#as leftovers so i just. powered through. should not have i’m in physical pain

[macroglossus]

i think i just ate my entire leg’s worth of pasta. groaning like tina belcher

#fine my thigh. #jesus christtttt i made half the thing but i also added broccoli bc i was like yummy broccoli :) but. the only time ive added broccoli to #pasta is when i was making pasta for the whole family so i just instinctively added the whole package in there #and if this wasn’t gluten free pasta it’d be fine i’d just stick it in the fridge and eat it later but gluten free pasta gets SO gross #as leftovers so i just. powered through. should not have i’m in physical pain #also i’ve been watching bobs burgers. it’s fine

[samwisethewitch]

Curses and Hexes

Cursing is one of the most ancient forms of magic — and one of the most controversial. Whereas most magic is constructive (used to manifest or attract things), cursing is destructive (used to cause misfortune or harm).

Technically speaking, curses and hexes are similar but different types of spells. A curse consists of written or spoken words, sometimes combined with gestures. A hex is a ritual involving material items. However, most modern witches use the terms interchangeably, as I do in this post.

The fastest way to start a debate in any witchy community is to bring up the topic of cursing. It seems like everyone has strong opinions on the subject, either for or against. For your practice, all that matters is what you believe.

So, When Is It Okay to Curse Someone?

This is a tricky question, and the answer depends on the witch.

There are some witches who believe that intentionally causing harm or misfortune to another person is always wrong, and will never cast curses for this reason. This is an entirely valid position! If you fall into this camp, know that you’re in good company.

Other witches believe that cursing is acceptable when it’s truly warranted by the situation, such as when your life or livelihood is in danger. Others believe that cursing is simply a means to an end, and can be done with good intention (cursing your friend’s unfaithful partner to get them to stop cheating, for example).

The one thing that most witches seem to agree on is that curses are serious stuff, and should not be taken lightly. Unlike other types of magic, curses are fueled by negative emotions like hate, anger, and heartbreak. This makes them very powerful, but also very draining for the witch casting them. Cursing someone means reliving any trauma you suffered at their hands in order to use those memories as fuel for the fire. Some people aren’t willing to put themselves through such an ordeal, which again, is entirely fair.

Because curses are fueled by such strong emotions, they’re powerful and volatile. They’re like the nitro fuel of witchcraft — if you don’t know what you’re doing and aren’t careful, someone could get seriously hurt. That someone could be you.

My personal view on cursing is essentially the same as my view on physical violence. It’s not the answer to all, or even most, problems, and it sometimes makes the situation worse instead of better. It should never be your first option, but it might very well be your last resort. If someone is holding you at gunpoint, you’re entitled to use violence to protect yourself. Likewise, if someone is putting you or a loved-one in life-threatening danger, you’re entitled to use whatever magical means necessary for protection.

Before You Curse

If you think there’s someone in your life who deserves to be cursed, go through the following criteria to decide if cursing is really the most appropriate action.

Sleep on it. When we’re in the heat of the moment, we sometimes say or do things we don’t mean. If you think you’re angry enough with someone to curse them, give it a couple of days before you reach for the vinegar and chili peppers. Give yourself time to cool off and clear your head. If, after a week, you still feel like a curse is warranted, move on to the next step.

Think about your own motives. Why do you want to curse this person? What did they do to make you angry enough that you’re willing to use magic to harm them in some way? If it’s a minor annoyance, like cutting you off in traffic, a curse probably isn’t appropriate. Likewise, if your motivations are petty or catty in nature — like cursing someone because they beat you out for a promotion — I highly encourage you to stop and do some self-reflection. For one thing, you may not be able to conjure enough genuine hatred and anger for an effective curse. For another, in these situations you may find it more helpful to do some work on yourself (working on anger issues, learning to gracefully accept failure, etc.) rather than lashing out at someone else.

Ask yourself if this situation matters in the long run. It may feel incredibly important now, but try to take a step back and look at the big picture. Will this person matter in a year? Five years? Ten? Are they important enough to warrant allowing yourself to channel enough negative energy for a curse? (If this person is putting your life, livelihood, or safety at risk, the answer to all of these questions is YES!)

Make sure your anger is directed at the right person. Who is really responsible for the pain you’re feeling? For example, if your significant other cheats on you, your first reaction may be to curse the person who “stole” them from you. But you aren’t really upset with this person — you’re hurt because your partner betrayed your trust. I’m not convinced that a cheating partner is a serious enough reason to cast a curse (again, will it really matter in ten years?) but if you decide to do so, at least make sure it’s directed at the person who is truly responsible for your pain.

Consider doing a banishing instead. In situations where a person is a danger to you or your loved ones, sometimes the best option is to give them a magical push out of your life. A banishing does what the name implies — it banishes a person or thing from your life. Unlike a curse, a banishing does not cause harm or misfortune to the person being targeted. It simply removes them from your life.

You can perform a simple yet effective banishing with a piece of paper, a pen, cayenne pepper, and dried lavender. Write the name of the person or thing you want to banish on the paper. Look down at the name and say, out loud, “[Name], you are no longer welcome in my life.” Sprinkle a bit of cayenne on the paper and instruct it to burn this person out of your life. Sprinkle a bit of lavender on the paper and instruct it to bring you peace and healing. Fold the paper up to create a little packet around the herbs, then take it outside and burn it to ash. (Be careful — cayenne smoke burns!) As the paper burns say, “I banish [name] from my life, never to return.” Scatter the leftover ashes on a busy road.

Consider doing a binding instead. Maybe you don’t necessarily need someone out of your life, but you do need to take away their power to cause harm. In this case, a binding is your best bet. A binding is a spell that “binds up” someone’s power, preventing them from taking certain actions. This can be useful for dealing with people who are toxic or abusive. Like a banishing, binding does not cause harm or misfortune to the target.

You can perform a simple binding charm with a photograph of your target, a pen, and red or black thread. Write your target’s full name (or as much of it as you know) across the bottom of the photo. Look down at the photo. Say, out loud, “[Name], I bind you. I bind up your power, so that you can no longer ______.” Fold the paper up as small as possible. Then, begin to wrap the thread around the folded paper. As you do, say, “[Name], I bind you.” Continue wrapping until the thread completely covers the paper — there should be no paper visible.

For whatever reason, some people seem to have a natural resistance to banishing and binding. You may find that your spell works for a while, but the person you tried to banish/bind eventually returns to their old ways. There’s some debate about why this happens — some say it’s because these people are narcissists or energy vampires, while others think it has something to do with their force of will. Personally, I think it’s because some people are so nasty and hateful that it takes nasty, hateful magic to get rid of them for good. If you find yourself dealing with one of these people, and your banishings and bindings aren’t sticking, you may want to move on to a full-fledged curse.

Creating an Effective Curse

Okay, you’ve done your self-reflection, you’ve considered or attempted a banishing and/or binding, and you still feel like cursing is your best/only option. In that case, here are some general guidelines for making sure that your curse is appropriate, effective, and ethical.

Be VERY specific. Don’t just lob a ball of negative energy at someone and expect it to do what you want. Be very, very clear about your intent for this curse. Use precise and specific language. Make it painfully obvious what you want to happen and how you want it to unfold.

For example, when writing a petition or incantation, don’t just say, “[Name] is cursed.” Instead use something like, “Should [Name] ever contact or harass me again, he/she/they is cursed. Let him/her/them feel what I have felt and suffer as I have suffered.” You could get even more specific and detailed if you wanted to, but the important thing is to establish some basic parameters for the powerful dark energy you’re unleashing.

Make sure the punishment fits the crime. A curse to cause sexual impotence probably isn’t appropriate for an abusive boss… unless that boss is sexually harassing their employees. In that case, sticking a few pins in a rotting cucumber may be just what the situation calls for. (Yes, that’s a real curse. Yes, the cucumber represents what you think it represents.)

Making sure the punishment fits the crime also means being honest about how serious of a curse is deserved. Do you really need to ruin this person’s life to get them out of your hair, or will a mild inconvenience do? As strange as the idea of a curse being fair sounds, avoiding overkill will not only maintain balance but will keep you from expending more energy than you have to.

Make sure your curse is only affecting your target and not anyone around them. When it comes to curses, family, friends, and coworkers can sometimes get caught in the crossfire. To avoid this, make sure your spell is targeted to a specific person by personalizing it as much as possible. Include photos of your target, their full legal name (or as much of their full name as you know), and a taglock if you can get it. You may even want to include a line in your petition or incantation specifying that this curse will only affect the desired target and not their friends and associates.

Set clear conditions/parameters. The most effective curses are situational. Think of it as laying an energetic trap in or around a certain situation — this is more efficient and uses up less of your energy than if you were to just cast a blanket curse that affects every area of the target’s life. Curse parameters take the form of, “If [name] does x, they will be met with y.”

Setting parameters also makes sure your curse is truly deserved. For example, maybe your friend has an abusive ex-spouse, and you want to use a curse to keep your friend safe. If the ex-spouse is already leaving your friend alone, there’s no reason for a curse. But if they aren’t leaving your friend alone, they deserve to be met with vicious, magical resistance. For this situation, you may want to use an incantation like, “Should [ex-spouse] ever approach or contact [your friend], they are cursed with discomfort, unrest, and legal trouble. Let them be hunted and put down like a rabid dog.” This ensures that if, at any point in the future, the ex-spouse starts harassing your friend again, the curse will immediately go into action.

Don’t attach yourself to the curse. Perhaps the most important part of cursing is making sure you keep the energy of the curse separate from your own energy. Revenge is a double-edged sword, so you need to take precautions to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

Any time you cast a curse, you want to limit its connection to you as much as possible. Don’t include any of your own personal effects in the spell. You may also want to avoid using tools that hold a special place in your practice. For example, you may not want to use your altar as a place to craft curses. You may want to use materials that can be disposed of easily. Make sure to dispose of curse remains somewhere outside your home, such as at a busy road.

After casting a curse, it’s important to set aside some time for self-care. Start with a thorough cleansing. This can be as simple as taking a bath in salt water (or dumping a bucket of salt water over your head in the shower, if you don’t have a tub), but if you would rather do a full-fledged cleansing ritual, even better! It’s important to do something to remove any lingering negativity from your energy field, and to make sure the curse doesn’t attach to you in any way.

Cursing is intense, emotional, draining work. After casting a curse, take at least a few hours to rest and be kind to yourself. Eat your favorite foods. Take a nap. Read a book or watch a movie. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel good.

You may want to do some inner work after cursing to help process the intense emotions involved in this kind of magic. This can be journaling, meditation, energy work, or some other healing modality. If you’ve experienced serious trauma, you may want to consider speaking to a therapist or counselor in addition to doing work on your own.

Resources:

Utterly Wicked by Dorothy Morrison

Of Blood and Bones by Kate Freuler

New World Witchery podcast, “Episode 102 — Evil”

#baby witch bootcamp #baby witch #witch #witchblr #witchcraft #cursing #hexing #curse #hex #hex positive #dark magic #left hand path #defensive magic #wicca #wiccan #pagan #paganism #norse pagan #my writing #long post #mine #astrology #tarot #divination

[lilacs-fandom-garden]

Incorrect Quotes 4

Ships: 

Errorink (lol I dont have much Errorink in my posts still, sorry)

Kreme/Driller 

Crossmare

Dustberry

Horrorlust

Scifell

Afterdeath 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geno, to Ink: I dare you to—

Dream: Ink isn’t allowed to accept dares.

Ink: Apparently I have ”no regard for my personal safety”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Do you miss the imagination of childhood?

Cross: I never had one.

Dust: An imagination or a childhood?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror: *accidentally hits Error in the face*

Horror: *trying to decide between saying “I’m fucking sorry” and “are you okay?”

Horror: ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Do you like my outfit?

Dream: Not as much as I like what's underneath it.

Killer, blushing: I- Dre-  

Dream: I need your chair. Get up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror: Do you know when you know someone, and you see that they have another, like, life away from you and it feels weird?

Dust: Like when you see your teacher in the grocery store weird, or like when someone you’ve known for a long time starts wearing a cowboy hat weird?

Horror: The… The first thing weird

Dust: Oh, that’s good, ‘Cause I was thinking about getting a cowboy hat

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: You read my diary?!

Dream: At first, I didn’t know it was your diary. I thought it was a very sad handwritten book.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: Sorry, but you're under arrest for robbery.

Horror: What did I steal?

Lust, trying not to cry: My heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: Killer and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us

Cross: *Sighing* What did Killer do?

Dream: They chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and...

Killer: Who wants a steering wheel?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: *holding a bottle* Is this whiskey or perfume?

Killer: *chugs entire bottle*

Killer: It’s perfume.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer, watching the news: Someone tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today.

Dream: *walks in covered with ink* Well, maybe the squid was being a jerk!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer, tending to Dream's wounds: How would you rate your pain?

Dream: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Horror, drinking toast: Why do you say that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Lol heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this lmfao

Horror: What did you do!?

Dust: A MISTAKE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust, addressing the squad: And if you have any suggestions feel free to put them in the suggestion box.

Horror: But – that’s just a trash can.

Dust: It sure is!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: With great power comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fell: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives

Sci: I wake up at 4:30 AM

Fell:

Fell: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sci: If you were to vacuum up jello through a metal tube, well I think that’d be a neat noise

Fell: I beg to differ

Sci: Then Beg

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: You’re a lying, cheating, piece of shit! You’re not the person I married!

Blue: Fine then! We’re getting a divorce! And i’m taking the kids!

Dream, pushing the monopoly board away from them: …maybe we should stop playing…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: I relate to Belle because she loves books and likes people for who they are!

Ink: I relate to Tinkerbell because she needs attention or she dies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: *dials 911*

Killer: hey i hate to be “that guy” but i glued myself to the ceiling again

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: Things have actually been going really well with Error. Our friendship is in a really good place.

Ink: Last week I said, “Did you know the weiner dog is neither a weiner nor a dog?” Instead of saying, “Shut up, Ink,” they said, “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: *signs a legal document with a glitter gel pen*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror, dumping out a shopping bag full of Lunchables onto the table: Tonight, we feast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Error or Nightmare: *kicks “G” off Graveyard sign*

Error or Nightmare: Let’s get this party started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reaper: Did Geno just tell me they loved me for the first time?

Cross: Yeah.

Reaper: And did I do finger guns back?

Cross: Yeah, you did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sci: Name one time I haven’t acted professional

Geno: You’re holding a juice box right now

Sci: It’s to stop me from spilling my juice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*The Bad Sanses response to I love you*

Killer: Thanks fam!

Horror: oh no

Dust: *cries* I love you too

Cross: Sounds fake but okay

Error: *A flustered mess*

Nightmare: can i get a refund

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sci: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous.

Blue: What if it bites me and it dies!?

Sci: Then you’re poisonous.

Dream: What if it bites itself and I die?

Sci: That’s voodoo.

Error: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Sci: That’s correlation, not causation.

Horror: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die?

Ink & Killer at the same time: That’s kinky.

Sci: Oh my God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: Truth or dare?

Lust: Dare

Blue: I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room

Lust: Hey Ink. 

Ink: Yeah?

Lust: Could you move? I’m trying to get to Geno. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me

Horror: Okay, but in my defense, Dust bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo.

Killer: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*The group is getting into the car*

Lust: I’m driving.

Geno, out of view: Shotgun!

Sci, turning to face Geno: Aww! But you had it on the way here-

Everyone except Geno: WOAH-

Geno, holding a shotgun: No! I found a shotgun! And I want the front seat! *Pumps gun*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A random stranger: Go to Hell

Nightmare, tearing up: I wish I could

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Error: Dear friends, your Christmas gift this year… is me. That’s right, another year of friendship. Your membership has been renewed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: I’m going to defeat you with the power of friendship! ... And this knife I found.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: My life isn’t as glamorous as my wanted poster makes it look like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: You know how I roll.

Killer: And I’m not talking about that time I fell into a pile of dung at the foot of a hill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: Physically, yes, I could fight a bird. But emotionally? Imagine the toll.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: You seem familiar, have I threatened you before?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: Look. I may not be a saint, but it's not like I’ve killed anybody. I’m not an arsonist. I’ve never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground.

Fell: Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you definitely did do that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running?

Dust: Oh, I’m always running

Dust: The question is from what

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: WHAT’S YOUR TYPE

Fell: Anything, honestly, but nerds especially

Blue, desperately, as Fell bleeds out: YOUR BLOOD TYPE

Fell: Oh! B positive.

Blue: DONT TRY TO CHEER ME UP JUST TELL ME YOUR BLOOD TYPE

Fell:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror: So what’s for dinner?

Dust, staring at the food they just burnt: Regret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: Hey, you want some leftovers?

Cross: What's that?

Nightmare: You've never had leftovers???

Cross: No, because I'm not a quitter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: You often use humor to deflect trauma

Cross: Thank you

Nightmare: I didn't say that was a good thing

Cross: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sci, pointing: May I sit there?

Fell: That's my lap

Sci: That doesn't answer my question, Fell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life

Dream: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?

Blue: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

Ink: edible

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'Can I copy the homework?'

Horror: I can help you with it!

Killer: Yeah, sure.

Dust: Bold of you to assume I did the homework.

Error: lol nope.

Cross: Wait, we had homework?!?!?!

Nightmare: *Read 5:55pm*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat?

Horror: >:O language

Dust: Yeah watch your fucking language

Cross: OKAY WHO TAUGHT DUST THE FUCK WORD?

Error: 'The fuck word'.

Killer: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time

Dust: Oh my god they censored it

Error: Say fuck, Killer.

Dust: Do it, Killer. Say fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Croissants: dropped

Horror: Road: works ahead

Dust: BBQ sauce: on my titties

Cross: Shavacado: fre

Error: Miss Keisha: fuckin dead

Nightmare:

Nightmare, grumpy: I didn’t understand a single word of that and I hate every single one of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: Everytime I hear someone talking about updog, I’m torn between not wanting to fall for it and wanting to help them complete their joke.

Horror: Okay, but what is updog?

Dust: Updog is a long sausage in a bun, often served with ketchup, mustard, onions, and/or relish.

Cross: Not, that’s a hot dog. An updog is when a new version or patch of an application is released.

Error: No, that's an update. You’re thinking of the fourth largest city in Sweden.

Killer: Surely, that’s Uppsala, where’s updog is the giant spider in Harry Potter.

Nightmare: That’s Aragog. Updog is a symbol conventionally used for an arbitrarily small number in analysis proofs.

Cross: You’re thinking of epsilon. Updog is an upward-moving air current.

Dust: No, that’s an updraft. An updog is the modern version of a henway.

Horror: What’s a henway??

Nightmare: Oh, about five pounds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Horror: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Error: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it.

Cross: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Dust: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Nightmare:

Nightmare: I have emotional scars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: *Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat*

Horror: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents

Killer: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you

Error: Actually I did the math, Horror would have $225, not $0.15.

Horror: Fam I’m right here....

Cross: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda :)

Killer: while you’re there could you buy me an apply juice please?

Cross: Sorry I only have a dollar

Killer: :(

Error: Hey I just realized my friend is right, Horror would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent

Cross: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apply juice

Error: You can buy anything you want with $22,500

Dust: Yeah and they want soda and apply juice

Error: Apply juice to what

Nightmare: Directly to the forehead

Horror: Great chat everyone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: There are seven chairs and ten kids. What do you do?

Horror: Have everyone stand.

Cross: Bring three more chairs.

Error: The most important ones can sit down.

Dust: Kill three.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: You're a loose cannon, Horror.

Horror: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Error: I think you play by your own rules.

Cross: No way, they think rules were made to be broken.

Killer: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Horror: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Dust is a loose cannon.

Dust: *smashes a chair*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: Are we really going to let Error keep Horror?

Killer: We kept Dust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Good morning.

Horror: Good morning.

Error: Good morning.

Cross: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit.

Dust: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything?

Horror: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies

Dust: Socks are Feetie Heaties

Cross: Forks are Stabby Grabbies

Horror: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties

Dust: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies

Cross: Stamps are Lickie Stickies

Error, annoyed: You are disappointments

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: What’s something you guys are better than Killer at?

Error: Mario Kart.

Cross: Yeah, video games.

Horror: Emotional vulnerability.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Horror: This knife is actually a magic wand.

Cross: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.

Killer: *cocks gun* Magic missile.

Error: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited

Geno: If?

Sci: Great, the only party I’ve ever been invited to and he might not even die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust, holding a python: Guys I impulsively bought a snake, what do I name him

Geno: You did WHAT–

Sci: William Snakepeare

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: Fitness tip: never stop pushing yourself. Some say 8 hours of sleep is enough. Why not keep going? Why not 9? Why not 10? Strive for greatness.

Geno: Next time you’re working out do 15 push ups instead of 10. Run 3 miles instead of 2. Eat a whole cake instead of just a slice. Burn your ex’s house down. You can do it. I believe in you.

Sci: There were so many mixed messages in that I can’t-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: I can’t believe you live nearby, and you won’t let anyone crash at your place.

Geno: You people already know too much about me.

Sci: I know exactly three facts about you, and one of them is that you won’t let any of us crash at your place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million gold?

Geno: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house.

Sci: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million.

Geno: Good thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: 'Person of interest' is almost too flattering.

Lust: Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, 'A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,' I'd be like, 'Moi? Oh, do go on.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#crossmare #cross x nightmare #horrorlust #bloodlust #horrorxlust #dustberry #swapxdust #kreme #driller #dreamxkiller #killerxdream #errorink #error x ink #scifell #sciencexfell #scixfell #afterdeath #deathafter #genoxdeath #genoxreaper

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 3

chapter index

Miroku woke early the next morning, groggy, uncomfortable, and insanely stiff. His head was hurting, his eyes were still heavy, his mouth was as dry as cotton, and his side leading over to his back was sore as all hell. The air felt weird. Something was off. The sensation was so predominating, it quickly overpowered the physical ailments he’d focused on as soon as he’d come to.

He blinked several times, attempting to push away the sleep that beckoned him back, the pull of the lingering drowsiness due to fatigue and medicinal properties. He wished he could stretch, awaken his muscles, but he knew that wouldn’t have the same effect as it did yesterday morning. He knew it would only hurt like a bitch. Resolving to deal with the tension in his body, Miroku turned his head, taking in his surroundings to see if he could pinpoint anything in his bedroom that may have been out of the norm to create the awkward feel in the atmosphere.

Sota sat on the edge of his bed, a straight and sullen expression on his face, brown eyes holding still on their wooden flooring. His fingers gripped the fitted sheet of his mattress, and Miroku could see the lack of color in his cheeks from across the room.

“What’s up?” He tried, his tone huskier than he’d expected.

Sota glanced up, unsurprised that he was awake, but as his voice came out, it held no conviction. “Nothing.”

“You okay, munchkin?” Miroku tried again, slowly, slowly pushing his elbows beneath him to start sitting up.

Sota didn’t say anything that time, his eyes falling back to the floor.

“You have a nightmare or something. Are you sick?”

His gaze flickered back up to Miroku but avoided his eyes, unable to hold steady on him at all. They faltered away, then wandered back up, faltered, then lifted, finally meeting Miroku’s patient, indigo stare. “Kagome’s gone.”

Miroku’s brows gave a minute twitch together, unable to understand what his younger cousin had meant by that. The corner of his lips curled downward slightly, but when there was no elaboration given, he had to, inevitably, reach for it. “What do you mean, Kagome’s gone?”

“I mean, she’s gone.” Sota stated.

“Where? On an errand?”

“No.”

“Then where did she go?”

There was a moment of hesitation, one where Sota sucked in a suspenseful breath, the hollow of his throat emphasizing before he sighed it all out and gave Miroku the direct answer he was looking for. “To fight Naraku.”

A surge of ice rushed through Miroku’s body. Any expression he was holding fell away, eyes widening, and his body moving of its own accord as he jolted to sit upright. His ribs protested heavily, feeling as if they were stabbed through and bringing him to immediately regret the action, and he groaned, clutching his side and fighting the urge to curl into himself. He shoved the held air in his lungs out, forcing himself into composure, hardly even realizing Sota had rushed across the room to support him if he needed anything. When the boy’s hand, cold and clammy, met Miroku’s bare shoulder, he glared up at him. “Tell me this was a bad dream you had.”

At first, Sota didn’t know how to answer that. There was so much panic in that single moment with Kagome’s disappearance and the inability to help Miroku’s pain, so he couldn’t help but have the words, or lack thereof, catch in his throat from the unbelievable perturbation.

“Sota, you can’t be serious.”

“She’s gone.” He finally confirmed. “Whatever you guys were planning to do together, she’s doing alone.”

“Fuck!” Miroku cursed, swinging his legs over the edge of his mattress. He had to halt, to brace himself there as he caught his bearings, willing the pain to subside in such a dramatic moment. “When did she leave!?”

“I don’t know. Sometime in the night.” The defensiveness in his tone was rising. Although he’d expected Miroku’s justifiable temperament, he admittedly wasn’t very good at keeping a level head, himself, in the face of conflict.

“And, you knew!?”

“Yes.”

“You knew when she left, or you knew she was going to leave?” Miroku interrogated.

“I knew she was going to leave! Miroku, what are you doing!?” He extended his arms out, prepared to catch his cousin if he lost his balance as he rose to a standing, trudging over toward the door.

“Why didn’t you tell us!?”

“She asked me not to! You would have stopped her!”

“Yeah, that’s the point!”

“She really wanted to do this! She said there was no way to talk her out of it!”

“Sota, don’t you understand?” Miroku asked, winded as he braced against the doorframe of the door he’d just opened. “She could be killed on her own! We had a plan to do it together for a reason!”

“Sit down! You’re in pain!”

“She’s so stupid for going alone! We were supposed to help! God, why is your sister such an idiot!?”

“You’re hurt, Miroku! How could you have helped any? You can hardly walk!” Sota argued.

“She should have waited!”

“She should have, but she didn’t! There’s nothing we can do about that now!”

“Sota,” Miroku had barely moved a foot, leaning against the wall as he slowly turned to look at the younger boy. His heart was pounding within his chest, air pumping through his lungs like he’d run a mile, a heat in his eyes he knew his cousin felt. “How long did you know?”

Again, he hesitated with his answer, feeling nervous and strained. His jaw hung agape, but his tongue created no words, hardly breathing as he physically felt the anger coming from Miroku.

“How long, Sota?” He repeated slowly, clearly.

“Since Naraku’s men left; when I took her aside to calm her down. She told me then.” Sota admitted.

“What is going on?” His mother asked, looking shocked and upset and disheveled while she wrapped her arms around her center to keep her body heat in.

The two boys stared at her, their expressions wavering to match the other’s. Shoulders sagged and brows curved sadly, sympathetically, as they knew this was going to be the worst part of all.

Miroku couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, using the wall as assistance while he trudged down the hall to Kagome’s bedroom, Sota sticking very close while his aunt followed behind, small noises escaping her mouth as her confusion became more prominent. He didn’t bother knocking, though he’d almost raised his knuckles to rasp on the door, completely out of reflex. His fingers curled around the knob, twisting it and pushing it open.

The room was empty. Cold. The bed was unmade, the window was open, and the energy of the room felt lifeless. Kagome was long gone. He limped forward, straight to the open window, noticing the undisturbed dew and leftover raindrops on the windowsill, and even some that had made it to the wooden floor inside just below.

“Where’d Kagome go? I didn’t hear her get up this morning.” She said with a small voice. She could tell something was wrong. She was sure she’d heard her daughter’s name come from the boys while they were yelling, but she was barely waking up at the time and wasn’t quite able to process things well yet.

Miroku turned to look at her, noticing Sota had sat on his sister’s bed, his shoulders drooping further while his head had sunken down. As much as he wanted to pin the blame on Sota, he knew this was more so on him. He knew he was responsible for explaining since he’d helped originate the plan that Kagome had chosen to execute on her own. Sota actively failed to prevent the incident, but Miroku actually knew the details behind it.

“What is going on?” His aunt asked again, her tone slightly deeper, more serious.

“Auntie, sit down.”

“Tell me.” She sternly ordered.

He sighed, turning around to close the window. Again, his ribs protested, a sharp pain jabbing at his muscles and bones, so he was careful to move slowly as he locked it shut. He figured if he was able to do all this there was no way they could be broken.

“Kagome left to fight Naraku. On her own.” He said as he faced her once more, having the respect not to beat around the bush. “Kikyo’s messages really meant something to her, and you know how often she got them. What you don’t know is that we’ve kept up the training we were started on. Worse, actually.” He kind of flinched in preparation of his own admittance. “We’ve intentionally sought out demons - harmful ones - to test our strengths. That’s how Kagome really knew how to hide her powers whenever there were inspections. She’s learned how to use them pretty well. She didn’t want to be defenseless, and I agreed that she shouldn’t be. She’s a conjurer and they’re blacklisted, so she should, at the very least, know what she was capable of to potentially see why - if not only to protect herself. The thing was, and I’m sorry, but we all - Kagome, Sango, and I - planned on doing this exact thing together. She’s positive there are other conjurers receiving the very same messages that she is, so there’s probably going to be an army made up to take down Naraku. She wants to join, and Sango and I wanted to be part of the cause. But, apparently, yesterday she decided to do it all on her own. She left in the middle of the night without telling anyone. Except for Sota.”

