swallows hard against the accusation in her tone and tries to organize his thoughts, “I- lost my memory, I did not know who I was-”

“So you hurt people.” She finishes flatly. He flinches. “And you were good at it, too. That’s why you’re here. None of that other shit matters, kid- all it comes down to is that you were a monster they needed to destroy.”

There’s no words he can string together to make anything okay.

She lets out a mirthless chuckle, “At least some people had their reasons. No memory, huh? So you did all the things you did… because you could.”

Neither of them say anything for a long time. The fire grows low. She stands up to tend to it, leaving him alone at the table.

”What am I supposed to do?” He asks softly.

”Suffer.” She says bluntly. “Survive. Pay your penance. There are plenty who take the easy way out. I don’t care.” She gets up to tend to the fire.

”Why am I here?”

Another log goes on the fire. She looks up at him like he’s irritating her, “I just told you.”

He winces again before clarifying, “No, why am I here, In your home?” She stays quiet so he adds, “You helped me, and I am beginning to understand that is not something you typically do.”

She snorts at that. Another long pause, “I was there. I saw you fall. Scavengers would have found you in no time and you’d be dead by now.” She motions to his body, “Mechanics are scarce. Mechanics as good as yours even more so. If you want to survive in this place, you’ll need to hide every part of yourself or they’ll tear you apart and barter with your insides.”

A life in hiding. A life in constant fear.

Alarm bells ring in his head, “What do you want from me?” Because he was vulnerable and helpless and if she wanted to rip his head off and offer his hard drive to the highest bidder- well, he couldn’t defend himself.

Part of him wonders- would you even try?

“Nothing.” she answers without hesitation, but there’s no insult at his insinuation. “A few years ago, maybe I’d have killed you myself. Not now. I’m too tired for that.”

He doesn’t understand.

“I am not a kind woman.” She continues slowly, “I never claimed to be. My cruelty cost me everything. Perhaps part of me wanted to do something good in the end- a drop in the bucket weighed against all my transgressions. What good does a monster saving another monster do? I don’t know.” she shifts the embers at the edge of the fire, her voice taking on a contemplative lilt, “and what good have I done you, preserving a life for you here?”

“...Thank you.” he offers.

She doesn’t laugh. He thinks she might want to, “I don’t deserve your gratitude. I have done nobody any good my whole life.”

“I don’t believe that’s true.” Zane argues softly, eyes straying over to the stuffed pigeon plushy again.

She’s follows his gaze. Without a second glance, she stomps out the embers that spread too close to the wall of the fire pit, “You should sleep. Tomorrow you will be on your own.” She adds a log to the fire and places a cover over the top to keep the fire burning longer.

He gets up slowly from the table, making his way across the floor on aching legs before gingerly laying down on his bedmat. She doesn’t take off any of her armor as she settles under her own blankets.

Exile. Eternal prison.

Hell.

this isn't hell. he'd been in hell in the never realm, when he was on that throne. Still, this is a punishment. The worst kind of punishment that could be executed.

Wu sent him here, to this place. He must have believed he belonged here.

Blood flashes in his mind's eye. Exposed organs, death rattles from punctured lungs, bodies thin with starvation after frost killed any crops-

He does belong here.

Monster.

The next morning- is it morning? Zane has no idea- he wakes up alone. It isn’t until he musters up the strength to climb the rocky opening to the surface that he finds her. She’s sitting near the opening of the cave criss cross, with her back ram-rod straight. In front of her is a massive wall of mist, reaching past the clouds in the dim purple-red sky. He doesn’t know what to do other than sit next to her, so he does that.

She doesn’t acknowledge him.

She’s holding a picture in her hand- not a modern photo that he knows, but something older. Something fragile.

“Is that your son?” He asks.

“Yes.” She says quietly. He’s maybe seven in the photo, still so young, with skin so pale it’s translucent and wisps of bright blood red hairs poking from his head. Veins, ribs, and organs are all visible through his skin where she’s posing with him. She’s wearing her mask and holding him close, and he’s smiling at the camera with too many teeth- some sharp and jagged. Behind them is a strange forest- this photo was taken here, in the Realm Of Madness.

“He’s gone now.” She says simply.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as much as I am.” there’s nothing else to say, so they watch the day pass.

She reaches up and pulls her mask off.

Her face is bumpy and fuzzy, almost like felt, with a hundred colors overlapping and banding in random waves that follow the raised ridges along her skin. Colors blend and mix in bright, technicolor bursts similar to the sheen on an oil spill- and they move along her face and neck in pulsing flashes like currents shifting on the ocean floor. It looks like someone had taken the way her reflection looked on turbulent water and shaped her skull from it, nothing about her symmetrical or smooth- she has no nose and he can’t find her mouth of eyes, but he knows she has them. They ate together. She lookers at him. Old feathers poke out of her skin in sporadic patches and he can’t tell whether or not shes grown them or simply lost all her others. His processor can’t comprehend what he’s looking at- it doesn’t compute. Every time her tries to formulate an opinion it’s as if he hits a computing error and he has to start all over again.

Her head expands and contracts as if it was breathing.

He can’t stop looking at her. She doesn’t seem to care.

“The Realm of Madness is not a mercy.” She says, her face splitting in half to reveal perfect white teeth- jarring in the mess of the rest of her, “It changes us. I have held on for a long time, But I am tired now, and I miss my son.”

She stands and deliberates for a moment before she tosses her mask and the feather cloak around her shoulders to the ground at his feet, “Take these. I don’t need them anymore. The others of this land call me Birdy- hide in that too.”

”You are leaving?” Zane asks, scrambling to his feet.

”I am the original monster in this realm- I am the first. My suffering is done, and I am going to rest now.” Birdy says, voice light with the relief of an ending, “I’ve paid the price. I’ve paid it all.”

She turns towards that abrupt wall of mist and takes her first step forward, heading straight for the thick wave of release waiting for her.

Zane stands as quickly as he can and follows her with the intent to do- something. He doesn’t know what. What was the mist? What did it do? It sounded like death- he couldn’t just let her do this- a loud red warning pops up in his vision the moment the gas contacts his inner workings.

WARNING ‽‽‽‽‽‽‽‽ RADIATION FIELD Processing failure imminent Motor function failure imminent Power source failure imminent RAM failure imminent

PROCEED WITH CAUTION

He steps back and stares into the mist, looking for her retreating back for several moments.

She’s gone.

He stays in Birdy's cave longer than he cares to admit. It feels wrong, but he just… doesn’t know what to do. For nearly a whole week after Birdy's disappearance into the mist, he’d still been reeling from the damage to his body from… everything that happened. His self repair programming wasn’t designed to tackle the mess he’d made of himself, but it should work well enough that he isn’t constantly leaking power and weak.

There was also the minor issue of massive emotional breakdowns he was struggling through every few hours, when he couldn’t stop thinking about everything that happened. He wasn’t exactly at his best. Compartmentalization takes time, and sixty years was a lot to pack away.

He spends most of his time putting away Birdys things- packing up the drawings on the wall in a wicker basket wrapped in leather to preserve the art work, folding old clothes and packing them inside too- there were baby clothes here. Shirts and shoes for toddlers, tunics for a child. He wasn’t going to stay here forever, and the way she spoke about scavengers… he didn’t think any other person in the realm would treat these precious items with the respect they deserved. So he bundles it all up and hides it under the wooden floorboards.

He finds a stash of handmade candles and lights two for Birdy and her son. Hopefully they are both at peace now.

The idea of staying here indefinitely crosses his mind, but he can’t quite bring himself to truly consider it. No matter how much he wants to just curl into a ball and turn to dust here, safe in this tiny little home, his skin crawls at the idea. This wasn’t made for him. The bed he’d been using wasn’t his. Zane was sick of settling into a place that wasn’t his to take- the throne he’d spent sixty years on wasn’t made for him, either. It was already bad enough that he was going to take her mask and her cloak, maybe even her name- but that was different from her home. The things she wore were a disguise, hiding away the honest pieces of herself.

Her home was where she was herself, genuinely. He couldn’t make a space for himself here. It wasn’t right.

Three weeks after everything, he puts on the mask.

It’s hard to see out of, and it feels awkward on his face. It wasn’t hand carved for him, but Birdy's warning sits bright and clear in his mind. He had to keep his face covered- he’d tried cloaking, but the hologram projectors along the nape of his neck and down his back were all damaged too badly and the image came out glitched.  He clasps the feathered cap over his shoulder and prepares to venture out into the hostile world he’d found himself in.

Hostile. right. 

He needed a weapon, and the only thing here… the only thing he truly felt confident wielding was the staff. Two more days pass before he can bring himself to pick it up. With the scroll gone, it’s just a normal staff with a normal blade that he used to gut a man who made an attempt on Vex’s life-

He slams down his mental shields on that memory before he can taste the blood it left behind. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what you are.

