#i have to keep track of what all my limbs are doing while monitoring the road and fuck also having a conversation or listening to the radio

[h0neywheat]

I honestly do not understand how people can be calm and enjoy driving. there's so many rules of the road and shit to pay attention to and possible distractions that can result in tragedy. it's mentally exhausting and unpredictable. if you make a mistake the best case scenario is someone honking, the worst is ending up dead or killing someone.

#as i got older and realized i may have adhd it made sense to why when i actually starting learning to drive it was overstimulating hell #its so much quick thinking while piloting a 5000lbs tin can #i have to keep track of what all my limbs are doing while monitoring the road and fuck also having a conversation or listening to the radio #it makes me want to tear my hair out #even if i did drive i would ask everyone to be silent the whole ride #its so much multitasking and risk i dont understand how people just do it everyday #anyway no one gives me shit for not driving anymore but man the concept of cars is fucked and i hate them and riding in them #☀️.txt

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

when y/n gathering scrap to meet quota and heard a noise and quickly turn around to see coil-head stop moving they slowly walking backward to try not get killed, after a long while they managed to escape from the coil-head. now y/n heard a rumor about a very familiar entity with a funny nickname peanut (its scp 178 if your curious) but it have very valuable information to know since its familiar to coil-heads when looking at the enemy will not move until your not looking at it

"Just be cool..it's all for the Company...all for the Company...."

Uttering that small mantra, you approached the large humming machinery, your eyes being set directly on the prize: a glowing yellow apparatus. The powercell of this entire facility.

It was worth a good fortune in the name of meeting quota, although it didn't come without its risks.

Like plunging you into total darkness and being stupidly heavy to lug back to the ship.

Unfortunately your crew sent you to retrieve it alone, as they were adding up how much the scrap piles were worth, buying stuff on the terminal, and looking out for eyeless dogs.

But for all you knew, they could be doing fuckall while you're risking life and limb every second you remained in this building.

Then again, that's just a normal day when working for the Company.

You kept your scanner going, cradling the giant apparatus close to your chest. It was your only source of light right now, as your flashlight was out of battery--and it made you look like a giant walking target for whatever monsters lurked here.

Speaking of which-

--New creature data sent to the terminal!--

"...what did I just scan?"

Stopping in your tracks for a brief moment, you took a look around the room, not seeing any sort of creature moving...

Only to suddenly hear loud footsteps rushing at you from behind, and in panic you swiftly turned around. The glow of the apparatus illuminated something humanoid that stopped short in front of you, allowing you to fully take in its horrifying appearance.

It was a creature that looked like a mannequin, with nails piercing its body, no forearms, and its head attached to a metal spring that bobbed as it stopped in-place. It had two hollow eyes and a broken mouth that made it incapable of expressions...yet you felt very afraid staring up at it.

"Shit..th-there's something here, guys.." You muttered into the walkie-talkie, praying somebody would pick up.

"We see it." One of your crewmembers' voice responded. "It's...a Coil-Head. Just got the data."

"Coil-Head? That's what they call these things?"

"If you wanna get specific, it's a Vir colli-"

"Whatever, not important. How much longer do I have until midnight?" You huffed.

"You got time. You're close to the exit!"

"Okay...well what do I do about this thing? I'm looking right at it."

"This is gonna sound weird, but just..keep doing that and head for the exit. But whatever you do, don't l-"

*krrrrrrrt*

"...one more time? I didn't catch that last part."

"........."

"Oh my god..you're kidding me, right?" Briefly glancing at your walkie-talkie, you realized the battery died and groaned, although the Coil-Head suddenly moved an inch closer, its head bobbing violently. "Woah--okay, okay..I'll keep looking at you, I guess....I don't want any problems."

It didn't answer, and simply stared.

"Christ..why does something like this exist at all?" You mumbled to yourself, keeping a tight hold on the apparatus as you slowly backed away, trying to keep your ears and scanner open for anything that might creep up behind you.

God forbid it was another landmine, spider web, or Bracken.

This was genuinely terrifying, especially knowing you were wandering through a near pitch-black facility with this mechanical creature following you every time you had to break line of sight.

Now that you've lost all communication with your crew, the only way they could tell if you're alive was on the monitors. You didn't even know what time it was. All you could do was pray to whatever god was out there in this vast universe that you'd get back to the ship before they decided to take off without you.

Surely, they wouldn't abandon one of their own..

Then again, you were all told to do "whatever it takes" to survive long enough to meet the next quota.

Even if it meant ditching and killing each other, or leaving the moon's atmosphere before midnight to keep tabs on whatever scrap was salvaged for the day.

But regardless, you had to survive..and so you did your best to maneuver around the facility with the Coil-Head in your sights at all times.

Its mannerisms did remind you of some other creature you have researched from a different and not-so-ethical company. Although right now, you're not too focused on that.

Not dying was more important.

........

"You made it!!"

"Yeah, no shit..my arms are killing me.." Dropping the apparatus unceremoniously on the ship floor, you looked at your fellow crewmates--two of whom were arguing about which moon to route the ship to next, while only one acknowledged your close call with the Coil-Head.

At least somebody cares.

But now that you've had time to calm down, you remembered what you wanted to do once you returned here safely.

"Y'know, that Coil-Head reminds me of this one creature I've read about back on Earth..its mannerisms are similar." You hummed, before heading to the terminal, irritated by the arguing duo. "Move. I need to look up something."

"Oh thank god." One of the employees huffed, shaking her head. "Please jump on the terminal before this dumbass routes us to Titan and blows all our money."

"Why are you being so stingy?! We can afford it!"

"We can't afford dying just because you wanna go to the deadliest moon! You think it's gonna be like Experimentation? A cakewalk??"

"No but it sure as hell's gonna give us better loot! We may have an apparatus but it's not gonna sustain us!"

"...can you guys take this conversation elsewhere? I'm going in." You squeezed between the pair and managed to get your hands on the keyboard, pulling up the internet (with speed that sucked since the Company tended to be cheap like that).

Curious, they stopped their squabbling and looked to what you were typing, bringing up a data profile for a creature called-

"SCP-173?"

"Yep. Or as they call it, the Statue..but I like its nickname "Peanut" a little better." You chuckled as you read its containment summary and description. ""The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight...object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull"...yep....the vibes are similar. Interesting"

"I thought snapping necks was the Bracken's job." One crewmember joked. "You're telling me that Coil-Heads and this Peanut might be cousins?"

"Maybe whoever designed them took some inspiration...though I wonder how it could snap someone's neck if it doesn't have any hands.."

"I kinda wanna see that happen. Any volunteers?" The Titan-obsessed employee laughed, but the dead silence and blank stares they received from all three of you caused them to tense up. "...I-I was only kidding...jeez.."

"If we run into another Coil-Head, we're leaving you behind to stare at it."

"Wha----are you really that mad that I suggested going to Titan???" They snapped.

"Since you're acting like a total nincompoop who should know we don't have the proper equipment yet...yes." You answered flatly, to which they groaned in annoyance.

"You're all jerks...I wish I had a new crew."

"In space, no one can hear you whine. Now let's go to March. We still got one day left to make some extra bucks, okay?"

"Fiiiiine, "Captain". Whatever you say."

#clanask #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #coilhead #coil head

[the-lonelybarricade]

We Bleed the Same - An ACOTAR retelling

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice... The beginning to a story we know, unfolded a little bit differently.

HO, HO, HOHMYGOD, plot twists upon plot twists! This is dedicated to my @acotargiftexchange giftee turned anon I've been secretly in love with for... years??? For @belabellissima I really hope you enjoy this, and I'm hoping my mastermind plan to seduce you worked now that we've both unveiled our secret identities

Read on AO3

-

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice.

Feyre had been monitoring the parameters of the thicket for the better part of an hour, but with the angle of the sun lowering past the horizon and the gusting wind blowing the tracks of any potential quarry, her vantage point in the crook of a tree branch had turned useless. Not that there was much quarry to begin with. For years, the hunters have been saying that the animals were pulling back, going deeper into the woods than most humans were willing to pursue. Even today, Feyre had ventured further than she usually risked.

She’d woken that morning to the sounds of her sisters’ growling stomachs, and she couldn’t bear meeting the hollow stare in Elain’s once bright eyes to tell her that they would spend another day without eating. Desperation had dragged her closer to the Wall than any human should dare—not just because of the faeries who lurked on the other side of the invisible barrier, but because she was now edging into wolf territory. The town hunters had warned her that they were on the prowl again in numbers. But Feyre reasoned that if the wolves hung near, it surely meant there was nearby prey to keep them fed. Unless wolf prey was the very thing she was becoming, delivering herself at their feet as she eased off the tree and stretched her stiff limbs with a restrained groan.

The icy snow crunched under her fraying boots. What little snowfall had melted already seeped through the worn leather, dampening her thin socks, but like many things, Feyre had long become numb to the cold. She wiped her ungloved fingers over her eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to her lashes. In the woods, there wasn’t time to be cold or hungry. Even as exhaustion gnawed at her, she shoved it away, focusing on her surroundings, on the task ahead. That was all she could do, all she’d been able to do for years: focus on surviving the week, the day, the hour ahead.