There was a horrible silence that filled the air when Miroku had stopped talking. He could see that the information was sinking in with his aunt but her gaze stayed locked on him, only leaving to look at Sota when he was mentioned, and then shooting back to Miroku.

“You all had planned to leave together?” She finally asked.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Were you going to say anything when this happened?”

“No.” His blue eyes fell to the floor briefly, the shame evident. It wasn’t like they didn’t think about how it would affect their families; they’d discussed all the details several times over and eventually came to terms with their decisions. It wasn’t something he was prepared to face, though. “We were packed for it. Whenever Kagome felt like it was time to leave - as in Kikyo gave some sort of direct order or something - we were equipped to head out.”

“You - you were packed?” His aunt inquired, appearing somewhat taken aback.

“Yeah.” Miroku confirmed. “We kept our things hidden in the location we trained at, along with our weapons.”

She made a small sound of muddled astonishment, her brows shrugging and then furrowing. “I’d always wondered what had happened to Kagome’s bow and arrows.”

“Um - well, the bow you’re thinking of broke. We had to replace it a year ago, so we went and bought a new one.” He confessed, his jittery nerves showing a bit more.

“You - how - how did you buy a new one? Where?” She questioned speculatively.

“We’ve been doing side jobs outside of town for a while now - you know what, that’s irrelevant. What matters is that we were raising money for the trip so we weren’t empty-handed financially.”

“Good lord, it’s like pandora’s box is opening inside my house.” She groaned, rubbing her forehead. She exhaled heavily, regaining her bearings as she turned to her quiet son. “And, you knew about this?”

“Not all that.” Sota shook his head, his reply hasty while his fear of backlash rode on the surface. “When Kagome and I were in the treehouse yesterday she told me she was leaving, but she made me promise not to tell anybody.”

“And, you kept that promise knowing how dangerous the situation was?”

“It was a pinky promise.” He defended.

His mother opened her mouth like she was ready to quickly retort, but instead all he heard was the sharp inhale from her throat before she sealed her lips, leaving the air locked in her lungs as the hollow of her neck deepened. She closed her eyes, brows pinched together when she finally exhaled, once again rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

“Anything else?” She asked testily.

Both Sota and Miroku shook their heads in reply.

“Do we know how long ago she left?”

“By the looks of it, hours ago.” Miroku said while Sota, again, shook his head.

“What are the chances of us finding her?”

“Slim.” Miroku answered. “There’s no saying what direction she went off in, and she’s got quite the head start on us. I can’t walk very fast in my condition, let alone chase after her. It’s not like we can gather up the town to get them to help out, because they’ll have questions and it’ll compromise her well-being and secret. Not to mention, even if we did miraculously catch up, it would be a fight on its own to convince her to come home.”

“So -“ There it was. The devastated expression he’d been waiting to appear on his aunt’s face finally emerged, though she valiantly tried to fend it off. “So, she’s gone?”

“We can look. See if she got far.” He breathed defeatedly. “But, yes. I’m pretty sure Kagome’s gone.”

—

“Alright, so I searched the areas we usually went to together, and she’s not there. But, she’s definitely been to the cave. Her weapon’s gone, and she took a few things from the bag we’d packed. I saw footprints in the mud nearby leading off onto the forest path, and thankfully the mud was soft so it left a deep impression. Unfortunately, it seems some horses and men have been on that path not too long ago, making it hard to follow, and where the mud gets firmer, her footprints have washed away. So, there’s no telling where she is, but we do know what direction she’s gone off in.” Sango said, a little breathless as she returned to her boyfriend’s side. She’d been flustered since the moment Sota showed up at her doorstep this morning, pale and rattled, and when she was caught up to speed after following him back to his house, she immediately went searching for clues.

“Okay, that’s something.” Miroku nodded, silently thanking her from his uncomfortable seat on the couch as he placed a hand on the back of her thigh.

“How is that something?” Sota queried.

“Because, we’ll know where to start when we’re able to follow her.” He answered.

“Thank you, Sango.” His aunt said from where she stood next to the kitchen table, sighing out a feeble ounce of stress.

“Wait, you guys are still planning on going?” Sota asked.

“Of course.” Sango confirmed.

“We’re not going to let her do this alone. The plan remains, and we’re going to help her. Unfortunately, I’ve got a handicap, but as soon as I’m good to go, we’ll head out.”

“And, my dad should hopefully be back by the end of the week. In the hopes that he won’t be out on another mission when the time comes, we’ll be able to take Kirara with us so we can hopefully catch up to Kagome faster. If you don’t mind, and I know this is wrong to ask of you, but would you keep this on the down low? We all know he wouldn’t allow this.”

“Rightfully so.” Kagome’s mother remarked. “This is incredibly dangerous, and I’m inclined to make you both stay out of this mess. We all saw a daughter violently torn away from her mother yesterday, my own daughter is now missing, and now my nephew and his girlfriend are ready to follow in her footsteps? Do you understand just what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Yes -“ Miroku barely got out before his aunt interjected.

“No, you don’t. Naraku is the demon of all demons. He’s singlehandedly ostracized beings for reasons unknown, put them on this hit list because he can, and you guys think you’re just going to walk up to him, challenge him to a duel, and leave unscathed? All because some Kikyo lady appeared in Kagome’s dreams and said so? I know you’re all adults and you’re capable of making your own decisions now, but you’re making the wrong ones so I’ll make them for you. Neither of you are going.”

“But, what about Kagome?” Sota argued.

“I can’t protect her, Sota. She’s already gone.” She slighted.

“They can help, though!”

“They’re eighteen, nineteen, and twenty acting like they’re as wise and experienced as the grown demon slayers in the village. Do any of you know exactly what those demon slayers had to go through to gain their knowledge and skills? And, don’t you answer that, Sango. I know your father’s the leader, and you’ve had a bit of experience yourself, but you don’t know the half of it. You think your dad’s told you all the stories? You think your dad’s let you in on every little, gory detail of his trials? It baffles me that you guys think training on your own and exterminating various demons outside of town would make you well-prepared for a journey like this. It’s a death sentence I won’t let you sign up for. You’re not going.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, Auntie, but we are. We’re going. Despite her decisions, I’m not going to let Kagome do this on her own.” Miroku spoke, keeping his tone as level and respectful as possible.

There was a moment of silence, one where his aunt clenched her jaw, dropped her shoulders, and plopped into the seat beside her. “You - all three of you - are too much like your fathers for your own good.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “It’s your number one complaint about Kagome and I. But, we’ve gotta see this through with her. At her side. I want to punch her as much as anyone in this room, believe me, but wouldn’t you feel more comfortable knowing she’s not alone? Wait, no, don’t answer that.” Miroku recoiled, holding up his hand to stop his aunt from saying anything the moment she glared his way.

“Thank you.” Sango softly spoke. “For showing how much you care about us. For expressing your concerns and voicing what’s on your mind. Thank you. You’re right, we don’t have nearly as much experience as we should. Truthfully, I don’t think there’s enough experience in the world that could prepare us for what we’re about to do. We’ve gotta try, though. This has been hell for us all, but imagine it from Kagome’s perspective. They’re after her. Her kind, but ultimately, her. We want to protect her just like you, we just show it in a different way. She’s justified in wanting to fight, so our way of demonstrating support and doing what we can to help is by going with her. Besides, you know Kagome. She’s as stubborn as a mule, so when her mind is made up, there’s no fighting it. There’s only going with the flow.”

Sota added his input by dramatically nodding in agreement, knowing all too well his sister's temperament and obstinance.

“She should have waited.” Miroku said again. “But, she can handle her own until we catch up.”

“Kagome can definitely handle her own.” Sango attested. “I don’t know if this matters to you, but she’s folded Miroku in a match before. She’s a tough cookie.” She smiled when her friend’s mother had to hide her conflicted giggle behind her hands, noticing her boyfriend’s slow, shifting, disapproving look from the side.

“It was funny.” She shrugged, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

“I wish I’d seen it!” Sota laughed.

“Are you guys sure?” Miroku’s aunt asked, more to see if there was any apprehension in their expressions. She could tell though, with their direct eye contact, their nods, their steady answers and confident demeanor, that even if she did attempt to forbid them, they would only be resolved to sneak out behind everyone’s backs - like Kagome. At least this way, being in the know, she would be able to help in whatever way she could. Whether that be in moral support, assisting Miroku to help him mend as fast as possible, or even making sure to help them pack for anything they may need.

Her daughter was brave. She was strong. She was like her father. What terrified her was that Kagome was mortal. But, she had to have faith. She had to take Sango and Miroku’s word for it that she could, in fact, take care of herself.

—

Kagome fluttered her brown eyes open, blinking away her sleep as she gathered her surroundings. She was fully and instantly aware that she was in the wilderness, incapable of forgetting that tidbit no matter how exhausted she was, but she needed to focus as best as she could in her sleepy stupor to make sure no demonic energies were nearby.

She was still safe.

The sun wasn’t too high in the sky yet, as far as she could tell from the trees and patchy clouds, so she had probably only dozed off for a few hours at the most, her fire reduced to nothing but flickering embers. She was still tired but she felt better than she had before, and she knew she needed to get moving. Where to? Who knows. She felt in her gut that she was on the right path, though. The only path, really.

Her back felt cramped and tense as she slowly peeled herself off of the tree she’d rested against, strands of her hair pulling while it stuck to the bark, making her groan. When she stood, dusting off her pants and stretching a bit, she felt life begin to flow through her muscles again. Kagome wasted no time in getting herself situated to head out. She adjusted her clothing, her bodice which had climbed up her chest a little, ran her fingers through her wavy hair, got her bag and bow and arrows situated over her shoulders again, and then kicked dirt over the remainder of what used to be called a fire, heading back toward the trail and on her way.

—

“Why’d you run?” Inuyasha asked.

“Why’d you chase me?” Hiten countered, an arrogant smirk on his face. His tan skin was moist with the afternoon warmth and the adrenaline flowing through his body, red eyes meeting Inuyasha’s proud stare. His long, brown braid swayed from side to side as it gradually began to still, heavy but neatly kept from his face.

“I caught wind that you’ve been a bit of an asshole. Apparently, rumors are true.”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t have run if they weren’t.”

“Well,” Hiten shrugged, his smile widening, completely untroubled. “Looks like you just answered your own question.”

“I’ve warned you before, Hiten. I told you to watch your step.” Inuyasha reminded, swallowing the frustration that quickly built up in him whenever he dealt with cocky sons of bitches.

“Awe,” He feigned a pout. “Can’t you be cool and let me off with another warning, Inuyasha?”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t like you. I don’t even know why I gave you an exception in the first place. This time, though, no chance. You killed a girl. That’s a dramatic escalation from what you did last time.”

“And, she was mighty tasty.” Hiten licked his lips.

Inuyasha cringed, his entire face contorting. “Ew! What? Hiten, what the fuck!?”

“What -“

“You ate her!?”

“Wait, what? You didn’t know that?” He questioned, all confidence fading from his expression as he looked skeptically over at his enemy.

“Does this look like the face of somebody in the know!? No, I didn’t know that! What the fuck!? Why!? You’re a fucking thunder demon, dude! You’re not even based off of a carnivorous animal! I don’t understand!” Inuyasha argued, absolutely and utterly disgusted. He was so appalled, he even took two steps away from the guy, his lips remaining distastefully curled.

“Wow - um - this is a little awkward.” He admitted, scratching his temple sheepishly. “Why are you here then?”

“Because, there’s money over your head!” Inuyasha exclaimed. “They want your head, I want their money, I got the gist of everything - I don’t know, I felt like it was a fair trade! You ate her!?”

“Y-yeah.” He shrugged again.

“Ew!” That time, Inuyasha cringed so bad his entire body convulsed, like a huge, unwelcome shiver ran down his spine. “Why?”

“I was - you’re not gonna like the answer to this.” Hiten said, giving fair warning. When Inuyasha didn’t decline further explanation, he proceeded. “She was - we were - nude, consensually of course, and - um - well, she smelled really good while we were - while I was - you know… So, like, during that I kind of wanted to - um - taste her.”

Inuyasha had deadpanned mid-speech, his mouth hanging agape, golden eyes blinking as he processed the given information. “Good sir, you took cunnilingus to a level it should have never gone to.”

“Yeah.” Hiten grimaced, nodding in agreement.

“When her soul leaves her body, it’s supposed to remain metaphorical.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Another nod, another grimace.

“And, yet…” Inuyasha grumbled.

“I took it there.” Hiten confirmed.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“I mean…”

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” The hanyou waved off.

“I really wish you didn’t know now.” Hiten said uncomfortably. “Like, the moment’s gone. I don’t really feel like fighting anymore.”

“Hey, I wish I didn’t know either. Believe me, I have a horribly vivid imagination, so this is gonna eat at me for days.”

Hiten chuckled, attempting to hide it behind his fist as he glanced away.

“Hey - oh god. No pun intended, you sick bastard. Moment’s back! Come here, I’m gonna kick your ass!” Inuyasha yelled, grossed out.

“No, thanks! I’m good!” He laughed, jogging backward.

“I don’t even give a fuck about the money anymore! I’m just gonna kill you!”

“Didn’t know you were such a feminist, buddy!”

“Don’t you ‘buddy’ me, you creep! Stop -“ The two demons halted in their tracks, alert, one with a blooming grin and the other with wide, uneasy eyes.

“Let me tell you, Inuyasha.” Hiten spoke gruffly. "Once the taste sits on your tongue, there’s no preventing the addiction. She wasn’t my first. And, it looks like lunch is nearby. Too bad I’m a lot faster than you since I can fly and all.”

Inuyasha tensed as the demon flew off in the direction he’d smelled a girl walking not too far away. Cursing under his breath, he finally sheathed his sword, sprinting to follow Hiten.

Kagome had gone off trail. She’d seen a town in the distance, but if she looked as bad as she felt, the last thing she wanted to do was attract attention to herself. She said it was for the sake of adventure - and privacy - that she’d decided to venture through the trees, her boots crunching the leaves littering the forest floor. The trees weren’t close together by any means, leaving plenty of walking room between, light easily breaking through the treetops. She figured she’d go around the village and continue on the trail from the other side. No harm, no foul.

Until she felt a sudden and alarming spike in demonic energy. It was heading her way and fast. So fast, in fact, that by the time she’d turned around, she was staring at a man at the top of a slope, a dangerous smile curling his lips.

“Hey. You lost?” He spoke, even the click of his tongue proving menacing.

Of course. Of course this would happen right now. Kagome mentally rolled her eyes at her luck, bracing with a dragged inhale. His energy was threatening, and he definitely meant harm. There was no reason for Kagome to entertain his question. She knew what was about to go down. Without response, she ran off. All she needed was to give herself time. Just a little space. Given how fast he’d initially approached, he was going to be on her in a matter of seconds, but that was all she needed.

Kagome rolled her shoulder, allowing her bow to fall off, slide down her arm and into her hand where she tossed it over to her left. She spun back around to face the oncoming demon, her feet sliding - almost stumbling in the dirt - from the speed, an arrow plucked from its quiver and pulled back into the string of her bow, ready to shoot. The demon froze just feet away from her, his shocked expression shifting into one of entertained as he held his hands up in front of him defensively.

“Woah-ho-ho.” He chuckled. “You’re fucking quick.”

Kagome didn’t say anything just yet, eyes locked on the demon as her chest pumped air in and out of her lungs. She had good aim; she could hit him for sure. The trouble was, could she kill him? With her conjurer powers, sure. Maybe. Yes. But if, by chance, she missed, her secret was out and she was dead. Honestly, if she missed either way, she was dead. She was resolved to go ahead and use her powers before she felt the nearing aura of another demon - one not quite as strong, one with an intriguing warmth radiating from it, one she felt a compelling pull to investigate but she forced herself to leave it alone. Two demons in the same vicinity typically meant they came together. But, if she used her abilities and the other sensed or saw it, she was done for.

No matter what, the situation was looking grim. If they were together, why wouldn’t she just use her powers? Why wouldn’t she just protect herself the way she’d trained for so long now? Why was a voice in her mind telling her not to do anything she’d regret? You know what she’d actually regret? Dying on her first day, that’s what.

“What do you want?” She asked, her raspy voice adding unintentional, dramatic flare.

“I just want to chat. Come on, put the bow down.”

“Not interested.”

“What do you think you’re actually gonna do with that?” Hiten asked, smiling. “The big, bad archer gonna shoot down a demon? Even if you stuck me, it’d hardly do a thing.”

“Want to bet?” Kagome challenged.

She watched his grin twitch wider, his slimy tongue gliding out but then vanishing altogether as an incredibly powerful, whirlwind of a strike came thundering from her left, dividing the two as it brought them both to jump away.

“Hiten, you five-head, ugly ass bitch!” Came a loud, deep, husky voice. “Your fight’s with me!”

Kagome had tripped in her attempt to escape the blast of power, her butt sore from landing on the protruding root of a tree, and though she took a moment to pity her rump and rub the immediate tenderness away, her attention was still on the scene before her. It was, for lack of a better word, bewildering. Unexpected. A man with a hostile scowl stood at the top of the slope the other demon had appeared on, a large sword encircled in demonic energy held tightly in his grasp. His hair was tied in a high ponytail, light in shade - appearing silver to the eye but almost white where light hit him. Pointed, animalistic ears atop his head told her he was of demonic lineage, but his energy didn’t feel as apparent as the demon’s across from her, still standing but gaze diverted the other’s way. She took that moment to regain herself, standing up to ready her weapon again, this time keeping it aimed low until she understood just what the hell was happening.

“Faster than I gave you credit for. What a fun-sucker.” The demon grumbled.

“Leave her alone!”

If it wasn’t clear before, it was perfectly evident now. The silver-haired demon wasn’t Kagome’s enemy.

“Hiten! Back the fuck up!” He shouted, tone appearing more lethal.

“Or, what?” Hiten chuckled, taking a few steps closer to Kagome while his attention continued to hold on the other demon. Kagome took that opportunity to raise her bow and arrow then, steadying her aim and locking on his chest. His heart. The jerk was, luckily for her, too arrogant to even mind what she was doing. “What are you gonna do? The closer I get to her, the less you’re able to use your fancy sword.”

“Hiten!”

“Oh no, look’s like the pressure’s on. Who’s gonna get her first?” Two more steps forward, his long legs closing the created gap easily.

Kagome pulled her arrow back a smidge, taking a moment to center herself, holding her breath.

“Stop!”

“It’s so easy to rile you up, Inuyasha.” Hiten laughed. “You’re so melodramatic.”

“Hey, wait, that’s kind of rude.” Inuyasha feigned a grimace, dropping his sword a few inches. “I don’t think I deserved that.”

“You called me ugly.” The demon countered with an odd sneer. “And, you said I have a five-head. I’d hardly call that rude in comparison.”

“You know what, that’s fair. Go ahead. She’s all yours.” The hanyou shrugged, resting the tip of Tessaiga to the ground.

Hiten barely thought about it, cocking a brow and turning to the girl before him. There was no time to react, no time to process, his breath caught in his throat so roughly he nearly choked.

The moment he turned to look at her, Kagome released her arrow, the sharp, pointed tip piercing through the left side of his chest. His red eyes widened, crimson staining the front of his dirty, white shirt, stumbling backward two feet from the force of her strike.

“Run, kid!” The order was barked, and Kagome didn’t need to be told twice. She used no spiritual power, so there was no way in hell the demon was dead. He was merely stunned, and she wasn’t about to wait around for him to gather his wits.

She took off like a bat out of hell, racing away, slipping on leaves but keeping her footing well enough to stay balanced and jump over tree roots. She heard, even felt, the strike from the silver-haired demon’s sword, the ground rattling slightly. Hiten’s roar of frustration echoed through her ears as it shifted into a maniacal laugh, haunting, his voice growing louder as he somehow grew nearer.

Kagome was grabbed by her hair, yanked back painfully and stopped in her tracks as she was slammed against a wide, aging tree, dropping her bow in the midsts. Her scream was muted by her own, broken voice, and she fought to push his surprisingly strong body away - despite how scrawny he appeared - while he now pinned her from the front. She didn’t even bother to register whatever taunting statement slipped from his tongue, only paying attention to the torn body of the arrow still in his chest but split apart so it didn’t protrude greatly, and she grabbed the frayed, splintered end, using whatever strength she could muster from her disadvantageous position to shove it further into the crevice of his ribs, even going so far as to twist so the arrowhead hurt him further, his pained shout and agonizing features telling her it was affecting him exactly as she wanted. Demon or not, conjurer powers or not, being stabbed never felt good.

“Let her go.” Came a gruff demand, and everything stopped. The tone was so alerting that even Kagome heeded the venom-laced warning. She could barely see over Hiten’s shoulder, but she knew the silver-haired demon stood right behind him, his sword pointed toward Hiten’s back. With the way Hiten froze entirely, she was willing to bet it was pressed against him. One false move, and he was done. “Now.”

And, he did. Hiten released Kagome, his hands held above his shoulders to show his compliance.

“Behind me.” He instructed, and Kagome knew that was directed towards her. Given they were still standing so close, she had to shimmy her way out from between the tree and the demon, her squished bag sort of sticking to the bark and adding a slight difficulty to the already-awkward glide free.

As soon as she was out, she crossed to the backside of the man with silver hair, picking up her bow along the way to strap over her shoulder. He even went so far as to reach behind, grabbing the loose hem of her green shirt to pull her flush behind his back, completely sheltered by his frame while he held his sword steady with one arm. From the glimpses she’d gotten of it, it seemed huge and heavy. It was impressive to see anyone hold the thing up, let alone with one hand.

There was a rumble in the sky, growing, growing, becoming increasingly louder, surrounding them as the clouds quickly flooded above - dark and ominous. Thunder boomed as if the storm had been brewing for hours, encroaching, but Kagome could have sworn she saw patches of blue just moments ago.

“Stop it.” Inuyasha ordered.

Hiten didn’t say anything, but from the way his shoulders broadened from behind, hands still raised where they were, and head held up high, his body language was radiating obnoxious pride.

“Hiten.” He growled.

The clap of thunder was so loud that time, it startled Kagome, causing her to jump just a little closer to her savior, the fingers of her hands curling into the loose fit of his shirt. It was somehow louder than any storm she’d ever witnessed, last night’s proving incomparable. She stared directly above them, watching as sparks of electricity danced and bounced along the bottom of the dark grey quilt, this result of the friction she’d never before seen. In fact, she was sure that something like this wasn’t even organically possible.

“Um,” She began, merely whispering to the demon she held onto. “We might want to move soon.”

Inuyasha could feel the girl’s anxiety, her nerves, her fingers bunching his shirt tighter. He could feel the demonic energy soaring from Hiten, creating the dangerous scenario above, but her words were what had caught his attention. The hanyou glanced upward, noticing the waltz of the electricity.

“Hiten!”

The opposing demon only laughed, shifting his head to look at Inuyasha as he slowly turned around to face him, modestly pushing his sword aside with the back of his hand.

“Am I supposed to just adhere to you?”

“Knock it off!”

“Or you’ll what?” Hiten challenged.

“You know what!”

“Apparently, your plan is to kill me either way. So, might as well go out with a bang.” He smirked, thunder blaring at that exact moment.

Kagome unintentionally clung to the man, the booming so loud she could feel it in her chest. His large hand grabbed her hip firmly, guiding her as he began to walk backward, and she took the initiative to give him more room, not wanting to make things harder or cause him to trip, so she made her fingers release his shirt.

Lightning struck the ground just to her right, and she hissed the same curse as the man before her. He was quick. Quicker than she’d expected in the moment as he spun around, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her off to run.

“In case you’re wondering,” He began, forcefully keeping her legs moving as fast as they’d go as he sought out shelter. “He’s a thunder demon and - fuck!” He shouted, sliding in the dirt as he came to an immediate stop, lightning falling directly in front of them.

“Where are we supposed to be going!?” Kagome asked as clearly as she could when they ran off in a different direction, never minding the protesting ache in her throat.

“Wherever the fuck we can to get away from this! You want to die!?”

“Not necessarily!”

“Then keep up, kid!”

“Have you ever outrun lightning before?” She questioned. The thunder overhead was nonstop now, electricity falling wherever it could. It was like Hiten held the ability to control it, but also lacked it once the friction built up too much. Nature took over then, and Hiten was merely impervious to her fury.

“Can’t say that I have!”

“Great.” Kagome breathed, her expression falling sarcastically.

Inuyasha found a tree with a decently-sized hollow in the bottom, pulling the girl over and gripping her shoulders to shove her down to her knees and in. “Stay!”

“What?” Her tone was half frantic, half perplexed.

“Stay here, and stay low! If I get hit, I’ll be fine. You? You’re dead.”

“Hey, wait! Lightning can strike trees! Lightning can strike trees!” Kagome protested, trying to crawl out, but the demon casually shoved the sole of his boot against her chest, thrusting her back beneath.

“Stay!” Inuyasha ordered emphatically, his one free hand held up as a sign to stop.

The demon ran off then, leaving Kagome appalled in her hollow, mouth hanging open, and completely taken aback by the sheer audacity of this guy. He did not just use his foot to push her. What was she even supposed to do there? Wait out the storm and hope she got lucky? Sit back and let the boys duke it out? Sure, she’d love to say she had faith in her savior, but she didn’t even know the guy. She didn’t know what he was capable of, how strong he was, or if he was mighty enough to take on the freaking descendant of Thor, himself. Though, saying that made her feel like she was giving him too much credit. Maybe he was a second cousin, twice removed. Sure.

Lightning was more inclined to strike the tall, and while she stood at a solid five feet - two inches, the tree she sat under was significantly larger. While she was certain it held plenty of potential to be safe, it just wasn’t a chance Kagome was comfortable on taking. Plenty of times, she’d seen huge trees charred in half from strikes of lightning. Of course, the thought of being in the open range wasn’t all that desirable either, but it was definitely more exciting; no one could deny that. Sitting back and waiting had never been her thing, anyway.

She could hear them shouting, fighting somewhere behind where she was bunkered, the lightning striking the ground with loud cracks and bright flashes. Carefully, Kagome crawled out of her hole, keeping low to the ground. She peeked behind the tree to see if she could get a visual, but it didn’t look as if they were as close as she’d suspected, bringing her to quickly crawl her way to an adjacent tree, following the sounds of insults, curses, demonic sword attacks, and focused lightning strikes. The thunder roaring didn’t help any, her chest rumbling unsteadily with the noise, muting the pounding of her heart.

Kagome continued her low travels from tree-to-tree, doing her best to remain unseen and not electrocuted. When she finally found them, she realized she had the worst vantage point to help in any way. She could see more of the silver-haired man than that Hiten guy.

Her protector was breathing hard, brows deeply furrowed while he wore a dangerous scowl. The muscles beneath his black, long sleeves were visible and flexed, the veins on the back of his fists that white-knuckled the hilt of his sword prominent even from where she squatted. His fangs were sharp and threatening, and his nose crinkled with severity as he fended off a strike from the opposing demon, retaliating with one of his own that had so much force Kagome had to duck behind the tree entirely to avoid being knocked over.

From the looks of it, he wasn’t getting anywhere. Not fast, at least. Hiten was good at countering, he was quicker than was fair, and apparently packed a punch. It seemed like he needed an opening; one where he could get in his attack and make it count. And, that was where Kagome came in.

She crawled around the trees cautiously, concentrating on staying hidden, and pausing abruptly as lightning struck just a few feet ahead of her. Kagome stared at the burnt spot with wide eyes, her fearful and startled squeak silenced behind her breath as she dragged it out, an oh my god slipping out at the tail end. Kagome couldn’t even begin to help the other melodramatic noises that emitted from her throat as she realized that could have easily been her, and it took a solid moment to talk herself back into crawling forward, literally chanting, “please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me,” over and over until she reached a spot where she had a clear visual on the thunder demon.

“This will work.” Kagome whispered, pinning her back to the tree as she prepared herself. She was crouched down, one knee on the ground as she shimmied the bow off her shoulder and pulled an arrow out of its quiver, readying the nock along the string. It didn’t matter if she hit Hiten. It would help, that’s for sure, but all she intended to do was distract him. If he would hesitate, only for a moment, Mr. Silver Hair would have an opportunity to strike. And, if he missed the opportunity, Kagome had justifiable reasoning to call him an idiot.

Would that help any? No. But, justifiable reasoning was justifiable reasoning.

Kagome began to inch her way out from behind the tree, watching the patterns of their movements. It was okay to miss Hiten, but she still needed to hit as close to him as possible in order to grasp his attention. The distraction wouldn’t necessarily work otherwise.

Typically, as with any bad guy that had pride as large as a mountain, he’d stopped for an antagonizing and arrogant speech. He was bleeding from the very same eyebrow he tauntingly cocked, the crimson dripping down the outer corner of his eye, darker than his irises, and gliding slowly toward the center of his cheek. Apparently, her savior deserved a little more credit than what she’d initially given. That didn’t mean she couldn’t hopefully make things a little easier on him.

Kagome stole the opportunity, utilizing the man’s vanity against him, and she positioned herself, quickly pulling back her arrow and firing. The arrowhead whizzed just passed Hiten’s face, the sharp side cutting the edge of his pointed ear, and piercing the tree trunk behind him. Yet again, the man was stunned, his voice dying off mid-word and eyes falling to her.