Monster.

A day after that, once he’d found a pale canvas bag and filled it with food, spices, and a few other essentials he might need, he finally steps out of the hole and back into the world.

The wall of mist is still there, calm and steady. He’s not sure what else to do so he just… starts walking. He keeps the mist to his right and travels parallel to it, waiting for the swath of empty flat land to change to… anything else. The world is dim and bland, a colorless expanse of darkness that seems to go on forever. He keeps walking. His mind drifts back to the Never Realm but the memories burn.

He tries to think about something else, but the only other thing that jumps to the forefront of his mind are his friends, and that hurts in a different, just as painful way. He’s not ready to think about them. What would they think of him now?

He didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Don’t make excuses for yourself, monster.

He keeps walking.

Two days pass before he sees a forest. He almost hesitates to leave the mist behind… it was ultimately familiar now, a security blanket of sorts. The mist held a threat he knew. The jungle was filled with possibilities, and in a place like this none of them could be any good. He detaches himself from the mist anyway and treks across the broad empty expanse of no man’s land between the two biomes before he steps in a place with deep red trees and strange flora.

He’s always been good with animals, and he attributes that to why he’s able to catch himself before he stumbles right into a predator's strike range. He avoids the tree that trembles with the weight of something massive up in its branches, he turns away from the distant sound of buzzing because nothing good sounds like that, and when he notices a large shape lumbering through the bushes up ahead he presses himself against the red bark and waits for it to pass. He keeps his mind focused on the world around him and doesn’t think about anything else.

That’s when he notices the strange oblong fruits hanging from a coiling vine growing up the side of a tree. They’re orange in color and are covered in thin hair-like protrusions. Zane reaches out and carefully runs the back of his finger over the fruit- the hair is soft and flexible, almost sleek. He grasps the fruit on one hand and plucks it, noticing how it comes off the vine without a fight. He tucks it in his satchel and keeps moving, now with his eyes peeled for more vegetation.

A string of bead-like vegetables here, completely flat speckled fruit there, a corkscrew tuber that’s twisting itself out of the ground. Zane may have been a homicidal maniac for the past sixty years, but he was also a chef. He’d have to analyze his haul later to make absolutely certain it’s edible so that the others can eat-

The sharp stab of pain feels almost physical as his processor stalls. He stops walking, sliding down the trunk of a tree to sit on the soft ground. There is no one else to cook for.

Loneliness crawls up his chest and sits in the back of his throat.

What have you done? He asks himself, staring blankly at the dark forest around him. You have ruined everything.

He doesn’t know how long he stays sitting there before he stands back up and moves on, more subdued than before. He’s been alone before, in the empty space after his father died and before Wu found him. He’d survived that loneliness then. He could survive this too. He was good at surviving. He keeps exploring the forest. It’s absolutely massive, and seems to go on forever- so he just keeps walking.

His internal navigation system is acting strange- it’s keeping track of his movement through the forest, and it seems to continuously loop over on itself even though he knows he hasn’t been walking in circles. It must be broken too.

Twenty six days pass before he comes upon a small camp set up between trees, large swathes of thickets cleared away for enough room for a fire and a few tents. He doesn’t notice that at all, not at first.

What he sees first is a strange animal. Despite his misgivings about the fauna in the forest, he can’t help but move in for a closer look. It had a fat body, broad neck, and a pointed head. It was precariously balanced on four spindly little legs. Stranger still, the long hair along the back of its neck was braided, and the tail sticking out from its hindquarters matched. Thrown over its back was a saddle. It looked similar to a saddle used for a walloper, all leather and straps with a blanket laid underneath for the animals comfort. It made a strange, apprehensive sound as he approached it from behind so he slowed down and stepped along the side so it could see him better. It shifted on its hooves but seemed to calm down when it's dark eyes were able to clock him.

It had strange colors, piebald black and white with a pink nose. Its tall ears pointed towards him, flicking as it sized him up.

He’s not at his best. If he were, he probably would have realized what exactly a saddle means- this animal belonged to someone. If he had realized that, he would have been on the lookout for the owner, and probably wouldn’t have boxed in so easily.

He’s still a ninja through and through, and while he may have been completely enamored by the strange beast he was nervous enough that his processor was still hyper-vigilant of the world around him. A subtle twang, the hiss of something fast-

He jerks his hand back half a second before an arrow whizzes past his fingers, burying itself in the tree directly behind him. He whips around and flicks the staff in his hand to grip it better, preparing for a fight- but the silence that settles after that is heavy and so, so still. There’s movement in the trees around him, at his sides, and when he strains his hearing as much as he can there’s the barest hint of footsteps behind him.

The bushes on the other side of the camp rustle and then part as a woman and a man approach him almost casually. Confident they have the upper hand- which they did. Zane is tense and stiff as they come to a stop in the middle of their camp, sizing him up casually. He wasn’t certain he could fight effectively enough to make it out of this in one piece.

“Hello there, stranger.” The woman says with a lazy smile. Tall, dark skin and salt and pepper hair, covered in a plethora of extra eyes that roll and dart as she speaks.

The massive wolf at her side bares his teeth and looks at Samira like she’s lost her mind, “Let me chase her off, Samira. She was trying to steal Cowie.”

Finally, Zane gets a good look at the man-

He’s not a man at all. Not a human, at least. He was an absolutely massive wolf- taller than Zane by at least two feet with ruddy gray fur. His ears, face, and basically anywhere Zane could see were striped with old battle scars, but the thing that stood out the most was the way one of his arms dragged along the ground, digging gouges in the hard packed dirt with the massive bone shards that spilled out of his skin in even spaces. With his head turned, Zane could see these bone spurs poked out of each vertebrae in his spine as well.

It changes us all. Right.

“Wox, darling, you need glasses.” The woman says airily as she steps closer. Zane backs up as far as he dares with the threat behind him still hidden, but she doesn't pursue any further. She stops walking at Cowies (?) side and she looks relaxed, but her hand is sitting purposefully on the hilt of a wicked looking knife. Zane imagines he doesn’t look too friendly with his staff in an iron-grip, but Birdy had told him pretty explicitly that the people here would gut him if he gave them a chance. She gestures to him, “Where’d you get that mask?”

Wox looks confused for a moment, scrutinizing Zane until he seems to realize that he’s not the original owner of the mask. He’s still glaring at him hatefully and Zane knows he has to stay aware, just in case the guy swings at him with the morning star that makes up his arm.

“It was a gift.” He says truthfully.

She stares at him for a long time. Her eyes make her nearly impossible to read- but it seems she has no problem seeing straight through him, “What’s your name?” She asks next.

He hesitates. Zane… Zane doesn’t feel right, anymore. Not after what he did. He couldn’t use any of his old nicknames either, and he’d sooner take a punch from Wox than tell her to call him Emperor. “Call me Birdy.” He says finally, awkward and more than a little unsure.

Her jaw works as she mulls that over. “Were you trying to steal my horse?”

Horse. So that's what that thing was. He shakes his head, “No ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s polite!” Samira brightens at the formality before she turns to her companion, “See, Wox, he wasn’t trying to take her!”

“Then what was he doing?” Wox growls, pinning him with a distrustful look.

Birdy feels a little silly and childish as he admits, “I was attempting to pet her.” He nearly cringes at his own words, shuffling on his feet and trying not to look guilty.

Samira grins, and there’s a spark in her eye, “You can pet her.” She says graciously, beckoning him over. She drops her hand from the hilt of her knife, “She can be a little skittish around new people, but if i’m here she should be fine.”

There's a long moment where no one moves before Birdy finally takes a step forward. Despite everything, he was still a sucker for a good pet. He approaches slowly, keeping his eyes on Wox, before he reaches out a gloved hand and runs it down the horse's thick neck. He can’t feel the texture very well through his gloves, but he feels when she presses closer to the touch and he can't help the small smile that blooms under his mask.

“My name is Samira.” She introduces herself kindly, but she’s watching him- looking for any sort of reaction to her name, “Here, pet from her nose up. She likes that.”

Birdy follows her instruction, watching in fascination as the horse makes an adorable whinny sound at the affection.

“I have to apologize for Wox. he can be a bit protective of our things.” She says with a wince, “He means well.”

“It is alright.” He pulls his hand away, “Thank you for allowing me to pet her.”

Samira grins wide at him, with a bit too many teeth, “Of course. It’s nice to meet you… Birdy.”

He inclines his head.

She hums a little, “We’re headed back to Oasis here, soon. Would you like to accompany us?”

“Oasis?”