Only a few hours of daylight remained. Given how deep Feyre had ventured, if she didn’t leave soon, she would have to navigate her way home in the dark. And while she might have been foolish enough to stray closer to the Wall, even she understood there was no chance of besting a wolf in the dark. Or, gods-forbid, one of the faeries that lived in the Northern parts of their land.

Whispers were becoming commonplace on market days—tales of strange folk spotted in the area, tall and eerie and deadly. Traveling peddlers had begun sharing accounts of distant border towns, left in splinters and cindered bones. In the eight years Feyre’s family had lived in the village, they’d never witnessed such an attack. But if a faerie did decide to soothe its immortal boredom by playing with one of the townsfolk, it would need to cross through these very woods to fulfill that whim, and Feyre would be the first to cross its path. Even so, she couldn’t go home. Not yet.

After a few minutes of careful searching, Feyre crouched in a cluster of snow-heavy brambles. Through the thorns, she had a half-decent view of a clearing and the small brook flowing through it. A few holes in the ice suggested it was still frequently used. Hopefully, something would come by. Hopefully.

Her family wouldn’t last another week without food. She wore that knowledge in the weight of the quiver looped over her back. Each of the arrows was a reminder that if she failed, if she missed or came home empty-handed, then Nesta or Elain or their injured father might not survive the winter. And she would break the promise she made to her mother all those years ago.

Feyre sighed through her nose and eased into a more comfortable position, calming her breathing as she strained to listen to the forest over the wind. The snow fell and fell, dancing and curling like sparkling spindrifts, the white fresh and clean against the brown and gray of the world. Once, it had been second nature to savor the contrast of new grass against the dark, tilled soil; once, she’d dreamed and breathed and thought in color and light and shape.

Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she’d done it—bothered to notice anything lovely or interesting. Stolen hours in a decrepit barn with Isaac Hale didn’t count; those times were hungry and empty and sometimes cruel, but never lovely. She went into the barn to forget, to lose herself for a few hours in the feeling of another living, breathing being. To remind herself that something existed beyond the perpetual numb.

But it never mattered how long she stayed in that barn. The cold always seeped back, and Feyre was no longer convinced it wasn’t a part of her. How else could she be crouched in the center of the lethal winter and find herself struck by its beauty? The snow fell lazily now, in big, fat clumps that gathered along every nook and bump of the trees. Mesmerizing—the lethal, gentle beauty of the snow. She should hate it, but maybe that would feel too close to hating herself.

The howling wind eased into a soft sigh. Soon, she’d have to return to the muddy, frozen roads of the village, to the cramped heat of the decrepit cottage where her sisters waited for their next meal. Some small, fragmented part of her recoiled at the thought of returning.

Then, a pair of bushes rustled across the clearing.

Drawing her bow was a matter of instinct. Feyre peered through the thorns, and her breath caught. Less than thirty paces away stood a small doe, not yet too scrawny from winter but desperate enough to wrench bark from a tree in the clearing. A deer like that could feed her family for a week or more. Feyre’s mouth watered.

Quiet as the wind hissing through dead leaves, she took aim. The doe continued tearing off strips of bark, chewing slowly, utterly unaware that her death waited yards away.

Feyre was already contemplating how she could dry half the meat, and they could immediately eat the rest—stews, pies … the skin could be sold or perhaps turned into clothing for one of them. Feyre needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed.

Her fingers trembled. So much food—such salvation. She took a steadying breath, double-checking her aim.

But there was a pair of golden eyes shining from the adjacent brush.

Feyre stilled.

The forest was silent. She hadn’t realized how unsettling the quiet had grown until the wind died, and the snow paused, and even the trees seemed to hold their breath, a riveted audience as the wolf inched closer from the brush.

He was enormous. The village hunters had said as much about the wolves that prowled in the northern territory, had spoken of animals large as ponies with an unrivaled stealth. She’d assumed their stories were embellished. No animal that massive could be so quiet.

Now, she witnessed it stalk forward, unheard, unspotted by the doe. His gaze was set on her, a sentience behind those glowing eyes that caused her mouth to dry. Her lips began shaping a wordless prayer to a nameless god, begging mercy from whatever divine power might be watching this clearing.

The voice that whispered to her was innate. He looked like a wolf, moved like a wolf. Yet she knew no animal of the mortal realm could possess such stillness, such intelligence. But a faerie could. Was it paranoia, her fears becoming unbridled and taking hold? Or was that voice in her mind the work of some primal, long-forgotten instinct remaining from the days when her people were kept as slaves?

Fae, the voice whispered. Not a wolf, a faerie.

She found herself reaching over her shoulder for her heaviest and longest arrow. An arrow carved from mountain ash, armed with an iron head. She’d purchased it from a traveling peddler during a summer when she’d had enough spare copper for extra luxuries. If legend were true, the ash wood could deal a mortal wound to the otherwise invulnerable fae.

The only proof humans had of the ash’s effectiveness was its sheer rarity. The High Fae had supposedly burned all the trees long ago. So few remained, most of them small and sickly and hidden by the nobility within high-walled groves.

For three years, the ash arrow had sat unused in her quiver while Feyre deliberated whether the overpriced wood had been a waste of money. Now she drew it, praying that the rumors were true, that she wasn’t staking her life on fiction.

Faerie or not, there would be no outrunning him. She could let him kill the doe and sneak away while he was distracted, but then she would be returning to her family empty-handed. This was winter, where ruthlessness was all she could afford.

And if it was indeed a faerie’s heart pounding under that fur, then good riddance. Good riddance, after all their kind had done to humans. If she let him live, then she risked him creeping into the village to butcher and maim and torment.

She would be glad to end him.

Yes, that instinctual voice agreed. The fae are dangerous. The fae are merciless. End him now and save your village from slaughter.

A prickling sensation along her back struck Feyre with a new fear—that he wasn’t alone. But she couldn’t hazard a glance over her shoulder to be sure, not without taking her eyes off the wolf. Feyre gripped her bow and drew the string back, training the arrow on his powerful, silver body. She had only one ash arrow, which meant she couldn’t afford to miss.

The wolf sank onto his haunches, preparing to strike. There was no time to second guess. He shot from the brush in a flash of gray and white and black, yellow fangs gleaming as they wrapped around the doe’s neck.

Feyre fired the ash arrow.

She swore the ground shuddered as the arrow found its mark in his side. He barked in pain, releasing the doe as his blood sprayed onto the snow—so ruby bright, not any different than her own. He whirled towards her, those yellow eyes wide, hackles raised. His growl reverberated in the empty pit of her stomach as she surged to her feet, snow crunching beneath her, another arrow drawn.

The wolf merely stared, his maw stained with blood, the ash arrow protruding so vulgarly from his side. The snow began falling again, and he looked at her with the sort of awareness that made her fire a second arrow. Just in case—just in case that intelligence was of the immortal, wicked sort.

He didn’t try to dodge the arrow as it went clean through his wide yellow eye.

Only once he collapsed to the ground, legs twitching, did Feyre notch another arrow and turn towards the thicket at her back. Her eyes anchored on the point of the arrowhead as she swept her aim blindly between the trees for any sign of that looming presence she’d sensed.

There was only slow-drifting snow, skeletal trees, and the soft whine of the dying wolf.

Alone, that residual intuition told her. Safe.

Feyre eased the arrow off the bow before turning to face the carnage. Her hands shook at the sight of the blood gushing from the wounds she’d given him, staining the snow crimson. He pawed at the ground, his breathing already slowing. The snow swirled around them, merciless as the arrow through his eye, almost to the goose fletching. She stared at him until that coat of charcoal and obsidian and ivory ceased rising and falling.

A wolf, she told herself. Only a wolf, despite his size.

Still, she couldn’t shake the creeping sensation of being watched as she crouched beside both animals. If nothing else, it encouraged her to work quickly. She couldn’t carry both animals back to the village—even the doe alone would be a struggle. But it was a shame to leave the wolf. His pelt would fetch decent coin or at least make for a nice cloak to fight off the winter chill.

Though it wasted precious minutes—minutes during which any predator could smell the fresh blood, if there wasn’t already one circling—Feyre skinned him and cleaned her arrow as best she could.

When she was finished, she wrapped the bloody side of the pelt around the doe’s death wound before hoisting the deer across her shoulders. Grunting against the weight, Feyre grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance over her shoulder, past the steaming carcass of the wolf to the forest beyond. Wind whistled against the hollow branches, obscuring any sound of nearby creatures.

And though nothing emerged from the trees on the other side of the clearing, she swore something in the vacant space stared back. Curious. Patient.

Feyre swallowed before sparing one last glance at the bloodied snow. Maybe she was unsettled by the gore, by how little remorse she felt for the dead thing. Grief was too heavy to hold with a doe around her shoulders and several miles separating Feyre from her cottage. Maybe she told herself something was watching so it could bear that burden in her place.

And maybe a creature so capable of mourning would be equally capable of forgiveness, so that when Death inevitably arrived on her doorstep—be it days or months or years—maybe the eyes that fell at her back would mourn for her, too.

-

The trampled snow coating the road into the village was speckled with brown and black mud from passing carts and horses. Elain and Nesta did their best to dodge the particularly disgusting parts as the three of them trekked their way along it.

Feyre was aware that her sisters had only decided to accompany her because she’d be selling the hides today. It was market day, which meant that the meager square in the center of town would be full of whatever vendors had braved the brisk morning. The snow had cleared some in the night, leaving Feyre hopeful that traveling peddlers had gambled the journey. She found they usually offered her a better price than the local merchants.