Inuyasha was almost as surprised by the random arrow shooting through, the damned thing flying right passed his own head before the thunder demon’s. He glanced behind him, noticing the stupid girl staring daringly ahead, crouched down with her bow beginning to inch lower. He didn’t even have a moment to say the insult directed at her on his tongue before his opponent was moving, and fast. Hiten was taking her challenge to heart, running forward, and Inuyasha tossed his sword into his left hand, doing the only thing he could do in such close proximity. Just as the demon came close enough, he pulled back his arm and threw his fist in Hiten’s face, punching him so hard that he completely fell backwards, his head colliding with the hard ground.

“Did you get him?” Kagome shouted, almost unclearly thanks to her broken voice.

“Duh!”

“Is he dead?”

Inuyasha flailed his arms at his side in an annoyed manner. “No, he’s not dead! I punched him, you dipshit!” He yelled, and as if to back up his statement, Hiten push himself from the ground.

“What is with this chick?” Hiten murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth.

“Beats me, but she’s showing you up.” Inuyasha jeered.

“Fuck this.” He growled, his temper spiking. The thunder gave a trembling roar that rattled the ground, the out-of-control lightning strikes ceasing as the clouds seemed to boil with increasing friction.

Inuyasha couldn’t help but avert his attention upward, seeing the disturbing force of inhuman nature bubbling through the break in the treetops. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. This was an attack there was no coming back from if Hiten successfully hit the girl. It was going to be concentrated and lethal, and Inuyasha had no choice but to use his backlash wave. As much as he wanted to avoid the once-unnecessary use of so much power on an annoying fucker like Hiten, it was inevitable now. His amber eyes flew over to the astonished girl, and as if she’d sensed him, her gaze met his a mere second later.

“Run! Go! Take cover, now!” He barked.

His tone was non-negotiable, and given the amount of demonic energy in the atmosphere, Kagome didn’t much feel like arguing that she could help. Honestly, she couldn’t. She had no idea what the thunder demon planned to do, but it felt dangerous and terrifying, and if the silver-haired guy said she didn’t need to stick around for it, then she wasn’t about to.

She didn’t waste time with crawling. Since the sporadic strikes had stopped, she was safe enough to run, and she bolted as quickly as she could, heading back to her sanctuary of a hollow. Kagome skidded around the designated tree, dropping to her hands and knees and making home in the hole. Even through her shirt, she could feel the hair on her arms standing on end from the static, a high-pitched sound budding in the sky, and when a loud crash came, Kagome ducked and covered her ears, protecting herself however she could.

Inuyasha had to wait for the perfect opportunity. With a thunder demon, with the creation of electricity, came scattered energy, like sparks, and he couldn’t use his backlash wave until it all came together. He had one chance, and he was going to get this right. Hiten spared the hanyou a glance with his red eyes, smirking as he raised his right hand into the air. Inuyasha could feel it. He could feel the static, he could feel the threat blossoming, but overall, he could feel Hiten’s demonic energy forming into a saturated mass. It grew larger and larger, figuratively becoming more solid, and as a beam of blinding lightning came shooting down from the sky, Inuyasha stole the moment, raised his sword above his head, his own demonic energy surging to collide with Hiten’s as he whipped the blade to slice it through.

The backlash wave overpowered the thunder demon’s strength, bringing the attack to bounce back at him. Hiten may have been resistant to the direct wrath of the sky, but he wasn’t impervious to Tessaiga’s force deconstructing his own to be used against him. Hiten was arrogant, vulnerable, and in the end, reduced to ashes.

Slowly, as the world outside her little hollow quieted, Kagome began to unfurl. She no longer heard thunder, no longer heard shouting, no longer heard sounds of demonic attacks clashing, no chaos, no fighting, nothing. It was hit and miss as to what had happened. Did her protector win? Did the thunder demon pull through? Was it over?

Inch-by-inch, she crawled out, evaluating the atmosphere. It was calm. Her sights shifted up toward the sky, and once again, the clouds were breaking apart, pieces of blue showing through as if they were never hidden in the first place. The fight definitely had to be over.

Kagome dusted off her knees as she picked herself up off the ground, the bandages on her left hand dirty, and she made a mental note to change them when she could. Strapping her bow over her shoulder where it belonged, she ventured back over to where she’d last seen the two demons, finding herself moving wearily as she neared.

“Hey.” The husky voice startled her more than it should have, and Kagome gasped, spinning around with her fists raised to protect herself.

Inuyasha flinched back out of reaction, his palms shooting up in front of him - half out of his natural instinct to guard and the other half out of surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so on edge after boldly disobeying him to partake in the battle; he’d figured she was gutsy and idiotic and probably too brave for her own good. That was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the girl’s face, though.

Her cheeks were red - probably from the commotion and the comedown, but her natural shade seemed fair. Maybe a degree or two lighter than his own skin tone. Her eyes were large and brown, but not that muddy-looking brown he more commonly saw in people he didn’t care to look at for more than two seconds. Hers, though deep in color, were finely blended with hues of reds and golds. An artist would have had a field day painting the detail of her irises, finding the golden circle just around her pupils, and freckling the way light caught her colors. The girl’s hair was as dark as raven, faint hints of oceanic blue glimmering in the rays of sun through the breaks in the trees and clouds. It was very faint, but Inuyasha could see it. Barely, but it was there. At the corner of her mouth, on her left cheek, sat a slight scuff of pink that didn’t belong and wouldn’t seem to fade when the heat in her face settled. And, on her neck, most disconcerting of all, housed a thick, red and purple ring that curved over the front portion. The girl, whoever she was, had recently been roughed up. No wonder she was a little skittish.

“Sorry.” Kagome grimaced, uncurling her fingers and lowering her hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Inuyasha replied. “Are you okay?” And, he’d emphasized the word intentionally.

“I’m fine.” She said, giving a one-shouldered shrug. There was a moment of awkward silence where the two just stood there, and Kagome’s eyes bounced around, avoiding contact with his own. When they landed on her arrow in the tree, she figured she should just politely wrap things up here, collect it, and be on her merry way. “So, um, thanks. For your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” He muttered.

“Was he a friend of yours? You two seemed to know each other.”

“I knew him because he was a murderer, and he knew me because I’ve been on his ass for a while. It’d be kind of harsh if I just killed my friend without showing an ounce of remorse, don’t you think?” Inuyasha rebutted.

“That’s fair.” Kagome bobbed her head in agreement, regretting her choice of words before his own fully registered with her. “Wait, murderer?”

“Yes?” Inuyasha arched a brow quizzically. “Kid, what did you think he was gonna do with you?”

“I-I don’t know! I didn’t really think that far ahead of time! I only processed the danger!”

“That far ahead… wait, no - what is on the other side of danger?” Inuyasha asked, confused as all hell.

“Is that rhetorical?”

“No.”

“Well, harm, typically.”

The hanyou chuckled, almost defeatedly as his chest deflated. “Yes, and harm comes in all shapes and sizes, doesn’t it?”

“Okay, now that’s rhetorical.” Kagome deadpanned.

“Good job.” He slighted.

“Alright, well it’s been fun. Thanks for not letting me die. You’re a champ. You’re the M.V.P.. You are the man. I’ve gotta get going, so I’ll be sure to watch out for any other crazy murderers in the area.” Kagome presented a sarcastic, closed-lipped grin. “Speaking of which, are they common around here?”

“Don’t get out much, do you, Kid?”

“Hey, what’s with this ‘kid’ thing? Is this a common nickname you give strangers, or what? I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re not. Not at all. It just kind of came out, honestly. Though, now that I’m looking at you, you are puny.” He grinned, enjoying how easy it was to make her cheeks red all over again.

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Small.” Inuyasha clarified.

“I am not.”

“Okay.” He chuckled dismissively.

“Hey! I’m average height!”

“Please don’t yell. You’re voice gets all high pitched and breaks like a baby goat, and I’m sure it irritates your throat as much as it does my ears.”

Kagome stared at the man for a moment, wondering if he was trying to say all the wrongs things, or if he was just that witty and knew what he was doing. “You are really good at talking to people, did you know that?” She stated with satire, sauntering over toward the tree that harbored her arrow.

“So I’ve heard.” Inuyasha carelessly remarked. “Hey, thanks a lot, by the way.”

She spared him a peek over her shoulder, catching his tone, but rightfully not feeding into it. Directly, at least. “You’re welcome.”

He swallowed his huff, his annoyance beginning to grow. “No. Thanks a lot.”

“No need to repeat yourself; I caught your sarcasm the first time. But, I decided to take it as a thank you for using this arrow here to distract Hiten so you had an opening. Therefore, you’re welcome.”

“Oh, is that what you were trying to do?”

Kagome didn’t bother answering, pulling at the arrow that was lodged into the bark while balancing on the protruding roots. It was really stuck in there, so she tried to fidget with it a little to loosen up the grip.

“It’s because of that little stunt that I had to use my backlash wave. Now I know, being the simpleton that you are, you don’t know what that is, but I don’t really think I need to explain it. Go ahead and take a look around. Do you see Hiten?”

“Nope.” Kagome replied after not looking around, her tone a little more strained than usual as she continued to struggle with the arrow.

“Right. That’s because I killed him. More than that, really. I obliterated the mother fucker. He’s gone. No longer exists. Poof.” Inuyasha explained, using his fingers to gesture an explosion. “Thing was, and here’s the kicker, there was a bounty on his head. I may have been told ‘dead or alive,’ but either way, I usually need a body to show them so that I get my money. Again, do you see a body?”

Kagome exhaled heavily, aggravated, momentarily dropping her arms from her objective and turning around to face the man. “No, I do not.”

“You do not.” Inuyasha nodded, confirming.

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Well, problem was, you didn’t listen to me and stay where I’d left you. I was doing just fine without your so-called help. Then you just had to pissed the guy off and he went into final attack mode. Are you putting two-and-two together here?”

“Oh, please. Such a macho man mentality. Face it, me shooting my arrow shut him up and stopped him from focusing on you. I hurried things along.”

“I wasn’t worried about getting things done quickly! I wanted them done right! Besides, if you weren’t waltzing around where you didn’t belong in the first place, things probably would have never escalated this way!”

“Key word: probably.” Kagome sneered, shrugging heedlessly. “That means, it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with your skills. Or, lack thereof.” She finished, turning back around to return to freeing her arrow.

Inuyasha stood there, astonished, blinking his golden eyes in befuddlement. “Oh, okay.” The hanyou said gruffly, fighting back his surprised laughter as he walked over to where she stood. He grabbed the body of the arrow, preventing her from succeeding at anything as he gave an arrogant grin.

“Careful! Don’t break it!”

“Aren’t you a little too - um - banged up to be so sassy?” Inuyasha asked, gesturing to her marks.

“First of all, I don’t think the two go hand-in-hand. Second, no. I’d say, if anything, that’s the perfect reason to be sassy.”

“Why? A little sore?” He asked patronizingly, the cocky smirk still prominent on his face.

Without missing a beat, Kagome looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Yeah. Much like your ego. And, it only took one comment. You men are so fragile.”

Ignoring his large hand, Kagome gave a few more good pulls to the arrow, genuinely impressed by how stuck it was. She hadn’t realized she’d used so much force in how quickly she’d had to move. From the corner of her eye, she could see his expression holding amusement, shock, his tongue gliding over his teeth as he silenced his laughter and swatted her fingers to stop her from tugging. In quick retaliation, Kagome slapped his hand even harder.

He pulled back, rubbing away the sting. “Crap! With reflexes like yours, I’m surprised you’re -“

“Stop talking about my bruises!” She snapped.

Inuyasha forfeited, pursing his lips and holding his hands up to concede.

With one last jerk, she finally got her arrow free, but she didn’t make any move to walk away, her mind stuck on what she may or may not look like to him. She suddenly felt self-conscious. “Does it look bad?” Kagome innocently asked.

Inuyasha’s face twisted incredulously at her one-eighty, his mouth remaining sealed as he dramatically shrugged in question.

She groaned a response, knowing exactly what he was criticizing her for, and turned away, hopping down from the large tree roots.

“You know, you’re a…” His voice trailed off as he pondered, letting her take the lead as he casually followed. “What’s the term I’d use for you?”

Oh, this was gonna be good. Kagome did an about face, her heel gliding in the dirt from her smooth shift, eyes half-lidded in annoyance, and fingers wriggling her arrow at her side. “I don’t know. What is the term you’d use for me?”

“Gutsy, that’s for sure.” Inuyasha commented. It wasn’t where he was initially going, but it would have been impossible to miss the girl’s gesture to warn him. “What? Do you think you’re tough because you’ve got a pointy stick?”

“I could take you.” She stated.

“Hah! Okay!”

Kagome merely smiled. She knew, and she knew well, that she only stood a chance if she was able to use her powers. Otherwise, no way in hell. She wasn’t the strongest brawler, and the guy was definitely cut. She was merely looking to antagonize his pride a bit. He liked to dish out some teasing, so she’d do it right back.

“You aren’t actually serious?” It seemed more of a question than a statement.

“I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ve seen what I’m working with.” He mentioned, gesturing to the sheathed sword on his hip. “Tell me, truthfully, do you still think your flimsy arrow can compare?”

“Yes.” Again, if she could use her abilities, it was the truth.

“You’re kidding.” Inuyasha said wryly.

“Not at the moment.”

“Then, if I may be so bold to ask, why didn’t you handle Hiten on your own back there? When I showed up, you were already locked and loaded. Hell, you even shot him in the chest. What was stopping you from finishing him off on your own? Why’d I have to be the one to seal the deal?”

Kagome shrugged arrogantly, matching his energy and maybe even upping it a smidge. “Why break my nails when you’re right there to break yours playing hero?”

All humor faded from Inuyasha’s face, his eyebrows furrowing with a hint of indignation as he studied the girl before him. He saved her ass, and she was challenging his ego. He let go of his bounty to rescue her, and she had the impertinence to say something as bitchy as that. If that was the game she wanted to play, then fine. But, he’d come out the winner.

Kagome knew the moment the words had come out of her mouth that she’d gone too far. And, when his expression shifted precariously, a chill legitimately raced down her spine and she lost the gall to hold eye contact. Foot in mouth. Foot in mouth.

“So, you want to be an ingrate, huh?” Inuyasha asked, his voice low.

“No, that’s not it. I said thank you, and I meant it. That just came out so wrong.” She weakly defended.

“How was that supposed to come out?”

“Not -“ She bit her tongue in hesitation, knowing there was no way her statement could have been perceived playfully. “Rude?”

“How so?” He interrogated. He enjoyed seeing her discomfort expand.

“Look, I see I’ve upset you, and that’s fair -“

“Yup.”

“But, I have a feeling that no matter how I explain it or how many apologies I give you, there’s no take-backs and you’re still gonna be mad. Am I right?”

“You are.”

“Alright, so I’m just gonna get going. Thanks, again.” Kagome found herself talking faster, nervous. She reached over her shoulder and dropped her arrow into its quiver, her hands having nothing to play with thereafter and only fidgeting with one another. “Um - okay, bye.”

“Hold it!” Inuyasha ordered. The girl halted stiffly. This thought had been on his mind since he'd analyzed her bruises. Where’d she get them? Why’d she get her ass handed to her? What’d she do to deserve it? There’s no way a girl like her would get stuck in an abusive relationship - not that he could imagine. It could be a possibility, but for some reason, he could only picture her dishing the beating right back. It could be a rocky household situation, but there were no visible signs of old bruises fading to back that up. Which meant, as far as he could presume, this was a recent and infrequent occurrence. Which brought him back full circle: what did she do? “Given how messed up you look, I’m guessing you did something bad and you’re on the run.”

Kagome’s brows furrowed uneasily, a frown pushing at her lips as she turned back around to him. “No.” It took effort not to let that come out as a question, her bemusement pronounced.

“I’m willing to bet there’s money hanging over your head.” He added.

“Then you’d be out some, because you’re wrong.”

“And, I’m supposed to believe you?”

“You should. Better than wasting your time, don’t you think?”

“I think I can determine that on my own.”

“Look, I got myself into some trouble, but it’s not as deep as you’re thinking.” She tried explaining.

“You got yourself into some trouble, you’re on the run, and even if there isn’t a bounty yet, I’m sure there will be one soon enough.”

“No! Really!” She could tell whatever she was saying was in one ear and out the other. How did she get here? Sure, she insulted him, but how did things escalate so dramatically in the span of just minutes? One moment he’s saving her, the next they’re bantering, and now he’s threatening her and she wasn’t sure what to do. “Demon’s came to my village and I stepped out -“

“Shut up.” He drawled, rolling his eyes. “I tried being nice, but you dug your own grave. If you didn’t talk shit, I’d have let you stroll right on out of here without a second thought. But, something tells me I shouldn’t do that.”

And, it was true. Even if she was telling the truth, which may be slim - it was hard to tell since her body language was wonky at the moment - his gut was telling him not to let her go.

“Seriously! Listen to me, I’m trying to tell you -“

“Are you going to give in, or am I going to have to get rough?”

“Neither!” She shouted brokenly, her frustration at its peak.

“Those were your only options, kid.” Inuyasha shook his head, the fingers of his right hand curling over the hilt of the sword on his left hip. Obviously a blade was unnecessary here; he wasn’t going to maim the girl. He was trying to scare her into submission. Nine times out of ten, it worked like a charm. Slowly, he pulled Tessaiga out of it’s sheath, the sharp sound like music to his ears, but to his dismay, as he presented the weapon in a power stance, the sword was thin, dull, aged, and untransformed.

Kagome would have been lying if she said she hadn’t become the least bit horrified when the man went to pull out his sword. There was no cause for things to be this way. There was no reason for her life to be on the line right now. She’d sucked in a bated breath, the muscles in her neck tensing as she frantically thought up her next move. The demonic energy she’d expected had never emerged, though. And, the sword she once remembered looking unreasonably large and heavy was now small, frail, worn, and didn’t even seem like it was sharp enough to cut paper.

She stared at the weapon confused, holding her breath as she glanced up to the silver-haired man’s face. His golden eyes were glued to the untransformed blade, his look of disturbed bewilderment telling her that she was right. This wasn’t normal nor predicted. And, Kagome wasn’t about to wait around to find out what was wrong.

“Bye.” She said fleetingly, absolutely booking it away from him.

Her feet moved as quickly as they could, arms pumping along her sides as she simultaneously balanced herself while she maneuvered around trees and entangling roots, and willed her body to go faster. Kagome heard him shouting for her, demanding her to stop, his voice not as far behind her as she’d have liked. He was pursuing, and she didn’t even bother wondering if she was capable of outrunning someone with demon blood. She pushed herself even harder, heading over a little slope and sliding half the way down as she lost her foundation, her voice cracking from the unintentional yelp she let out from the incidental shock. Hasty to regain her footing, Kagome continued to run, her lungs burning, heart pounding, and adrenaline racing even faster than she was.

No matter how badly her body protested, she wasn’t slowing. She wasn’t safe yet. Fight or flight was in full control, and a red, neon sign was blaring flight to her brain. It was the sound of oncoming stomps that terrified her further. It was the growls he emitted, the heavy breathing, his deep voice grunting as he caught up to her that had her mind racking wildly to try and come up with a last second escape plan.

Inuyasha reached for the girl, grabbing her by the arm and yanking them both to a stop, turning her entire body to slam against the rough bark of a tree. He used his own to pin her there, grabbing both of her wrists and securing them behind the small of her back. He held them with only one hand, using his other to grip her thick hair as she continued to struggle and try to wrestle her way free. The hanyou growled a warning, pressing his torso firmly against her, one of his knees pushed between her legs to prevent her from thrashing her hips back into his groin. She was breathing heavily, frantic, but was finally settling into submission, and he shoved her cheek a little further against the tree to really solidify that he was in control.

Why was it when she whimpered the smallest “ow,” he pulled back? Why was it, when she showed an ounce of pain, he didn’t like it? Especially being the bearer of it. Felt apologetic, even. Inuyasha found himself relaxing the grip he had on her hair, allowing her cheek to simply rest along the bark as her chest pumped air so heatedly that he felt the wheeze vibrating through even her bag.

“Hey, calm down. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” He promised. He’d admit his tone wasn’t the gentlest, but it was impossible to present that after chasing the chick. She was stupidly nimble.

“Please. Please.” Kagome whispered between breaths, scared, frenzied. “Th-there’s no money. I - I swear.”

She was telling the truth.

“Why’d you run then?”

“You - please.” Kagome begged, her voice dying mid-word.

“Breathe. Come on, kid, breathe. Calm down.” He was substantially softer that time, easing a little more off of her so her chest could afford the deeper, slower expansion, while still maintaining control so she wouldn’t buck her hips back. Inuyasha was patient as he waited for her body to relax, her breathing coming more evenly, minutes passing but he didn’t mind. The last thing he needed was her passing out on him. She still shook in his hold, her bottom lip quivering, and he even noticed a tear fall from her eye, the salt displeasing his nose. She was legitimately panicked. While that was what he was initially going for, and this was unavoidable after she took off, he didn’t like it. Why? Why the fuck did it matter to him? Why was his stomach in knots and why was his chest unsteady? Inuyasha swallowed harshly, willing the unnatural symptoms to subside.

“There’s no money. I don’t have a bounty. You have it wrong.” Kagome tried again, more stable, though her abdomen rocked with a shudder from her still-prevalent anxiety.

“Why did you run?” He repeated.

“You threatened me.” She replied shakily. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

That was fair, and as soon as she’d said it, he realized the answer was painfully obvious. He didn’t give her much other choice. Still, his gut was telling him not to release her. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but he felt it deep. He continued on with the thought that even if there wasn’t any money yet, there may eventually be some.

“Are you on the run?”

“No.”

“Alright, look at me.” He said, spinning her around. She gasped at his speed, grunting as he pushed her back up against the tree, easily pinning her wrists above her head. Again, he only used one hand to keep them there, curling the fingers of his free hand to tilt her chin up to look at him. “What are you doing out here?”

Kagome found herself holding her breath, despite her lungs protests - having just gotten back their oxygen supply. She wasn’t expecting their close proximity, and she wasn’t expecting to be at a loss for words - which almost never happened. His amber eyes pinned her as adamantly as his body, observing her, seemingly glowing even though no light hit them from his position. Kagome willed herself to relax as much as possible in his grasp, allowing herself to breathe again as her lips parted to speak.

“I’m looking for someone.”

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#inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #Inuyasha fic #inukag #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #kagome #kagome higurashi #miroku #sango #sota #mama higurashi #monster #akitokihojo

[flameo-hotman]

Who is the scariest of those adoptive parents? And are there any non-humans on the menu? Actually, I'm behind point 7.

You don’t want to know the scariest one (though I did start a fic chapter once tagging it because said character showed up in that chapter, so that tells you exactly who the scariest one is.) Yes, there are a fair number of nonhuman on the list.

And you, along with @straycatwandering and several others have ordered adoption number seven. Sand benders.

It should be noted that at one point there is an explosion and Zuko later gets shot with an arrow, but he is fine both times. Also, there is a hint at Zukka towards the end.

Zuko sighed, as he trekked his way through the sandy prison he had found himself in. Sand as far as the eye could see and then some. He had found the library, but because he hadn’t had anything to give Wan Shi Tong, the spirit had thrown him out.

He’d run out of water that morning, and he still had no idea how much longer he had before he would find his way out of the endless desert.

Zuko didn’t want to die out here.

At least he’d still had leftover bandages from his scar. His scar which had just barely finished healing…

The scar that father gave him…

On the ship, before Zhao had blown it up, Zuko had been able to pretend and lie to himself. He had been able to trick himself into believing that Father had done this because he cared, but trekking through the Earth Kingdom and seeing how normal fathers treated their children, Zuko had been faced with the truth.

And now out here alone in the desert he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

There was no doubt left that being scared and banished was not love.

So Zuko had been angry by the time he had found the library, and when he did he hadn’t carried about finding the Avatar to earn his honor back. Zuko wanted to find a way to hurt his father back.

Yet here he was, thirteen years old, alone, and if he didn’t find water soon… Well, he would be dead.

He’d used the spare bandages to soak up his sweat, hoping that he might be able to turn it into drinking water. Not that he had enjoyed drinking his own sweat water that morning.

Worse yet, he’d stopped sweating. It took a lot for a fire bender to get heatstroke and Zuko’s head had begun to ache. Fire prickled beneath his skin begging him to let it out, but if he did the unrelenting heat of the desert would worsen.

But if he didn’t let that fire out… The fire that built every moment underneath Agni’s light, filling him with power… His chi would burn him from the inside out.

If he didn’t let that fire out, he risked chi sickness.

Either he risked dying from heat stroke or dying from chi sickness.

Zuko let the fire out in an explosion of flame and heat.

Everything went dark, and the next thing he knew was the sound of footsteps clicking against glass. Glass that when he opened his eyes extended around him in a circle by three or four yards.

Okay so maybe not using his bending all week while trekking through the desert had been a bad idea. Zuko would admit that because that could have gone A LOT worse.

The next thing that he registered was that the footsteps belonged to a group of sand benders.

He winced as he struggled to his feet and readied to attack.

Even if the sand benders hadn’t seen him fire bend, there was no denying the evidence. They had found him at the epicenter of evidence. This was the closest to combustion bending that a normal fire bender could manage.

Saving up their chi and letting out all of their fire in one sudden blast of heat. Most fire benders died doing that though. If Zuko had waited a few more days, he likely would have been nothing more than a burned out husk melted halfway into the glass beneath his feet.

“Where are your parents?” The man who appeared to be their leader asked.

Zuko frowned, confusion swelling inside him much the same way his fire did. This was not how someone should act when they found an enemy combatant no matter their age. He glanced around at the other sand benders and when he saw that they were just as confused, he knew that he wasn’t the one who’d lost his mind.

Actually all but their leader stayed outside the circle of glass.

Smart, but he didn’t have enough fire left to do a repeat. Actually, he didn’t have enough left to fight them if they did decide to attack, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.

He did have the physical energy to fight them with his swords though.

The sand bender stepped towards him and Zuko stumbled back, losing his step on the slick surface. The glass gave a dull plonk sound as he landed on his butt.

A second plonk followed as the sand bender followed suit.

Zuko shot up and slipping across the glass made his way over, concern for the man filling him, as he asked, “Are you okay?”

The man laughed, but he accepted Zuko’s help back up, and then motioned for one of the others to approach them, before saying, “Ghashiun, give the boy some water.”

At first, Zuko refused the water, because he wasn’t stupid, it was probably poisoned, but then the strange sand bender drank from it and held it out to Zuko.

So Zuko accepted the water and followed the man onto one of the sand-sailers. Sha-Mo promised him food after all, and Zuko was hungry.

He pretended he couldn’t hear Ghashiun saying to Sha-Mo, “Father, he is a fire bender. We should be-”

“He is a child.”

And that had been the discussion.

A year later and Zuko had assimilated into the tribe, with only Ghashiun not accepting him. Something that Zuko didn’t understand until he overheard Sha-Mo and Ghashiun arguing one night.

“He isn’t your son! I am!”

Zuko had been planning to talk with Sha-Mo about an idea he’d had about how he could use his fire bending to propel one of the sand-surfers, but he didn’t think right now would be the best time.

Sha-Mo spoke now, saying, “And I am not replacing you with Zuko.”

“Then why adopt him?!” Ghashiun demanded.

“The Boy Has No Parents!”

Zuko snuck away from the tent and went back to his own.

He didn’t mind the thought of Sha-Mo being his dad, but if the man was going to adopt him, then he wanted to make Ghashiun like him. He had thought he would be content to just have the teen tolerant him, but what he’d overheard had changed things for him.

He didn’t want the same bitter feelings that had plagued him and Azula to carry over to his relationship with his new brother. It would make missing Azula all the worse because without Ozai in the picture maybe things would have been different.

Without Ozai, Zuko wouldn’t see all of his failures in all of her successes.

They had always gotten along better when Ozai was away from the palace.

Zuko thought back to another conversation he hadn’t been meant to hear and he knew what to do.

The next morning, when Sha-Mo and the other men had gone scavenging, Zuko found Ghashiun and the other teenagers in the tribe.

“I know you are planning on raiding the Beifong caravan that’s coming through the Misty Palms Oasis today,” Zuko stated, as he made his way over to where they sat drawing up their plans in the sand.

Ghashiun sighed and looked over at him like Zuko was a buzzard wasp that had found its way into his tent.

Zuko pressed on, “I also know that they hired the Hami Tribe to transport them and their shipment through the desert and that the Hami have faster sand-surfers. So you have no way of keeping up with the caravan.”

“If you’re not going to say anything helpful, you can stay back at camp, Zuko.”

“I’ve been saving up my bending, and I can use my bending to make our sand-surfer go faster than theirs,” Was Zuko’s answer. And while he hadn’t tested it yet, this raiding party seemed like the best chance to do so.

Ghashiun was silent for a moment, before asking, “What does you saving your bending up have to do with making us go faster?”

“Fire benders get our power from the sun, and when we don’t use it fire builds up inside of us. If we let it out all at once, you get an explosion, but if I controlled that flow, I could use it to propel our surfer.”

“Well, shit, okay, let’s try it.”

They waited between the sanddunes that the shippment would be going through and waited.

Despite the fire bubbling beneath his skin, Zuko still relished the feeling of the sun beating down on the bare skin of his back, knowing that he would need every bit of fire Agni could give him for getting away once they had the goods.