She smiles that same, too-wide smile. As if he’s playing right into her hand, “It’s a refuge for the people stranded here. I’m like the mayor, you could say. Wox is my second in command and Barath- he’s around here somewhere- is the brains of the operation. We built it so the people here could have a community and a place to call home.”

The look in her eyes feels sickly similar to Vex’s, but Zane shoves that thought away immediately. Vex’s cruelty was too fresh, too raw and recent. He shouldn’t let Vex warp his view of Samira- besides, there’s no cord connected to his head for her to rip out. She couldn’t take his memories. He wouldn't allow himself to become even more of a monster than he already was.

He rapidly runs through his options. They were… extremely limited. Sure, he could decline- and she seemed willing to accept that answer and allow him to leave with no trouble, but then he’d be right back where he started. Alone, walking through this forest without a clue of what to do or where to go, without any knowledge of the realm. Aimless wandering.

Maybe one of his biggest weaknesses is that he craves a purpose.

“If you do not mind my presence, I will accompany you.” He says formally.

Wox snorts roughly, “We’re taking in strays, now?”

Samira makes a motion with her hand and more people come trundling from the forest around them and begin breaking down camp, “I took you home, didn’t I?” She responds with a mischievous smile, then adds, “Besides, he’s not a stray. He’s one of us.” She says with a wide grin.

They only start moving when Barath returns. He’s a strange man, with a pair of thick glasses that only seem to enhance the way his eyes dart around wildly. He’s almost constantly taking notes, scribbling down observations from the world around them. When he first sees Birdy, he cocks his head to the side like a curious dog would and says, “Did you kill her?”

Birdy jerks at the question, “No.” He says, too defensive, “She gave me her mask willingly.”

“That is not like her.” He says simply, squinting at Birdy. A moment passes before he flips to a new page in his little notebook and scribbles down a new note, “I don’t believe you.” He says simply, and walks away before Birdy can say anything else.

He hangs back and tries not to get in the way as people collapse tents and stamp out the fire pit. He would offer to help, but the people here are whispering to themselves and throwing him unwelcoming glances. It seems Barath is not the only one who believes he’d bloodied his hands for this mask.

“You’re quite the sensation.” Samira says as she slings a pack over Cowies back, “Don’t be discouraged by their attitude. It’s been a long while since we’ve had a newcomer sent here.” She looks at him curiously, and Birdy doesn’t realize she’s fishing for information he shouldn’t give.

“I did not mean to make anyone uncomfortable.” He murmurs, all but confirming his recent arrival.

She smiles sharply, “We’re villains, Birdy. Skepticism is in our nature. They’ll come around.”

He shifts uncertainty at the reminder of who exactly he’s surrounded by, and Samira tracks that movement with knowing eyes.

Barath pulls out a heavy looking dial from his bag and holds it up for a moment before he begins walking away from camp, disappearing into the woods. Wox notices immediately, “Oy, wait for the rest of us!” he snaps, and the small party scrambles after him.

The trek though the forest is a strange thing- Barath twists and turns randomly, cuting a strange path through the foliage that Samira, Wox, and the others all dutifully follow. When Birdy checks his internal systems, he realizes the looping path problem he’d been facing is nonexistent now. Samira watches him quietly from on top of Cowie. She’d asked him to stay close to her, and as they walk her eyes stay fixed on him.

She misinterprets his body language, “We’re not walking in circles.” She informs him.

“I know.” He says without thinking.

There’s no reaction from her other than a curious hum, “Do you?”

He wisely stays quiet this time.

Another hour passes before Samira speaks again, “Do you know why we have to take a path like this?”

He shakes his head.

“We call it the evershift.” She says, and proceeds to spend the next few minutes explaining the way this realm is designed to drive a person crazy. Straight lines become circles. The cardinal directions are meaningless. To navigate through this place, you have to understand how the earth shifts. One wrong move, and you’ll be lost. “Barath invented a compass- he doesn’t like it when we call it that, but I've never been mechanically inclined. I’ll call it like I see it. It helps us navigate through this place accurately.”

Birdy redirects more power into his navigation system so he takes on more information, making a map and comparing the way the ground moves so he can begin to travel on his own. It’s a slow process, but now he has an idea of how to start.

“Tell me about yourself.”

He glances at her uncertainly.

Even his hesitation seems to please her, “Alright. I’ll tell you about myself first, hmm?” she leans back, “I was born in Cloud Kingdom centuries ago- I know, I look fantastic for my age. I was, essentially, a daycare worker. I took care of the children of the scribes in the main hall.”

Wox glances back at her but doesn’t comment.

“I saw a great deal of destiny's written… and I came to disagree with the system.” She says lightly, “War, famine, death, sickness- why must we write it? So I started a rebellion. The elders weren’t happy about that, so now I am here.”

She looks at him expectantly, and Birdy hesitates. “I am from… the Never Realm.” He says, stilted.

“Not originally, hm?” She asks, “You don’t speak with the right cadence.”

“...Ninjago has not been my home in a very long time.”

There’s an intrigued light in her eyes, “Just who are you, Birdy?”

“I do not know.” He admits, the truth of it making his circuits curl in sharp pain. He used to be Zane. He used to be the Ice Emperor. Now he was stuck in a realm he didn’t know wearing a mask and hiding in a name that wasn't his. He didn’t know who he was.

“There is plenty of time to figure it out.” She says kindly, and allows him to mull over his identity crisis in peace over the rest of the trip back home.

His first impression of Oasis is that it’s far larger than he anticipated. He didn’t expect this realm to be filled with so many people- were there really this many people banished to this place? All ages, all races, hundreds of people who were so horrible they were exiled to this hell to never return? He follows the group quietly as they pass through a set of large gates and wind around deep halls until the reach the entrance to a stable. Samira dismounts Cowie and greets another woman who was waiting for her return.

“Ila.” Samira smiles as she hugs her friend.

“How was the mission?” Ila asks, the tentacles pouring out of her belly wrapping around Samira in greeting.

“Very successful. We were able to extract four funeral flowers before the mist became too caustic.” She grins triumphantly.

Ilas two toned eyes peek over Samiras shoulder curiously, zeroing in on Birdy.

“And,” Samira adds, “We ran into a new arrival.” pulling away, she motions to Birdy.

He steps closer, “Hello. Call me Birdy.” He offers his hand.

“You’re not afraid?” Ila says in wonder, pushing her curious tentacles down so she can shake his hand with her own.

Birdy was good at surviving, and part of that meant adapting and doing it quickly, “I am not.” he says truthfully, even as her tentacles wiggle free to touch his gloves and the edge of his sleeve inquisitively.

“Ila is my personal assistant and chef.” Samira introduces.

Birdy feels himself perk up, “Chef?”

“You like to cook?”

“I do.” He says sincerely, carefully extracting his hand before Ilas tentacles can wiggle under his gloves and touch bare metal.

Samira smiles at that, “Why don’t you show our friend the kitchen while Barath, Wox, and I take the flowers to the lab for processing?”

That’s how Birdy ends up here, deep within the halls of Oasis palace marveling at the foreign technology set up around the room. Most of it is old, traditional ways of cooking- brick ovens, rooms for drying and preserving meats and spices, fire pits with huge pots and pans, a well dug into the earth that brims with strange not-quite-right water. The only bit of actual mechanical engineering in the room is a massive metal freezer filled with fresh meats and vegetables.

“This,” Ila points at the strange hairy fruit he’d pulled from his bag, “Is called filler fruit. Packed with protein, it’s a good, hearty meal.” They’d been going through the things he’d scavenged in the forest and taken from the original Birdy's home slowly. “Not much can be done with it flavor wise, though.”

She teaches him about everything in his bag that’s edible and some things that aren’t (“It makes for a nice perfume if you soak it,” She says about the strange corkscrew tuber, “But it’s toxic to eat.”) She goes down the line until she stops at a jar of pale purple ground spice, “Oh, this is basically mustard seed.” She sighs wistfully, “I used to make candied fruits using mustard. The kick it adds is divine.”

Birdy blinks before he pushes it a little closer to her, “You are welcome to keep it.” He says sincerely.

She smiles thinly, “You’re very sweet, but I can’t.” She hesitates for a long moment, “Barath hates the taste, so I don’t even keep it in stock.”

Not long after this, Wox appears in the kitchen, “I’ve got your room ready.” He says gruffly, obviously unhappy that Birdy will be staying under the same roof as he is.

“My room?”

“Samira insists you stay as long as you like.” He jerks his chin, “Follow me.”

He falls into a routine here, accidentally. He helps Ila with breakfast and lunch before she has to attend to other duties, he joins Samira at her private table for dinner at her insistence, and he learns all he can about everything the realm has to offer. The longer he settles in, the more irritated Wox becomes. Even Ila starts to subtly prod him about his conversations with Samira- but there’s not much to tell. She’s firmly established herself as a friend and doesn't push for information or say anything uncouth or untoward.