From a block away, the scent of hot food wafted towards them—spices that tugged on the edge of her memory, beckoning. Elain let out a low moan behind her, and Feyre’s mouth watered. Spices, salts, and sugars were rare commodities for most of the villagers. It had been a long while since Feyre and her sisters had eaten anything besides bread and game meat.

She fought the temptation to stare too long at the food vendors as they strode into the busy market square. Spring was still a long way off, and the forest had been particularly unforgiving this year. They needed to be smart with any excess coin, even if the scent of fresh tarts drifted towards her from the doors of the passing bakery. They were luxuries of a time before.

“I’ll meet you here in an hour,” Feyre said to her sisters, not giving them a chance to respond before she slipped away into the crowd.

Feyre took her time to assess her options. There were her usual buyers: the weathered cobbler and the sharp-eyed clothier who came to the market from a nearby town. She could feel the eyes of the cobbler and clothier on her, sense their feigned disinterest as they took in the satchel she bore.

Fine. She slid her eyes past them dismissively, searching the crowd for unfamiliar faces, someone who might be inclined to buy a wolf hide. Like the tall, raven-haired man sitting on the lip of the broken square fountain, without any cart or stall, but looking like he was holding court nonetheless.

It was hard to place him at first. He was handsome, ungodly so, and smiling to himself like he knew it. She might have pinned him as a lord’s son for the swaggering arrogance that radiated from him, but the clothes were off. He bore well-made leathers and a fur cloak. Not the finery of a lord, but from his full cheeks and glowing skin, he didn’t strike her as someone scraping for his next meal, either. He turned, and the pommel of the sword strapped across his back answered her question. A mercenary.

It wasn’t his sword that stilled her approach, though its silver scabbard was polished with enough care that it reflected light even with the overcast sky. It was his eyes, turning to meet hers. Such an interesting color—not quite blue, but a deeper shade, almost violet, and like his sword they were brighter than seemed possible in the bleak winter. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld her.

Feyre’s mood immediately soured. She didn’t have the patience for condescension today. She might have turned around, but he’d already seen her, and the coin purse strapped to his weapons belt looked heavy enough that she decided to stay. Mercenaries were well-paid in this territory.

“Well met,” he said, nodding his head in a gesture of greeting as equally foreign as the lilt to his voice.

She pegged him as anywhere between twenty-five to thirty years of age. His sensual, swaggering grace spoke of youth. But there was a hardened edge to him, one that said he’d been in this trade long enough to expertly wield the sword at his back, and to adequately punish anyone who made an inconvenience of themselves.

Feyre didn’t want to linger and find herself on the opposite end of that sword, especially before knowing if he was interested in buying from her. She sucked in a breath to offer her pitch and found herself blurting, “Where do you hail from?”

His brows raised. She suppressed an exhale of relief that it was intrigue sparking in his eyes, and not disapproval for wasting his time. “That depends.” Feyre couldn’t draw her attention away from his violet stare, even as it flitted over her shoulder, making a quick assessment of the passing villagers trying their best not to gawk. “Will my answer impact your willingness to do business with me?”

She supposed that meant others in the village had turned him away already. A surprise, given his exceptional beauty, but she supposed that amounted to little in the face of prejudice. Feyre knew well enough that a person’s circumstances didn’t define them, and that the judgment cast by the village was harsh on its best days. With the added rumors of neighboring villages being ransacked, she could imagine the wariness they might pay a stranger with a sword. Even a beautiful one.

“No,” Feyre said. “I’m just curious. I’ve never seen you here before.”

I would have noticed you, she thought.

In part because he was massive, even sitting down. A mark of the trade, she supposed. No one would hire a mercenary who looked like her—gangly from hunger and drowning in her layers. Unlike her withering figure, he was broad and well-muscled. Strong. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way.

As he contemplated her response, his gaze snagged on her arm and his smile faltered. “Are you a painter?”

The question caught her so off guard that she bristled, her weight shifting onto her back foot in case she needed to cut and run. The mercenary laughed, softly, and nodded at the fleck of paint on the sleeve of her tunic. Paint that had to have been there from three summers ago, damning evidence that this tunic was old and rarely washed.

She swallowed, apprehensive at his observation. Why it was relevant to someone like him. “I like to paint,” she said, because she wouldn’t go as far to call herself a painter. Her skills were rudimentary, at best. “Does it matter?”

An odd look crossed his face, as though he was retreating to some distant memory. Then he offered another of those arrogant smiles and mimicked, “No, I’m just curious.”

Fair enough. One personal question in exchange for another.

“I hail from Illyria,” he said. At her blank look, he added, “A tribe of people nestled in the steppes of a far-away mountain range.”

On the continent, she filled in. There was nothing like that here, at least not on this side of the Wall. When the land was divided all those centuries ago, the faeries had allocated a slim strip of plains and woodlands to the humans. Anything so majestic as a mountain range was left to the fae above the Wall, but at least these lands were hospitable without magic.

“No wonder the winter doesn’t phase you,” she said, gesturing to his cheeks and nose, which lacked the rosy flush that was surely painted on her own. “This weather must feel mild in comparison.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve returned to the Illyrian Mountains,” he said. He kept his voice light, but Feyre sensed they were treading towards unwelcome territory. “And the conditions in these lands have been harsh, but they may be letting up soon.”

Feyre frowned, glancing toward the sky. “You think so?”

There were at least two months remaining before winter yielded to spring. But perhaps wherever he came from, the weather changed sooner.

When she glanced back at the mercenary, he was staring at her, a smile playing on his full lips. “Things look promising from where I’m sitting.” Was he… flirting with her? Feyre must have spent too long debating it, because the mercenary drew her out of the thought by nodding at her satchel. “What business does a pretty thing like you have with a mercenary like me?”

It was absurd to feel flattered by his words. Feyre couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to pay her that sort of compliment. Certainly not Issac, who was inclined not to speak a word during those moments she found herself undressed beneath him. That was perfectly fine with Feyre. She preferred silence over a lie.

She fought to hide her scowl, but from his laugh, she thought it was unsuccessful. Pushing aside her rising ire, she said, “I have a wolf pelt and a doe hide for sale. I thought you might be interested in purchasing them.”

He ran those remarkable eyes down her again. Feyre coaxed herself to remain steady, to lift her chin as he crooned, “Does that make you a huntress or a thief?”

It was difficult to determine which would be more impressive to him. Feyre held his stare as she answered, “I hunted them myself. I swear it.”

He would not understand what it meant to her, that vow. After their world had been cleaved by the fae, humans had deserted their religions and holidays. In Faerie, they relied on magic to bind a person to their word, but they had no such tools here, no Cauldron or Mother or any other deities to swear upon. Here, a person was only as good as their word. To Feyre, and to many of the villagers, a vow was sacred. But if he fashioned her a thief, he may not consider her word as bond.

“A huntress then,” he purred. His attention fixed on her satchel. “Let me see.”

Feyre pulled out the carefully folded hides. “I was only after the doe, to feed my family. But the wolf got to her first. And I made sure I was the one who left the clearing alive.”

The mercenary gave a low whistle as he examined the hides with an expert eye, running his hands over and under. She expected to be met with incredulity, but she marked awe in his voice as he praised, “Impressive kill, little huntress. You must be a good shot.”

“If I weren’t, I’d be dead.”

That truth sobered him. Sobered them both. He assessed her for a long moment, then lifted his gaze over her shoulder, where Nesta and Elain were doing their best to eavesdrop without being spotted.

He pursed his lips. “I’ll take them,” he said, before naming a price that would have sent her staggering if she didn’t keep a tight grip on her composure. He was grossly overpaying.

Feyre leveled her shoulders. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes darkening. “But you need to stay out of those woods, and I know you won’t keep out of them if your family is starving.” The question must have been plain on her face. He pitched his voice lower. “I think you know that this wasn’t any ordinary wolf. It won’t take long for its kind to come sniffing, and you may end up leading them right to those sisters of yours.”

She refused to glance over her shoulder and offer merit to the fear he was trying to churn in her gut. He wanted her to look at her sisters and see their slight figures, so fragile and defenseless against a creature like the one she’d encountered yesterday morning. Her stomach roiled despite her efforts. “Are you trying to scare me so that I hand the coin right back to hire your protection?”

The mercenary chuckled, but it lacked any warmth. “My services have already been bought by a local lord. I’m just trying to warn you, from one hunter to another. You go back into those woods, and you’ll be courting your death.”

She wasn’t brave enough to ask if he was speaking from experience, if he’d once been hunted by the fae after killing their kin. If she was smart, she’d heed his words and use his coin to get her family on a boat headed south, somewhere far away from the Wall. But would they believe her, would they be willing to go?

“Think on it,” he said, as if she wasn’t already. She held perfectly still as he reached into his heavy cloak to withdraw his coin pouch. She let him count, her mind far away while she plotted their different options of escape, including the scenarios where she had to drag her sisters kicking and screaming from their beds. It was preferable to a vengeful faerie doing the same.