It wasn’t long before the sand-surfers from the Hami tribe appeared, and as they reached the space between the dunes, Ghashiun signaled the rest of their group and the fun started.

Zuko darted in with his swords, and slashed the sails of the front three surfers, before one of the gaurds that the Beifongs had sent to protect the shipment stepped in his way.

The guard paused when he realized Zuko’s age, but that was the guard’s mistake.

He lunged forward, slicing at the man’s sword hand and slamming the butt of one of his swords into the side of the guy’s head. Then he moved onto the next guard.

As the sand began to clear, Zuko realized that Ghashiun had started having the cargo loaded up onto the sand-surfer they had brought with them, so he retreated to the surfer.

But right as his feet hit the surface of their surfer, a sharp pain went through his side.

Zuko looked down and saw the head of an arrow sitting out of him.

“Get the surfer going!” Ghashiun shouted to Lek, and a moment later their surfer began moving.

Then he looked over at Zuko and any joy he might have had at their success died on his face.

“It missed my vitals,” Zuko assured him, before he steadied himself by leaning against their ill-gotten goods, and pulled the arrow the rest of the way through. His soon-to-be brother looked like he was going to be sick when Zuko cauterized the wound.

Ghashiun then asked, “And what if that arrow was poisoned?”

“I’m a fire bender. I can burn off the poison.”

Thankfully his plan to use fire jets to make their surfer go faster worked perfectly, and the surfers that he hadn’t slashed the sails of faded away in the distance.

Once they had sold the goods off to the beetle headed merchants, Ghashiun turned to Zuko and admitted, “You know for a fire bender, you’re not half bad.”

“Thanks,” Zuko answered his brother with a smile.

A few years later Zuko and Ghashiun were hanging out in the oasis when the Avatar came to town, and Ghashiun looked at the sky bison with curiosity.

“No, we are not stealing that kid’s bison,” Was Zuko’s answer, before he went inside of the hut with Lek to get something to drink.

Well, Lek went in to get something to drink… Zuko went inside to get a better look at the cute water tribe guy, that was hanging out with the Avatar.

And based on the way the guy looked at Zuko, the curiosity was mutual.

When he overheard them talking to the professor, Zuko saw his way to finding out water tribe’s name.

“I actually know where the library is.”

“Really!?” Water Tribe asked, looking absolutely delighted.

Zuko nodded, and introduced himself, “I’m Zuko, and if you want I can show you how to get there, but you should know that Wan Shi Tong won’t let you in without knowledge to trade.”

Once Sokka had introduced himself and his friends to Zuko, they went outside.

Ghashiun took one way at the look Sokka was giving Zuko, and then snorted at Zuko, who just shrugged innocently.

Once they had reached the outskirts of town, Zuko uncovered his personal sand-surfer. Unlike normal ones, this one looked more like the surfboard that he had seen people use on Ember Island. Which was better suited for using fire jets to traverse the desert.

“Where is the sail?” Aang asked, glancing between it and the sand-surfer that Ghashiun and Lek had used to get to the oasis.

Zuko’s answer was simple, “Those are for sand benders. I’m a fire bender, so I use my-”

“YOU’RE A FIRE BENDER?!?!” Sokka screeched.

Zuko lifted his goggles, to show off his scar, and answered, “Scarred by the Fire Lord himself. Now do you want to see the library or not?”

Of course well they were in the library, Ghashiun went and stole Appa.

Who would have thought a stolen sky bison was what would get Zuko involved in the war after ignoring it for the past three years. And of course, his dad, Sha-Mo, would think the best way to make up for that would be to give the Avatar a fire bending teacher.

And it wasn’t like anyone they ran into would realize who he’d been before he’d found his home in the desert.

Right?

#flameo-hotman #ask the hotman #zuko adoption menu #atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #sand benders #zukka #but its at the end #and it is the start of some zukka #and yes in this au the first time Sokka meets Zuko #Zuko isnt wearing a shirt #maridarkmoon-all

[bnhayyy]

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click 

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now… 

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

*

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

*

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do. 

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

*

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

*

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

*

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

#bnha #my hero academia #bnha manga spoilers #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #shirakumo oboro #kurogiri #erasercloud #(if you squint) #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #my fic #my writing #Bnha spoilers

[loveisnotadagger]

Love is Healing - Chapter Three

Chapter 3/?

Warning: There are brief descriptions of Loki's wounds in this chapter. I don't think it's too graphic, but it is there.

After all the Avengers left the room Loki relaxed only slightly. His mother showing up on Midgard to reveal his punishment had thrown him a bit – if one could actually call this a punishment after all he'd been through with Thanos.

Loki had expected to be taken back to Asgard. He'd expected to have to face Odin. He'd expected to be locked up like a criminal. What he hadn't expected was to receive the same punishment as Thor had received when he'd gone to Jotunheim and almost caused all-out war with the Frost Giants.

"You've always wanted to be treated equally to Thor. I convinced Odin to do it this once," Frigga said. "Things could be worse."

Loki looked at his mother and glared faintly. "Define worse."

From what his mother had said earlier in response to Arianna's words about him having a reason for bringing war to Midgard, Loki assumed Frigga knew at least part of what he'd been through. She would know that physical punishment was all relative to him now. Maybe that was why Odin had agreed to this insane solution.

"You realize this punishment is meant to be for your own good," Frigga said. "Maybe you will find your humanity here? A light to fend off the darkness."

"And there is darkness."

Thor, who had been almost completely silent, said, "This will help, brother. I learned much when I was mortal here."

Loki outwardly ignored Thor and continued looking at his mother. He really did love his mother and he knew she loved him.

"You would leave me here defenseless against this world? This world that has been through much destruction in my name?"

Without his powers how would he protect himself?

The Man of Iron and Arianna didn't seem too violent, and the patriotic one wouldn't hurt a defenseless person. But Agents' Barton and Romanoff had every reason to want him dead, and the green beast was downright frightening. And what of the Chitauri and Thanos?

Loki had to suppress a shudder that wanted to take over his body. He couldn't take anymore torture. He just couldn't.

"Befriend Arianna," Frigga said. "She has a good heart." ----------

Arianna and the other Avengers – Dr. Banner included - had been out of the penthouse and downstairs for about thirty minutes. During that time Tony had been on the phone with his contractors. They would start rebuilding the penthouse first thing in the morning.

Arianna knew Tony wouldn't only help rebuild Stark Tower. He would also help pay for the damage that had been done to Manhattan earlier. Tony could help heal too, in a way, by making things appear as if they'd never been destroyed.

"I should be out there," Arianna said, pacing back and forth.

"And risk exposing yourself?" Natasha asked. "You know you have to wait."

Yes, she knew she had to wait. She knew she couldn't just go out and heal people on the streets even though she wanted to. She had to wait until the streets had been cleared a little and the wounded had been taken to the hospital

She'd made the mistake before by going public with her abilities and it had gotten her under government surveillance. That was how SHIELD had gotten hold of her. The reason she wasn't actually a field agent was because only Natasha and Clint knew Arianna could do more than heal the wounded.

"Are we going to ignore the fact that Mama Bear put our littlest Avenger in charge of her crazy son?" Tony asked, off the phone now.

"Was planning on it," Arianna said, rolling her eyes. "And I'm hardly the littlest Avenger. I'm taller than Natasha.

"Arianna!" a thunderous voice boomed from the staircase to their left. "Healer, come quickly!"

Arianna was already on her way to the stairs. She'd started moving as soon as she'd heard her name.

"What? What is it?"

"My brother is in need of assistance."

At the mention of Loki Natasha began following Arianna. Of course she wasn't going to let Arianna face him alone.

"Is he . . . powerless now?"

"It's much worse," was Thor's response. ---------- At the doorway of the penthouse, Loki's and Thor's mother was pacing back and forth. She seemed agitated and overwhelmed. She quickly broke her stride when Arianna reached her.

Frigga grabbed her hand and began leading Arianna into the room. Loki wasn't where he had been. In fact, Arianna didn't see Loki at all at first, and she didn't feel him either.

One of the things she hated about being able to invade minds was the leftover vibes she would get from the people whose minds she'd invaded. She could usually tell when said people were nearby.

Right now all she could feel was the worry coming from Frigga. She was thankful that there weren't any images to go with it.

"Where's Loki?"

Had they been tricked? Had Thor actually let Loki go after all the trouble they'd gone through to capture him?

"He's resting. It seems . . ." Frigga began, and Arianna noticed how the woman's eyes glistened. "Loki is a master of illusions. Without his magic . . ."

Frigga stiffened and looked behind Arianna. Arianna looked over her shoulder and was shocked to see everyone from downstairs there in the doorway.

"They won't hurt him," she said, hoping to get rid of whatever fear the woman may have had.

"It's not that. I just don't wish for them to see Loki this way. He wouldn't want him to see him this way."

"Oh. Well, they will see him anyway. He will be staying with me, and I will be staying here for the time being."

"Um . . . this is my house," Tony said from behind her.

"Yes," Arianna answered, turning around. "But none of you want me alone with Loki, so . . ."

"She has a point," Clint said. "She shouldn't be alone with him."

"I assure you, he cannot harm anyone now." Frigga grabbed Arianna's arm. "Come."

Arianna was led to the couch and around it. An audible gasp escaped her and bile threatened to rise. She swallowed compulsively.

Before her was a beaten and bloodied Loki. There were cuts and bruises everywhere she could see. His armor had been removed along with everything covering his upper body, and he was no longer restrained. He was laid out over the couch and he was on his stomach. Lashes from whips covered the pale skin of his back. There were scorch marks along his arms and back as well.

"What happened?" Arianna's voice shook with the effort it took her to not yell. "He didn't look like this before, so what happened?"

"His magic was removed. He must've been covering it up."

Loki must have had a serious endurance for pain because she hadn't seen any sign of him being wounded before. She had seen his memories – or some of them, at least – but she'd had no idea what she'd seen and felt had happened so recently.

She now knew why Frigga didn't want the others seeing Loki like this. He would probably be humiliated once he woke up.

"Can you help him?"

"I . . . it will take time. If I try to heal everything at once, it won't end well for me."

"Just do what you can."

Arianna nodded and moved forward until she reached the resting form that was Loki. She knelt beside him, the irony of which was not lost on her.

On closer inspection, Arianna realized that Loki was extremely malnourished. In fact, she was certain that if he'd been human before now he would've been dead.

"Dr. Banner, we need an IV drip. Now."

She didn't look up from Loki, taking it on faith that Bruce would listen. He was a pretty nice guy when he wasn't green.

"Tony, I know you can help him with that."

If Tony didn't have medical equipment in the building, he would know where to get some quickly.

Arianna brought her hands up and let them hover over Loki's back. She didn't really want to touch him, didn't want to feel what he'd been through, not again, but he did need to be healed. His whole body was probably teeming with infection. Now that he was mortal, he would need help fighting it off.

"Tash, go tell Banner he'll need antibiotics too."

Loki's body was filthy, but that was the least of her worries.

"Clint, I'm gonna need some warm water and a wash cloth. Cap, I need Tony to set up a room for him."

After each Avenger left to do his or her duty Frigga touched Arianna's shoulder and whispered, "Thank you."

"It's nothing. I didn't understand until I saw him."

Arianna jumped when a broken and shaky breath escaped Loki's lungs. She didn't know what that meant. She could heal people, but she wasn't a doctor.

"Ms . . . um . . . Loki's mom, I will have to clean him first. I can't leave the infection there. I may have to wait to heal the lashes."

"Please call me Frigga."

"Frigga."

"And what of the bruises?" Thor, who was standing off to the side, asked.

Arianna smiled softly. "Those I can heal."

Regardless of her fear, Arianna gently touched Loki's back. She had to fight her very nature so she wouldn't be pulled into whatever nightmare he was having, and she knew he was having a nightmare.

Arianna forced herself to focus so she could heal the bruises that littered Loki's skin. She was fairly certain the bruises were from when Bruce had lost his temper and banged Loki around a bit. Well, when the Hulk had banged Loki around a bit.

She didn't force her energy into Loki. In the state he was in it might throw him into shock. Plus, it was just rude, forcing your energy in to try and meld with someone else's. She was aiming for a stream not an ocean.

She was glad Loki was unconscious, though, because he might have known how to steal energy, latch on and just take, and she didn't want that either.

"Does anyone know how long he's been . . . tortured?"

"Perhaps a year," Thor said. "He's been away for a year."

"A whole year? You didn't know where he was?"

"I . . . we thought he was dead. We didn't know he –"

"The burns," Frigga interrupted. "Can you heal those? They are probably what bothered him the most."

Arianna nodded. She would do all that she could.

"It will take time," she said. "I am human and will have to rest frequently, but it will get done." ---------- "His room is ready," Bruce said. "We were able to get the saline and the antibiotics."

"Good. We may need to take him to the lab, though. I sensed there was internal damage. I need to know how bad it is."

Bruce helped move Loki, and Tony met them down in the lab. Arianna would have preferred being alone aside from Thor and Frigga, but it was Tony's lab and Bruce was an actual doctor.

Besides, she had no idea how to use the equipment in Tony's lab.

Arianna cleaned Loki off as best as she could, considering only the upper half of his body was free of clothing. The bruises Loki had been burdened with before were gone as they had been the easiest to heal, but everything else was the same on the outside.

Once she'd sensed internal damage, Arianna had decided to take a break to conserve her energy in case the damage was so bad that Loki would need immediate attention.

X-rays and Cat-scans were taken, revealing broken ribs and damaged lungs. Arianna was fairly certain that these particular wounds had come from the Hulk swinging him around and smashing him against the floor multiple times.

Bruce made sure the bones were set right before Arianna sent enough energy into Loki to help jumpstart the healing of his ribs. Then she changed her focus to his lungs.

Him being able to breathe on his own was the most important thing, in her opinion. It would save them the time it would take to hook him up to a bunch of machines, assuming Tony even had the equipment they would need for that.

Once Loki was stable enough, Arianna moved onto healing the burns littered across his skin. Or she tried to. The burns were extensive and to heal those she would have to manipulate his tissue to heal itself, which was hard by itself. Add in her exhaustion from all the healing she'd already done, and it was almost impossible.

She felt as if she'd been going at it for hours, and it wasn't until her head was hurting and her nose was bleeding that she realized she needed a break.

That and Tony saying, "A'right, Miss Miracle, you need food and a nap."

"I . . . okay, yeah. Is he gonna be okay if I stop?"

"He's as stable as he can be at the moment," Bruce said. "And he's better than he was."

"Are we leaving him down here, or . . . ?"

"We can take him to his room," Tony said. "I set up a room for you too, right next to his. Jarvis will keep watch." ---------- Arianna ate something small to put Tony's mind at ease, and it helped her headache go away. She wasn't able to sleep, however, even though she did lie down for over an hour in the bed Tony had provided.

She kept thinking about the words she'd pulled from Loki's mind. She hadn't meant to, but it happened when she was so fully connected to someone, and with the amount of healing she'd done to Loki, she was very much connected to him.

He was having nightmares and that was where the words had come from. One of his tormentors must've been equipped with the mission to make Loki feel unwanted and unloved because those were the words she had picked up the most.

No one had said anything to her when she'd come back up from the lab, but she could tell no one really understood why she was expending so much energy to help Loki.

Tony seemed to be the least judgmental, and then it was Clint. It had nothing to do with Loki and everything to do with the fact that he knew Arianna couldn't help but lend a helping hand to anyone that was suffering. Bruce was the most compassionate and she knew he would help her with Loki as much as he could. Steve was the least understanding, but only because he saw Loki as someone who had tried to destroy his home. Natasha was more worried because she knew how far Arianna could push herself.

Arianna didn't know what the big deal was. Everyone else on the team pushed themselves, risked their lives in the line of fire and what she did was no different. ---------- Frigga and Thor were in Loki's room when Arianna went in after resting but not sleeping. His mind had suddenly gone silent and she'd wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.

Thor was standing off to the side of the Spartan-like room. Loki was on the bed and Frigga was seated on a chair beside it, and there was an IV drip as well attached to Loki. Other than that, the room was bare.

"He's quiet," Arianna said.

"He's asleep," Thor said.

"No, I mean, his mind is quiet. I've been able to sense his thoughts from the first time I touched him. I don't sense anything now. Either he's stopped dreaming or he's blocking me."

"Is that bad?"

Arianna sighed. "That depends on how you look at it. If he's blocking me, it means he's aware enough to block me. It also means I won't be able to heal him, not if he's gonna fight me."

"He will sense you as you sensed him," Frigga said. "He'll think your magic is foreign. He will fight that."

"If I can make my way back into his mind, I can wake him up. I was hoping to heal him more fully first, but if this is the only way . . ."

"Is that not dangerous?" Thor asked.

"It's actually not dangerous at all, physically."

"And mentally?" Frigga asked.

Arianna hesitated before answering. "If Loki had his powers, I wouldn't try this. I think the worst he can do now is to just keep blocking me. He might be able to remove me if I make my way in."

"Have you done this before?"

"Yes, with trauma patients."

The younger patients almost never put up a fight. The adults, however, were another story altogether. She was sure that was because adults had defense mechanisms that children did not.

"What will you need?" Frigga asked

"I'll need the room so I can concentrate. I need it to be quiet." ---------- Arianna was surprised when she was able to easily gain access to Loki's mind. Most people who were unconscious fell deep inside of themselves. Add in the fact that she hadn't been able to hear or sense him before, she thought it would have been harder.

She'd found him within seconds, however, crouched behind a rock. He was hiding. That was probably why he'd suddenly disappeared from her mind. Whatever or whoever he was hiding from had shielded his thoughts from her.

Why was he hiding, anyway? There didn't seem to be anyone else around aside from Loki and herself.

As she grew closer to him, she noticed that all of the bruises she'd healed were still covering his skin in his dream state. None of what she'd been doing in real life was taking place here.

And where was here? It looked like the barren wasteland that she'd seen flashes of earlier. This was Loki's own personal form of Hell, probably, and he was stuck here.

She crept forward and knelt beside him, surprised that he hadn't even glanced her way. Did he not feel her there or was he just so overwhelmed that her presence didn't register?

"Loki?" she whispered and touched his shoulder.

He jerked away but finally looked at her nonetheless. His eyes were wide with fright and she regretted touching him. She was downright flabbergasted when he tried to cover his head. It was as if he thought she was going to hurt him.

Well . . . of course he did. This was a place of pain and he wouldn't have known anything else but pain here.

"Loki, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Everybody hurts here," he said, though he didn't move to get away.

"Loki, you're not actually here anymore. You – you got out."

"No one gets out."

"You did. You went to Midgard."

Technically, he'd been sent there, but she just wanted to help him wake up. Best not to bring up what he'd done once he went to Midgard.

"Thor is waiting there for you."

"He came for me?"

Loki seemed to want to believe that so badly, but he also seemed afraid to.

Arianna nodded. She would have to play this carefully. It appeared that this Loki, the part of Loki that was still truly himself was locked up here. This was probably a defense mechanism for the Loki that wanted to rule Earth. That Loki couldn't have had this one running loose or it would've messed up his plan.

"Loki, do you know who I am?"

"Should I?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. I met you earlier today."

She told him about how she could heal people and that she was trying to heal him, but he was blocking her.

"This is madness," Loki muttered.

"I know it probably seems that way, but you have to trust me."

She knew that was asking a lot, considering he didn't know her at all, but she did need his trust to even begin to bring him out of his head.

"What are you hiding from?"

"Thanos."

She remembered that name. Thanos was the one she'd heard threaten Loki. He was the one Loki was so afraid of.

"He can't actually hurt you here. He can only do what you allow him to do."

"Actually . . ."

A voice came from behind Arianna and Loki's eyes widened in fright again. She turned around to find a huge, purple man in black clothing and gold-plated armor. If this was Thanos, what exactly was he?

He had to be about seven feet tall and he looked to weigh at least a thousand pounds of pure muscle.

"I'm very much real."

His huge fist came toward her and she instinctively flinched even though he shouldn't have been able to touch her.

'He isn't real,' she thought even as his fist connected with the side of her head. She was sure if this had been real, she would've been knocked unconscious by the blow, assuming she would've still had her head.

He had proven that he was real, however, and Arianna was now afraid. She'd actually felt pain – not from the hit itself, but a sharp migraine-type pain. A mental blow to match the one he'd given her in the dream state.

Since she'd been knocked over by him hitting her, she scurried backwards as if she were crab-walking.

"I told him what awaited him if he failed. You will not take that away," Thanos said. "You can choose to leave him here."

Loki stiffened and she could tell he thought she would leave him. The truth was that she would if she thought she could bring someone back with her to help, but she knew what it was like to be trapped in her own head with no one to help pull her out and she wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Maybe if Loki had been truly evil, she could leave and not regret it, but now that she knew why he'd done what he'd done . . . she couldn't, with good conscious, leave him there.

Thanos couldn't really hurt her if she didn't let him. Maybe she would be able to pull Loki out of this despite what this Thanos had said. ---------- Loki hated himself at the moment. Not that he'd ever loved himself, but he really hated himself for being a coward. He didn't know this girl even though she'd said they'd met earlier and yet he still didn't want her to go. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

He especially didn't want to be alone here, but he didn't want the girl to be hurt either, not when she seemed so willing to help him.

"No one can help you," Thanos said. "No one would want to."

Nobody could love him. He was a monster. He was a Frost Giant. He'd never been anyone's priority and he definitely didn't expect this girl to pick him over herself. It was absurd to hope for anything other than a quick and painless death.

"Loki?" the girl said. She never had said her name. "Don't listen to him. I'm not going anywhere and I can help you. You have to let me."

Thanos yelled and Loki saw the Titan rush forward to hit the girl again, but she was quick and he ended up falling over himself.

If what the girl had said was true, if they really were in his mind, then he could do whatever he wanted here. He could take away his pain and he could get rid of Thanos even if the Titan was real.

The first thing he did was make himself strong again. He needed to assist his helper. She wasn't a fighter, he could tell by the way she carried herself.

What he really needed was a weapon yet he'd been made defenseless. Was he able to conjure one out of midair? Apparently he was, because as soon as he thought of one of his many daggers it appeared in his hand.

The girl was standing still with her hand in the air. She had her palm faced outward and Thanos . . . well, he was still too. He seemed to be attempting to move, but it wasn't working.

This girl knew magic – more than just illusionary magic. She was literally keeping Thanos still by sheer force of will.

"Now, Loki. You have to be the one to do it."

Since they were all in his mind that made sense. He couldn't actually kill Thanos since this wasn't physically real, but maybe just the act itself would force the Titan out.

Loki moved quickly. Within seconds he'd stabbed through the leather of Thanos' attire. He twisted the dagger and yanked upwards, properly eviscerating the image of the Titan.

Just like that, Loki opened his eyes to the world.

#loki #loki x reader #loki/oc #loki/ofc #love is healing #chapter three

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

airhorn sounds in your ear as you try to sleep ITS FIC TIME, CHILDREN

His father’s first reaction is, predictably, nervous. They’re sitting in the living room as a family, all sort of hanging out, but doing their own thing. Hoarders is passively playing, Lydia is tucked under the couch with a book and flashlight, Emily is in the corner with her laptop, and BJ and Charles are each sitting on opposite ends of the couch, going through their phones. He gets a very sweet text from Adam, showing that the other teen has put the photo Lydia took of them in a frame, and he grins, and holds the device to his chest, feeling giddy and flustered. His dad notices. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” Charles smiles, and BJ figures this is as good a time as any. “I got a text from my boyfriend.” Charles stares. From her chair in the corner, Emily’s typing slows, and then stops, as her brain catches up with that sentence. His phone pings again, and he looks back down at a message from Barbara, then back to his parents. “And my girlfriend.” Emily closes her computer. Her smile is enormous. “Shut up.” “No, seriously!” he grins back at his mother, and then notes the color Charles is going. “Adam and Barbara?” Emily asks, knowingly, and he nods. “We made it official yesterday. I took em to th’ Smallpox Hospital.” “Awww! That’s so romantic!” “You’re dating?” Charles finally finds words. “Unclench your everything, dad, jeezus.” “It’s just… do you think that’s a good idea?” “I think it’s a great idea,” BJ says, a little defensive. “What, I’m not allowed to date? M’too weird for it?” “That’s not what I meant, BJ,” Charles frowns. But he can tell it kind of is.

“Charles, honey, he’s sixteen. He’s going to date,” Emily says softly, and Charles looks back at her. “But two people at once? And they’re-” “They’re what, Chuck?” “Humans. They’re human, BJ.” “Holy shit, they are? Here I thought they were just really crappy demons.” “I just don’t know if you’ve thought this through. Wouldn’t you be happier dating another demon?” “I don’t know any other demons, dad,” he growls, temper flaring. “Unless you want me to date Sam, an’ look like a total creep, since he’s stuck at like, ten.” “Stop it, BJ.” “You stop it! Just be happy for me!” “I am.. Happy. For you.” BJ sits back, crosses his arms, and scowls. “Got a funny way of showin’ it.” His father stands, and takes to pacing. Christ. “We should lay out ground rules.” “Me an’ Adam an’ Barb did that already.” “No, I mean, house rules,” Charles says, rubbing at his beard. “Things you’re allowed to do, and not. Oh, god, first things first, I’m going to get you a box of condoms.” Betelgeuse feels himself flush, and then Lydia finally pipes up, sticking her head out from under the couch. “Gross.”

“You’re seriously blowin’ this out of proportion. We’ve barely held hands!” “I was a teenager. I remember how things escalate. The last thing we need is someone pregnant. Especially with whatever a human and a demon would make.” “Th’ anti-Christ, maybe,” he says, unhelpfully, and he sees the way his dad’s expression twists into further worry. “It was a joke! Oh my god!”

His mother, bless her, swoops in, just then. “BJ’s just told us good news,” she says, standing, and putting a hand on Charles’ arm, which stops his pacing. “I need you to reassess how you’re making him feel, right now.” Charles looks from his wife to his son. BJ rubs at his nose, embarrassed and upset, and probably purple, and he sees his father make a choice. “BJ, I’m sorry,” Charles comes over, hesitantly reaches down, and Betelgeuse responds by throwing his arms around his dad. Chuck rubs his back. “Tell me about them,” he says, “and I promise to be cool. As cool as I can be, at least.”

That’s at least something. He can tell his dad is still worried, but he does listen, as Betelgeuse describes his two partners. “We spend a lotta time together,” he tells his father. “An’ they’re both goody two shoes. Seriously, they’re borin’, nice people.” “Tell us how you met them, BJ,” Emily smiles. He regales them with the story of Barbara and the flower, and then Adam in the library, and by the time he’s done, he’s back to feeling green, all smiles and excitement and stimming hands. It feels really, really good to not be alone.

Monday comes a day too soon, and he sort of misses the atmosphere of the library, because at lunch, he’s forced to pick up trash, with Honeywell watching him intently from a bench. The only consolation prize to this is the vice principal’s time is also being wasted. He doesn’t miss how a few kids walk by and intentionally throw things at his feet for him to pick up. They don’t get away with it, though, because either they trip and find their shoelaces are mysteriously tied together, or for those unlucky ones without laces, they’ll find a snake in their lockers. The miserable part is, Adam and Barbara aren’t allowed to hang out with him while he’s working. They’d tried, and were told in no uncertain terms to leave him alone, leave him to his task, or they’d be sent to the other side of the campus to do the same thing. A little bit of punishment, he understands. But he draws the line at threatening Sexy and Babs. He’s absolutely plotting exactly how he’s going to ruin the overbearing adult’s day when he feels a strange sensation in his chest, like a slight tug. He pauses. It’s not a pain, not really, more like a pull away from himself, which doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it is. He has to assume it’s another demon thing.

He glances at his watcher, who seems engrossed in paperwork.

Man, if only this guy would fuck off, he could be enjoying lunch with his friends- The pull away from himself is stronger, this time. He concentrates on it, and then remembers how physical the summoning of clones is, requiring a motion like he’s tossing something, and he gives that a try, this time, gently lobbing nothing at a student passing by. The kid looks surprised, and then goes rigid, and he thinks maybe he’s killed someone for the first time, but then the teen straightens up, and stands, stiff, facing him, and BJ feels mentally split, between two bodies. He raises his right hand. The student mirrors the action, eyes wide, confused. He lowers it, then kicks his leg out to the side, and again, he’s copied. Not copied.. Followed? The other student is like a marionette, and his mind is the strings, or something close to that. “Possession,” he grins, wickedly, and then he pulls himself back all to one body, and the kid falls on his ass, confused, and scrambles away.

Oh, he is so going to use this new power for evil.

“BJ Deetz! I don’t see this quad getting any cleaner!” Honeywell has looked up from his paperwork to find Betelgeuse standing there, grinning to himself, and the teen responds by spinning around, and throwing nothing at the overbearing authority figure. Honeywell also goes rigid, and BJ lifts his hands, directing the VP to stand, and the hapless adult does so. “Looks clean enough to me,” he mouths, and hears that sentence come out of Honeywell’s lips. “Clean enough to eat offa!” With a swiping motion, he forces the man to knock his own hardly touched lunch to the ground, and then BJ crouches low, and the adult follows, shoving his face into what was clearly leftovers from some night’s dinner, and coming back up with a mouthful of noodles and dirt. The big man’s eyes are wide. He’s scared, confused. It’s thrilling. With a hand motion, BJ forces the breather’s face back into the mess of food and dirt, and doesn’t let him up until the muffled cries become truly panicked. Possession out in public might be a bit too noticeable, though, because there’s a gathering group of kids watching what the teacher is doing, their phones out, taking video, and he doesn’t need them connecting his own strange movements back to Honeywell’s. He makes a final hand motion, releasing the adult, and shoves his hands in his pockets, just in time for Adam and Barbara to appear as faces in the crowd. Honeywell, freed, sits up, coughing and sputtering, and looking horrified. “What the heck happened?” Adam asks, and BJ shrugs. “He started throwin’ a fit, outta no where,” he lies, but he feels the vice principal watching him, staring up from the dirt, where he’s still sat, dazed. He gives the adult a grin. “Totally fuckin’ weird.”