One day, after dinner, she invites him to her office.

She pours herself a generous cup of some type of whiskey, sipping it slowly as they sit in companionable silence.

“It was chaos when I first came here.” She sighs softly, a wave of exhaustion weighing down her shoulders ““There was no community, no society- just violence and lots of pain. You’ve noticed it, I'm certain. We’re all… different, here. Our bodies have been changed by the realm- that is the nature of madness.”

He shakes his head when she offers him a glass, but she’s not offended. “Mutations are hard on the body, Birdy. Uncomfortable at best, agony at worst.” She fishes a key from her pocket and uses it to open a hidden compartment in her desk, “You’ve toured the Jelly farm. You asked me what we were farming… well, I think you’re ready to know. When I first saw a jelly, I watched her use the poison on her lures to take down an undertaker.” She fishes out a small vial made of dark glass, impossible to see what’s inside. “Paralyzed it and ate it right up, and it gave me an idea. She numbs you first, before she eats you. If I could use her poison, refine it just right, maybe I could take that numbness and use it to take away that pain.” She uncorks the vial and tips it over her palm, a small pink marble rolling out to settle over her heart line, “And with a bit of help from Barath, I did it, and I built Oasis around this thing right here. It’s amazing how easy it is to bring people together when pain is out of the equation.” He studies it for a long moment, “That is a noble thing to do.” He offers quietly. “After everything I’ve been through, Birdy… I know pain. I can see it.” She takes a moment to really study him, “You’re in a lot of pain, Aren’t you?”

His throat feels tight and he struggles to swallow. She holds the pill out, “Here.” Samira says gently, “it works on emotional pain, too- and it’ll help you later on, once the chaos of this realm sinks its teeth into you. It will only get worse from here.”

There’s no guarantee it’ll work on him. There’s a possibility it will. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep again, without nightmares- maybe he could think about his friends without his chest feeling like it’s caving in on him. He’d been keeping himself distracted, had been doing everything in his power to keep his mind away from the brutal parts of his life that threatened to tear his heart from his chest. He was in pain. A constant, bruising agony that ate away at his processor in quiet moments that threatened to kill him with it’s cruelty.

Monster.

Suffer.

Penance.

What does he deserve?

He reaches out and slowly, tenderly closes her fingers around the pill and pushes it back towards her chest, “Thank you, but I cannot accept this.”

She looks at him strangely, her expression unreadable.

“Okay.” She says finally, dropping it back into the bottle, “...But the offer still stands. The first one is always free.”

“You’ll have a few hours from the first entrance before the mist induces irreparable delirium and you’ll be too confused to leave.” Barath says jovially, “If that happens, try and make it as close to the exit as you can so I can have someone go in for your body. It’s been too long since I've done a decent dissection.” He says with a bright smile.

“...I will do my best.” Birdy responds.

“Don’t listen to him, you’ll be fine.” a woman to his left reassures him, wrapping thick straps of leaver over her hands.

“No, you should definitely listen to him.” Wox remarks sourly, “He may be a nutjob, but he knows his science.”

“I’ve been in the mist plenty- I’ve got a good feel for it.” Lena continues, “I can get us out before things get to the point of no return.”

This is the first and only time Birdy has seen Samira look anxious, “The flowers are deeper than they’ve been before. Are you sure you’ll be able to reach them?”

Lena frowns at the ground and finishes wrapping her hands, “Just have some of the pinks ready for me when we get out,” She says, her fingers drumming on her thighs at the thought of a brand new sleeve of pills waiting for her. She shakes out the tension in her shoulders and smiles at Birdy, “Ready?”

When Birdy had volunteered to go into the mist, he’d had a good idea of what he was signing up for. He knew this was a risky thing- Samira said there were people who refused to go back in, even if she offered them a cure pill in return. Barath knew it was some type of toxin in the mist that attacked the flesh, preying on organic material with extreme prejudice. He hadn't quite realized it was radiation, and Birdy wasn’t able to explain how he knew that so he couldn’t say much.

What stuck out to him the most about Baraths notes on the graveyard was that it wasn’t so hard on inorganic material. You didn’t get much more inorganic than a robot. Theoretically, he should be able to last far longer than anyone else- even if his own systems were certain he would eventually go down like anyone else. Part of him insists that this doesn’t make any sense- he has to remind himself this is the realm of madness. Nothing makes sense. That was the point.

He inclines his head. Lena gives him a thumbs up and, with Baraths compass in hand, they plunge into the mist.

There’s no talking in the mist- keep breathing shallow and even, and don’t do anything strenuous. Nothing that could move the mist through your system faster than necessary. Absolutely no running. It’s a painfully slow affair. The little flickers of life he sees in the mist is strangely familiar- green grass. Brown dirt. If he were in the height of delirium, collapsed on the ground and struggling to get his bearings straight, he might think he was home again.

He can feel the mist seeping inside his mechanics. It feels strange and unsettling, like fingers brushing over his ribs and internal wires- but so far there’s no confusion, and he doesn’t have that strange buzzing feeling Barath describes as symptom zero. Lena, however, does seem to be feeling something. She keeps shaking her head like she’s trying to flick water out of her ears- but ever the professional, she soldiers on.

Deeper and deeper they trek, and as they walk Lena gets more and more lethargic.

There’s a weight settling over his skeleton too, but he’s still able to keep moving at a steady pace. She has to keep pausing to read the compass, changing directions every now and then into a winding route through the mist. She stares at the compass longer and longer each time, like trying to read text that’s too small. She's shaking her head more often.

The flowers Lena signs to him, pointing at the tall white buds rising out of the mist in front of them. Moving her hand in the proper configuration to convey that message seems to be a monumental task.

You okay? Birdy signs back, worried.

She looks confused, like she’s unable to understand what he said. She just turns around and goes to the flowers without responding, taking out a small paring knife and cutting them free at the base. Birdy follows suit- each cut spits out a fresh cloud of mist, thicker and whiter than the air around them.

He cuts another flower.

Why was he cutting these flowers again? There’s a reason, isn’t there.

Holding three in his hand, he stares down at the delicate petals. They’re pretty.

He blinks and shakes his head hard- he was on a mission. He cuts another before his processor catches up with him and reminds him to check on… on the girl who came in with him. Lisa?

He glances over and for a second he’s not sure what he’s looking at. There’s a lump on the ground. She’s got only one flower in her hand.

The flowers are so pretty. Why were they taking these?

A red warning pops up in his vision and he can't read it, the words too jumbled and wonky to piece together. That doesn’t make sense- his automatic systems weren’t damaged in the fall. Yet, he can’t understand the warning. The mist. He needs to get out of the mist.

When did he get on his hands and knees?

He stands up on unsteady legs and there’s a brief moment of clarity- he had to get out. They both had to get out, now. He stumbles over to Lauren and grabs her around the waist, hauling her up and holding her loose limbed body in his elbow like a football.

“Nn.. no.” She groans, clawing at the ground until she can wrap her hands around the flowers he’d dropped to grab her, “Need… need pinks…” she slurs desperately, clutching the delicate buds to her chest.

“We have to get out of here.” He argues, surprised at how steady his voice was. He still had time. The mist that the flowers spat was concentrated and strong, but now that he’d stopped harvesting them the fog had receded enough to allow him space to think. He has to wait until she’s got the flowers before he can walk, her struggling making it hard to keep his steps straight without falling.

He starts moving while he can think somewhat straight again. He doesn’t have time to spare to study the compass- each passing second threatens him with that looming confusion. His internal navigation is still steady. He has to trust that the mist hasn’t ruined that yet- so he focuses all his brain power into following the path back out. Less twists and turns, now that he’d mapped the way in. he should be able to get them out fast.

He needed to get them out fast. He was okay, he knew that-

Her nose is dripping with blood, bright red and harsh against the pale orange fur on her face. She’s panting and muttering something- Too far. I went too far. I had to- i needed pinks- i need- we went too far- and her time is running out. His arms feel heavy, but he can still carry her. He won’t leave her. He won’t.

Eons pass. It feels like years. Part of him whispers that it would be so easy to lie down, a homesick urge to rest among familiar green grass and dirt. It would feel so good.

He breaks out of the mist into fresh air and his knees hit the dirt again. He drops Lena in a heap on the ground and coughs up white mist until his internal fans run clear again. Thankfully, he still has the presence of mind to shift his mask to keep his face covered while he spits out thick white mucus.

Samiras knees hit the dirt beside him, “Birdy-” She reaches for him but he sits up, batting her hand away.

“I am fine. Tend to Lena.” He says roughly, swaying in place.