Maybe it was for the better. The land left for the humans in this realm had always been an afterthought, and the governing queens had never paid much attention to this small colony of villages. She’d heard things were better on the continent, the land warmer and more fertile. Elain could garden, and Feyre could learn to make paints from the petals. It was a nice thought, a comfort against the more dangerous one—if she didn’t convince her sisters to leave, a faerie might come seeking revenge for the one she felled.

Feyre’s awareness was jolted back into the cold market square by the press of metal against her palm. She blinked, and violet eyes filled her vision, creased in feint amusement.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

The weight of the coins felt heavy. She knew if she glanced at her sisters, she’d find them drawing closer, sensing the transaction was over. What would he do with her name if she gave it to him? She couldn’t imagine anything good could come of it.

“Tell me yours first,” She countered.

That errant smile grew. And she understood why he had chosen to become a mercenary. Feyre only hunted in the woods out of necessity. If tomorrow she discovered she would never need to raise her bow against another breathing creature, she would feel relieved. But from the way his eyes sparked, fascinated at this new game afoot, she knew that he was the kind of man who hunted for thrill. That this information, basic and inconsequential as it may be to the rest of the world, had become his new quarry.

He raised a hand, offering it into the space between them.

“Rhys,” he said.

Wind played at his raven hair, swiping pieces across his forehead. Feyre stared at his outstretched hand. Broad and flecked with the odd scar, his hands were more elegant than she’d expect of a mercenary. They wouldn’t have looked out of place against the ivory keys of a pianoforte or gripping fine cutlery at a Lord’s dining table. Maybe that was the danger of him—the charming smile and the clever eyes. Perhaps his foes saw a pretty face and underestimated what he could do with that sword. Maybe the poor mercenary was one littered with scars, whereas Rhys walked away from his battles unscathed.

“No family name?” she pressed.

“They’re not needed in my trade.” Rhys leaned forward, flexing his fingers in invitation. “And you, little huntress? What name might I inquire after to ensure you’re still alive in a week’s time?”

Rhys. She had no way of verifying if that was his true name. Maybe he changed it every place he went, never assuming the same identity, never leaving a trail. If a faerie found him one day and demanded to know where that wolf pelt had come from, what would stop Rhys from revealing her name? Especially if it could spare his own life.

He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think it would be useful to him one day. She wouldn’t delude herself by buying into his purred words and bedroom eyes. Feyre took a step back, steadying herself.

“There’s only one huntress in this village,” she said. “They’ll know who you mean.”

The mercenary lowered his hand, slipping it casually into his pocket. “I told you mine.” Velvet as the melted chocolate being sold by the cup two stalls away, Rhys leaned closer and whispered, “That makes our debt uneven, love. I may seek payment for it one day.”

A shiver crept down her spine, though she couldn’t determine if it was from the threat of the words or the sultry promise in his voice. Feyre curled her hand around the strap of her satchel, fingers tightening over the worn leather like she didn’t trust he wouldn’t try to snatch it from her. “I have to go,” she said, her tongue feeling thick. From the cold, she reasoned.

He waved a hand over her shoulder, smirking at whatever caught his eye. “I wish you luck, then.”

Feyre turned, expecting to find that Nesta finally summoned the courage to yank her away. But the mercenary’s lazy smile wasn’t directed towards Nesta and Elain, ducked conspicuously behind the clothier’s wagon. It was aimed across the square. Where, leaning against a building, arms crossed over his chest, Isaac Hale watched their interaction through raised brows.

More of that wicked amusement spread over Rhys’s face. “Friend of yours?”

Friend was both an understatement and too generous of a word. They’d vaguely known each other since Feyre’s family had moved to the village, and one afternoon they wound up walking down the main road together. Their conversation had been inane and perhaps a bit awkward, but a week later, she’d pulled him into a decrepit barn. He’d been her first and only lover in the two years since.

Their trysts were erratic and haphazard; sometimes they’d meet every night for a week, others they’d go a month without seeing each other. If recollection served, it had been almost six weeks since that last frantic shedding of clothes and shared breaths. He has grown lean since the last time she saw him, his brown hair a bit shaggier.

There was no love between them. There never had been. But the last time she’d seen him, Isaac told her he’d soon be married. A piece of her heart had sunk at the news, and she’d avoided seeing him since. Now, she weighed the apprehension in her chest against the reprieve of company, that bit of selfishness that made their bleak and wretched lives more bearable.

Feyre blew out a breath, watching Issac incline his head in a familiar gesture and amble off down the street—out of town and to the ancient barn, where he would be waiting if she decided to join him.

“Yeah,” Feyre said. “A friend.”

If he believed her answer, he didn’t press. She didn’t imagine her pathetic love life would be of much interest to someone like him. There was no room for wives and children in his lifestyle. Perhaps the occasional love affair, though he likely didn’t stay in the same place for very long. Maybe that was why there was understanding in the way he nodded. Like he, too, needed the occasional warm body to remind himself that there was life outside of the daily horrors.

“Just try to stay out of trouble.” His eyes gleamed in a way that suggested staying out of trouble meant staying far, far away from him.

She didn’t get a chance to respond before a slender hand clamped onto Feyre’s forearm, dragging her away. Elain waited beside the clothier’s wagon, shivering despite her cloak as she watched Nesta pull Feyre away from the mercenary.

“Mercenaries are dangerous,” Nesta hissed, fingers digging into Feyre’s arm. Even Elain’s face had gone pale and tight. “Don’t go near them again.”

“He was fine,” Feyre said, yanking herself free. “Generous, even.”

“They’re brutes, and will take any copper they can get, even if it’s by force.”

The silver coins in her pocket said otherwise. Feyre glanced at Rhys, still sitting on the fountain. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks warm, knowing she’d made it obvious they were talking about him.

She shoved a hand in her pocket, suddenly desperate to escape this market and those piercing violet eyes. She pushed a twenty-mark copper towards Elain, not bothering to look at either of them as she said, “I’ll see you at home.”

They didn’t protest. Feyre thought it was miraculous how swiftly a mercenary’s business became acceptable if it meant a new pair of boots, but she held back the sharp words on her tongue. Her sisters wandered off, already whispering about what they should buy.

Like an arrow trained at her back, she could feel the mercenary’s gaze tracking her as she wove through the market stalls, not even bothering with subtlety in those rare moments when she gathered the courage to glance over her shoulder. He merely grinned at her, shameless.

She intentionally left down the same street as Isaac, just so Rhys might assume she was on her way to meet the farmboy. And think twice about following her. When she reached the ancient barn, she paused. Isaac would be waiting to undress her on the other side of the splintered and peeling wood. She could already feel the hot breath on her spine, the hay straws biting into her palm, her knees. Maybe it was better to see him in case Rhys didn’t think twice about following her. And maybe because she could feel a pit in her chest yawning open, and she thought Isaac’s strong, work-roughened hands might be able to hold it closed for just a little longer.

Just enough to feel warm again, for an afternoon. Before she returned to the cottage and remembered that she killed a faerie yesterday. And might very well have put a price on her head—on her family’s head—because of it.

He’s married, a small, rational voice reminded her. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Besides, the last thing she wanted was to get him killed.

Feyre walked past the barn. She ought to feel proud of her dignity, but it didn’t soothe the pit in her chest, a tempest of ice and darkness that slowly seeped out with every step along the frozen path back to the cottage. No amount of stuffing her fingers into her armpits could banish the cold. It was here, it was her.

She sighed, watching the breath expel in a cloud of frosty air. There had always been an undercurrent of darkness that drew her and Isaac to each other, but now she wondered if she was too frozen, too hollow, even for him.

And as she walked, she found herself thinking about Rhys, unflinching at the bite of winter. And how, for that short time she’d been drenched in the heat of his gaze, his eyes the first vibrant color she’d seen since winter had overtaken the village, she’d forgotten what it was to be cold.

-

Hours later, after another dinner of venison, Feyre’s family gathered around the fire for the quiet hour before bed. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace, absently bathing in the precious heat before she and her sisters would retreat into the bedroom, where they’d huddle together for warmth beneath threadbare blankets.

Nesta and Elain whispered and laughed together about some encounter they’d had with a handsome apprentice in the marketplace. There was the odd lull in laughter, in which Nesta would slide her eyes to Feyre as if daring her to make some comment about Tomas Mandray, a woodcutter’s second son who would allegedly be proposing to her any day now. They’d fought about it the day prior, but it felt like centuries ago.

All evening, she’d been trying to summon the courage to admit to her family where that wolf’s pelt had truly come from. What it had come from. She wasn’t certain how they would react or if they would even take the warning of the mercenary seriously. Father might. He’d once traded one of his wood carvings for the wards etched around their cottage’s threshold, supposedly meant to protect their home against faerie harm. It was one of the few things he’d bothered to do for them. If the fae scared him enough that he’d barter with a charlatan for those useless engravings, maybe the threat would be enough to rattle him into action again.

Except he was dozing in his chair, his cane laid across his gnarled knee. And she suspected she would get nowhere with her sisters without his aid. He had no sway with Nesta, but Elain would listen to him. And wherever Elain went, Nesta would follow.

Tomorrow, then. She would speak privately with her father and worry about convincing her sisters later.

Tomorrow was a nice idea.

But then a roar cleaved through the still night. The cottage door burst into splinters. And her sisters screamed as snow flooded into the room, flurrying around the enormous, growling shape that appeared in the doorway.