The rest of his lunch period is freed up, suddenly, as Honeywell goes to clean himself off in the men’s room.

This fun new ability requires further testing, but not right now, now when Adam and Barbara are around. Soon, though. Very soon. “I’m really bummed we can’t be in the library anymore. I tried to pop in to grab something this morning and the librarian chased me out.” Adam looks genuinely sad, at that, which startles BJ out of his downright vicious thoughts. “By the way,” Adam adds, “They put up the casting sheet today. Want to guess who got that dentist part?” Barbara is grinning wide. “Me?” he croaks. A few other kids tried for it.. He didn’t think he’d get picked, honestly, thought that maybe someone more likable, or more friendly, would be chosen over him, but Barbara squishes his cheeks in her hands. “You!” she cheers, and he blushes. “You’re going to be amazing! But that means,” she tells him, suddenly serious, “-that you have to actually try.” He nods, as much as he can, her hands still on either side of his face. “Effort,” he grunts. “Got it.” She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose. He scrambles to throw his hood over his head, and cinches it closed, knowing for a fact he’s gone pink from the tips of his hair down to the roots. “BJ?” Barbara giggles, as he peers out at her from his hood. “Should I not do that?” “NO! No, no, I, uh, just.. Warn a guy, next time.”

He hadn’t thought through the logistics of this, clearly, because he can’t be scrambling away from them every time one of them kisses him, just because his stupid hair won’t behave itself. God, he’s going to have to start wearing a beanie, or something, until he can get this color thing under control. Annoyingly, his dad was right. He really hadn’t given this much thought, beyond, Adam and Barbara pretty, wanna kiss them. Now he’s got to work out the logistics of how he’s going to actually achieve that goal, without basically, for lack of a better word, outing himself. He doesn’t want to think that something like what happened with Kevin could happen again, but he hadn’t really seen that situation coming, and it had ended about as poorly as a budding romance can, with parental murder. So yeah, he’s not exactly confident he can trust them with this secret. Better to keep it to himself, play his cards close to the chest, not let them all the way in. That’s safest for all of them. Good plan, BJ, he thinks to himself, watching Barbara dust wood shavings out of Adam’s hair, a leftover byproduct of his shop class. No one gets hurt. No one has to know anything. He can keep playing human with his cute new partners for as long as they’ll let him.

Stretching before him, suddenly, he foresees a lifetime, several lifetimes actually, given the span of existence for a demon, lifetimes full of deceit and lies and partners who age without him, and it all makes him very tired, and sad. This is going to be how it is, he realizes. He’s going to pretend and mimic and do his best to fit himself into a template that he wasn’t made for, and he’s presumably going to be doing it forever, maybe until the minute the last human takes their last breath, because playing human is as close as he can get. It's easier to play pretend, throw a glamour on and act along, than to be himself and risk the pain and rejection, or the truth that maybe his worth is tied into what he can do, not who he is. It all leaves him dizzy, this sudden moment of unwanted clarity. He pushes it down, far down at it can go, to somewhere deep in his chest, and tries to come back to this moment, right now, because his boyfriend is looking at him. “You going to stay in that hood all day, shy guy?” Adam smiles, and BJ peels the hood back, and runs a hand through the mop of green mess that passes for his hair, and smiles, like he didn’t just have a mini existential crisis in the middle of a Monday afternoon. “What do you guys do for lunch when you’re not being wooed by an errant library assistant?” Betelgeuse forces an extra bit of pep that he doesn’t feel into his voice, and Barbara brightens. “You can come meet my friends!” She says, and he lets her lead him by the hand, across the quad, a corpse playing pretend at being alive, holding hands with the living.

They find Barbara’s friends at the lunch tables. He’s never sat over here, never really had reason to be over here at all, actually, because each table is always claimed by a friend group, and he’s never felt welcome enough to try and squeeze in with any of them. But he sort of has a group now, he supposes. If three can be a crowd, it can be a group. He does feel eyes on him as he’s directed on where to sit by Barbara, other kids at other tables watching him, maybe confused on how he’s ingratiated himself enough to actually have a place to sit. Barbara arranges where they sit, seemingly very intentionally, with herself between Betelgeuse and Adam, and Allison and Blair on the other side of the table, and they begin eating. The air is a little tense. He picks at his lunch, leftovers Charles packed for him. It smells amazing, but he doesn’t want to scarf it all down, not when he’s feeling watched, the way he is. And he is being watched, very intently so, by Barbara’s friends, who are apparently also Adam’s friends. Everyone but him seems to know so many other people. It’s almost insane, like, how do they keep them all straight? He’s only vaguely aware of which one of these similar white girls is Blair, because he’s spoken to her, at least once. Allison might as well be a balloon with a face painted on it. “So,” Blair puts down her fork. She’s eating a dry salad with little chunks of chicken in it, low carb, low cal. He’d be worried for her health if he gave a shit. “So,” he copies her instinctively, tilting her head the same way she does, holding his hands in front of himself in a mirror of her own movements. Barbara catches what he’s doing, and gives his arm a gentle pinch. “Is this for real?” Blair isn’t asking him, she’s looking between Adam and Barbara, who are both looking a little surprised at the sudden question. “What do you mean?” Adam asks, unsure, and Blair gestures between the three of them. “This whole.. This! When Barbara said she suddenly had two boyfriends, I had to check my calendar, make sure it wasn’t April Fool’s. And then it turns out to be you and..” Her eyes fall back on Betelgeuse. “Him. You, Adam, I get. You and Barbara together, that makes sense. But, like, BJ?” “Sure, if you’re offerin’,” he says, and Blair makes a face. Go on over to Ao3 to read the rest!! There's more waiting for your hungry eyes over there

#beetlelands fic #goldenbeetle #beetlejuice #adam maitland #barbara maitland #lydia deetz #charles deetz #emily deetz #beetlejuice fanfiction #my writing

[chancelloramidala]

Staring at the Sun ➤ Evan Buckley

Chapter One: You’re Fucking Joking.

Warnings: shooting, gunshot, blood, hospitals

Masterlist

Injuries on the job, especially as a firefighter, was nothing new. You had to be ready to endure whatever came at you, it was apart of the job description to be frank. But nothing could prepare Marceline Pierce for getting fucking shot, not once, but twice. The first bullet hit her in the thigh, luckily barely missing her femoral artery and stayed lodged in there, while the second on swiped clean through her left abdomen.

The call was to an cocaine overdose at a suburban mansion, and whilst everyone else was helping the victim, Marceline and Buck searched the rest of the house for the person who dialed 9-1-1. They made the stupid decision to split up so they could more ground because when I tell you the mansion was huge, it was. That’s when Marceline found who they were looking for in the bathroom.

It was a white male, early thirties and completely coked up by the smudged white lines on the marbled counter along with the white power covering his nose. He looked severely disheveled and was waving a gun around, muttering to himself and pacing back and forth. Marceline tried to talk the guy down, keeping her hands up to show that no she wasn’t a threat but didn’t keep her guard down. If worse came to worse, she was going to try and take the gun.

After that, everything was kind of... hard for her to remember if you could believe it. There were certain things she could remember, like how she was carefully walking towards the guy, Johnny that was his name, when Buck suddenly entered the room in search for Marceline. Johnny then pointed to gun at Buck, the last person, she wanted to be near a fucking gun.

So she acted on instinct, her mind yelling at her to make sure Buck was safe. Marceline charged towards Johnny, and when her hands were wrapped around his wrists, it went off and her left thigh was on fire. But it didn’t matter, Buck was still in danger. She groaned, biting through the pain as she staggering towards Johnny when he shot at her again but this time aiming for her side.

That’s when she finally fell, sort of slow-mo like as she bled onto the tiled floors.

Bobby was suddenly hovering over her, so was Chimney. Talking was hard at the time, so she just stared blankly at her Captain as one of the paramedics tried to stabilize her for transport. Buck was suddenly there too, he looked angry and seemed to be shouting but to be honest, Marceline couldn’t hear what he was saying.

But... where was Johnny?

Was the gun away?

Was Buck safe now?

Her mind was spinning.

She was then inside of the ambulance, Bobby beside her and holding her hand as he and Chimeny told her to stay awake. And Marceline tried, she really did. 

But, fuck, her eyes were heavy, almost as if someone put bricks on them.

So against her Captain’s orders, she slept.

Later, much later, Marceline woke up in a hospital room to the beeping of machines she was hooked up on and a cartoon playing incessantly on the shitty TV. Sitting beside her was her best friend, roommate, and ex-girlfriend Nicolette Bishop.

Apparently, she’s been out for four days from a medically induced coma after the shooting incident. Her team has been visiting since then, leaving small gifts and reading to her until she woke up. Even Nic’s daughter, Gemma came to visit a few times and proof of that was her poorly painted toenails and drawings left by her bedside.

Even though she was glad to be alive, Marceline couldn’t help but wonder if Buck was okay. Her chest was tight with anxiety at that thought.

Were her efforts in vain?

Did she really get fucking shot for nothing?

“No, Buck’s fine.” Nic told her as she fluffed Marceline’s pillow for the hundredth time that hour. “He visited you while you were out, just talking about random things, I didn’t really hear him.”

She relaxed at that, inwardly smiling at the fact that he was here when she was asleep.

The doctor said she’d be out of commission for at least a month and a half to heal properly and then another for physical therapy and check-ups.

Marceline fucking hated that. She verbalized that to her doctor, who wasn’t surprised and just shrugged before leaving.

What was she supposed to do till then? Sit her ass on the couch in front of the television and watch shitty reality TV? Plus, she knew Nic was going to baby the hell out of her till she could walk by herself.

But Nic wasn’t the only person ready to help Marceline.

By the time Marceline was released from the hospital, the 118 had already prepared a schedule where they’d take turns to spend the afternoon with her when they had the days off.

The last thing she wanted as her team to step into her home, one of the few places where she could separate her work life with her home life. But it’s not like she was able to have a say in any of this.

Nic was absolutely thrilled for the extra help, knowing that she’d be a little preoccupied from her job as a caretaker to take anymore personal days off, when only the month before Gemma was sick with a stomach bug.

For the next two months and a half, Marceline was bombarded by Bobby’s cooking, Chimney’s horrible jokes, and Hen’s warm hugs. As for Buck? Well he visited a little less than the rest of them, continuously thanking her for basically saving his life. The poor woman didn’t know how to respond to this, only lamely shrugging and picking at her nails while saying, “I just did what anyone else would do...” for the one’s they love...

In between those heartfelt visits, Athena Grant came by to give her a stern talking to about charging at someone with a loaded weapon. For as long as Marceline could remember, Athena was the mother-figure she never had growing up in the foster system and always fretted when she did something a little too reckless on the job.

“What the hell were you thinking? That druggie had a gun pointing at you, Marceline! You’re obviously not bulletproof!” Athena would go on a tangent, wagging her finger at the younger woman. 

“But he pointed the gun at Buck too, Athena!” Marceline shot back with a type of ferocity that the cop never saw before. “I...I didn’t think at the time, I know that but... I didn’t care what happened to me.” she chewed at her lower lip as she stared at the older woman. “Buck was in danger, I just- I had to- I would never forgive myself if something-” happened to him.

Marceline broke down, her hands now shaking as tears spilled out of her eyes. She broke eye contact with Athena, covering her face with her shaky hands to hid how embarrassed and vulnerable she felt in this moment.

Athena watched the young woman that she considered one of her own as she was struck with a realization. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Marceline whimpered, curling herself in a ball that wouldn’t break her stitches.

“Oh, baby,” Athena sat down next to her and wrapped her arms around the weeping woman before pulling her into a side hug. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, I was just worried about you.” she placed a kiss to Marceline’s hair. “But I understand. We do crazy things for the people we love.”

Marceline was finally cleared to go back to work in the next two weeks. Her confession was only known to Athena and Nic (the latter only learning this piece of information months beforehand with a drunk Marceline going on and on about why she loves Buck), and was never spoken about again.

But after her sort of near death situation, Marceline decided that she should tell Buck how she feels. Even if he was a self-diagnosed sex addict. It didn’t matter. Life was too short to have any regrets, right?

Marceline came to her first day back with anxiety settling in her bloodstream, her blue duffel bag hung over her shoulder. She was glad that there was no one greeting her or anything, it was as if she never got shot. All she wanted was to get back to work and have everything go by smoothly. Then she walked over to her locker, “PIERCE” written in neat, bold handwriting and stuffed her things inside.

“Mars, come up, breakfast is getting cold!” Bobby shouted over the railing.

She grinned. God, she missed Bobby’s cooking. Not that she didn’t have constant access to it because there were literally tons of leftovers currently sitting in her fridge, but it was different when Bobby cooked at the fire station. Now, it was actually a home cooked meal.

“Alright, Bobby, hold on,” she yelled back at him before ascending up the stairs, holding the railing because wow did these steps get bigger somehow?

And as she finally reached the top steps, she almost immediately wanted to turn around run away.

“Welcome back, Marceline!” everyone cheered and smiled excitedly underneath a large, brightly colored banner hung up above.

Fuck, this is not what she wanted. “Oh gosh,” she started, her hand finding it’s way into her hair. “You guys really didn’t have to-”

“Ba-ba-ba,” Chimney shook his head and stepped forward before slinging his arm around her shoulder. “Yes we did, we’ve missed your brooding presence inside the truck and had to celebrate your return.”

"Look, we know you didn’t want a big welcome back kind of party, so it’s just us, some cake, and pure vibes.” Hen looked at Marceline thoughtfully with a small smile.

It really was just Bobby, Hen, Chimney, and Athena. The presence of Buck was missing, but that wasn’t too surprising, he tended to be late to almost everything.

Bobby then held up a cake with a bright smile. “It’s ice cream cake, your favorite.”

Yes, ice cream cake is indeed Marceline’s favorite. And, yes, she really did not want to make a big deal about her return... but the hopeful and expecting looks on her teams faces made her throw away her previous reservations.

“Alright, fine.” she sighed before playfully shoving Chimney’s arm off of her shoulder. “I guess, I’ll enjoy myself until we have a call.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit!” Athena smiled and clapped her hands together. “Okay, here are the plates and the utensils-”

“Hey guys, sorry for being late,” Buck’s voice filled the air and Marceline almost instantly whipped around with a dumbest smile on her face. “But I wanted to bring Abby,”

Abby? Who the fuck was Abby?

Marceline’s smile wavered at the sight of a redheaded woman who was at least double her own age standing behind Buck. With closer inspection, they were holding hands.

Oh...

“That’s alright Buck, c’mon and get some cake before Marceline eats the whole thing,” Bobby smiled at the other man and waved the couple over.

"Well, I felt a little silly coming here without anything so I brought brownies,” Abby smiled lightly, holding up store-bought brownies as she walked over.

“All food is welcomed,” Athena replied in kind to her before sneaking at glance at Marceline who stood scarily still and was obviously biting back a few emotions.

Abby nodded and placed the brownies on the table as she took a plate that Buck handed her before turning her attention to Marceline. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Abby, I’ve heard great things about you”

Marceline hated how almost on sight she hated Abby’s guts. And it was over a stupid fucking reason, a boy. God, way to be less of a fucking feminist, Marceline.

So she put on one of her best “this is fine, I’m perfectly okay” which meant a tight smile plastered on her face and shoved every dark and ugly emotion she had into the deepest parts of her soul.

You could do this, you can fake being nice and perfectly okay, you’ve done this your whole life.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Abby, I’m Marceline,”

@skyslowalking​ & @beelarson 4 u darlings <3​

#evan buckley #bobby nash #robert nash #athena grant #chimney han #howard han #buck #hen wilson #henrietta wilson #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #maddie buckley #9-1-1 #911 #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley fic #buck fic #evan buck buckley fic #evan buckley x original character #evan buckley x original female character #christopher diaz #oliver stark #evan buckley x marceline pierce

[ilguna]

Anteric - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. GORE, HEAVY BLOOD, FIGHTING, PAIN.

wc; 10.3k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

There’s only a few people that can get ready without complaining. And proudly, you can say that you’re one of them. With Finnick, Thyme and Allio being the other three that had practically gone untouched from yesterday’s fights. Well, actually, Finnick did go untouched, but that’s for obvious reasons.

You watch the other initiates move around the dormitory, all varying in the ways they hold themselves because of their injuries. Amos’ face is swollen, thanks to Thyme’s fists--which was split at her knuckles because of how spread out her skin had been. She didn’t find this out until after the fight, when Amos’ blood had been wiped off and she could see why her hands were stinging so badly.

Amos also has an arm wrapped around his ribs, where Thyme had kicked him. He’s been rotating ice packs since last night, so he’s got one pressed to his cheekbone right now. It looks like he might end up with a black eye by the end of the week. Too bad it won’t get any time to heal. All your injuries will just keep piling on until the physical stage of the initiation is over.

Finnick’s victim, Eytelle, does everything she can to avoid touching her jaw. Unlike Amos, it seems like she has some sort of pride about not using ice to make it feel better. Her face will occasionally twist when she opens her mouth to speak, so you’re happy to say that her smartass Candor mouth won’t be running today.

And finally, Trink is the worst out of everyone in the room. Even compared to Amos, who didn’t go down easily when he went up against Thyme, is better than her. Trink has been complaining about a headache in her temple since yesterday, and each time she brings it up, she’ll glare at you. You ignored it the first couple of times, but you went ahead and reminded her that she had a chance to give up, and she didn’t.

The only person missing from the dormitory today is Ossie, she didn’t come into the room last night before the lights were turned out. So, you’re going to take a good guess that she’s in the medical unit that they have here in Dauntless. If that’s the case, you’re nota ll that surprised, there’s no way that she should be authorized to come back into the ring if she’s seriously hurt.

However, if she doesn’t recover soon, she’ll end up being cut. Caspian won’t exempt her from the rankings, because it’s not fair if he does. To someone else, it’d be unfair because she can’t control how fast her healing process is. If she jumps right back into it, she risks injuring herself even more, which could then make a permanent problem. But, it’s perfectly fair. She couldn’t defend herself inside of the arena, therefore she needs to step up her game.

Or she’s not cut out to be in Dauntless.

It’s a ruthless faction for a reason.

The aptitude test can tell you what faction you’re made for, but when you’re face to face with other initiates that fit the requirements better, suddenly you don’t measure up. You’d like to say that at some point, Dauntless wasn’t always like this, and they didn’t cut most of the initiates like they do now. But something changed, which then prompted for Dauntless to become a harder faction to get into. 

And it makes perfect sense, at least to you. Dauntless is supposed to be the police, security, the ones who watch the wall and what may be on the outside. Dauntless is the army that would be called on if it were needed. There’s a saying that every army is as strong as their weakest link. And in Dauntless, no one is supposed to be weak. They want to eliminate that problem, so initiation continues to get harder to only allow in the persistent initiates. The ones that can handle Dauntless.

Anyway, if Ossie isn’t careful, she’ll be the first of the four to be cut in the first stage. You’re not sure how long the first stage lasts, or how many fights you have to cycle through before you’re finally over, but she’ll need a comeback. Just like everyone else who lost their first match. Otherwise, they’re just going to find themselves factions. Which, in a way, would probably be a better option than running themselves into the ground. At least then they’d have a chance at living.

For them, being factionless may always be an option. But you think that you’d rather die trying to get into Dauntless than live with the shame of being factionless because you couldn’t make it. And since Abnegation has a reputation for welcoming former members back in, you think it would be even worse. Crawling to Reed’s doorstep and begging for forgiveness.

Knowing Reed, he’d probably turn you down.

Thyme jumps into her black jeans, shifting from foot to foot to make sure that they’re up all the way. You can vaguely see Finnick in the bathroom, leaned over a sink while he brushes his teeth. You’d be getting ready with them, but you had an early start this morning. Mostly because after you woke up the first time to roll over, yesterday’s question about your family made itself known. 

And then, as the hours drew on and your mind wandered, you sank deeper into your mattress when you realized that your words can have consequences. You are not untouchable here in Dauntless, and Caspian is in a position of power. He can retaliate if he wants, sabotage your stages to make it harder for you to pass. And he’s going to feel more inclined to, now that you’ve accused him of still being attached to Abnegation. Especially since you did it right in front of Laurel.

You may be his ex-best friend’s little sister, but he never had an attachment to you. To him, you’re expendable, he’s got other initiates that he can really pour his focus into. And being one of those people is Finnick, who showed great significance yesterday. He has fighting experience, which means that he should be in some sort of advanced class. He’s already better than the rest of you.

For now, at least. We’ll see how well he keeps up during the emotional and mental stages of initiation.

Thyme sits down on her bottom bunk, beginning to tie her shoes. Finnick comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed and running a hand through his hair. On the way out of the dormitory is Amos, his shoulders are hunched in and he’s still holding the ice pack to his cheek. The more he collapses in on himself, the smaller he seems. And since he’s not very tall to begin with, the last thing he needs is to appear less threatening.

“Ready to go to the training room?” you swing your feet, watching as Finnick continues to fix his hair, standing off to the side.

“Wish we had enough time for breakfast.” Thyme mutters, she yanks her laces tight, “I also wish we didn’t have to fight first thing in the morning.”

“It’s a good way to wake up.” Finnick says.

“You just want to fight.” 

You try to kick near his head, he dodges, grabbing a hold of your ankle, “I was actually hoping I’d get to fight you.”

You stare at him, “Why?”

He lets go of your foot, giving you a shrug, “I’m just curious how you’ll hold up against me.”

You mock a smile, “Well, let’s just hope I end up with you, then.”

If you were put in the ring with Finnick, you wouldn’t come out as the winner. Not only does he have more experience, he has a height advantage, he’s unpredictable. You’ve spent several years of your life watching him fight other teenagers, and there’s only been a couple of times where you’ve been able to predict his next move. The most you’ve figured out is that he likes his fights over with as soon as they begin. Which is as dangerous as dangerous can get.

Thyme stands up, so you slip off the top bunk, landing on your feet. Thyme leads the way out of the dorm, you and Finnick elbow each other back and forth on the way out. When you pass in front of Trink, Allio and Eytelle, they momentarily fall silent. As soon as you’re through the door, they resume speaking. 

You might end up fighting one of them today, with the exception of Trink. If you’re lucky, it won’t be Eytelle, she’s got the same height advantage that Finnick does. If you’re extremely unlucky, you’ll end up with Allio, who hardly looked fazed at Ossie’s kick yesterday. And it looked like she put all her strength into it. So either she’s weak, like you originally thought she was, or Allio is a sponge.

Then again, you could always land yourself with Amos, Thyme or Finnick. Amos is shorter than you, much like Thyme. You think that you could easily take him on. As for Thyme, she might be more of a challenge, she did seem to give the fight her all when she needed it at the end. However, just like Eytelle and Finnick, you’ve got an advantage when it comes to height. 

Honestly, you really hope that you aren’t paired with Thyme or Finnick at all. It’s an unrealistic hope, because there’s not enough people to be rotated around, so you’re going to be stuck with one of them eventually. But if it really came down to it, you’d rather take on Thyme than Finnick anyday.

“Tell us your predictions.” Finnick says. It sounds like a demand, but it’s actually a question.

You’re quiet for a moment as you all go through a stretch of darkness. The first match was predictable, Caspian would want to set you guys up against people that look like you guys to see where you measure. That’s why Finnick was placed with Eytelle, based on height. Thyme with Amos based on scrawniness. And Ossie and Allio because they had to be together in order for you and Trink to be in the ring together. However, you and Trink could have very well been placed together because of body weight and the way you carry yourselves, and Allio and Ossie were leftovers.

Needless to say, you were more or less right on the prediction. All you have to do this time is go off your gut feeling again, because that’s what happened last time.

You decide to hold your answer until you get to the next light source. Then, you three stop and stand around it, “Okay, Ossie wasn’t in the room last night, so I think that she’ll be sitting out. Since it’ll be uneven, I’m pretty sure one of us won’t be fighting.” You pause, you don’t think that it’ll be you or Finnick. It could be Thyme, but she was a winner, so they’d want to push her to see what she can do. A loser would sit out instead. Maybe Amos?

“I’m thinking that they’ll pair us with opposites today. And I don’t mean strength-wise.”

Finnick nods slowly, probably trying to decide who would be his opposite. Thyme massages her knuckles, eyebrows raising slightly. You can hear the faint echo of Trink, Allio and Eytelle in the background, and they do too. So, you all start walking again.

It’s quiet for the rest of the way. Finnick pushes open the set of the doors, holding it open for you and Thyme. Laurel and Caspian stand next to the chalkboard, standing in the way of the names. Amos stands by himself, hands shoved into his pockets. Ossie is by herself, a bandage around her head, arms crossed as she stares at the ground.

The three of you stand on the other side of the ring, opposite to where the chalkboard is, where you’d been yesterday. It gives you a clear view of Caspian, who raises his eyebrows faintly. Other than that, there’s no expression on his face. No hint that he might be angry after what you said to him yesterday.

You’ve never been afraid of Caspian, but when he burns in silence, is the time where fear begins to sprout in your stomach. The times where he doesn't have to look smug, are times where he’s set up something particularly hellish. You said that he’d pair you with your opposites, but you’ve failed to remember, again, that Caspian might be angry.

Allio and Ossie were leftovers last time, an exception to the idea you presented last time. Which means that he could very well have made a second one. It would make sense, not everyone can have an opposite. And the only person who can serve a real punishment to you, would be Finnick.

Your eyes peel away from Caspian to look at Finnick, who’s playing with his nose ring again, staring into space. He wouldn’t make you go against Finnick, it’s too predictable. You look back at Caspian to see that he’s got a small smirk on his face, the same one he wore after you won the fight against Trink yesterday. And you change your mind again, because when has Caspian ever cared about his motives being out in the open?

Trink, Allio and Eytelle make it into the room just as the clock hits eight. They decide to stay near the door today, so you go ahead and move left more. It’s just an open space between you and Amos, and since hatred hasn’t been expressed between you two, you don’t think it’ll hurt to be closer to him. Especially if it means to get away from the other three.

“Good morning.” Caspian says, “I see some of you are doing better than others.”

No one says anything back, he cracks a smile. He then waves a hand toward Laurel, signaling her to move out of the way. She side-steps, and reveals the pairing. There’s only three rows, which means you were right about someone sitting out.

“It’s uneven today, only six of you will be fighting. If your name’s not on the board, congrats, you get a break today.” Caspian says.

You read over the names.

Finnick and Thyme.

You and Allio.

Amos and Eytelle.

Ossie and Trink are sitting out today.

There’s a couple of things that come to mind immediately. The first is that the winners are paired together, and the losers are too. The second is that you’re not with Finnick, it’s Thyme who gets the misfortune of having to face him. You know that he’ll get it over with quickly, but Thyme is going to want to win the fight. She’s not going to take the loss.

A cruel thought spirals, nearly passing through your lips. Thyme will be the perfect opponent to ensure he keeps his streak. You don’t see her winning against him, which means he’ll bag two wins. And depending on whether or not you beat Allio today, you might too. In the end, you might have to end up facing Finnick. 

You look over at your friends to see that they’re less than thrilled. Thyme is still staring at the chalkboard, as if it’s some mistake. And Finnick doesn’t look as excited as he did yesterday. He crosses his arms, but still reaches up to play with the nose ring with his thumb. It’s even worse because they’ll be going first today, they say nothing to each other.

And because you can’t help it, you go ahead and look at Allio, who’s already got a small grin on his face as he talks to his friends. You and him will be the second fight today. You wait for some type of fear to appear in your body, but there’s nothing. You were wrong on your theory. Allio isn’t as bad as Finnick. You have a chance at winning.

While you’re staring at Allio, you catch a glimpse of Trink, who looks relieved. So, you lean toward Finnick and Thyme, not trying to be quiet but trying to diffuse the growing tension between them. “They’re only letting her sit out because I beat her to shit.”

Eyes land on you, you pull back and stand straight again. Finnick lets out a laugh, Thyme has a smile on her face, “It’s like putting her into time out.”

You know that you will not face Trink again, there’s no reason to be afraid of her. The only people you’re worried about, are the two Candor idiots standing next to her. One of which you will face today.

“Finnick and Thyme!” Caspian calls, motioning to the ring, “Get to it.”

“Try not to kill each other.” You tell them, neither of them say anything.

Inside of the ring, they pick their spots opposite of each other. Finnick is the first to raise his hands, in perfect position. Thyme rolls her wrists once or twice before she raises hers. With them standing across from each other like this, she seems to have a chance. But when they’re standing next to each other, you have no hope for Thyme.