When he looks at her, she’s wide eyed in shock, “You can still form sentences?” She asks, awed.

“How long were we in there?” he asks.

“Twelve hours.” She whispers, “Every other team was unable to return before they hit eight.”

Samira insists he and Lena both ride Suncup back to Oasis even if he argues that he’s fine to walk. Halfway back, he’s grateful for her forcing him on the saddle. His head is still pounding, but he’s mostly happy that being up on horseback makes it easier for Samiras and Wox to field Baraths burning desire to poke and prod and interrogate him on exactly why he was so unaffected by the mist. He can’t think of a suitable lie with the exhaustion still weighing him down, so he’s grateful for the obstacles between the two of them. It also gives him a chance to monitor Lena- she hadn’t woken up yet, and her nose was still dripping blood on Suncups gray coat, but she was alive.

Barath wasn’t certain she’d make it back. They just had to monitor her until they could get her to Oasis’s infirmary. As long as everything went smoothly, Birdy was sure she’d be okay. Her vitals were stable.

This is the Realm of madness, and he’s part of the ninja. That’s a double whammy that ensures nothing will go smoothly.

He’s pulling Suncups reigns before he really even processes that everything has gone to hell, yanking the horse off the beaten path and into the underbrush. He whips Suncup around a tree and into the foliage and leaps off, pulling Lena with him and tucking her in the roots of a massive interwoven bush before he rushes back out to help the others.

It looks like a sand eel, almost. The same massive, gaping mouth and tiny eyes, but that’s where the similarities end- the rest of it is thick with fat, it’s twelve legs segmented and hairy and ending in long thick claws for climbing trees like a sloth. One wouldn’t have been bad, but six had dropped around them. Pack hunters. Wox smashes one on the side of the head with his mutated hand and it’s skull cracks and gives- a gruesome sight as blood splatters across the floor.

Barath is standing off to the side dodging debris and eagerly taking notes in his little booklet, more interested in documenting the creatures strange chittering communications than stopping the ambush. The handful of other warriors that’s accompanied them are trying to beat back the rest of the horde to little effect.

Samira jumps to the right, rolling across the dirt as the largest of the beasts attempts to flop its body on top of her- it’s preferred hunting method, it seems. Crushing its prey to death with its massive weight. She leaps back to her feet, turning around too slow- she doesn’t expect it to roll.

Birdy throws himself across the clearing and into Samiras side, the two of them sliding across the ground out of range of the beast's death roll. Birdy is back up in record time, and a wave of vertigo rolls over him. The mist is still lingering in his system- but there’s no time to breathe. The eels are eager to eat, and they don’t care for a fair fight. The alpha zeroes in on Birdy and charges, massive muscles bunching under it’s thick skin with deadly intent.

He hasn’t used ice since the Never Realm. He couldn’t bring himself too- it had been a tool of oppression for so long that the idea of even forming a snowflake made Birdys skin crawl. There was no other option here, though. Not with the beast bearing down on him, not with how weak he still was. He’d have to run after this, take off away from the group- if they’d kill him for his mechanics, there was no telling what they’d do to use his powers.

He reaches deep in his chest, in the cold space that’s always been there-

He flings his hand out. He’d freeze the ground. Their claws were too wide and flat to grip ice. Without traction, it wouldn’t be able to fight. None of them would. That had to be enough. So he draws up from that well deep in his heart and prepares himself to run and hope that Lena will be okay-

-And nothing happens.

The world stutters to a stop.

Ice, the one constant in the past sixty years- the one thing he could truly rely on, even in his darkest moments. His faithful companion during the good at the bad. It didn’t respond to him anymore. The cold chill in his chest is a echo of something he used to have. There’s an empty cavern inside him that expands suddenly, like realizing it was there has allowed it room to breathe and now its crushing his power core and all his internal wiring with the nothingness growing inside him. It stretches down his arms and legs, out to the very tips of his fingers until he is a hollow husk of a man who used to be someone important. Every piece of his body feels fragile and thin, everything he is suddenly a threadbare piece of cloth so thin and insignificant one wrong move will crumble him to dust. He is powerless.

He is alone.

It’s autopilot that saves him and Samira both. The deep set need to survive has him springing away from the beast's path, arm looped around Samiras waist to drag her with him, and it’s his one stroke of good luck that he’d been in front of a tree when the thing charged him. It smashes into bark and it squeals in pain, blood running from its mouth in thick rivulets. It begins to claw up the same tree it’s just dented with its head, chittering a strange song that has the four remaining beasts all pull back. The alpha scrambles up the trunk and leaps across the canopy, the rest of its pack scurrying after it until there is only their little scouting party and the fading crackle of shifting tree branches left.

Mourning has become such a constant part of his life here that he should be able to shelve the loss of Ice and continue on as normal, but he can’t. It feels so much more visceral than what has happened so far- he’d lost everything. Why this, too? Why?

What have I done?

What does a monster deserve?

Suffer.

He swallows down the scream that threatens its way up his throat. He needed to distract himself, he needed to put this away for a moment when he is alone and can fall apart in peace. he can't think about it. he's good at not thinking about things.

He stands up and looks to Samira, who’s already up and briskly brushing the dirt off her pants. Birdy jogs over into the woods where he’d left Suncup and Lena, pleasantly surprised that the skittish horse hadn’t booked it the moment they’d dismounted. He offers the horse a shaky pet before he eases Lena out of the bushes he’d hid her in and back onto Suncups back, leading the two of them back to the main path. Another party member had been injured, and Birdy insists he ride with Lena the rest of the way back to town.

It’s a quiet, somber affair now- everyone on edge, prepared for the next attack that never comes.

Ila waits for them in the stable, and when they arrive with injured she rushes out to fetch the nurses to help. Birdy accompanies Lena to the medical wing- he’s not sure why. He feels responsible for her now, after protecting her. He just had to see it through to the end. He has to make sure she was okay, after everything. They allow him to sit with her after they check her over.

Two hours after they finally make it back, Lena wakes up.

“How are you feeling?” Birdy asks quietly. The room is lit with only a few candles, and Lena still squints against the brightness.

“Did we get the flowers?” She asks instead of responding, whispering it the way people with strep throat whisper. He remember how raw his insides felt after the mist- it would be doubly worse for someone not so mechanically inclined.

“Yes, you did.” Samira answers for him, stepping into the dark room at the perfect time.

Lena straightens up at the sight of her, “My payment?” She asks with a weak smile, eyes flashing with need. Samira produces another of those black vials and hands it over to Lena, who struggles to pop the cork so she can pour all six pills into her palm with a happy sigh.

“As for your payment…” Samira turns to Birdy with a tight frown, “Not only did you get the flowers, but you saved Lenas life and mine. I… owe you.” She bites out the last two words, like it’s agony to say it. Like she wanted nothing less than to offer those words.

By his side, Lena gasps.

“So,” Samira continues, pulling out a small leather bag, “I am going to give you this. Then we’ll be even.” She tosses him the bag.

He catches it automatically, curiously opening the top to reveal an oblong black pill. “Samira, I do not want any painkillers-”

“It’s not a painkiller.” Lena says, voice dripping with longing.

“You survived the mist longer than anyone else ever has.” Crossing her arms, Samira looks away, “There was another like that- his trips to the mist changed him faster, damaged him far more quickly than the rest of us. That’s what happened to you too, isn’t it? You haven't been here the same time as the rest of us, but if you ran into Birdy then you were by the mist. You’re mutated, and it’s far along.”

Lena leans forward, “It’s the cure.” She says reverently, “It takes away the chaos and the pain. It returns you to who you used to be, before this realm destroyed you.”

He looks down at the little pill. So unassuming for the respect it demanded, for the amount of good it could do.

But he was a robot, and he didn’t need it. He was a monster, he wouldn't deserve it.

He picks up the glass of water by Lenas bedside and holds it out to her, dropping the pill bag onto her lap, “Take it.” he says simply, “I do not want it.”

He’d be a fool to ignore the way Lenas face twisted with pain each time she moved- her skin was thick and heavy from the realm, and it weighed so much it threatened to slough off her body each time so moved too quickly. She was covered in silver-white striped stretchmarks under her fur and scars from where her skin had gotten so heavy it’d torn free from her muscles underneath. Her tail was docked halfway down- it’s grown too heavy and had dragged along the ground to the point it was raw and weeping blood too often for her to salvage it. Leather wraps, tight clothes, anything compression helped- but eventually her body would grow so heavy that she wouldn’t be able to move. With the cure, she could be okay for a while longer.

“No!” Samira snaps angrily, immediately taking a dangerous step closer, “You can’t just- give it away. That was my repayment to you, for what you did for me.”