#💝 anon it's really you???? #THE PLOT TWIST OF THE CENTURY #acotar gift exchange #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #We Bleed the Same

[midweekupdate]

06/15/22

I’ve been looking for a partner in all things for so long that I don’t think I ever wondered what would happen if I found someone who fit the bill.

You all remember Ben. The boy toy who gives good head? Well the funniest thing happened last Friday. I was on my way home from work and feeling horny so I decided to stop by Benny Boy’s work at the library – because yes, I am fucking a sexy librarian – but his coworkers said he had just started his break. I went around to the staff parking lot, hoping to catch a quicky before he was back on the clock and I saw him walking around the corner so, naturally, I followed him.

And I kept following him and I kept following him. Suddenly we were on the other side of the train tracks in a poorly monitored area of the city – something I clocked very early on in my stay here. My first thought is that he had some sort of drug problem which is technically none of my business but it might cause some tension.

But I was proven wrong when he walked up to a man on his smoke break, spoke to him for about 30 seconds, shook his hand, and then walked away. The man suddenly began to have trouble breathing, he then collapsed to the ground as though he had no control of his limbs and shortly after, he died. I’m amazed I didn’t clock it sooner because it’s a method I used to use all the time – although it’s definitely become less popular in the post-pandemic world.

There’s a vein in your left palm that people used to say connects your ring finger to your heart. Science says that’s not true but there are some lovely veins that do travel through your wrist and make their way back to your heart with few detours (Casey says it’s the cephalic vein which made me laugh for 20 minutes). With a little prick, you can send poison almost directly to their heart.

I had to keep following him after that. I just had to know. But obviously I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought because I suddenly found myself dragged into a mall entrance and shoved against a wall.

I have never seen Ben looking so feral. So dangerous. So. Fucking. Hot.

I asked him where he got his hands on botulism and that seemed to stun him to his senses. We went for coffee, sat in the park, and we talked. For hours. He told me about how he started poisoning residents in his grandmother’s nursing him when he was a teenager. To him, what he was doing was a mercy and the more he looked at the world, the more he realized more than just the elderly were in need of “mercy”. He’s been killing people ever since. Not as many and not as often but he enjoys it. I could see it in his eyes as he talked about the woman last year who bled from her eyes. He was so passionate as he talked about his victims. I told him about my own career, or at least the highlights. Something to let him know that he can trust me because we’re the same. After a while we walked back to the library – and yes, he just skipped the last half of his shift but he hasn’t been reprimanded yet so I think his coworkers think he was just getting laid for 4 hours.

He did but much later (and not for 4 hours, jesus christ).

On the way to our vehicles, I demonstrated my own passion for the craft by stabbing a barista in the femoral artery. The way he looked at me… only James has ever looked at me with such desire. And admiration. I have never felt so seen.

We have a date tonight. We’re going down to the river to find a late-night jogger and kill them. Together. I haven’t had that before. A partner. Someone who understands how it feels and why I love it so much.

I know how incredible it is that we’ve found each other. There are about 4000 active serial killers in the world and of the 7 billion people walking around, the odds of two killers finding each other is… astronomically low.

Feels a little bit like fate.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

#midweek update #writing #fiction #humor #murder #serial killer #tw violence #new

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (1)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

Inspired by Unforeseen Mayhem by Aerugonian 

Here is their tumblr (all their work is so good)

(NEXT)

...

Kakashi thinks he might have died. He remembers the flash of steel and Obito’s face or maybe it had been Madara. His memory of the events leading up to the attack are hazy after receiving one too many hits to the head. What he does remember is the slowly spinning, hypnotic red of a Sharingan, and the quick build-up then explosion of chakra.

Then there was excruciating pain in his left eye and…darkness…

…

Kakashi opens his remaining, usable eye to gaze up at tall angled structures that stretch into a grey overcast sky. He can’t feel the left side of his face, his limbs are numb and unresponsive, and there is the damp of blood soaking through his hair. The bone-deep ache of chakra exhaustion is so all-encompassing that he can barely lift his hand let alone stop the bleeding. Around him, there are several people yelling in shock and surprise. Civilians he vaguely notes as he clings to consciousness. There is no sign of Madera, Obito or any of Kakashi’s allies for that matter.

When his vision dims for a second time he thinks that this, this would be his last breath. Alone, severely injured, in a foreign location and with only civilians as help? It was a death sentence.

He is wrong in the end.

…

Kakashi wakes up in a strange hospital bed surrounded by the strangest people he has ever seen. He also wakes up covered in bandages, his more serious injures either treated or in various stages of recovery.

The air is dry with a distinct lack of chakra. It is something he would usually only see in a prison cell made to contain dangerous shinobi in which chakra draining fuinjutsu arrays were applied to the walls and floor. There are no fuinjutsu arrays here. This is not a prison cell. For one, there is a large window. Secondly, there is a constant stream of doctors, nurses and other patients moving in, out and around the building. Finally, the door to the room is not locked. It doesn’t even have a lock.

After memorising the comings and goings of the people working in the strange hospital, he takes some time to scout. Even while injured and drained of chakra, he has enough skill and experience to avoid the workers and other sickly people he shares his room with.

 The world outside his window is one of cement, concrete and brick, with tall imposing structures covered in reflective glass standing higher than any building he has seen before. The closest point of comparison he has are the buildings in the Hidden-Rain and Stone villages but even those are a loose approximation. The hospital is both similar to Konoha’s main hospital, abet a lot bigger and full of strange equipment and technology. The people, despite their lack of chakra, display odd and inconstant abilities, techniques and physical deformities. One of the doctors has a lizard tail and he catches a glimpse of a man with a wooden block for a head. He sees a woman heal a cut with a simple hand wave. Either he is in an unusually elaborate and detailed genjutsu or he is very far away from Kohoha.

Everything is so odd and strange that he is well and truly stumped, leaving him with nothing else to do but quickly return to his hospital room. At least the weird chakra-less people are non-hostiles and willing to provide much needed medical attention. Though he is, as of yet, uncertain about the purpose or motive behind said medical attention seeing as he was a complete unknown to them.

After some consideration, Kakashi decides to wait. He has no idea how he ended up in the place aside from a loose theory that involved his still healing Kamui Sharingan. Additionally, there was no use trying to get back home with stab wounds, his leg broken, his ribs cracked, his shoulder muscles torn and his chakra levels so pathetically low that he’d probably kill himself if he tried.

He takes solace in the fact that his presence, while probably missed to some extent- he likes to think so anyway- wouldn’t impact the outcome of any major conflict. With Naruto’s stubbornness and Sakura’s tenacity, home would be waiting for him, even if he took a bit of time getting there.

…

After a week of information gathering -ie pretending to be unconscious and listening to conversations- Kakashi concludes that the people operating the hospital are relatively harmless. They seem to be under the mistaken impression that Kakashi is a citizen of their village and thus automatically entitled to medical attention. This is despite his lack of identification or history with the place. Such a thing would never happen in Konoha as even civilians were carefully monitored and tracked. Without identification or relatives/friends to vouch for them, a civilian would more likely be thrown out of the village than given what was surely resource-consuming medical treatment. It is lucky for him that there are apparently so many civilians in this village that their shinobi-equivalent forces couldn’t properly keep track of them all. Another point in favour of it not being any sort of hidden-village or any place he was familiar with.

 “Oh, thank goodness!” Says the greying, middle-aged man in a white coat as he approaches Kakashi's bed, “You’re finally awake. How do you feel.”

“Ah…a bit tired,” Kakashi plasters on a confused smile, raising his undamaged hand to rub the back of his head, hunching his shoulders for good measure. The perfect image of a disoriented patient.

 “What happened? Where am I?”

There was only so much he could achieve be pretending to be unconscious and snooping around at night. It was time to get a real feel for residents of this strange place and figure out his next move. This meant integrating into the local culture.  

“No need to worry. You’re in Hosu General Hospital and you’re well on your way to recovery,” A nod and the doctor moves forward to stand beside his bed, “A little drowsiness is a normal side effect of the pain medication we have you on. Now, if I may have your name?”

“Kakashi.” If they hadn’t recognised the Sharingan when they had bandaged it up, then they most likely wouldn’t recognise his name either.

“Well, Kakashi,” The man says with no hint of acknowledgement, “My name is Wada Yasutoki and I’m here to make sure you are recovering properly. Can you tell me if you are feeling any discomfort or pain at the moment?”

“Hmmm…my arm and leg?”

“Would you be able to rate it on a scale of 1 to 10?”

Kakashi thinks for a second and shrugs, “3.” Honestly, he only notices the pain when he’s consciously paying attention.

Another nod and Doctor Wada fusses about, examining the bandages around his shoulder and then his leg, “Well, they seem to be healing as well as any broken limb, maybe even a bit faster. And the stab wound near your chest is almost completely gone.” A thoughtful hum follows the statement. “If not for your left eye I would say you had a healing or regeneration quirk…hmmm…maybe a passive healing factor linked to your quirk…?” Wada looks to him, waiting for confirmation and Kakashi shrugs. From his nightly snooping he knows that ‘quirk’ is the term for the bloodline ability things the people here had.

The Doctor doesn’t press the matter instead asking, “Is there any discomfort in the left side of your face?”