They shuffle in a circle, Thyme trying to find an opening. She won’t, not unless Finnick takes the first punch. And he might, if they continue to go around like this. A look to Caspian tells you that he’s getting impatient. They make a loop again, he clears his throat. Neither of them lunge at each other. 

This won’t last for much longer. This is going against Finnick’s rule of making a fight quick. But he’s probably stalling so that he doesn’t have to hit her first. For a second, you think that he might let her win, since she’s a friend. Then you remember what he said to you fifteen minutes ago, his hope that you’ll be his opponent. Which transforms into the streak thought. He will not pass up this opportunity.

Finnick gets impatient, starting to move in on her. Thyme tries to keep backing up, trying to get away from him. In your hand, you chant for her to stop moving and let him make his move. Finnick wants it quick, he’ll aim for weak spots on her head. All she has to do is dodge the punch, and give it her all as fast as possible before moving out again.

She has to be like a wave of water.

Thyme hits the edge of the ring, Caspian briefly moves forward to shove her back in, “Fight!”

Thyme stumbles over her feet, drawing her too close to Finnick. He doesn’t wait for her to recover, swinging. You think Thyme sees, because she drops to her knees, avoiding the hit. She stops long enough to draw her arm back, fist aimed toward his shins. But then she hesitates, changing her move.

You watch her full-force uppercut Finnick’s crotch.

There’s a gasp from Finnick, face twisting as his hands grab the area. You press your lips together, covering your mouth. You shouldn’t laugh. Thyme gets back onto her feet, raising her fists again, the soft expression she had, has faded now. She brings her foot up, slamming it into his back.

Finnick’s hissing through his teeth, stumbling forward and trying to straighten himself out. He’s clearly in pain, and you can’t blame him. Thyme looked like a hard hitter yesterday, and Amos is the display case. 

Finnick turns towards Thyme, cracking his neck, “See, I was going to go easy on you.” his face takes on the same scary look that he gave Eytelle, “But if you want to play dirty…”

Thyme beckons him closer without saying a word. Finnick heads closer. She’s aware of where the ring ends now, you can see her glance down every now and then to make sure she hasn’t backed out of it. But each time she looks away from Finnick, he jerks closer, until he’s right in front of her, and she doesn’t even realize it.

Her hands are protecting her face, so he aims for her stomach. This sends her stumbling back, standing on the white line. He tries to punch her again, she slips under his arm unharmed, and appears behind him. She goes to take advantage of this, but she’s too slow. Finnick spins around, and slams his foot into her ribs. 

Just like that, Thyme hits the floor, eyes wide, hands on the spot he just kicked. She sucks in a breath, looking up at Finnick, who towers over her. She stares for a moment, and then her eyes flicker to his feet, and she tries to get moving. She’s just barely on her feet, going to slip under Finnick’s arm again, when he grabs a hold of the back of her shirt, yanking her towards him.

He’s quick to grab the neck of her shirt when he can, twisting his fist and lifting slightly to keep her from sliding out of her shirt. He draws his right hand back, tilts his head to the side, and goes to punch her face. She moves out of the way by a hair, eyes continuing to widen, following his fist. He goes to try again, and manages to graze her cheek. 

Thyme winces, trying to squirm out of his grasp. And for one final time, he brings his hand back, and punches her jaw.

She hangs in the air, Finnick slowly lowers her back to her feet, and then wraps an arm around her body. He looks up at Caspian, who gives Finnick a nod before circling his name. 

Finnick won, just like you thought he would.

Finnick half-carries, half-drags Thyme’s body out of the ring. He slowly lowers her to the floor, where she lays there for a minute or two, not waking up. But then her eyes pop open, and she blinks a couple of times, squinting.

She’s alive, which means it’s your turn to fight your life.

“(Y/n) and Allio!” Caspian calls.

Finnick gives you a pat on the back, “Good luck.”

You wish you could say you don’t need it.

You and Allio come from your respective groups. With you on the far left, and him on the right. From where you stand, Caspian is still in sight, and he has a smile on his face. There’s something that you’re not aware of.

You stretch your arms and legs, cracking your knuckles, tilting your head from side to side. Allio watches you with raised fists. You bounce from foot to foot, raising your own hands. You inhale and exhale, looking over his form.

The only movement he allows is moving in the circle, like you guys were taught to do. His face is straight, his hands are where they need to be. You sweep over his body over and over to find that there’s no openings. Which means that you need to create one without getting hit. 

You made the first move yesterday, it was in your best interest to. This time, you need to let Allio come to you. You keep shuffling, but don’t move, not even when he begins to come closer. In fact, you start circling the other way, making him change his rhythm and show you what he might have been planning.

He takes much bigger steps towards you with his right leg, now. But will hesitate and back up when you pause for a moment, going toward him. Either he wants to kick you, or he wants an easy escape if you move toward him. You let him continue to come closer, prepared for a kick.

And then he launches forward.

All it took was a single blink.

There’s an explosion of pain across your nose, a sickening snap that fills the air. You inhale sharp enough to trigger a cough attack. Your hand flies to your nose, now throbbing and sending needle-like pain through the nerves. In just a couple of seconds, your palms are coated in blood, beginning to pool.

You look back up at Allio in time to see him jumping at you again. You move out of the way, flinging your handful of blood at the floor, right where his foot lands. There’s a moment of steadiness, before he slips and hits the floor hard enough for you to feel it beneath your shoes. 

You grit your teeth, drawing your foot back, lip curling, aiming for his head. You expect him to block his face with his forearms, like you were taught to. But he grabs a hold of your ankle with a tight grip and rolls over, pulling you down.

Your entire body hits the wooden floor, hands slapping hard enough for them to make a sound. Allio lets go of your foot, and goes to start crawling on top of you. If he wants to play the foot game, though, then he’s going to get it. You wind your foot back, sending your heel into his chest, knocking him back. You scoot back after that, getting to your feet.

He broke your nose, and it’s gushing blood. Your nose is crooked. You bring the bottom of your shirt up to your lower face, wiping away the fresh wave of red. Each time you breathe out, there’s a couple of droplets that fly through the air. Allio gets back to his feet, you raise your fists, gritting your teeth harder.

You didn’t expect him to be an easy fight, but you were hoping he wouldn’t be this hard.

Allio comes at you again, swinging at your face. This time, you see, so you duck. His arm flies over your head, making a clear path for his chin. Without thinking it through, you shoot up, knuckles slamming into skin and bone. Immediately, there’s a sharp pain that goes through your hand, but you’ve temporarily immobilized Allio.

His mouth is hanging open, backing away from you as he grabs the area you just punched. In the meantime, you steal a glance at your knuckles to see that they’re turning a deep shade of purple already. You try to stretch your hand, and end up crying out in pain.

You look back up at Allio to see that he’s recovered. You don’t know if you can punch him again. Not with your potentially broken knuckles. Your non-dominant hand isn’t all that strong, either. You could always try, but you’ll end up failing.

You suck in a breath through your nose, raising your fists again.

Allio comes in again, since you refuse to move. You need to get the upper hand. So far, you’re the one taking all the injuries, so he needs to receive some too. You sniff, feeling all snot and blood, and then you breathe through your mouth. It’s hard not to pay attention to your nose.

When he’s close enough, you fake right, but go left, swinging your non-dominant hand. It doesn’t feel right, and you don’t hit as hard as you mean to. The punch to Allio’s jaw just moves him backward. You didn’t get as close to his chin as you wanted to.

Allio seems to realize your dilemma, and a sadistic smile grows on his face. There’s a sudden boost in confidence in his movements, and he doesn’t hesitate to come closer anymore. He must’ve been wary of your punches, but now that you can’t hit him, he’s practically untouchable. The only way you can kick him is if you get him down. But even then, he managed to catch you last time.

You have three choices. Two of them back you into a shameful corner, the third means you go down swinging, or you win the match. No matter what happens, you will not take whatever punishment Caspian has lined up for you, in the case you decide to call mercy. And you will not just stand here and take what Allio has to deliver.

Allio swings, you back out of the way. You have to get around him somehow. Get behind him like how Thyme got behind Finnick. She was able to duck under his arm, but you’ve done that twice already. Allio has probably learned his lesson, you need a new way.

He barely comes close enough, you drop to the floor and sweep his feet. Allio loses his balance, you raise up a little, but he’s on his back, vulnerable. You jump at him, fist raised, hand wrapping around one of his wrists, pinning his arm to the ground. You hesitate actually punching him for too long, and his other hand slams into your jaw, making a red hot pain spread through your face and teeth.

Your head knocks back, eyes on the ceiling before you’re falling against the floorboards. You can feel the coolness of the wood through the fabric of your shirt. And for a moment, you think that you could lay here all day and not move. But then you see Allio coming towards you, eyes dark and threatening, and decide that you’ll lay on the floor another day.

Even though you should get up, you don’t move, trying to catch your breath, but you keep an eye on him. If he comes any closer, you think you’ll kick him in the face. Kick him like how you punched Trink. One hit that’ll get him to stop moving for good.

You lift your foot to find that he’s already holding onto it.

You twist around, rolling over and kicking his shoulder with your left foot as hard as you can. He doesn’t let go, instead pulling you in. He lets go of your ankle, and since you’re just beneath him, he raises his fist. His elbow bends, lifting it up far too high just for it to be a knockout punch, and unwinds on you.

You jerk to the left in time for him to slam his hand into the floor. 

“Idiot.” you snuff, your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you.

While Allio is shaking his knuckles, hissing out curses, you lazily raise back to your feet. Your mouth has an overflow of snot and blood because you refuse to breathe through your nose. You send a wad of red spit flying out of the ring, towards Caspian’s feet before raising your hands.

This fight is not over yet.

When Allio raises back to his feet, his hands aren’t raised, and he comes at you with genuine rage. This is the look that Ossie must have seen yesterday. The look of pure anger from the taunting, going all in and pulling back before it’s too late. The difference now is that you’re embarrassing him. For him, this should have been an easy fight, considering his brute strength yesterday.

Allio finally raises his fists when he gets you cornered. He swings with his left hand--no, he normally punches with his right.

Large black blots block your vision. The pain is hard and warm, pounding on the side of your head. Your hands connect with the cold floorboards once again, and you struggle to blink your eyes free of the dark restraints. For a moment, you’re terrified because the darkness is staying longer than it should. But a ray of light comes through.

You can hear Allio coming up behind you.

Get up.

Even if the stars are just now allowing you to see, you need to get up.

You struggle to make your legs solidify beneath you.

When you turn to face Allio after what feels like forever, you’re met with a solid pain in the middle of your chest, knocking you backwards, stealing your air. You barely keep on your feet this time, anticipating the ground, gasping to try and fix the empty feeling in your lungs. It hurts to breathe in this much. You press an open hand to your chest, eyes finding Allio’s face through the spots, only to see that he’s mere inches away.

One hand on your shoulder, the other one drives it’s way into your stomach. Nausea sprouts, accompanying the dizziness that hasn’t gone away since he punched you. All the air you had just gained, is gone again. A moan leaves your lips from the soreness. 

Allio wraps his hand around your throat, you can feel the ground disappearing beneath your shoes. There’s a sudden spike of terror again, and all you can picture is this exact same scenario with Ossie. Allio lifting Ossie into the air as if she was as light as a feather. Allio throwing her down to the floor. The sound of her head cracking open. Her not moving after. The blood turning her blonde hair, rich red. Laurel having to carry her out.

This will not be you.

You swing your foot as far back as possible, desperate for air. Your foot crushes into Allio’s stomach, making his face turn a sudden shade of bright red, and then he drops you.

The ground is a lot further down than you realized.

You try to catch yourself and fail, a scream leaving your throat. Your head slams against the wooden floorboards anyway, but you don’t hear your head breaking open like an egg. Only the hot, pounding feeling on the back of your head. Black spots come back to dot your vision, stealing the sight of the ceiling. Or maybe your eyes are closed.

Can you get up?

The thought alone hurts.

Everything hurts.

You can hear Allio’s tennis shoes against the wooden floorboards, shifting on his feet. He must be waiting for Caspian to call it. And if the fight is over, it means you lose.

You lose.

So, get up.

Your eyes open, stars dot the ceiling. You blink and squint to see better. No, not stars, the ceiling lights. Which form little sparkle shapes as your eyes begin to focus, adjust.

Get up.

You turn, your hot, sticky skin pressing to the floor. It sends aches and pains through your body, your muscles in your legs pulse, letting you know that they’ve had enough. It’s a good thing that they’re not in charge. You are. And this is not over with.

Get up.

Your skin slowly peels away from the polished wood, leaving a faint stinging sensation behind. It’s hardly noticeable, a needle in a haystack, considering you’ve collected an impressive worth of injuries in just one fight.

Get up.

“She’s up--” Caspian starts, once you’re on your feet, hunched over and trying to build enough confidence to stand straight. It’ll hurt too badly. And you’ve run out of time, you took too long to get up. Caspian thinks it’s over.

It’s not over until you win.

You take one step, and then another, testing the waters. Every step you take, sends a jolt through your body that always ends up at the back of your head. Your skull is not broken. You can keep moving.

This is the opening you wanted, after all.

You launch yourself right at Allio’s torso since he’s distracted, wrapping your arms around him for added effort. There’s shooting pains through your nose since it’s pressed up against his body. You pull away before he hits the ground, hard. And before he can move, you’re scrambling on top of him.

Your knuckles are not broken.

You wind your arm back, eyes locked on his nose.

They just hurt.

You drive your fist into his face. And when it doesn’t start to bleed, you punch him again. And again. “I’ll never look the same.” you snarl through your teeth, “So why should you?”

You switch hands, leaning all of your body weight into it. He’s bleeding now, there’s blood running out of his nose and down the sides of his face. His blood mixes in with yours, which coats your knuckles and fingers. If he’s going to target your weak spots, it’s only fair you give him a couple of his own.

You miss the fact that he gets his right hand back, not missing the chance for retaliation. All you can feel is your head jerk to the left hard enough for your neck to crack. You slide across the floor, skin burning along the way. You unscrew your teeth from each other, gasping.

Allio has drawn himself to his feet. Through the tunnel vision, you can see that his face is swollen. Blood is dripping off his chin. You sneer a laugh, which fizzles into coughs, your lungs not being able to support your brief moment of victory. Allio doesn’t look like he did this morning, and he won’t look like himself for a while.

He doesn’t like the fact that you can laugh at him. You can barely decipher the fact that his face twists in anger. He heads towards you, foot drawing back like he’s going to kick a ball to send it across the field. You brace your body for the impact, smile fading.

A scream draws from your throat as the kick lands. You squeeze your eyes hand enough to see vivid patterns dance across the back of your eyelids. Pain so bright and black and white that you can finally understand why Candor doesn’t believe in grey areas.

“The fight is over!” The voice is drowned, underwater and floating away.

You fade into the sea of darkness.

And think: is this how dad felt when he faded too?

--

It wasn’t until after dinner, did you leave the medical ward last night. You would have attended dinner at the actual dining hall, but the woman working in the unit gave you a plate and was there to help if you needed it. Plus, you got a little taste of Finnick’s thoughts after your loss, and you decided that you’d much rather spend the evening alone.

And you did. 

Cleo, the doctor-nurse, let you go after you showed her you could get up and move without falling. Apparently, Ossie had tried to do the exact same thing the night she hit her head. She crumpled a couple of steps in, and almost made her head injury worse. And since you had been dropped on your head too…

You’re fine, though. The injuries that you got from Allio’s fight are painful, of course, but they’re not anything totally awful. Cleo thinks that your chest and stomach will bruise, thanks to Allio’s punch. Your jaw is sore, so she wants you to eat soft foods and ice it as much as possible. As for your knuckles, they’re heavily bruised, not broken. Cleo tried to set your nose as straight as possible, but you’ll need a cosmetic procedure to get it back to the way it was. 

You had a lot of time to sit and wallow in your loss in the medical ward, but the tightness in your throat wasn’t nearly as bad as it was until you left. You wandered in the dark for a while, taking deep breaths. You ended up at the railing that blocks you from wandering into the chasm. And you stayed there until you felt better.

Even though there are no real bodies of water inside of the walls—with the exception of the swamp, but that has no water in it anymore—the sound of the rushing river below you was strangely familiar. And each time the water would crash against the jagged rocks, fresh air would be coughed up into your face. It lessened the headache.

And left you alone to think without any disruptions.

By the time you made it back to the dormitory, the announcement had already been made; there would be no training today. Capsian was just leaving the room when you got there, and he passed by you quietly at first. But he was halfway down the hallway when his words echoed off the walls, “Glad to see you’re on your feet, (Y/n).”

You didn’t say anything back.

On the first day, Laurel said that there would be a few breaks from fighting. Today is one of those days. When Finnick and Thyme had explained it to you, they didn’t say what you’d be doing exactly. Only that you all had to meet Laurel at the tracks by eight fifteen and not to be late. You have a feeling that they didn’t know what you’ll be doing today, either.

The only person that seemed to be upset last night over the break, was Finnick. Everyone else has something to complain about, not going unharmed in all the fights they’ve taken place in. You’re one of them, yesterday’s pain has settled into your bones, making itself right at home. Every move you make, you’re reminded of your loss. Which wouldn’t be that bad, but again, you have Finnick at your side. And the only thing that’s on his mind lately, is the streak.

With yesterday's loss, it means that he is the sole survivor of the streak. With his perfect gun aim, and the fact that he hasn’t lost a fight yet. You’d say something to him, if it weren’t for the fact that you have two friends total at the moment, Finnick and Thyme. Normally, you can handle Finnick being mad at you, because you had other people to talk to in Abnegation. But Thyme is more on Finnick’s side than yours, Ossie and Amos aren’t technically your friends, and your relationship with the other three is pretty much established. 

For now, you have to bite your tongue and bear it. But you wonder how long Finnick will go unchecked for. Until you finally snap and shove back. You can handle the teasing, but it’s like holding a glass of water for a long period of time. It doesn’t start off heavy, it ends up that way.

You guess that it’s partially your fault, because you’re giving him ammunition. If you want it to stop, you need to win the next two fights, and then do better than him at the last two stages of initiation. In theory, it sounds easy, but you don’t know what the second and third stages have to offer. Plus, you’re damaged goods at the moment, what are the chances you can win the fights?

As long as you try. Trying is good enough.

A shoe scuffs against the floor, sending a sharp squeak through the air.

You don’t have to lay here anymore.

You could hardly roll over last night because of your stomach. And after a couple of times, you stopped and laid on your back until your muscles finally relaxed and you couldn’t feel the pain anymore. You got a couple hours of sleep in. 

It was ruined when you jolted awake around midnight, a scream rising in your throat, your bed sheets soaked in sweat, and a very hot feeling spreading over your body. It took a while for you to finally feel normal and calmed down, and by then you were awake. The memory of the nightmare that you had just been submerged in, was at the front of your mind. 

You stopped having nightmares last year, you had finally begun to feel comfortable in your own house again. You guess you went and ruined your streak when you moved here, to a faction that would make your mother feel shame, if she were still alive.

Surprisingly, that was not the main story of the dream. Instead, you dreamt that you were back inside of the aptitude test, with all the knowledge that would come after. That every choice you would make, would conflict and result in Laurel telling you that you’re Divergent and you could be murdered because of it. But you still went through with your original answers, because you didn’t want to end up in Abnegation. You thought, for a second, that being three things was better than one.

When you came out of the test, the room was full. Men and women dressed in Dauntless black, an army sent just for you, with their guns pointed at your chest.

Standing at the front was Caspian. “Divergence is against the law.” He droned, “You are not welcome here.”

And just before they all fired, he told you that you were another stain on your family’s lineage.

The word that has stuck with you for hours is another. Not the fact that you could feel every bullet they fired pierce your body. Or feeling yourself slip away in the sinful room of mirrors. It was the fact that you were not the only anomaly in the family. The only other person that has moved away—moved on from Abnegation is Mox. Which made many people turn a brief eye to your family, watching him go.

But it doesn’t fit right. That is not the puzzle piece that needs to be there. It’s only a supplement. You know this.

Two weeks before the aptitude test, there was a unit in your science class that was about the human brain. The lesson was brief, but your teacher mentioned how dreams come from the subconscious mind, before moving onto another section. She’d only mentioned it in passing, but it has stuck with you ever since.

To you, this idea seems wrong because you don’t think of Mox as a stain. That thought is not yours to begin with. And yet, even though you’ve been awake for hours, you still haven’t found a better conclusion. 

You’re starting to think that there isn’t one.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, reaching over to the side of the bunk to help pull you into a sitting position. You grit your teeth tightly, sure that they’re going to break, but you’re determined not to make a sound. You let out a low groan anyway, which dissipates into a sigh of relief as soon as you’re sitting upright.

Leaning back on one hand, you use the other to lift the end of your shirt to see your stomach properly. Right in the middle, sits deep shades of purple and red. You press your lips together, gently running your fingers over the skin like a ghost. It’s tender, beginning the stages of healing. 

You let your shirt drop, turning towards the end of the bed, hanging your feet over the side. You remember what it took to get you up here. There’s no ladder, because that would be far too easy. Tears had sprung in the corners of your eyes, you were forced to wriggle your way up on your stomach, hands clamped tight against the metal bars.

Once you got up here last night, you weren’t allowed to get back down. Not that you really wanted to, what you really wanted to do was sleep it off. Obviously that didn’t pan out too well, either.

You can see Thyme from the top of the bunk. She’s still sleeping, tangled in her blanket, shirt collar desperate to choke her. Half her body is turned one way, the other half twisted away. Her head isn’t turned toward you.

You’re pretty sure that Finnick is still asleep beneath you, but you can’t exactly tell without accidentally falling off the bed. And if you’re going to get off by yourself, you think that you’ll do it on your own time. Speaking of which, it looks like you only have forty-five minutes to get ready.

That should be enough time, right?

The only other people awake inside of the room are Eytelle, Ossie and Amos. Eytelle disappears into the bathroom, clutching her clothes to her chest. Ossie is already dressed, pulling on her hiking shoes, yanking the laces as tight as possible. And Amos is… sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

Trink and Allio are across the room, both turned away from you. If you get off the bed, the only people that are here to witness your pain are the two people that you wouldn’t mind seeing. Apart from Finnick and Thyme, of course. You’d ask for help, but the idea of Finnick’s teasing appears in your mind, setting your destiny in stone.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, moving your ankles around in circles. Your calves are tight, they feel like you’ve had twenty leg cramps in a row. They’re going to be uncooperative today, which is the last thing that you’re going to need. Especially if you’re supposed to be jumping in and out of trains today.

The thought of missing the jump on the roof occurs to you, and you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body.

You decide that you’ll try and lower yourself down, instead of just scooting off the edge and jumping. Since your calves clearly can’t handle it right now. You’re careful to lean on your wrists and not your hands, turning yourself around. You’re glad that you’re starting to develop more upper body strength, otherwise this would be impossible.

Your body begins to ache, arms shaking the further you go down. You feel Finnick’s mattress dip beneath your bare feet. Your other foot touches his blanket, and after that, you just step down. The cement is freezing cold, making your toes curl.

You spare a glance at Finnick before you get moving, and you start to glare once you realize that he’s awake. He has a cheeky grin on his face, raising his eyebrows, “I see you’re feeling great this morning.”

“I’m not.” you say back, “Maybe I should’ve stepped on your face like I originally planned to.”

Finnick lets out a laugh, getting up and off his bed. Ever since the two of you left Abnegation five days ago, he’s begun to stand at his full height. It makes him look like he belongs inside of Dauntless. There’s tall people in Abnegation, of course, but none of them are as tall as Finnick.

You have to look up at an angle to see his face. He stretches his arms above his head, shirt riding up, he yawns, and then groans. Unlike you, he doesn’t have any concern for the other people sleeping in the room. 

You gather your clothes, throwing them over your arm. Finnick has no shame and decides to change right where he is. A part of you wishes that you could do the same, but your body is more valuable than his, to an extent. You shake Thyme awake, watching her squint and blink and wake up.

“Seven-forty.” you say.

She hums and rolls over. You head toward the bathroom, which is just as an open room as the dorm. Except, there’s stalls and the showers have curtains. You step inside one of them, and try to wash yourself as fast as possible. It hurts to bend down, tears appear in the corner of your eyes and run down your face. By the time you’re done showering, there’s fifteen minutes left.

You get dressed and brush your teeth. Finnick and Thyme work together to help you tie your shoes, since you can’t bend down to do it yourself. You thank them both, and after that, you have to get to the train. There’s no way you’ll make it to breakfast, climb the Pit and make it to the train in time.

“How about I get us breakfast then?” Finnick’s got a grin, jumping at the opportunity. 

Thyme gives him a look, “We’re not covering your ass if you’re late.”

“No problem, I’ll see you there.”

He takes off, leaving just you and Thyme. The two of you head up the stairs of the Pit to the glass building above it, in silence. Your thighs begin to complain at the strain, in perfect harmony with your calves. When you pass through the exit doors, you’re able to see that it’s only Amos up here, arms wrapped around himself in a hug. He looks over slightly to see you two, and then he looks away. 

“Where’d you go yesterday?” Thyme asks.

She’s still rubbing sleep from her eyes, there’s dark bags forming. She hasn’t been getting much sleep, it looks like. But you think that goes for everyone here. No one has slept soundly since the Choosing Ceremony. It just got worse as soon as the fighting began, for reasons you discovered last night.

“Hmm?” you hum, looking at her.

“We went to visit you in the medical unit, and you weren’t there.”

“Oh.” you say, looking to where the train will be coming. Behind you, you can hear the doors of the building open again. Judging by the amount of voices, it’s Trink, Allio and Eytelle. “I needed a minute to myself, that’s all.”

An arm slams into yours from behind, knocking you into Thyme. It’s Trink, who gives you a smug side-eye when she walks past. You grit your teeth, hands balling into fists. 

“Here.” a voice says, you jump and look over to see it’s Finnick, handing you the toast he got from the dining hall. It’s still hot, he must have ran here to give it to you before it cooled. You go to thank him, but he’s distracted. His eyes are on the back of Trink’s head.

Two words burn like fire on the tip of your tongue, “Do it.” you encourage.

It’s all it takes. Finnick presses the six squares of toast into your hands before he starts over toward Trink.

“Why would you say that?” Thyme hisses in a whisper, eyebrows pushed in. She’s worried for them. Typical Amity behavior, especially since she’s not for the fighting to settle differences.

“Because Finnick doesn’t negotiate.”

You don’t include the fact that, if it weren’t for your current condition, you’d be helping him.

Finnick spins Trink around, her mouth falls open. Her two idiot Candor friends turn around too, only halfway. By then, Finnick punched Trink straight across her mouth, whipping her head to the side. She loses her balance, hand flying to touch her teeth to make sure they’re still in place. When she opens her mouth, her gums are bleeding, white teeth turned red.

Allio goes to ask her if she’s okay, and Eytelle puffs up as if she’s actually going to do something about it. The moment that Finnick matches her energy, her height, and how his hands curl into fists, she backs off. 

“Next time, I’ll break your fucking nose.” Finnick snaps, looking directly at Trink, “Or better yet, I’ll hold you down so she can.”

Finnick comes back over, face flushed a shade of red. He grabs his breakfast from your hands, and Thyme does the same. The doors open behind you, Laurel and Ossie come out. Laurel has her hair in a ponytail today, sleek and straight. She walks right past Trink, Eytelle and Allio. And stops a few feet away, sticking her hands into her ironed business pants. 

There’s a moment of baffled silence on Trink’s part, and then she bursts, “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

Laurel looks over, straight-faced, “What happened?” she asks lamely.

It’s good enough for her, “He punched me!”

Laurel stares for a moment, probably deciding if Trink’s behavior is worth feeding into. She doesn’t look at Finnick when she starts towards Trink. Laurel crouches down in front of her, being careful that pants don’t touch the grass beneath her. “You will have a lot more to worry about if you continue to tell on your fellow initiates. You are displaying signs of cowardice. I am not your mother, handle the situation yourself.” Laurel stands, glances at Finnick, and says; “From now on, no fighting outside of the ring. Once you’re a member, the rule lifts.”

She goes back to where she was standing before.

If Trink wants to say anything else, she can’t. You finish your piece of toast, brushing the crumbs off your hands and shirt just as the train comes in. The horn blares, letting you know that it’s coming. Laurel stands close enough for the wind to blow her clothes flat against her body.

Amos is the first to pull himself inside of the train, disappearing off to the left side. You jog with the train, remembering the high feeling the day of the Choosing Ceremony. How you had pulled yourself inside of the train like you’ve done it every day of your life. 

Now you’re struggling to push past the violent burning feeling in your calves and thighs with each step you take. You wonder, is this progress, or are you falling behind?

You grab a hold of the handle, grit your teeth and hold your breath, yanking yourself in. Immediately, there’s an achy feeling in your chest and stomach. You massage your chest, not dumb enough to go lower. Finnick pulls himself in next, almost effortlessly. He slams his head against the doorway of the train, curses leaving his mouth. You burst into laughter, you can hear Amos chuckling behind you.

Finnick rubs his forehead, face twisted. He moves inward, allowing Thyme to come in next, “Think it’ll bruise?”

“You didn’t hit yourself that hard!” you shout over the wind.

He gives you a grin.

Laurel comes in next, standing off to the side and judges every person who comes in next. Eytelle, Allio, Ossie and then Trink. Ossie comes to the left side, where you are. As for the other three, they take the right side, huddled up like they normally are. Laurel presses herself against the wall, crosses her arms, and stares out of the door.