Lena scrambles to take the pill before Samira can make a move for it, swallowing it dry before following it with a hasty gulp of water.

“You gave it to me, so it is my choice what I do with it.” He argues back.

Samira snarls, “That is not how it works. I didn’t do anything for you, now! I still owe you!” she waves her hands around angrily.

“I do not care about repayment!”

“That doesn’t matter!” She lets out an explosive breath, pinching the bridge of her nose like fighting an oncoming headache, “Fine. fine! I’ll repay you some other way!” she spins on heel and storms out of the room, a vacuum of fury being sucked out with her.

Birdy stares after her, confused and irritated. He didn’t want pinks, he didn’t want the cure!

“Thank you.” Lena says quietly. He turns around to face her- her skin hasn’t changed much outwardly, but there's a blissed look of relief relaxing the constant furrow of her brow. A pink pill is missing from the pile in her lap too, “I owe you.”

He feels a fresh bubble of frustration well up his chest, “No, you do not.”

She relaxes back onto the pillow in her bed, “Yes, I do. That’s how it works here. You do something for someone, and they owe you- the bigger the favor, the more you can ask for. For a cure pill, I’ll give you whatever you want… anything you ask.”

He rests his hand lightly on hers, the anger fading into exhaustion, “I do not want anything from you.” He says quietly.

There’s a long moment of silence, “I have to repay you so… I’ll let you in on a secret, okay?”

“You do not have to-”

“Samiras the bad guy.” She mutters softly, “She wants you to think she’s this reformed philanthropist, but that’s not true. She wants control. It’s all she’s ever wanted, and this is how she gets it.” She begins to languidly put the leftover pills back in their case, “Pinks are painkillers, yeah, but they’re also the most addicting thing you can put in your body. It only takes one, and you’re dependent on them- everyone wants one all of the time, and Samira controls the production. She and Ila are the only ones who actually know how to formulate them, so no one else can replicate it. Oasis isn’t a town, it’s her territory- and there’s a price to be paid by everyone who steps food on her soil.”

“A price?”

She shrugs, “food, spices, textiles, labor- all of it is promised in exchange for pinks. If we don’t comply, we don’t get any. It’s how she maintains control- and no one has any dirt on her, so no one can leverage anything to change the status quo. Ila is completely loyal to her, so if Samira is killed I think she’d let this place burn before she blabbed. No one can do anything but live by her rules.”

“Samira has never owed anyone a serious favor… until you. I imagine you won’t be able to get anything too outrageous, but it’s the principle of the matter. Everyone will know she owes you before long, and that’s not a good look for her. If people realize she's not infallible they'll start to get ideas.”

She pins him with her brilliant gold eyes, her gaze intense and focused, “You need to be careful, Birdy. You have a target on your back now- she’ll go to great lengths to discredit you and lower your reputation. You might even be in an ‘accident’ soon… you’re in the lions den, kid.” She smiles at the irony of that statement coming from a lioness, “Don’t let your guard down.”

“And maybe, if you can… get out of town.”

#ninjago #ninjago never the dark #zane julien #ninjago oc samira #spinchip fic #child death #drug abuse #addiction #this is a heavy chapter !!!!! #word count wise and content wise #rip og birdy #blood #death #sorry zane !

[shadowphoenixrider]

Killing My Love

(Chance meetings can change your life forever - Shadow and Gambit know this well enough. However, another is about to occur, and it's not going to go nearly as well. Ready for angst and the pair of finest wingmates a person could have? Enjoy!)

It was a good night; the club was excited, the music and lights loud and bright yet not overly stimulating, and the bar was calm enough that Gambit could stay by it and the woman perched on the bar stool next to him.

Getting all the X-Men into one place was difficult, especially the more reclusive types like Beast and Storm, but through some miracle a place had been found where most were content to let their hair down and enjoy the atmosphere.

Gambit really shouldn't have been pushing that luck any further, yet he had to try to get Shadow onto the dance floor - she had declined, regardless of the charm he'd turned on for her. That said, the pleasant discussion about cats they'd found themselves in was a nice diversion too.

The Cajun's gaze had wandered elsewhere in the lull of their conversation, spotting Scott and Jean in a darker, quieter area of the club also in deep talks together, when Shadow moved in the corner of his eye. She sat up to her full height, craning her neck like a bird.

"What's caught ya eye, petite?" Gambit asked as she leaned slightly out of her seat, squinting.

"I...I think..." Another head movement. "I think my ex is here."

A flash of tension shot through Gambit's body before he could stop it. He consciously relaxed himself, trying to follow Shadow's eyeline.

"You think? Where?" He asked, deliberately keeping his tone light.

"Over there, west wall, I think..." Shadow stood up on the bar stool's rung. "Yeah, he's next to the pillar. You see it? Second from the door, closer to us."

Gambit's gaze closed in on a pale-skinned, averagely built man standing somewhat awkwardly by the white square pillar mentioned, dressed mostly in black, minus a light blue shirt.

"Black hair, white face, looks like he jus' here 'cos someone dragged him?" Gambit asked.

"Yeah, that's the guy." Shadow nodded. "This isn't usually his type of place, guess his friends brought him here."

"Hmm." Gambit hummed. The man had a soft, pleasant face, and a smile that brightened his eyes, fake or otherwise. "Good to know ya got a good taste in men, petite." He grinned at her.

Shadow rolled her eyes, trying to pin him with a glare.

"Don't you go getting any ideas Cajun, he's not your type."

Gambit raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Den what be 'my type', petite?" He grinned, which only widened when he saw a flush start to darken on her cheeks.

"I don't mean like that!" Her tone became serious. "I mean he's the type of guy to break out in hives if another man flirts with him."

"That so...?" Gambit's gaze was roving back to the ex when Shadow grabbed his wrist tightly, staring directly into his eyes with an intensity that surprised him.

"Gambit, don't. He's probably already having a shit time, he doesn't need someone deliberately making it worse," she said, more seriously than he'd heard her for a while. Can see why you two were together for ten years.

"Alright, petite." He smiled, gently patting her hand. "Gambit were only gonna talk to him."

"Talk or Talk?" Shadow asked, raising an eyebrow. He noticed that although the young woman's grip had loosened, she hadn't let him go yet.

"Gambit not gonna scare him, if dat be your worry," he said, glancing back to the man by the pillar. "Jus' talk. Gotta admit, be mighty weird dat he jus' happen to turn up here the one time we be here."

"Sure, but sometimes things are just coincidences, Gambit." She pulled away from him, and he found he missed her touch. "Besides, he doesn't know I'm with you guys, and this place was pretty last minute. For all we know, we turned up as his place!"

"Think we woulda been noticed." Gambit replied, gesturing to Beast, engaged in lively conversation further down the bar with Storm. "Not exactly subtle, non?"

"Yeah, but..." Shadow shook her head. "Urgh, fine. Just leave my ex alone, ok? What's done was done, let him exist in peace."

"Whatever ya say, petite." Gambit said, taking a drink.

A companionable silence settled between the two, although the Cajun's eyes returned to the man hovering awkwardly by the pillar. He definitely looked out of his element, and although he seemed to chat with a couple of others, he kept his gaze to himself and the surrounding furniture. Passing time, counting the minutes down.

Maybe Shadow was right. It was just serendipity that two had to turn up at the same place at the same time, unaware of one another. Although they had seemingly left on less than great terms, she'd never insinuated her ex-partner had been dangerous or cruel beyond his need for blissful ignorance. She clearly cared for him, even now, and if she didn't think he'd be anything but an awkward moment waiting to happen...why couldn't he help but feel on edge about it?

Why do you care so much? His thoughts accused him. It's not like a bright spark like her would be interested in a rat like you.

Shadow swung the last dregs of her glass back, placing it back in easy reach of the bartender.

"I just gonna go to bathroom Gambit, I'll be right back," she said, hopping down from the bar stool. "Don't go getting into any trouble!"

"No promises!" He called back, grinning as she gave him the middle finger before she slipped quickly and effortlessly away through the crowd.

The Cajun turned around to survey the club once more. Scott and Jean had left; Scott probably needing to take a break for his head, Logan keeping an eye on Jubilee as she danced excitedly, Rogue chatting with Storm and laughing about something, and Beast also taking a brief leave himself.

Rogue caught his eye at that moment, and excused herself from Storm, making her way over to him, a small smile on her lips.

"Didn't expect you to be all on your own, sugah. Where'd Shadow go?" She asked.

"She jus' gone for a break, she be back soon." Gambit smiled back. "You doin' ok?" Rogue lifted a shoulder.

"Same as always. Least you can hear yourself think in here, though Jubilee'd probably want somethin' a li'l louder."

"She can find dat on her own when she be a bit older." Gambit chuckled. "Jus' glad we got everyone here. Not often dat happens."