“No.” Kakashi doesn’t want the people here touching his eye any more than necessary. The fact that it is draining charka at its usual sluggish rate was a sign that it was, at least, somewhat functional and that’s good enough for him. He guesses he should be thankful for landing in a place with medicine advanced enough to save it.

“You had us concerned when you didn’t wake after we saw to all your injuries,” The Doctor continues, “Your left eye took quite a bit of damage and we were worried that there might have been some sort of brain injury. If you feel dizzy, lightheaded or confused please, do not hesitate to call a nurse.”

The man shakes his head and sighs, “Now, I understand if you want a bit of space after going through such a traumatic event but if you could provide any details concerning the predicament that ended with you so badly injured it would be a great help to the investigation.”

Kakashi gives a faked confused hum and smiles apologetically, “Sorry Doctor Wada. I'm having trouble remembering much of anything really.”

“Nothing? No details about the potential assailant at all. What they look like? Their quirk?”

“No. Where is Hosu General Hospital by the way?”

His bland expression obviously causes his doctor some concern as he is subjected to a penlight being shone in his uncovered eye.

 “It is located in Hosu City, a ward of Tokyo. Where is the last place you remember being?”

The names mean nothing to him.  Kakashi schools his features into one of complete confusion, “I don’t remember.” 

It’s not even a lie this time. 

After the admission,  Doctor Wada only grows more concerned and Kakashi is subjected to many reassurances that it is completely normal to forget a few things after a brain injury and that he shouldn’t worry himself too much. The level of comforting and reassuring is a bit much if he is being honest. Never before has he longed for the cold frowns of  Konoha’s medic-nin.

“I’ll have to schedule you in for an MRI. If you’re having trouble recalling basic facts alongside your long-term memories, then there might a serious problem.” The older man finally concludes, having run through an extensive list of questions regarding Kakashi’s history all of which he answers with vague half-truths.  Where did he grow up? Somewhere with a lot of trees. Did he have any close relatives? He thinks they might have died when he was little. What does he do for a living? Commission work. Did he have any colleagues? He doesn’t know where they are. So on and so forth.

“It’s a shame your ID and phone were missing when they found you. Stolen by the bastard who put you in this situation no doubt,” the Doctor sighs again, “We might have been able to track down your records. Oh well, we’ll do our best with what we have.”

Kakashi doesn’t speak, pretending to be deep in thought. Mentally, he pats himself on the back for an infiltration gone surprisingly well considering his lack of preparation and the flakiness of the ‘sorry I don’t remember my backstory’ excuse.

“I don’t suppose you remember anything about your quirk,” the doctor asks, “Ocular quirks can have odd effects on brain activity and ability to process information. It might give us a place to start.”

From what he had seen, ‘quirks’ tended to have a specific function but he is still trying to figure out their limits. All he knew for sure was that none of them used chakra.

“It’s called the Sharingan.” He offers to see what the doctor does with the information, “I don’t remember much else about it.”

“Hmmm, ‘copy wheel eye’…it’s a descriptive name at least. Maybe a quirk that deals with memorisation or information recall. I will see if I can find it on the Quirk Registry. Hopefully, that will be enough. ”

Kakashi nods loosely in agreement, filing away the fact that there was a Quirk Registry for later contemplation. 

(NEXT)

#bnha #bnha fanfic #mha #hatake kakashi #hero killer arc #crossover fic #dimension travel AU #culture shock #boku no academia #naruto #kakashi headcanons

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired chapter 8

chapter 7

After a nice night out together with the baby and Asmo tagging along, the pair finally made it home. They hadn’t been gone long- maybe two hours at most- Arella gave Cyrus a bath, fed him, and put him to bed for a few hours. The little guy was exhausted from all the new sensory input, this being the first time he’d left the House of Lamentation for an extended period of time. She grabbed one of the baby monitors and went out to the common room to join Mammon, Asmo, and the rest of the brothers for a short movie night- something they hadn’t done for quite some time.

As she joined them on the couch, she curled up into her boyfriend’s side as she had always done at prior movie nights. He covered them up with a blanket he’d brought from his room as the lights dimmed and the movie began. None of them would be prepared for what they would see in the film- a slasher flick.

About half way through film a very graphic sexual assault occurred with the female lead as the victim. As Levi scrambled for the remote to shut it off, Mammon got up and bolted from the room- the scene far too much for him to handle. Arella followed after the white-haired demon to make sure he didn’t manage to harm himself in his panicked state. Once the tv was off, the brothers looked between each other with horrified expressions.

“The reviews never said anything about that.” Levi said as he pulled the DVD out and returned it to its case. “I should have reviewed it before suggesting it for movie night.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The worst part about dating the fasted demon in the Devildom is that Arella can never keep up with him. She searched the house for Mammon, having lost track of him almost immediately after exiting the common room. It wasn’t until she finally heard a wretching sound that she was able to find hi, currently voiding his stomach of its contents. She reached out to place her hand on his back to let him know she was there- a nearly fatal mistake.

The Avatar of Greed swiped at her in a manner which- had she not had the reflexes of a cat and jumped back in time- would have struck her in the stomach, disemboweling her. Arella was lucky that he only caught her shirt with his claws. She could see the look of panic in his eyes as his demon form appeared, the sweat coating his face, the rapid, heavy breathing, the shaking as he let out a feral growl.

“It’s just me, Love. It’s okay. You’re safe,” Her voice was soft as she tried to bring him back to the present while also managing not to get herself killed in the process. “No one’s going to hurt you... I promise.” She got down to his level, moving forward on shaking limbs. She moved slowly, trying to show the demon she wasn’t a threat to him. “I need you to come back to me, Dear. The threat is gone. You’re not in danger. You’re okay.” She was trying to avoid phrases like ‘you need calm down’, knowing that that was the last thing that should be said to someone having a panic attack.

Mammon’s whole body was tense, she could see it in the way he carried his wings, slightly raised to make himself more intimidating. Slowly, inch by inch, Arella got closer to him until she was able to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug, thinking the pressure might help him regain presence of mind and draw him out of the flashback he was experiencing.

“Take deep breaths with me, okay?” Arella says with trembling words. As close as she is to him, Mammon could do anything right now to harm her and she would be vulnerable to his attack. It’s a risk she knew she needed to take right now. “Breath in... one... two... three... four... out... one... two... three... four... hold... one... two... three... four... You’re doing good. Keep going, Honey.” They repeated the actions over and over, all the while Arella whispered words of praise and positive affirmations.

Eventually she was able to get him back to a state where his demon form dissipated and his breathing was more even. She could still feel his heart beating at a frantic pace, his body still shaking with each breath before he broke down in tears. Arella only rubbed his back and shushed him. She reached over flushed the toilet before helping him up, allowing him to lean against her as they made their way back to his bedroom.

Mammon immediately went to go brush his teeth and rinse his mouth out, the taste of bile still stuck on his tongue. Arella left to go check on Cyrus and collect the forgotten baby monitor from the common room. When she entered her room, she saw Asmodeus holding the child and rocking him in their arms.

“How’s Mammon doing?” their tone was a hushed whisper when they looked up their jaw dropped at seeing the tears in Arella’s shirt. “What happened to your shirt?!”

“He’s doing better now. I just sent him to bed after he gets done brushing his teeth. As far as the shirt goes, I startled your brother by mistake and he took a swing at me with his claws.” Arella sighed as she pulled the shirt off and swapped it for an older one she often used as sleepwear. “How’s the baby doing?”

“He needed a diaper change but I already took care of that for you. He might need another feeding though. My brothers- mainly Levi- are searching the house for Mammon. I’ll let them know he’s safe. That was scary. We had no idea that the movie had that type of scene in it.”

“I believe you, Asmo.” Arella said as she ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t believe they would put a scene that graphic in a movie regardless of its rating. I’ll take him now.”

Asmo only nodded as he handed the infant off to her before pulling their D.D.D. and texting the group chat while Arella sat down on the bed and made herself comfortable while she nursed Cyrus.

“I’m really worried about him, you know?”

Yeah, I am too.” She yawned. “Let this be a reminder to us all that we’re far from out of the woods with your brother. I knew he wasn’t completely over his trauma yet, but I never expected he would have a panic attack tonight.”

The Avatar of Lust would only nod. “Would you mind if I kept Cyrus tonight so you can focus on my brother? I have one of those foldable cribs that we used to use for Satan if we were out and weren’t going to make it back in time for his bed time.”

“That would be lovely, thank you, Asmo. I’ll pump some milk for him after he’s done. You’ll just have to come down and get a bottle when he needs it.”

“Alright I’ll go get things all situated then.” And with that the strawberry blonde demon was off.

Next

Masterlist 2

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date? #tw: panic attack #tw: mentioned rape #mammon angst #obey me oc #obey me mammon #om! mammon #arella #obey me asmodeus #asmo

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts, 20 seems like it'd make a good ot4 nsfw..

Here you go!

20: you’re the town’s super villain and you take me hostage because you saw the super hero talking to me but I’m new in town and was asking them for directions

“I do not see what is so difficult about this.” Indrid leans against the console in his hideout, “simply agree that you will not, under any circumstances, go after Ursa Major, and I will let you go.”

“For the last time” the villain (oh, excuse him, the ‘writer who is new in town’) strapped to his chair stares him down with convincing confusion in his blue eyes, “I just needed directions, and he was the nearest person. I’m not a super villain, I swear. I don’t even know where you’re getting this idea.”