You still don’t know what you’re doing today.

The train brings you all the way to the far fence. It brakes too harshly, making Finnick jerk. You grab a hold of his arm before he knocks into Laurel and gets himself into any more trouble. Finnick might be tall and an experienced fighter, but sometimes he’s as prepared as a baby deer. When you’d ride home together on the bus in Abnegation, he’d have to hold onto a pole, not the overhead handles. It’s because the poles are steadier.

The train comes to a complete stop underneath an awning. Laurel exits firsts, jumping down gracefully and walking a couple of steps before she stops and waits. You move out next with Finnick. This time, he makes sure to duck dramatically so that he doesn’t hit his head again. 

There’s a chain-link fence with barbed wire, a green field on the other side of it, with hills that stretch as far as your eyes can see. Dotted around are a mix of healthy green trees, and trees that are far too dead to be revived.

On the other side of the fence is the Dauntless guards, wearing black and carrying guns, patrolling what may be out there. Only recently, in the past couple of years, have the Dauntless begun to patrol the outside of the fence. As far as anyone knows, there isn’t a threat. Only more Amity farms that couldn’t fit inside of the fence. Before, the Dauntless had been controlling what went on inside of the factionless communities. But Abnegation argued that they don’t need Dauntless with guns. They need food, water, places to live. They need to be rehomed and given a new opportunity.

“Follow me!” Laurel shouts, once everyone is off the train. The eight of you wander behind her, “Today, you’re doing volunteer work, carrying heavy shit that the Amity and Abnegation can’t.” she leads you to a gate, with a wide, cracked road that leads back to the city, “And I’ll give you some insight on the jobs you’ll be eligible for if you don’t rank high in initiation.”

She nods at one of the guards on the other side, “If you don’t rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you’ll end up here. Once you’re a fence guard, there’s not much room for advancement. If you get the job, you probably won’t find a way to squirm out of it. Most who work here, say that it’s not as bad as it seems. Isn’t that right?”

She has a smile on her face when she looks at one of the guards. They give her an amused expression, and then eyes over you guys. 

“Don’t mind them, they’re just shy. The most you’ll get out of the job is the potential to go beyond the Amity farms, but that’s the extent of it.” she stops, turning to face you guys.

“What else?” Trink asks, she’s standing behind you.

“Well, you’ve seen the shops, tattoo and piercing parlors. If you’ve visited the medical ward, you can be a doctor, or a lunch lady. We have security cameras all over the Dauntless compound, so you could make that your day job.” she pauses for a moment, “Oh, and police officers. But that’s about it.

“If you rank in the top five, you get your pick of the litter. Or maybe, the litter will pick you, in some cases.” Laurel doesn’t elaborate for a moment, and then she smiles, “Did you know that they’re looking for a temporary, fourth position for leadership? If the person fits the requirements for leadership, they’ll replace one of the leaders we have now.”

“Is that what you’re going for?” Thyme asks.

Her face twists, raising her eyebrows, “It’s not a job for the fainthearted. And I’ve already got my job. Who do you think designs all the clothes you’re wearing?”

You remember the mannequin on her arm. You originally thought it was her fear, as you’ve come to realize that most of the Dauntless will get their fear somewhere on their body. But maybe it’s a passion thing, instead.

A horn blares, making Laurel raise her head, “The next train is here. Let’s get this over with, so we can get back to the headquarters.”

--

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

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[lykegenia]

Nate Sewell x Leah Kingston, hurt/comfort

--

I manage to make it all the way to my apartment and into pyjamas before I wobble. It’s just as well – getting into a crash because I was too teary-eyed to see the road would have been an embarrassing way to go – and at least the hour is late enough that none of my neighbours are around to bear witness to my return. Now that there’s time and distance between me and the warehouse, the adrenalin has faded enough for my stomach to start growling again. Hunger is a practical problem, one that I know how to solve.

Nothing in the fridge will make a proper meal, but the jar of kimchi and the leftover sausages can be cobbled together with one of the packets of instant ramen Nate shoved to the back of my cupboards with a distasteful curl of his lip. It’s ready fast enough that there’s not much time to dwell, but not even the care I take to make it look fancy, garnished with chives from the new pot on the windowsill, can make it taste of more than cardboard. I force it down anyway. The blank wall opposite the sofa stares back at me as I sit, curled up, trying to figure out what to do with my evening now that my plans have gone sideways. The sting in my eyes is easily blamed on the spice in the noodles.

Reading is out of the question, I need something to do with my hands. After a long moment, I set the bowl aside and cross the room to get the workbasket sitting half-forgotten down the side of one of the bookcases. The rag rug unfolds in my hands, creased from long storage. I started it in the quiet nights after Murphy’s capture, intending it to cover the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the repetitive action of tying knots in strips of fabric almost as good as sleep when sleep eluded me. The only choice to be made with it is what colour to choose next, a simple, easy decision without any consequences at all. And silent, so the neighbours aren’t bothered by the noise of power tools in the wee hours. I had intended to have it finished weeks ago.

I’m completing the fourth new row when someone knocks on the door. The time blinking on my phone screen brings a frown to my face, the deep silence tingling over my skin. As unlikely as a trapper would be to knock, I lay my work aside and reach for the Volt gun stashed in the drawer of the coffee table. My feet make no sound as I creep to the door. The shadow cast by the hall light moves at my approach nonetheless, as if coming to attention, and I risk a glance down to check the safety.

And then I look through the peephole.

It’s Nate. He glances up as if the door isn’t even there, his expression a tight knot of worry clear even through the distortion of the lens as a breath shudders between my teeth. The Volt seems ridiculous now. Flicking the safety catch back on, I shove it into the utility cupboard beside the door and take a swift inventory of myself, smoothing a hand through my hair and across my cheeks before I dare lay it on the door handle.

He answers my smile as I swing the door open, but it’s guarded. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I can’t hold his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so late.”

“If I woke you –”

“You didn’t.” A pause. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’ve no idea –” he starts, then interrupts himself. “You’ve been crying.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have.” Because of me, he doesn’t say, but it’s easy enough to read in the tightness around his eyes.

“Alright, yes, fine,” I grumble, as something harsh squeezes in my chest. “Human lie detector. You should come in.”

As I step aside there’s a heartbeat before he crosses the threshold, ducking his head to avoid a collision with the door lintel, and then he pauses just inside the living room, shifting the weight uneasily between his feet.

“But I’m not human,” he says, with no trace of his usual humour. A shiver runs across my shoulders as I lock the door behind him.

“You’re close enough.”

When I turn back to face him, his features are contorted into incredulity. “How can you say that after what almost happened?” he demands. “What I almost did?”

He reaches for me, but the hand curls back around the words that stick in his throat before he can touch me. The shake of his head informs the shape of them anyway, what I knew they would be.

“If you’ve come to break up with me because of one stupid accident you can come back and do it in the morning,” I snap. “I’m not dealing with it now.”

The shock that meets such a blunt statement might have been comical in other circumstances, but there’s also the flicker of other emotions beneath the surface that pass too quickly for me to recognise. For a long, speechless moment the space between us unfolds with all the paths the brewing argument might take. Finally, with a helpless shrug, he licks his lips and makes a choice.

“I’m dangerous, Leah.”

“I think you proved tonight that you’re not,” I retort. “Not to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”

He flinches, hunching over as if winded. “You have no idea how much I wanted to – how tempting it was. It keeps playing through my mind.”

“Nate, I’m fine.” I dare a step towards him. “Everything’s fine. I’m not even bleeding anymore – you can stop worrying.”

When he doesn’t respond, the hopeful smile falls from my lips as I turn away. It’s a fight to keep my hands from wrapping around myself, from betraying exactly how lonely it feels with him so far away, but I won’t give in to the urge. They bunch into fists at my side instead; I’ll be able to wallow as much as I want after he leaves.

He notices. A gaze soft and full of regret falls on me as he crosses the floor, and my skin burns where his fingertips brush my arm. “I’ll always worry about you, and… I’ll always want to know that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” I insist.

His touch falls to my injured hand, to the plaster on my finger. “I frightened you.”

“A little.” I swallow. “But it wasn’t just fear.”

He’s closer now than he was in the kitchen, brown eyes heavy on mine, shadowed by a frown as he tries to work out my meaning. Maybe in the end the flush in my cheeks give it away, because he blinks at last and his mouth falls open, held taut as if he can’t decide whether to advance or retreat, and the embarrassment of the whole thing forces me away with a huff of laughter and a ragged hand shoved through my hair. It doesn’t say much for my sense of self-preservation that I’m turned on by my boyfriend’s predatory instincts, especially when guilt twists so clearly at the corner of his mouth, but he deserves the honesty.

“No one’s ever looked at me with such… intensity before,” I mumble, staring past his left ear. “And I noticed you weren’t staring at my hand. It felt like you wanted… well.”

He hooks a finger under my chin. “I’ve never wanted to kiss you more.” With the confession spoken his gaze drops to my mouth, his fingers turning to trail along the curve of my jaw and down my neck, reverent over the sparking line of my pulse, and he leans closer. “But it might not have stopped there, not once I’d tasted you.”

“You really are like the hero in a vampire romance novel.”

A laugh breaks from his lips at the unexpected tease, my face cradled in his hands as he brings his forehead gently down to mine. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Can I kiss you now?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck. The moment hangs between us – there shouldn’t be any trace of blood left, but Nate is always cautious, always considerate.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he murmurs.

My smile bows against the pad of his thumb, and then the press of his mouth as he closes the last of the distance. After everything that’s happened, the relief of his touch is like a physical thing, setting a tremble in my knees that I’m glad no one else can see. Strong arms wrap more tightly around me to keep me standing, the scent of leather and rain that always follows him as soft as the kisses slanted across my lips.

The movement shifts our positions a little and I pull away at the unexpected sensation it brings, a sharp prod against my stomach.

“What is in your pocket?”

He laughs again. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

“Then I have some serious anatomical concerns.”

Still chuckling, he lets his hands fall from my shoulders and after a moment of rummaging produces a small, square tin from one of the oversized pockets in his leather jacket. The series of Chinese-style paintings decorating the sides suggest that at one time or another it was used for tea, probably directly imported from some small, artisan family business, knowing Nate.

“They were meant to be dessert, but they won’t keep,” he says in explanation.

Curious, I take the offering and pry off the lid. Inside is a nest of soft, crisp tissue paper, and hidden beneath the topmost layer –

“Macarons?”

I hardly dare to breathe. The smooth, round shells are unmistakeable, their sugary almond scent immediately conjuring an image of the old tearoom where I first tried them, complete with pristine white tablecloths and fussy porcelain teacups.

They’re a pain to make, and I’ve never tried. Not only do all the measurements have to be precise, the process followed to the letter, but humidity or a wind from the north or the wrong moon phase can ruin them, and you’d better hope you don’t have plans for the rest of the day. They’re also far too expensive to buy regularly on a cop’s salary. With anyone else I’d wonder what occasion I’d forgotten, or the reason for trying to butter me up, but Nate is just… like this.

“You made me macarons.”

“They’re not perfect,” he cautions, reaching out.

I shake my head. “Yes they are.” They’ve even been dusted with glitter powder, which I suspect is a touch added by Felix – Nate’s romantic but he would never deign to be gaudy. “Thank you.”

“After ruining dinner I thought at least I could give you these.” He shrugs before I can contradict him. “Thank you, by the way, for clearing everything up.”

“Of course,” I answer, reaching for his hand. “Will you stay?”

“I would like that.”

Flashing a smile, I hand back the tin of macarons so I can clear away enough space on the sofa for us both to sit. The scattered rags are stuffed back into the workbasket with the scissors, and the tape measure fished from its attempted escape down the side of the cushions.

Nate helps fold the rug. “I haven’t seen this before,” he says. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s just something I do in spare moments.” I shrug. “Actual crochet is a bit beyond my skill level, but it’s nice to have something to do that doesn’t require thinking. What’s that smile for?”

“No reason in particular,” he murmurs, once more stepping close. “Every time I think I can’t be luckier to have you in my life, you prove me wrong.”

I have to drop my gaze, stammering against the urge to protest. “You’re the one making me fancy desserts.”

“I have to find something to do while you sit buried under all that paperwork,” he teases. “Shall we enjoy them?”

His hand stretches out in offering, and with it he draws me down to his side, patient while I get comfortable, tucked up under his arm safe and small and enveloped in warmth. A kiss brushes against my forehead. Even after months, I still marvel at how Nate can make my apartment feel so much more like a home just with his presence, and as he tilts the macaron tin towards me, knowing how easily I might have gone without it tonight – how I would have thought it normal, once – turns the gesture into something even sweeter.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #nate sewell #nate sewell x detective #nate sewell x f!detective #nate x leah #leah kingston #my writing

[imagining-in-the-margins]

oh my god i caught up on anons in time for TB&TB Part 6. jk i forgot two. i can’t believe i’ve done this.

1. Of course! I always try to find someone to take a request if I can’t. Especially if I know that they’ll do it justice -- and they definitely will. I already saw a snippet of what they have so far and it looks great.

2. Heads up that reidetic (maggie) uses they/them pronouns (and just added them to their profile in case you forget!) That being said, they are so lovely and you should send them Anons! I showed them this message and they were very tickled by it. I promise they won’t bite.

3. Congratulations on making it through your 1L! You’re almost done with it! Props to you for doing it on Zoom, too. Geez. I could barely make it through my seminars in my last semester.

If you ever wanna chat law school stuff, feel free to shoot me a DM! I appreciate you, too, and I know that’s gotta be hard.

4. Oh, gosh, you all have so much faith in me! I have absolutely no idea what my word counts will be until I start writing, lmao. As for how many parts, I’d say 2-4? Probably 3. They’ll likely be similar word counts to the rest. No idea, though.

TW: Answers from this point on address sexual themes, genitalia, and sexual trauma

5. There are a lot of reasons why you might feel sore or bleed a little after use with a toy, or even digital or clitoral stimulation. If it happens often, I recommend you talk about it with a physician. It is completely normal for you to see some leftover menstrual blood or occasional spotting after powerful orgasms, since they cause muscle contractions, but you should not be experiencing fresh blood.

It could be as simple as, again, underestimating how much lube or foreplay is needed. You might have a slight, mild allergy to whatever the toy is made of. There are also more serious reasons that might cause bleeding with penetration or sexual activity that need to be addressed - including STIs, HPV, polyps, or cervical cancer. These are all easily addressed during a yearly Pap.

If I had to guess, you probably just need to buy some lube (there is no shame in this, idk why people feel like it’s awkward or means they are deficient somehow... I use it when I’m feeling lazy lmao). But it’s best to bring it up with a gyno, who can do a physical exam and make sure that there is nothing more nefarious going on.

6. So, this is a difficult question for me to answer for a lot of reasons. Pelvic floor pain, particularly during intercourse, is reported by a large group of sexual assault survivors. They have yet to link to any specific disorder, so it’s difficult to know how to fix it.

That being said, if things are physically painful, and you have the insurance to cover it, you should consider consulting with a pelvic floor physical therapists to ensure that you are not experiencing a biological phenomenon which can be fixed easily.

It’s also very possible that the pain is psychosomatic (which does NOT mean made up or fake - the pain you feel is very real and equally distressing) and is better addressed by a psychologist. In my case, I experienced both of these types of pain. A lot of my pain went away when I finally found a comfortable, safe partner. But I still experience a lot of pain from my biological causes, as well.

A physical therapy consultation won’t do damage, assuming you find a trusted provider (read reviews!) and go into it with the knowledge that they will have to do an internal exam. Most of that field is made up of women, and they tend to be extremely aware of the long-term effects of sexual abuse, so they should be willing to do whatever you need to be comfortable. If they are not, then leave the room immediately and find someone else. My pelvic floor treatments were remarkably painful (but worth it). You do not want to associate even more bad things with that area of your body.

My physio was absolutely amazing and helped me with a lot far beyond the physical. I hope you can find someone like that, too, who can bring you some relief.

#answer #answered

[atc74]

Soul to Souls - Nineteen

Warnings: Pregnancy, labor, lots of language, fluff

Summary: Since she was four years old, Annaleigh has seen the same boy in her dreams. For twenty-five years, she grows to love the boy that has now turned into a man. Dean Winchester just lost the only family he has ever known. The guilt drives him to work harder than ever before. He works to forget the pain, until he meets Annaleigh and she turns his world upside down. What she learns changes both of their lives forever, but what will he do when he discovers the truth? Will he accept it or run back to the only life he has ever known?

Pairing: Dean x OC Annaleigh

Word Count: 2259

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches​, @katehuntington​, thank you both for being my guides! Dividers and cover art by the amazingly talented @talesmaniac89​.

A/N: This was my very first series I ever wrote four years ago in September 2016 and I am so happy and proud to bring this back home. Thank you to everyone that is enjoying the story so far. You’re probably going to get a couple chapters a week, trying to wrap this up before the new series starts.

Only one chapter left! 😢

Like Dean’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

Soul to Souls Master List

Previously...

Only a few days from her due date, Annaleigh sat quietly in the nursery one night, sleep eluding her as she was not able to get comfortable much anymore. Her eyes were closed, and she absentmindedly rubbed her swollen belly, thinking about how happy she was with their life and how much things had changed over the last five and a half years, how much they had lost and how much they had gained. She didn’t even open her eyes when she heard the fluttering of wings in the room.

“Hi Cas,” she said quietly.

“Hey, girl.” The gruff voice had her bolting upright, her eyes flying open. 

“Bobby?” her words were barely a whisper, as she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

Now...

“Yeah, Kid, it’s me. The powers that be finally decided I could show myself to you. It’s been hard being here with the kids most nights and not being able to talk to you. I know Dean is treatin’ ya right though; I can feel it in him. That boy loves you.”

“Dean!” Annaleigh wanted her husband to be here with her, with Bobby. Anna heard him call out to her, and she laughed as he turned the corner too fast in his socked feet, slipping as he entered the nursery.

“Red! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” She heard the fear in his voice as he reached her side. 

Panic had rushed through him when he heard Annaleigh yell for him and she wasn’t in their bed. They only had days to go until the newest Winchester arrived and Dean was nervous she would go into labor any minute. 

Standing before him was Bobby, stopping Dean dead in his tracks.

“Bobby?” He couldn’t really believe it was him.

“Yeah, it’s me, Son.” Dean embraced Bobby with all his might; he was so happy to see him.

“God, I missed you, old man,” Dean whispered over Bobby’s shoulder.

Bobby looked around the nursery casually. “I love what you’ve done with the place. I think she is going to love it.” 

“Thanks, Bobby. Sam and I have been working on - wait, what?” Dean stuttered. “Did you say ‘she’?”

“Oops, I don’t think I was supposed to tell. One of the perks of being an angel, I guess,” Bobby replied sheepishly.

“It’s a girl?” Anna asked, getting up from the rocker and slowly walking over to Bobby. “Are you sure?” 

Bobby reached out and placed his hands over Anna’s stomach, a pale blue glow emanating from his palms. “Yeah, Annaleigh, I’m sure, and she is as beautiful as her Mama.” A single tear rolled down his face and disappeared into his unruly beard.

Dean watched as Bobby embraced his wife before he joined, wrapping his arms around both of them, really feeling like their family was complete. Even if Bobby couldn’t be here physically with them, they knew he was always here.

Despite her due date coming and going, Dr. Sullivan had assured Anna and Dean that their baby and Annaleigh were perfectly healthy and, as long as that didn’t change, she didn’t want to risk inducing labor and causing undue stress on both mother and baby. Cas dropped by every few days and confirmed the doctor’s decision. Number three was just not ready to make her debut just yet - the Winchesters liked to make a dramatic entrance. Robby and Millie certainly had, arriving almost a month early.

Dean’s birthday was coming, and the birthday tradition for her husband meant pie, not cake. With the kids at preschool and Dean at his brother’s, Anna took advantage of the quiet and spent the morning making a pecan and an apple pie for him, since those were his favorite. She had invited Sam, and of course Jody over for his birthday dinner the next night, along with Bobby and Cas, if they could manage. 

Exhaustion calling her as she yawned widely, Anna laid down on the couch for a little snooze, texting Dean first. 

Before she knew it, Dean was waking her gently from her cocoon on the couch. The kids were already washed and seated at the table, waiting patiently for supper. Dean helped her to her feet, and she shuffled off to the bathroom before her bladder exploded.

Dean was serving dinner when she returned to the dining room, and she gladly accepted his offer to make her plate and pour the milk. He has been taking such good care of her, a girl could get used to it. Robby and Millie led a short Grace before they ate.

“Thank you Lord for this food and for Mama and Daddy,” Robby started.

“Thank you for the snow and for Grampa. But, God, if you are listening, could you please bring my baby sister?” Millie ended the Grace with Amen, and Dean and Anna both chuckled a little. 

“Millie, I am excited for her to get here too, but sometimes babies don’t come when they are supposed to. You and your brother didn’t,” Anna offered.

“I know, Mama, but I’m just really excited to meet her and give her a real name besides ‘baby sister’,” Millie confessed to her parents. 

Once dinner was over, Dean cleared the dishes and put away the leftovers. It was nearing bathtime for both kids, and Anna slowly made her way towards the stairs when she felt the warmth trickle down her legs.

“Dean!” she called from the base of the stairs, holding onto the banister for support.

“Yeah, Red?” Dean answered as he rounded the corner from the kitchen. He saw Anna clutching the banister with a puddle at her feet. 

“Dean, my water just broke,” Anna grimaced, trying to stay upright as the first contraction hit her. 

“I know, Red. I can see it.” He helped her sit down on the stairs. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back with a change of clothes for you. I’m gonna call Jody to come stay with the twins.” He raced up the stairs, yelling for the kids and reaching for his phone. 

“Jody, it’s Dean. Yeah, it’s time. Can you come stay with Robby and Millie?...Yeah, I’ll have Sam stay until you can get here...I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sticking around and helping...Thank you so much.” Dean placed the next call to Sam. 

“Sammy, it’s time. Jody’s coming, but we need you right now,” Dean panted as he rushed from room to room. “Yes, Sam...I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you stuck around...now can we worry about your love life when my wife isn’t in labor?...’Kay, thanks, Sammy.”

Robby and Millie ran into their bedroom, holding hands. “Daddy?” they said in unison, watching him scramble around the room looking for clothes for his wife.

“Uncle Sam is going to come stay with you until Jody gets here. I’m going to take Mommy to the hospital. I think your baby sister is finally going to come tonight,” Dean said excitedly to the children.

“YAY! Baby Sister! Baby Sister!” They screamed in unison, jumping up and down.

Dean ran back down the stairs to find his wife still sitting there, breathing and counting. Easing her to her feet and into the small bathroom off the kitchen, Dean gingerly held her while helping her slip off her soaking wet pants and underwear, then pulling on clean bottoms. “How far apart, Red?”

“Best guess is four to five minutes, I don’t really know,” Annaleigh breathed out.

Sam was waiting for them when they emerged, a child in each arm. “Don’t worry, guys, I got this. Go have my niece! Call me with updates.” 

Dean grabbed the two bags that had been packed by the front door for a month, running them out to the car, then went back for Anna, helping her slowly down the porch steps and into the car. Once they were both secured, he backed out of the driveway and sped off towards the hospital. 

Dean was grateful for the cakewalk this pregnancy had been, for Anna’s sake. Even almost two weeks overdue, it had been much easier on her than the first. Dean was also ecstatic to have another baby with this extraordinary woman. About fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of the hospital’s emergency entrance. He jumped out quickly, grabbing a wheelchair and helped Annaleigh into it, pushing her through the double doors. 

After they were checked in, a nurse came to get her and gave Dean her room number. She let him know they were going to get her settled. He knew she was in capable hands, but he reluctantly left her side to park the car. Immediately upon returning to the maternity ward, he could hear his wife screaming his name and swearing. He wasn’t sure he deserved it; it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he would gladly take whatever she dished out. Dean entered the room, and a nurse threw him a set of scrubs. He quickly changed into the scrubs and rushed to his wife’s side. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down to her, her face flushed, sweat already beading on her porcelain skin. 

“You did this to me! You fucker! I hate you!” Anna bellowed at him and he let her, taking it like a good husband should when their wife is pushing the next generation into the world.

“Ok, Annaleigh, all done with that one. Take some deep breaths and the doctor will be right in to check on you,” the nurse spoke calmly and Anna stopped yelling.

Reaching up, she cupped Dean’s stubbled cheek, and he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, relishing in the calm her touch provided, even when she was the one doing all the work. “I love you, Dean. I am so happy we are having another baby. Thank you for giving me a family.” 

“I love you too, Red. We wouldn’t have this family if it wasn’t for you. You are strong and brave. You are my rock. You are the best mama ever and we are lucky to have you.” He placed small kisses over her head and forehead, trailing down to her mouth. She kissed him with a passion and energy he didn’t think she could muster during labor, but he had learned long ago never to underestimate her, ever. 

They were interrupted by a throat being cleared as the doctor entered the room. “Hi Annaleigh, how are you doing?” Doctor Sullivan inquired, coming around the foot of the bed. “Let’s take a look at your progress. The nurse says your contractions are pretty strong, so let’s see how far along you are.” The doctor lifted up the sheet and did a quick exam before she removed her gloves and turned to them. 

“Okay, mom, you are dilated to six centimeters and are moving along well. This baby should be making an appearance in just a few hours. I’ll have one of the nurses come check on you in a bit.” With that, she was gone. 

“Dean, did you hear that? There is a good chance she’ll be born on your birthday.” Anna looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes, glistening with tears. 

“Red, I couldn’t ask for a better birthday present,” Dean leaned down and kissed her again. 

The next couple of hours went by quickly, nurses checking in every few minutes during contractions until, finally, it was time. The doctor came into the room and told Anna to start pushing, which she did like a champ. Their daughter arrived kicking and screaming in less than ten minutes, weighing seven pounds, fourteen ounces and just over twenty inches long.

Doctor Sullivan looked at the clock, officially announcing the time of birth as 1:07am, January the 24th. They had a birthday baby, and Dean couldn’t hide his smile or tears. He turned to his wife, kissing her full on the mouth. “Red, I am so proud of you. Thank you so much for this gift.” 

A nurse handed Dean a pink bundle, and he looked down at her with so much love in his heart, kissing her little head before passing her to his wife. “She is so beautiful, Red.” 

“We never talked about it, so what are we going to name her, Dean?” Anna and Dean exchanged options quietly, sneaking glances down at their new daughter, finally landing on the one they both loved. 

No one else would have noticed over the hustle and bustle in the room, but if you knew what you were listening for, you could hear it. They both glanced up to see Bobby standing silently in the corner, waiting for everyone to clear out so he could be alone with his family and meet his new granddaughter. Once the delivery staff left the family alone, he made his way over the edge of the bed. 

“Hey pretty girl,” he cooed over the new baby, just like he had with the twins.

“Bobby, meet your granddaughter, Samantha Karen Winchester, but you can call her Sammie,” Anna declared, watching the old man cry for only the fourth time in her life. 

“She’s gonna be tickled pink when I tell her,” Bobby sniffed as he cradled the newborn in his arms. His wet eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s. “Thank you.” 

“No thanks necessary, Bobby. We couldn’t think of any better way to honor her memory than to name this little one after her,” Dean expressed. “She would have been a wonderful grandma.” 

“Yeah, she woulda,” the old man sniffed, letting his emotions take over. 

Bobby stayed at the hospital for a little longer, until Anna was too tired to keep her eyes open. She tried to deny it, but he knew better. He left the hospital to check in on the rest of his family. The twins were sleeping soundly, holding hands as usual. Bobby slowly made his way down the stairs, knowing it would be faster to fly, but not wanting the flutter of his wings to wake Sam. He didn’t expect to find him curled up on the sofa with Jody in a cocoon of blankets to ward against the chilly winter night. He found himself smiling, proud of the boys he had raised and the men they had become.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

Soul to Souls tags: @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​ @iwantthedean​ @jensengirl83​ @deanwanddamons​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @kbl1313​ @waywardbeanie​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @princessmisery666​ @shy-violet-soul​ @lastcallatrockysbar​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @squirrelnotsam​ @michellethetvaddict​ @magssteenkamp​ @wonder-cole​

#dean x annaleigh #dean x ofc #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Two; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful” --F. Scott Fitzgerald

She comes back the very next day.

It’s about noon and she’d seen the blonde one-- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven thirty. So, she knows someone’s home over there but when she steps out on her porch she’s not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair. 

Idiot-- because she’d seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.

The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there. 

Out loud.

So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person. 

“Hey,” she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she’s in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn’t sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face. 

Of course, she can’t really know that he didn’t sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he’s fighting the clock and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he’s paying the price. He couldn’t even stand on his own this morning. He’d laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.

Life is slowly becoming unbearable. 

“I need...” she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling.  “Do you have any bananas?”

Idiot. 

Stupid fucking idiot.

But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. “Just go…” he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also the double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.

“Ask Pen,” he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. “She’ll get you one.” He knows there’s bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can’t even stomach the thought. 

Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house. 

She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They’re pretty brown but she’s smiling. “Actually,” Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, “the recipes Derek’s mom’s. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored.”

Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He’d spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily’s sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan’s flirting.

Reid really hated it. 

“She’s making banana bread,” Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him. 