"No, it is real nice." Rogue looked back to him with her olive green eyes, studying him a moment. "Alright Remy, spit it out. You look like you got the weight o' the world on ya shoulders!"

"Dat obvious?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You got a face longer than a freight train, sugah. Saw it from a mile away." She folded her arms. "C'mon. What's eatin' you?"

Gambit sighed, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the club once again.

"Shadow's ex partner be here." He saw Rogue tense in the corner of his eye. "It don't look like he be here on purpose for her, an' she don't want us confrontin' him." His eyes found the man, still at his position, although his gaze was in the direction of the bathrooms. "She ever said anythin' to you 'bout him?'"

"No, not that we didn't already know." Rogue said. "Seemed like just two sweethearts in love, one not gettin' the other. Annoyed that it got this far, but she's never mentioned him bein' nasty to her or anythin'." A pause. "You worried he's gonna try somethin'?"

Gambit frowned.

"I don't know. Jus' got a bad feelin' 'bout him bein' here."

"If somethin' happens we'll help out, but Shadow's a big girl." Rogue pointed out. "She can handle her ex on her own."

The Cajun pressed his lips together, frustrated and annoyed and not even quite sure why. Suddenly, the man moved, getting up from his spot and starting to move through the crowd. Gambit's eyes flicked across the heads until he saw a recognisable mop of curly brown hair weaving through the bodies towards them.

"Remy?"

"He's on the move, Rogue." Gambit replied, not daring to turn his head as his gaze flicked back to the man, watching make his way directly to- "Merde! He's goin' for her."

Gambit was on his feet in a second before Rogue's steel grip seized his shirt, stopping him dead.

"Easy there tiger," she said, lowly. "They might just want to talk."

He gritted his teeth, managing to restrain himself. The ex stopped Shadow in her path, and her eyes widened, surprised. They were too far away from Gambit to hear anything of what was being said, although both seemed mostly calm after the initial surprise, most likely catching up with one another.

Maybe I was overreacting...

The crowd obscured them for a moment, yet Gambit saw Shadow shake her head in response to something. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she spoke. The reaction from the man was to gesture something, open-handed - pleading?

That was when Shadow's gaze looked past him, searching and finding Gambit's eyes. They held for a second, and Gambit mouthed 'help?'

She nodded.

"Ah'm right behind ya, sugah." Rogue murmured, letting Gambit lead as the pair made their way over. What had started as a calm discussion was starting to slowly escalate; Shadow folding her arms whilst her ex gestured more frantically, even making a step towards her. Gambit was also aware of eyes on him - probably the other X-Men noticing him and Rogue moving with intent.

"You go first, Rogue." Gambit said, stopping to let her pass. "Look afta Shadow. I can handle de guy."

She gave him a smile, their plan setting into motion as Rogue walked over to Shadow, Gambit in her wake with the most serene smile he could muster on his features.

"There ya are sugah!" Rogue exclaimed, moving to Shadow's side and settling a glove on her shoulder. "We've been lookin' all over for you!"

The sheer relief that flashed in the smaller woman's eyes was more than enough to confirm to Gambit that they'd done the right thing, although he continued to play his part.

"Whose ya friend, petite?" He asked, eyeing the other man as casually as he could. The ex was taller than Shadow by a couple of inches, his green eyes warily flicking between the pair, before they locked onto Gambit's eyes and widened - the penny had dropped.

"Oh, this is my ex, Tom." Shadow replied, playing along with them. "We just happened to bump into one another."

"Nice ta meet ya, Tom." Rogue said brightly, all warm Southern hospitality. "This gal's told us all 'bout ya!"

Tom's gaze flicked from Gambit to Rogue nervously and back again.

"O-Oh, she has?" He said.

"Yeah." Gambit grinned toothily. "Didn't tell us how much of a good lookin' fella ya be though, mon ami."

Shadow gave him a Look, and he returned it with a gaze that he hoped conveyed 'trust me'.

Tom's back stiffened, his initial shock quickly starting to bleed away, and his dark brows furrowed.

"Glad she still thinks of me that way after all these years." Was his frosty response. "I have always loved her very deeply, and I still do."

"Deeply, maybe. But you didn't love all of me, did you?" Shadow shot back hotly.

"I do love you!" Tom pleaded. "Look, I didn't understand how much they meant to you. I just wanted you to have an easier life, after everything you'd been through!" Gambit and Rogue shared a glance.

"By hiding them? So if it'd been my hair that got me ridicule, would you have told me to shave it off?"

"No, of course not! You deserve to keep your gorgeous curls, and anyone who says otherwise can go screw themselves!"

"So what about my powers?"

"Well, that's more complicated-"

"No sugah, it's not." Rogue butted in. "You either love all of her: body, mind, powers an' all, or ya jus' love the idea of her. You can't pick an' choose what ya like of a person."

"Since when was this any of your business?" Tom retorted, glaring between them.

"Since we became her friends, sugah." Replied Rogue dangerously, stepping forward. "Now why don't ya cool ya head 'fore things start gettin' ugly."

"I wouldn't make de lady mad if I were you." Gambit grinned, stepping closer to Shadow. He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "Doin' alright, petite?"

"Better now you're both here." She whispered back.

Gambit glimpsed Tom's face flash with utter fury, his grip on his glass tightening.

"So I see it didn't take you long to replace me!" Tom spat, glaring at Gambit. "You were everything to me! But it's great to see those ten years we spent together were so easily tossed aside when another man with pretty words came around!"

"Thank you for de compliment, mon ami." Gambit smirked, straightening up and stepping a little closer to Shadow. Tom's face was starting to turn bright red, his spare hand balling into a fist.

"I thought you were better than this." He growled. "That you were smart enough not to let someone like him convince you he was worth your time!"

"Excuse me?!" Rogue cried, clenching her own fists. Now heads really were turning towards them.

"And what are men like him?" Shadow snarled, mirroring Rogue. Gambit would have been flattered at their defence if his own anger hadn't been rising in his chest.

"Men that are only interested in a quick fuck and moving on, that's who!" Tom snapped, pointing square at the Cajun. "You're nothing but a number to him! Another notch on his bedpost! He'll break your heart without a second thought as soon as he gets what he wants."

"Bold assumptions, mon ami." Gambit spoke coldly, venom dripping from his words. "You know nothing about me."

"I know enough about people like you." Tom hissed. "Taking advantage of women just for your own fun."

"Okay, shut the fuck up!" Shadow snapped, stepping in front of Gambit, her shoulders square, and fury burning off her like flames. "It's fucking rich coming from you, claiming that Gambit here just wants to get into bed with me when you're the one who won't fucking acknowledge that I'm a mutant! So it's okay for you to deny a core aspect of my being, but as soon as another guy might take an interest in me, you lose your fucking mind?!"

Shadow began to stalk forward, even Rogue moving aside for her. Gambit joined other patrons in watching this with awe.

"Furthermore, you're acting like I'm still yours when, last I checked, we split up? The hell is it any of your business who I'm dating or fucking?!" Shadow briefly glanced to Gambit. "What? Are you afraid if I date another mutant I might discover someone who understands what it's like to never be truly normal? That I can never turn this off, ever, that society will never, ever let me be anything but a mutant?" She narrowed her eyes. "Or is it because you're frightened that I'm just going to find someone better than you full stop?"

"That's unfair! I know I screwed up, but so did you!" Tom scowled. "You treated me like dirt to begin with, and I took it because I loved you!"

"I know, and I'm sorry." Shadow's fury abated for a moment. "I was young and socially-awkward and had no idea how relationships work - not that was an excuse. We were both young people growing up, trying to understand our place in the world against people who didn't like us and treated us like shit. No wonder we screwed up!" She sighed. "I just thought, of everyone, it'd be you, the man I loved, and went through the same shit I did, who knew what it was like to be hated by people just for being different. And why we couldn't let it change us, or force us to hide - because there was nothing wrong us to begin with!"

Shadow's voice became heavier with sorrow, gesturing widely and frantically. Gambit took a cautious step closer.

"So why, Tom? Why do I have to hide for you? You seemed just fine when I used my powers for you!"

"I wanted you to be safe!" Tom cried. "I love you, I wanted you to want for nothing, and never experience anything like we did at school ever again! I didn't want you to ever be afraid again!"

"That's a nice dream, sugah." Rogue's voice was soft. "But it can only be a dream."

"People ain't things you can jus' lock up an' keep safe." Added Gambit. "'Specially if they don't wanna be."

"So that's it?" Tom spat. "I just have to be fine with the fact the woman I love could be assaulted or taunted or ridiculed at any moment just because 'that's the way things are'?"

"That's not what he meant an' you know it." Rogue growled.