Indrid taps his temple, though the answer is really his SmartGlasses, “When I scanned you, the information was minimal, the kind of life that suggests you appear as mundane as possible to avoid detection. More importantly” he leans into “Josephs” space, ice in his grin and menace on his tongue, “I saw instances of you and him in combat, both costumed.”

His captive raises an eyebrow, but Indrid gives him nothing; he’s not about to just tell some upstart the crux of his powers.

Joseph sighs, “Alright, I think I understand. I’m really not a super villain.” He flashes a movie star grin, “but I am a superhero.”

The chair tips backwards, smashing when it hits the ground. Indrid curses, lunges at him and narrowly avoids an elbow to the chest.

“That changes th--ohno” he braces as his feet leave the ground without his permission and he flies backwards, slamming into a wall. He’s up before his enemy can ready another attack, hurls a destabilizer at him as he makes for the door. It catches his neck and he shudders, stumbling as he turns the nod.

“I’ll see myself out, Emperor Moth. Ugh” he holds his head, rips the device from his neck, “nasty stuff.”

“Thank you.” Indrid grins, “and don’t bother putting that little monitor strip on my door. I’ll be vacating this hide-out immediately.”

Joseph frowns, still having trouble with balance as he steps outside.

“I did tell you not to underestimate me.” Indrid waves, slams the door, and initiates the scrubbing sequence.

----------------------------------------------------

“It is just humiliating. I was so concerned with keeping him away from Duck, I didn’t bother to check why he might be interested in him.” Indrid grumbles, then hisses when Barclay touches the back of his head.

“It doesn’t sound like he was. I mean, maybe they’ll team up eventually, but if he’s so new none of us knew there was another hero in town, he probably needed directions.” The other villain finishes checking the bruise Indrid got when Joseph launched him into the console, “and hey, thanks to you we got an even earlier warning about him than we might have otherwise.”

Indrid stares at the floor, still wrongfooted by errors being met with kindness instead of punishment, “I should never have let that bear become so valued a nemesis. It is making me weak.”

Barclay bends, kissing the top of his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re not the first villain to get territorial.”

“You never do.”

“Guess I just haven’t met the right hero.”

------------------------------------------------

“Got a decent arm on you, blue eyes.” Barclay cracks his neck, standing from the crumple dumpster Joseph (AKA Roswell) punched him into when the trashcan he launched with telekinesis missed it’s mark.

“Same to you, but given your name I’m not surprised. Now hand over that remote and come quietly.”

“Not a chance.” He grabs Joseph when he swipes at the remote, Barclay strong enough to keep a hold on it even when Joseph tugs with his powers. Up close, he can see what Indrid meant when he said the hero had a face it would be a shame to damage.

Joseph flashes him a stunning smile as the remote begins getting hot. Fuck. Time for a new plan.

“You wanna know why they call me Bigfoot?”

“Wh--SHIT!” Joseph fights to free himself as Barclay shifts into his other form and hoists him over his head.

By the time Joseph pulls himself out of the dumpster, he’s no more than a disgruntled image in Barclay’s rearview mirror.

------------------------------------------------------

“Thanks for helpin me out, Joe.” Duck scans the Capitol Square for signs of trouble.

“Any time.” Joe studies the readouts on his communicator in case something elsewhere needs their attention.

Duck, like the rest of the Pine Guard, was skeptical when a new hero by the name of Roswell approached them and asked if they wanted his help protecting Kepopolis. Ned pointed out the distinct air of government about him, and Duck wondered why he’d chosen a city with a solid population of supers. But he’s helped them enough times in the last two months that Duck considers him an honorary member. Even more so since he started training with them.

Fuck, the guy’s got abs, looks so good doing his practice circuits that Duck has to face the other way to avoid whacking himself in the face with his whips. No one’s held his attention since…

No. No thinking of Emperor Moth that way. He promised himself that after the last jerk-off session about the villain. And the one before that. And the one before that one.

Even Joe’s backstory is hot; rule-following government man, stationed at a secret desert base, refuses to to help his fellow agents use confiscated, alien tech for weapons research. In the process of smuggling it out, it goes off. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but instead he receives heightened reflexes, increases intelligence, and telekinesis. How is Duck supposed to resist that?

“Um, Ursa? Is that who I think it is at your two? Right by the churro cart at the farmer’s market.”

“Holy fuck. Yep, that’s Indrid and Barclay all right. Huh. Guess even villains like local produce.”

“And Sunday dates. Look” Joe, now shoulder to shoulder with him, gently tugs his chin a little lower so he sees where the pair are holding hands.

“I’ll be damned.” Duck murmurs. Indrid is the same; same silvery hair, same wide smile, same face of enchanting angles and lithe, wiry limbs. He just looks lighter. Softer.

Happier.

Barclay holds out a doughnut and Indrid bites it, powdered sugar dusting his face. The bearded villain laughs, and kisses a spot of sweetness away. Duck’s confusion over why he’s glad Indrid has someone to do that for him is dwarfed only by his bafflement at why he wishes it were him.

Better to distract from those disastrous daydreams with doable ones.

“Hey, uh, Joe? You ever use your powers for more than restrainin’ villains?”

“Sometimes.” Joe turns so they’re chest to chest, smile downright mischievous, “are you hoping for a demonstration?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then when we’re off the clock, I say we go back to my place for a drink and some, um, hands on illustrations of what I can do.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What are they playing at?” Indrid peers from the rooftop into the Fun Center.

“I think they’re literally just bowling.” His boyfriend’s voice comes through his earpiece from where he’s stationed at their shared base

“But we could be plotting, be about to wreck havoc, and they’d never know.”

“Are you dropping hints?” Barclay sounds perplexed.

“No. I just do not understand why my hero wishes to waste time with yours.”

“He’s not mine.” Barclay mumbles, but Indrid can hear his blush.

“Wait, they have finished their game.” He watches Duck and Joseph stroll to the latters car. Before he can open the door, Duck taps him so he’ll turn. When he does, the shorter hero shoves him against the black vehicle, kissing him ferociously. Indrid stabs the bubble of jealousy in his chest before it even inflates, finds it unhelpfully replaced by the wish to be in the car, close enough to hear whatever Duck is whispering against Joseph’s neck. Close enough that instead of driving off to finish their tryst in private, they crowd into the back seat with him and render him speechless.

“Shall I come home early?” He murmurs, knowing full Barclay is seeing through his glasses.

Barclay’s response is a promising growl, “yeah, little moth, think you’d better.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Give it up, moth, you know damn well I’m strongerOWow, fuck” Duck grits his teeth as Indrid claws his face. He could deploy the knife in the palm of the right glove, but most futures show him escaping without that.

“Yes, but you lack imagination, my ursine nemesis. Now get off of me so I can collect my prize and go home.”

“No can doFUCK.” Duck curses again as Indrid flips them, making it the heroes turn to slam his back into the concrete floor of the Reconcore Warehouse.

“Ta-taAH! Release me at once!” Indrid writhes as the SmarWhip tightens across his back, knowing his InstaPicks are trapped between their bodies. He’s not about to meet the humiliation of defeat while literally wrapped up with his enemy. There’s only one thing for it.

He means to headbutt the hero, he swears it, would do so even under the worst tortures of his past. But instead he brings their lips together with enough force to crack the teeth of a non-super. He pulls back a beat later, so surprised at himself he can’t track the futures.

Duck licks his lips, “About fuckin time.”

Indrid rolls to his side without a fight, the whips going slack and clattering on the concrete as Duck holds tight to the front of his suit, sucking his bottom lip as the villain flails his legs to wrap around sturdy thighs. He wiggles his hips in a plea he doesn’t trust his mouth to form, and Duck slots his knee between them.

“That’s it sugar, c’mon” Duck kisses him messily as he weaves his fingers into dark hair, “this why you’re always runnin around and makin me chase you? So needy you’ll give it up on the goddamn floor.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Indrid groans as kisses find his throat.

“Don’t bother me none. Think it’s kinda cute, and real fuckin flatterin.”

“Duck” he holds tighter; Barclay tends to take things slow, so he hasn’t cum this fast in months, “Duck please.”

“S’okay, sugar, you can cum.” The kiss is softer this time, “been wonderin’ what you look like when you do.”

Indrid gasps as pleasure spikes through his system. He doesn’t want to think of what comes next, what happens when he raises his head and sees Duck’s face return to its usual determined set.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go.” Duck hastily stands, then kneels and kisses him once on the forehead. He’s gone before Indrid can even offer to return the favor.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s supposed to be a minor mission, the two of them scrambling the city’s traffic grid from the office near Kepler Dam.

“Oh no.” Indrid bursts from the car he entered a moment before, sprinting back towards the device they planted at one of the power boxes, “ohnohnono.”

“What-”

“Someone remotely tampered with my device!” He rips off the back, “and they still are! If, if it goes how they have programmed it to, it will take out the dam, it, it will, so many people-”

“Can we break it manually?”

“You could switch each command wire to the color that precedes it on the spectrum, but that would still make an explosion large enough to kill anyone within fifty feet, with no time to run. All, all those people, all my fault, again, I cannot, not again, I have to-”

Barclay understands two things; he won’t let Indrid live with any more disasters on his conscience. He didn’t throw off his past for that. And he can’t bear the thought of Indrid dying.