Emily blushes, “yeah but…” She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. “I’m not that great of a baker.”

Garcia shakes her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure it’ll be great.” She grins, “besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers.”

Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, “I’m gonna go throw these in. If they’re good, I’ll send you a piece?”

Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house. 

The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes. 

He’s in a sweatshirt-- Georgetown’s logo slapped on the front and worn with age-- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he’d like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn’t see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn’t look anywhere near his hips. 

After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such. 

Otherwise, they’d both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he’d have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses. 

It’s about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There’s about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn’t want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don’t have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in-- it’s not worth his time.

Besides, he’s feeling grumpy and he’d like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone. 

But then the door does bust open. 

He’s trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent-- obviously, he hasn’t gotten very far into it if he can’t even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn’t just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He’s not that far gone. 

He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly-- her hands are over her eyes for some reason-- trampling through his living room.

“Can I help you?”

At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It’s an awkward little grin but it’s not bad. “Uh,” she motions behind her to the door. “Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you’d be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just--” she grimaces as if she’s just considered how strange this is. “You didn’t answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn’t want something to be wrong…”

She stops talking. 

Mercifully.

Hotch grunts, “I do, normally.” 

Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he’d done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children’s books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex. 

The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.  

Jack goes to his aunts. Haley’s sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she’d been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it’s just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica’s relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron’s divorce. 

It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.

Life just gets complicated. 

A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch’s heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them. 

It’s simple but affected. Daily and boring.

“Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass--” 

He’s known Emily Prentiss for all of week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It’s better for his mental health-- which isn’t doing much better than his physical health if he’s being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It’s in an endearing kind of way but still. 

Now he’s sitting in her living room. She’d come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He’d had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn’t want to see his junk. 

He’s not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch’s life and now Hotch has his neighbor’s phone number. It’s for “emergencies”, of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.

“I mean it, Aaron,” she’s standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. “It’s really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?”

God, she’s crazy but she’s funny and hasn’t passed any judgement on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she’s standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that’s seen better days five years ago. 

But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week. 

He’d watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she’d put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It’s why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he’d told her he was good and he, mostly, was.

Which is in direct consequence for why he’s here now. 

“Nutmeg tastes like Christmas,” he explains because he has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to a grown woman. “What are you making?” He’s suddenly very worried for whatever dish she’s making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It’s freaking September and, if he’s being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she’s really messed up though.

She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, “apple pie.”

His grimace is too much and if she weren’t so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he’s from the south not to mention he’s got a lot of that southern gentlemen charm. 

“How much nutmeg did you use?”

Her face says it all.

He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren’t standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven’t established those boundaries and she can’t flawlessly just know like Dave does. 

“Let me see the damage,” he grumbles but she can see that he’s not actually mad; he's just wary of what she’s done. He’s strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he’s got a horrible resting face. 

She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It’s only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can’t do this silently watching thing. “Do you--” she offers him her forearm, the same way she’d seen Dave do the other afternoon. 

He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It’s surprisingly easy and she doesn’t think much of it. At least he’s not dead weight to lug around. She’s had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn’t even mind this. 

“I think I might have used too much nutmeg,” she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetant. It’s a warning.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetant thing, she decides. He already thinks she’s a moron.

Rightfully so but still…

She’d known he was tall. It’s not that hard to see but as she’s standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he’s still towering over quite a bit. He’s a big man and he smells nice so he’s got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he’s kinda cute.

“That’s all…” she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn’t want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital. 

And now he’s sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.

“That’s all…” he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he’s slowly processing that it’s all nutmeg.

She grimaces and nods.

He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He’s seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they’re a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nods, “definitely.” 

Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It’s cooked and it smells okay but if she’s been too generous with the nutmeg there’s no way that’s going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table. 

“Well,” she says with a tilt of her head, “christmas apples can’t be that bad, right?”

He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he’s having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite- sized piece. He’s fairly adamant but somehow it’s got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn’t been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It’s going to taste like shit and it’s exciting.

Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. “That was honestly the worst apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he tells her, honestly. 

She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn’t laughed in a long time. 

He shrugs, “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.

“How exactly--” he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. “Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?”

Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn’t even look up at him. “Bored,” she mumbles. She’s upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?

“Maybe you should try something else,” Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. “Baking just doesn’t…”

Emily frowns at him, “I like baking, though!”

Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Baking doesn’t like you,” he mumbles. 

She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles-- this isn’t the first failed attempt of her’s he’s tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he’d only seen but-- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart. 

“Maybe I can try cooking,” she proposes. 

He shakes his head, “are you gonna make me eat that too?”

She clicks her tongue, faking offense. “What, are you afraid?”

He smiles and it takes her breath away. He’s got high, sharp cheekbones and when he’s not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it’s so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She’s not sure if he knows that though.

“A little,” he admits playfully, “but maybe you’ll be better at cooking than you are baking.”

She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. “I don’t think it’s going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking.” 

He makes a soft sound, “you said it, not me.”

She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can’t even be mad. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. “Are you interested?”

Honestly, no but he doesn’t want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods. 

“Six o’clock should be enough time to cook something, right?”

Jesus, she’s going to kill him. 

“Why don’t I come over and help?”

Oh, she hadn’t thought of that. She nods, “okay. You wanna come over at three, then?”

It’s dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. “Uh,” he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Except three rolls around he’s a no show. Three turns into three-thirty and she’s not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.

“Knock, knock?” She’s already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal but something doesn’t feel right. She can’t shake it and she certainly can’t just… leave. “Hotch?” God, she hopes he’s just in the bathroom.

He isn’t.

“You okay?” she falls to her knees beside him. She’d never been this far into his house. Mostly, she’d never passed the living room but now she’s kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she’d like to evaluate that-- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a clean room was such a perfect green flag--

Right--

He shakes his head. 

Oh.

“Should…” she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn’t? But… he’s gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it’s bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. “Do I need to call--”

To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies. 

He nods. He’s terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won’t die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down. 

The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience. 

He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It’s not until he’s on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. “You can come,” he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at hte back fo his throat.

An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. “Easy, buddy.” The EMT pushes on Hotch’s shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn’t strong enough to fight it. “The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down.”

She stays with him and tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him hurting himself but she really doesn’t want to leave his side until she knows he’s going to be okay. There’s no hand holding because they’re still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they’ve only known one another for a week and-- Emily can’t fathom what she’s supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance. 

“Can you--” the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. “Dave?” He can’t keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.

He’s pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.

“You can’t go back there, baby.”

Emily blinks and there’s an older woman stopping Emily’s zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can’t tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest. 

Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Dave?” she’s breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. “I’m so sorry--” and she’s crying. Why? He’s not her friend? He’s her neighbor who she’s known for a whole freaking week and yet-- And she can’t deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn’t. 

The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he’s seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it’s unnerving. 

“Do you have any news?” Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. “I’ll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses.”

She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away. 

Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She’s thinking about the way he’d smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.

#shattered hearts fractured lungs #aaron hotchner #tw school shooting #emily prentiss #whump #hotchniss #hotly #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #david rossi

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Helping Hands - Chapter 2

Series Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Loki shows Haley a bit more of the world she hadn’t had the opportunity to discover. Tony and Bruce begin testing and a painful truth comes to light.

Chapter Warnings: Needles, Implications of neglect, light descriptions of injury

A/N: I was absolutely stunned by the response for the first chapter! It definitely motivated me to get this next bit out to you! Thank you again to @vodka-and-some-sass for Betaing for me!

“Um, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Haley?”

It was odd to address a room like it was a person, even after Tony had explained in the simplest terms possible the AI that lived in every fiber of the tower that would be her new home. She hadn’t left her room yet, choosing to stare out of the tinted windows at the bustling city below. It was awe-inspiring, to know that so many people existed, going about their lives without any knowledge of the horrors behind her eyelids. Now the city sparkled with glowing lights darting around beneath her, chasing away the darkness from the overcast sky. Did anyone sleep?

Odder still was to be given a name for her own. A moniker not meant to harm her, insult her, or one based solely on the powers that were both a blessing and a curse. Maybe the introduction of a name could be a new start for her. Perhaps a chance to become more than just what she could do for others?

“There isn’t any food in here, and I’m starving. What do they do for food?” she asked, closing her hands over her almost concave stomach as it rumbled loudly as if seconding the meekly asked question.

“In the common area there is a communal kitchen used by all Avengers living on-site. During business hours, various restaurants and the cafeteria are operational for faculty, staff, and visitors on campus,” the pleasant female voice responded, sounding from somewhere over her head.

Haley ran a hand over her spiky short hair, staring at the door as if it would bite her. “And is it business hours?”

“Unfortunately not. But if you follow the map currently on your television screen, it can get you to the kitchen.”

It wasn’t like she had any money, anyway. Didn’t you need money to buy something from a business? Tony had said that whatever she wanted, all she needed was ask, but she doubted that extended to the entire tower. Glancing once at the screen that flickered to life against the wall, she committed it to memory before slipping her socked feet into a brand new pair of sneakers that Pepper had dropped off a few hours ago - along with enough clothing and toiletries to last her an eternity.

Using the hand scanner to leave her room, she hovered in the doorway of her temporary sanctuary, staring out at the shadowed black hallway. Soft light illuminated one end of it, trickling in from the same direction FRIDAY had indicated for the kitchen. She steeled her nerves and anxieties with a deep breath before slowly making her way in that direction, ears perked for any sound that would send her scurrying back to her room. Her body had known hunger before, and it could wait.

A high-pitched whistling sounded from the kitchen when she stepped into a large room which appeared to be solely for relaxing. Various couches and plush armchairs were scattered about in loose formations, some facing bookshelves stacked high with more books than she knew existed, others televisions bigger than her wildest imaginings. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat, large eyes darting to the source of the sound.

Soft footsteps sounded on the shining marble floor, interrupted by the clanking of dishware and a heavy sigh. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly at an enticing aroma that drifted her way through the air conditioning, and she cursed softly under her breath when the domestic sounds ceased for a split second.

“I will not harm you, little one.”

She was almost positive that voice belonged to Loki, the more outspoken of the group with the intelligent eyes. He hadn’t given her any reason to fear him - yet. Balling her hands up into fists at the shiver of anxiety that coursed down her spine, she stood up as tall as she could manage and followed the sounds and smells into the warmly lit kitchen.

Her assumption had been correct. Loki stood in the middle of the room, swirling a spoon in a steaming cup that clinked quietly with each minute movement. He had exchanged his daunting leather outfit for something much more comfortable. The black, soft-looking pajama bottoms hung low on his hips to reveal a sliver of pale skin just below his fitted white t-shirt. It was startling to see such a change in the intimidating man, who peered at her with a quirked brow.

“Anyone with ears would be able to hear your stomach complaining, and your cheekbones are so sunken it appears painful,” he commented, a hint of sadness lingering on his velvet voice. It wrapped around her, a caress to her frazzled nerves that lowered her hackles just a bit. “What do you like to eat?”

What did she like to eat? Any food she had been given was meager and tasteless, the scraps leftover from Mr. Shaw’s meals or unwanted food to be tossed to the dogs. Food wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, but for fueling her body, keeping her strong enough to heal her owner. Embarrassment flushed down her face and neck as her thoughts came up empty, and her hands twisted together unseen in the confines of her sweatshirt.

If he was bothered by her lack of an answer, he didn’t show it. She got the sense that he didn’t reveal much behind his finely sculpted features. Indifference suited the straight line of his nose and the press of his thin lips. It was… nice to watch the straight line of his back as he bustled about the kitchen, gathering various foods on a plate and pouring a second cup of his steaming beverage. He said nothing, merely tilted his head in her direction before setting the spoils on a vast table with enough seats to fit all of the faces she’d seen earlier on the Quinjet.

She sat at the seat in front of the food at the wave of his hand, shoving her hands beneath her thighs as she watched him take the seat opposite her. He pulled a book from thin air, and she gasped, shrinking back into the wooden chair as if it would swallow her whole. Had he…?

“My apologies,” he purred, the words a warm caress to the fear that had her heart thudding against her ribcage. “Simply a bit of magic, pulling my belongings to me should I need them. Eat.”

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the selection of brightly colored fruits and thick, buttered bread, waiting for him to take the plate from her and laugh at the gall she had to hope for fair treatment. He reached over and plucked a glistening green grape from the bunch on the plate, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly before cracking open the book to peruse the pages.

Magic? He mentioned it so casually, as if it was an understood fact about him. But with how little she knew of the world, it could very well be so. She could take the injuries from others, and that certainly didn’t seem natural. Quickly, she picked several grapes and pushed them into her mouth, resisting the urge to moan at the delicious sweetness that exploded across her tongue. Before she knew it she had the plate held to her chest protectively and she couldn’t eat fast enough. Never had she been given such a veritable feast of such exquisite flavors.

Only when the plate was empty did she look up. Loki acted as if she hadn’t just devoured her meal like a wild animal, regarding his book with quiet curiosity lighting on the furrow of his brow. Her slightly shaking hands gripped her own impossibly delicate cup, warm to the touch from the fragrant beverage within, and she sipped it delicately, afraid of getting burned. The warmth flooded her body, reaching the tips of her toes and unfurling within her with a comfort she was wholly unused to from something as simple as a drink.

“Earl Grey,” he supplied, looking up at her briefly over his book. “The tea. You enjoy it.”

Enjoy. She never got to enjoy anything. But this tea - Earl Grey - and the filling fruit and bread he’d gathered for her, she’d thoroughly enjoyed that. She enjoyed the foreign feeling of fullness in her belly and the layered aroma wafting up from her cradled cup. 

She could even see herself enjoying Loki’s presence, stoic and calm and wholly unbothered by her existence as he allowed her to sit in his shadow. He radiated a strength that she longed to glean for herself.

“I do.” She hummed quietly after taking another warming sip. “Thank you.”

~

“We just want to draw a bit of blood and give you a routine physical. There will be a needle for the blood bit, and then I’ll take your heartbeat with this,” Tony held up a device hanging around his neck, “and check your overall health by just taking a good look at your body. At the end, I’d like to hook up a few monitors and have you do a bit of healing, but only if you’re up for it. How’s that sound?”

Haley shifted uneasily on the cold metal table, casting a quick glance at Loki, who stood still as a statue against the far wall, watching Tony and Bruce with narrowed eyes. He had quietly inserted himself into her presence whenever she had left her room, and it felt right to trust the mysterious man. Loki gave her a quick nod before watching the two men in front of her again, his face lowered so that his long, raven hair framed his face and cast a shadow over the planes of his cheekbones.

“Okay.”

The two men were respectful as they worked around and on her, asking permission before Tony touched the cold metal disc to her chest or Bruce gently squeezed her leg with what looked to be a set of pliers. None of it hurt, and she didn’t even blink when Tony drew several vials of blood from a needle he slid into her arm. Were these men doctors? They didn’t look the part, with Tony’s perfectly styled hair and trimmed goatee, and Bruce’s threadbare button-up shirt that hung on his frame.

A monitor beeped out the drum of her anxious heartbeat for all to hear from sticky pads connected to her chest. Tony had also attached a few to her scalp, all while muttering to himself, “At least she doesn’t have a lot of hair to get in the way.” All of the eyes in the room settled on her, and it took everything she had not to curl up from the weight of their gazes on her bony shoulders.

Bruce stepped in front of her, rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal a small, raised red line across his forearm. He offered her a smile that begged her to relax. “I burnt myself on the oven the other day. Should’ve known better than to try to cook,” he gave a self-deprecating laugh full to the brim with warmth. “Can you heal this?”

Of course she could. But burns were her least favorite to handle. They weren’t any harder for her to heal than any other injury, but the raw, itchy skin was her least favorite. Still, these men had offered their home to her, given her food and clothing and medicine and a place of her very own without demanding entrance to it. This small burn that hadn’t even blistered wouldn’t take long to dispatch at all. A small price to pay.

“I’m going to touch you. Okay?” she asked quietly, mimicking the permission that they had asked of her for the entire time she’d interacted with them. Everyone she interacted with had taken to asking her before doing anything, a luxury and kindness she wasn’t accustomed to. How long would that last after they saw the extent of her abilities? Just until one of them got injured beyond what they were willing to deal with. That was how it worked.

“Bruce.” Loki’s warning came from over her shoulder, thick with veiled threats that she wasn’t certain she wanted to know how he would uphold. Even as he had chipped away at the protective shielding around her heart, she still felt the danger that he posed, carried in his confident stride and unhurried movement. So averse to the showy bravado she was accustomed to, guns waved around and threats growled over hands clutching the collar of her shirt. He didn’t need that. His reputation was enough, it seemed.

Bruce nodded and offered her his arm. His breath quickened beneath his shirt when her thin fingers slanted over his skin, and his pulse practically matched her own ringing in her ears. It was all too easy to direct the rush of electricity beneath her skin through her fingertips in the golden glow she’d come to dread for the pain it promised. Sure enough, she bit her bottom lip between her teeth at the stinging sensation that scratched at her forearm where Bruce’s burn once was, hidden by the thick sleeves of her new favorite sweatshirt.

“Incredible,” Bruce breathed, rubbing his hand over the freshly healed skin as if it were some parlor trick. A common reaction when she first healed someone, before they got greedy and jaded to her powers.

Tony pulled out a pair of yellow-tinted glasses and leaned over a computer, typing away furiously as his eyes darted over all the data he could consume.

“Leave us,” Loki commanded, and the heat of him practically pulsed at her back.

“But, I, this is my lab!” Tony stammered, chest puffing out as he stood up and pulled his glasses off to glare at the man whose breath fanned over the top of her head.

“Come on, Tony, we can have FRIDAY send the data to the other lab.” Bruce dragged the other man out with a hand on his arm, closing the door behind them to leave a deafening silence in their wake.

Loki stalked around the metal table until the front of his thighs almost brushed her knees, staring down at her with too many emotions warring on his face to name. He moved slowly, his hand reaching out to encircle her wrist and seize the fabric tucked beneath her clenched fingers into her palm. His fingertips were calloused, rasping against her skin with the heat of his touch as he slowly pulled up the baggy sleeve despite her pulling away in protest.

“Don’t-”

He flipped her now bare arm over to reveal the burn that had etched itself into her skin, dragging his finger just beside it to make the shiny skin catch the light. “You do not heal them. You take their wounds for your own.”

There wasn’t any use denying it with the evidence grasped in his careful touch. “I do.”

A growl ripped from his throat, feral and animalistic and so terrifying that she pulled her knees up to her chest and held them with one arm wrapped around her shins. He released her from his hold, allowing her to cradle her arm to her body against the conflicting singing of her skin from his touch and painful burn she’d brought upon herself.

“Unacceptable.”

And then he stormed away, leaving her curled in on herself on the table, staring at the door with the intoxicating masculine musk of his cologne still teasing at her nose and the incessant beeping of the monitor betraying her conflicting emotions she couldn’t even begin to place.

~~~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuseoc @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @myoxisbroken​ @blah666 @brokenthelovely​ @myworddump @polireader​ @wiczer​ @littleredstarfish​ @the-broken-angel-13​ @arch-venus25​ @xxloki81xx​ @jessiejunebug​ @tinchentitri​ @sllooney​ @devilbat​ @vikkleinpaul​ @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses​ @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian​ @toozmanykids​ @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius​ @sabine-leo​ @lovesmesomehiddles​ @peterman-spideyparker​ @wegingerangelica​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @catsladen @silverswordthekilljoy​

#loki fanfic #loki #loki x ofc #slow burn #angst #protective!loki #protective loki #helping hands #hopelesswrites

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 7

Ichi shook his head, bits and pieces of ice falling off of him as he dragged himself onto a higher surface. He stood up, looking around him. First order of business: find his brothers. “Ni? San? Where are you?” San needed physical input to situate himself.

[I’m fine, and will be there soon. Just let me warm myself up a bit.] Ichi sent a wave a reassurance to Ni, giving the okay. The weak king wasn’t there (yet) so they could take a second to get their bearings back.

“Uh... look up?” Ichi raised his head in confusion, eyebrows rising up in shock when he saw San, looking down at him from a higher up surface.

“How did you- Get down from here, San!” Ichi yelled, the youngest brother nodding wordlessly and sliding down the slope. He was still giggling to himself when his older brother angrily grabbed his arm and dragged him close.

“Sorry, brother Ichi.” San said with a shrug as Ni came into view. “Hi, Ni! Wow, you look grumpy.”

Indeed, Ni looked even grumpier than usual. [It’s cold and I can barely gather energy and I have a headache from the soundwave and there’s a chunk of ice stuck in my pants-] “I hate it here.” Was what he finally settled on after his psychic tirade. “Can we just go? Maybe sink an island or two with a storm for warmup?”

“We still need to gather enough energy to travel, Ni.” Ichi reminded him, getting a groan from him as he was also dragged close. “Quit complaining, it’ll only take a few hours.”

“We don’t have a few hours.” San suddenly informed his brothers.

Ichi looked at him, looking unimpressed. “And why would that be?”

“Because-” A jet of blue fire suddenly burst out of the ice, startling Ghidorah and making them a few steps back, Ni immediately going to stand before his brothers for defense.

A few seconds later, the weak king emerged, long, wet hair drying in a few seconds from the leftover heat. “Ghidorah.” He hissed.

“... Godzilla.” Ichi answered disdainfully as Ni hissed right back at him and San hid behind his older brother further, shaking.

(Because... the weak king has been patrolling the area since yesterday.) San finally informed them telepathically, an air of resignation hovering over his corner of their telepathic link.

{Why didn’t you say anything earlier!?}

(I tried to yesterday.)

[Brother San.]

(Yeah, what is it?)

[The weak king possibly showing up just after we finally free ourselves is NOT a ‘guess what’ situation!]

(Don’t get angry at me, you’re the one who didn’t want to know anything!)

{Ni, San, now is not the time for bickering.} Ichi cut them off, eyes narrowing at Godzilla. {It looks like we’re gonna have to fight. San: you’re on lookout. Ni: focus on gathering energy while I distract him. The moment it looks like he’s going to attack, I want you to attack right back. Keep him on his toes while I start gathering enough energy to teleport us.}

[How do you know he won’t attack the moment you opens your mouth?] It took Ichi a moment to remember Ni’s psychic powers weren’t nearly as developed as his, but by the time he remembered, San was already half-way through his answer.

(Because he’s tired. Very tired. Quite a bit more than us, actually.)

{Looks like we’re not the only ones who slept while humanity tried to rise above, brothers.} Ichi smiled as he took a step forward, Godzilla growling at him. This should be easy. “Finally came to submit to us?”

“Fuck off with that shit.” Godzilla snapped right back, hair flashing brightly at the outburst. “Here’s your options: you quietly stay here and don’t do shit while I go wake up Scylla and you triple-fucks get frozen again with minimal damage for all parties involved, or I pull out you entrails and skip rope with them.”

[I’m gonna kill him.]

{Patience. Him trying to negotiate proves he’s not in form to fight us right now.} Ichi cackled, making sure all of Godzilla’s attention was on him, and not on Ni who was concentrating, or San who had climbed to a vantage point. “Oh please, you’ve never beaten us on your own before. You’ve always had the help of your little moth, or had slaves following your every orders baiting us.”

None of the Ghidorah were sure Godzilla not jumping them at that was a testament of how tired he was, or of a patience he developed while they were asleep. This said, he did narrow his eyes and bared his teeth, a low growl building up in his throat. “And there’s always three of you trying to fuck everything up.” He noted bitterly. “Doesn’t it get tiring for your brothers to not have free will?” Ichi closed his eyes at that, outrage belonging to his brothers filling his being.

[Did he just-!?]

(That bitch!)

[Alright, how am I killing him? I kind of just want to go for the head.]

(No, draw it out and make him beg for death with how much pain you’re putting him in.) 

[How much pain are we talking about?]

(I’m thinking make lightning run directly through him starting by his gills, and amplify it gradually?)

{Ni, San, while I am loving the both of you indulging in your inner sadists, we have more important things to focus on.}

[At this point, it doesn’t really matter. I’ve gathered enough energy to fight him physically.]

(And he’s on the edge of snapping. You just need to make him a bit angrier.)

{Well, San, we’re standing right in front of him and I’m telling him how weak he is. That used to be enough to make him attack in a blind rage. Do either of you have suggestion?}

[You let me jump him.]

{Very tempting idea, but if you just lunge at him, he’ll be able to counterattack quite easily. San?}

(You either tell him how bad of a king he is, or you tell him how weak his little nap made him.)

{Let’s go with that. Any objections Ni?}

[I’m not going to fight him.]

(Once Ichi is done enraging him, you’ll get your fight.)

[Then, I have no objections.]

Ichi opened his eyes, sneering at Godzilla. “My brothers chose me as our leader. It was an unanimous decision. Which is more than can be said about you.” He tilted his head in mock curiosity. “Tell me, how many of your ‘friends’ follow you out of fear of getting killed like your rivals? And how many would turn against you if they learnt of how weak you had gotten?”

Like always, San could be relied on to tell someone’s weaknesses, Godzilla jumping at them with a furious roar. And like always, Ni could be relief on to defend them, grabbing one of the weak king’s arm and throwing him beyond the ice. Now, to collect energy to get out of here...

-

Godzilla landed on all four, his claws making an horrible sound against the floor. Metal? Humans figured out metal again? Didn’t Battra kill the last ones- He was snapped out of his thought process as Right- because that’s how Godzilla made the difference between them, who stood where when they weren’t fighting- jumped at him, one of it’s legs raised and ready to strike down.

He quickly moved out of the way, Right’s leg leaving a dent in the floor where it struck. He then quickly charged toward Godzilla, lashing out with clawed hands multiple time which his opponent quickly avoided, cackling the entire time. “How the hell have you recovered so fast- ACK!”

Right had changed strategy, raising one of his legs and kicking him in the crotch. He grabbed Godzilla’s face as he started falling forward. Right’s laughter momentarily died out a bit. “I never went to sleep,” Sharp claws started digging into Godzilla’s face, what looked like very thin and very numerous veins lighting up all over Right’s hand, seemingly travelling all the way up to the crescent moon-shaped jewel on his forehead. “So I don’t have anything to recover from.”

Right started laughing again, but his breath was cut short as Godzilla’s kneed him in the stomach, unleashing a pulse of energy right after to get him away before grabbing his braid, dragging him to the ground and trapping him under his foot, a smile appearing on his face for the first time today. “If you think I’m gonna fall for the old energy absorption trick just after you woke up, you’ve got another thing coming!”

But Godzilla was so caught up in the ecstasy of almost killing a Ghidorah… (Uh, Ni? He’s starting to charge his Energy breath. You need to get out from under there.)

[Noted.] … that for a minute, he forgot they were three of them. Right rolled himself onto one of his side as much as he could, only to use the momentum to roll himself onto the other, standing up and barely avoiding Godzilla’s Energy Breath, avoiding it for a few seconds as he ran.

Not because it ended up hitting him, but because Godzilla suddenly stopped, a shocked look on his face. I’m out of energy!?

“Oh...” Right smiled with a mouth full of needle teeth, his hands lighting up. “Out of juice already?” He then raised his arms, and bolts of lightning surged out of his fingers, making Godzilla momentarily blank out out of inexorable pain as he was hit. When it finally stopped, it was because his throat had been grabbed, claws digging painfully into his gills and dragging him at a speed he still couldn’t proceed after the shock. 

And then, Godzilla was thrown into the pool of icy waters in the middle of Ghidorah’s former icy prison, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed in the meantime and Right cackling the entire time. When he resurfaced, Right was finally calming down, and Middle and Left were floating.

“I thought you wanted to kill him?” Left asked Right as he floated up to join the two others.

He scoffed, giving his hand to Middle for an energy transfer. He was, after all, the one who had been closest to Godzilla’s Energy Breath. “He’s weak and tired. I want a real challenge.”

Godzilla snarled from his position in the water. He didn’t have enough energy left to fire another beam so soon. “You cowards! What are you planning on doing now!?”

Middle cackled, raising one of his arms and releasing a burst of dark energy, the dark hole Godzilla knew they would use to get away starting to form. “Why, resume what we started before you and your slaves trapped us, of course!”

“What you starte- why the hell do you care so much about destroying humans!? They can’t do anything!”

The three of them giggled. “Who do you think freed us, you pathetic reptile!?” Middle asked Godzilla, a cruel smile on his face as the portal behind him grew. “Humans learned how to harvest your voice. Yours and the others who woke up!”

“I must say, your weak little bird friend sure has learned how to project his voice.” Left commented, reminding Godzilla that last time Ghidorah had seen Rodan, he hadn’t moved to Mara, hadn’t become the Voice of Vengeance, hadn’t a massive target painted on his back, hadn’t been beaten down enough by fate that there was a very real chance of him just letting them kill him-

“Humans did not bother with remembering us.” Right continued, the calm and cold and dead tone of his voice contrasting heavily with the shrieking cackles he emitted while fighting him. “And now, they will pay heavily for that mistake. Farewell, soon-to-be former King of Titans.”

And with that, Ghidorah disappeared in the void, leaving Godzilla to wonder just what he had missed for things to spiral out of control like that.

#today is a kaijus only event humans get out #writing #My writing #Godzilla #godzilla gijinka #King Ghidorah #ghidorah #ichi ghidorah #ni ghidorah #san ghidorah #kevin ghidorah