"Of course it fucking sucks that I'm- we're discriminated against for just being mutants!" Shadow gestured broadly. "But we don't get anywhere by hiding! They'll hate me whether I'm behind closed doors or out on the street, so I might as well live as who I am than pretend to be someone I'm not."

Something shifted in Tom's face, and Gambit rested his hand over his trouser pocket. He hoped he wouldn't need the slim deck of cards stashed there, but with how the situation was turning...

"My love never mattered to you, did it?" Tom spoke, new anger dawning over his face like a blood-red sunrise.

"W...What?" Shadow did a double-take. Gambit and Rogue shared a glance. I don't like where this is going.

"Ten years, I loved you! Ten years of caring, wanting you to be safe and happy, and it never mattered to you, did it?!" Tom yelled.

"You fucking what?!" Shadow exclaimed. "Of course it fucking mattered to me! We were together ten years! You think I wanted to split with you?! Why do you think we talked so many times near the end? I was trying to save the relationship with the man I loved, because I thought we were always meant to be! The two sides of the same coin! You were the moon to my sun, the dragon to my phoenix! If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have gotten through high school!"

"Yet you still left me. After everything I did for you."

"Because I needed to live, Tom!" Shadow's desperate cry was heavy with emotion. "Because I grew up, I got stronger thanks to you, and I'll never be able to repay you for that, that's true, but I couldn't stay in that cage you wanted for me." She shook her head. "I know I was your everything, but you can't let a person be the one thing your life revolves around, or you suffocate them! I loved you Tom, but you held me so tightly I couldn't breathe!"

"So it's true." Tom replied coldly. "I wasn't everything to you."

"I didn't say that-"

"I'm the only man who could ever love you, Kat." Tom spoke, his tone frosty whilst anger and hate boiled beneath the surface. "Don't you remember?"

"Don't pull this with me Tom, you're talking about a very different person." Shadow growled, squaring her shoulders. "That scared little girl clinging to any affirmation she could get is gone now."

"Is she?" A raised eyebrow. "Is that why you had to go scurrying to your new friends? Is that why you so easily went to that man's bed?"

"Really should stop makin' dose assumptions, couyon. It gettin' embarrassin' now." Gambit hissed lowly.

"Ah have you know we came to her, sugah." Rogue replied, stepping forward. "Not that ah think you know what friends are."

"Well, neither does she!" Tom claimed. "She jumps friend groups all the time!

"Oh, so we're criticizing each other for being socially-awkward, are we?" Shadow laughed bitterly, miming picking up a phone. "Hi pot, this is kettle, I think you'll find you're black as well! Besides," her humourous veneer dropped in an instant, "you have no fucking idea what I've been doing since we broke up, so how about you stop pretending you know, ok?"

"Do they even know what you did?" Tom asked, raising his voice. A cruel grin curled his lips when Shadow hesitated, tension tightening her shoulders. "They don't, do they?"

"Tom, don't do this." Shadow's voice was quiet, and Gambit saw her leg start to tremble.

"Dat's enough." He interjected, stepping in front of Shadow, using his full height to loom over Tom. A card slipped into his fingers and his powers hummed eagerly beneath his skin. "Gambit think you should leave before dis gets ugly, mon ami."

Tom straightened up, and although he was smaller than the Cajun, he held his ground.

"She won't tell you, because she's a liar and a playing you all for fools, pretending to be innocent when she has blood on her hands." Tom said, lifting his chin up. "Kat almost killed someone, you know. Lost her temper and nearly tore their throat out with those powers of hers. She's pretending she's just an innocent little creature, wouldn't hurt anyone, but she would have killed him without hesitation if she wasn't stopped. That's why her powers should be hidden - because otherwise next time she gets pissed, someone's going to die."

Tom grinned triumphantly, the crowd murmuring around them, and Gambit let him enjoy it for a couple seconds. Then he arched his eyebrow, letting his own sly grin grow across his lips.

"Dat's it?" Gambit asked, revelling in the ex's expression starting to falter. He stepped closer, hoping his dark eyes was making him looking every bit Le Diable Blanc he'd been. "What did Gambit tell ya 'bout makin' assumptions?" He held the playing card up - the ace of diamonds - and let his power surge into it, turning it a bright, glowing pink that cast sinister shadows across his face. Its high-pitched hum blended with the crowd's anxious mutterings. "You think Gambit not spilt his own share 'o blood?" His voice lowered, exchanging his tease for something altogether more dangerous. "Gambit know what she did, mon ami. She told him. And dat wasn't very nice to just blurt out in front of everyone."

"Gambit not gonna tell ya again. Walk away, or de lady here gonna deal wit ya." He raised his voice again as he nodded to a very angry Rogue. "She not as nice as Gambit."

"What's going on here?!" Gambit turned his head to see Scott pushing his way through the crowd of spectators, Jean and the others following swiftly behind. He tucked the card under his belt, just in case.

"Everything's under control, sugah." Replied Rogue, folding her arms as she approached Tom as well. "This guy was jus' leavin', wasn't he?"

Gambit stepped back towards Shadow, who seemed to have shrunk a couple of inches, and put his arm around her.

"Oh no you don't!" Rogue suddenly said, and Gambit glimpsed a flash of glass, the crowd uttering a collective gasp. He quickly pulled Shadow into his body, shielding her with his broad back, his card back between his fingers and flaring white with power.

Luckily Rogue had stopped Tom in time, effortlessly holding both of his arms - one with the drink he'd attempted to throw and the other that had made a swing for Rogue herself. Tom's green eyes were wide as saucers, suddenly realizing what a terrible mistake he'd just made.

"Alright big guy, that's it. You've had enough." Rogue announced, casually moving so she could pin both of his wrists together before she lifted him clean off the floor by his shirt. "Time to see the big guys by the door, sugah."

And with that, she was gone, Tom too stunned to even struggle. The crowd started to disperse, chattering amongst themselves, and the rest of the X-Men pushed through, gathering around Gambit and Shadow.

"What the hell happened here?" Scott demanded, although his tone had softened at seeing Shadow pressed against the Cajun's side. Jean immediately went over to the young woman, talking gently to her.

"Dat fils de putain be Shadow's ex-partner." Gambit explained, nodding in the direction Rogue had gone, tucking the now de-powered card back into the deck. "Decided he be wantin' his pound of flesh."

"Looked like a piece of work." Logan growled. "Good riddance."

"An' 'fore ya ask, no, Gambit didn't start anythin'. He caught Shadow comin' back to us - we were on a rescue mission."

"It seems your presence might have had exacerbated the situation, however." Storm spoke. "He reacted extremely badly towards you."

"Hardly Gambit's problem if the guy is too jealous he can't stand to see the girl he isn't even dating be kind to another man." Jubilee pointed out. "Dude's so cuckoo-bananas he probably would have blown up on any one of us."

"A shame a jealous ex-lover has spoiled the evening." Beast commented. "I was finding it very enjoyable."

"Hey now, with that guy thrown outta here, we can still have some fun!" Jubilee commented. "It's not even that late!"

"I...You guys can carry on." Shadow managed to speak up. "I, I think I wanna go back, though."

"That's perfectly understandable." Jean smiled. "Will you be ok to make your own way back, or do you want one of us to come with you?"

"I can take her." Gambit offered. "My bike ain't far, an' I think I might not be too welcome after dis little spat either."

"But you didn't do anything!" Jubilee cried.

"Maybe, but bouncers don't have time to litigate squabbles like that." Logan grunted. "Better to just kick both parties out and let them sort it amongst themselves."

"That's so unfair..."

"You alright to go wit me, petite?" Gambit asked Shadow kindly. "Or you wanna wait for Rogue?"

"N-No, I just wanna go." Her defeated tone almost broke his heart, and part of him hoped Rogue threw the bastard out on his ear. Or into a wall.

"Ok. C'mon den, let's go home."

(Next: "Heal Me")

#sprs writing #x men #gambit #oc/canon #remy lebeau #rogue x men #self insert #self ship #slow burn #angst #arguments #dialogue heavy #gambit and rogue being The Best Wingmates #i processed a lot of things through this fic holy shit #self insert x canon #self insert/gambit #x men gambit

[kitonmitons]

Ameena around 12/13 gathering herbs for the shop, her absolute least favorite chore. She hates getting the dirt under her nails, she gets so paranoid that it’ll make her sick, so Myrddin got her a gardening glove to try and minimize the stress :)

#this is inspired by a short fic thing i wanna write later #also nick id’d the herbs in the basket i got so excited!!!! #this was super fun to draw i experimented a lil bit with erasing the lines to make the drawing feel less heavy #my art #my oc #ameena #myrddin #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #dnd #dungeons and dragons #tiefling