He sets a hand on each narrow shoulder, “Fly home, little moth.”

“No, I, you cannot do this-”

“We always promised each other that if it came down to it, we’d save ourselves and not the other.”

“Yes, which you are expressly contradicting!”

Barclay kisses him one last time, “I love you, Indrid.”

Then he hits the emergency autopilot button on Indrid’s suit, his wings carrying him up and away before he has a chance to protest.

Re-ordering the wires is fast and easy; as the explosion hits the air, he hopes dying will be the same.

-------------------------------------------

“How is he?” Duck pokes his head into the med room; because Joseph lacked a formal base during his travels, he has a procedure for adapting wherever he lives to superhero needs. Thank the lord for that, because when they found Barclay, singed and barely alive at the sight of an explosion, he knew he wasn’t handing him off to anyone else.

It took them five hours to get him stable, and Joseph’s heart twists every time he looks at his battered face; Barclay is careful and Indrid’s engineering is impeccable. What went wrong? Was Indrid there in the smoke and rubble and they didn’t see him?

One of his windows--his triple reinforced, alarmed, bullet-proof windows--shatters in the other room. He and Duck hit the living room at the same instant to find Indrid in his full villain apparel, nightsticks drawn.

“Where is he?” The villain demands, unyielding ice in every word.

“He’s in my med room. You can’t see him yet, he’s still in very bad shape-”

“I am taking him back with me.”

“Nuh uh, you move him now he’s liable to die.” Duck steps forward and Indrid hisses.

“Liars. You will keep him here, hand him over to the police when he is well. I am not going to lose him.”

“Indrid, we’re not going to do that, I swear.” Joseph’s never seen Indrid look this way, hardened and dangerous. Like he could kill them.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Indrid attacks him, is knocked off course mid-way there as Duck tackles him to the couch.

“‘Drid, for fuck’s” Duck holds the villain down, wincing as he slams his shoulders with his weapons, “we ain’t gonna hurt him or turn him in. You know I can’t lie, so calm the fuck down.”

“I, I will not, if I lose him I, I do not know what I will do with myself, he always takes care of me, I cannot fail him again, cannot leave him without care.”

“You ain’t” Duck’s voice is so gentle Joseph could melt. Indrid does, going limp as Duck eases them into a sitting position, “he’s bein cared for here, I give you my goddamn word.”

“If that’s not enough” Joseph steps behind the couch, setting his hands on the recently vacuumed cushions, “you can stay here while he recovers. To make sure we take care of him the right way.”

A strange, high noise fills the air. It’s only when Indrid hides his face in Duck’s shoulder that he understands it’s coming from the villain.

“Shhh, s’okay ‘Drid, he’s okay. We’ll look after you.”

“I, hic, I do , hic, not need-”

“We both know that ain’t true.” Duck hugs him. When Joseph strokes his hair, Indrid sobs harder. In the dark living room, he wonders when was the last time Indrid allowed himself such emotions. It must have been with Barclay; he might be a villain by name, but Joseph sees the gentleness within the giant.

“I’m going to go check on him; I need to monitor his vitals and make a few adjustments so he’s comfortable.”

Indrid simply nods. Duck lifts Joseph’s hand and kisses it, “I got this one.”

As he checks the villain over, cleans dirt from his cheeks and combs his hair, he understands how Indrid must feel. He confessed to his crush on his nemesis the night Duck came home, radiating guilty arousal, and told him what happened in the warehouse. Joseph never held it against him; for starters, Indrid is quite the catch himself. More importantly, his territorialism around Duck long ago crossed from keeping other villains from his target to simply saving Duck’s life.

By the time he returns to the living room, Indrid is asleep atop Duck on the couch. Joseph slips onto the far end, and guides Duck’s head into his lap, petting his hair until he too drops into dreaming.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“Thought the whole ‘writer’ thing was just cover.” Barclay says softly. He’s still bedridden, which is why Joseph moved his work station into the med room.

“No, I’ve always wanted to write about the paranormal.”

“Any favorite cryptids?”

“Bigfoot, of course.” Joseph winks just to watch Barclay blush. It’s a new sight, one he’ll never tire of. Truthfully, having Barclay in his house is something he never wants to end; his recovery gives them ample time to talk, rather than banter, and lord help him is Barclay his type. The two of them are locked in a game of romantic chicken. Which is very different from-

“Sugar, I gotta go to work.”

“Nonsense, call them at once and tell them you are needed here. For...spring cleaning?” Indrid hangs off Duck, glasses slipping down his nose as he nuzzles him.

“Nice try.” Duck kisses him, slips free and kisses Joseph too, “I gotta patrol after work, so I’ll be in kinda late.”

“Be safe.” Joseph kisses him one more time, squeezes his ass when he turns around. Is it his fault his boyfriend has the nicest ass in the state?

Indrid waves goodbye as Duck leaves the room, then begins making his usual nest in the beanbag chair he brought from his own home a week ago.

“Y’know, I’m glad he came to you guys. And that he and Duck are kinda working things out.” Barclay opens his mouth as Joseph feeds him the nicest pudding that he’s also able to keep down. When Barclay first woke up, Indrid alternated between being livid at him for sacrificing himself (“I am far worse than you, the world needs you more you horrible, brave man”) and cuddling him as much as his recovery allowed.

“Me too.”

“He uh, he pretty much never talks about his past, but it doesn’t take super smarts to work out it was fucked up. Showing weakness, accepting affection...it’s hard for him. Which made things rough for us early on, because all I wanna do is take care of him. Got no idea how he’s gonna react to having two more people who want to look after him.”

The answers include: sleep in Duck’s arms, read with his head in Joseph's lap, kiss Barclay whenever he can, and generally seek out any kind of touches the others will give him.

“You wanna order lunch later today?”

“Is this just an excuse to show off how good you are at picking food for each of us?”

Barclay blushes again, “Maybe.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“I see your evil plot now, Emperor Moth; you suggested we do a movie night so you could steal all my body heat with your fuckin icicle fingers.”

“Nonsense, I am not just stealing your body heat. I am also stealing Joseph’s body heat.” Indrid preens.

“Hmm, how shall we deal with such a cunning villain?”

“I got a few ideas.” Duck drags Indrid into a kiss while Joseph loops his arms around his waist to tease his inner thighs.

“Got a few myself.” A soft voice rumbles from behind them. Indrid sits straight, all his attention on Barclay.

“On your knees, little moth.”

Indrid drops to the floor, blanket tangled around him. Joseph and Duck trade an intrigued look; Indrid leans towards the submissive, but this is a new form of it.

“Head in Duck’s lap.”

Indrid obeys. Duck strokes his cheek, “good boy.”

Barclay circles the couch as Duck pulls down his sweatpants. Indrid licks his lips, then looks up at the hero.

“You can touch, sugar. Suck too, if you want.”

“So very much. Oh” he sighs as Barclay cups the back of his head, “h-hello dearest.”

“Hey, baby. C’mon, show Duck just how good at this you are.” He nudges Indrid’s head forward, keeping his hold on it until Indrid hims and Duck makes a deeply undignified noise.

“Fuuuuck, thanks for sharin man.”

“Any time” Barclay strokes Indrid’s head, “my baby deserves to suck whoever’s dick he wants.”

Barclay steps back, Duck’s hand instantly sliding to replace it, holding Indrid tenderly in place while he blows him. Barclay eases himself onto Joseph’s right side as the hero contemplates whether he should start jerking off now or wait to see where this goes.

“Joseph?” Barclay suddenly sounds shy, “Can I, uh, can I kiss you?”

He climbs into his lap in reply, beard scratching his palms as Barclay moans down his throat.

“Took you two long enough.”

“Agreed” Indrid kisses Duck’s belly before returning to his task.

“Hey, we don’t all get lucky and get our wires crossed in a fight in a good way.” Barclay busies himself making beard-burn on Joseph’s neck.

“But you do get lucky enough to recover ahead of schedule.” Joseph nips the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, not sure I’m all the way there. But I felt good enough to get up and wander around. Glad I did.”

“Me too. Although, I’m not sure how much you should exert yourself.”

“I’m pretty tough, babe.”

“I know. Just to be safe…” Joseph kisses his nose, “is this position comfortable?”

“Very. Oh, oh fuck” brown eyes widen beautifully as he finds he can’t move, “fucking-A that’s so hot, Joseph, babe, shoulda asked you to use these one me like this the first time we met.”

“Would that have kept me out of the dumpster?”

“....Okay maybe not. Point is, please use your fucking powers on me whenever you want from now on.”

“You like being put in your place, big guy?” Joseph slowly grinds on him as he undoes Barclay’s bathrobe.

“By you? Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“Good. Stay there while I slip into something more comfortable.”

“Cornball” Duck chuckles fondly, then moans as Indrid slips a hand down to join his mouth.

Barclay’s eyes darken as Joseph strips down. By the time he’s naked, the other man is growling and his teeth and fingers are sharper than they were.

“No shifting tonight; I’m not sure how it will interact with your recovery.”

“The, the futures suggest it could reopen some wounds.” Indrid grins, “but you should try it at a later date; it is very fun to ride him in that form.”

“Someone better start riding me now or I’m gonna rip the couch in half--uh, wait. I, do we need-”

“The accident made me infertile and unable to catch all known illnesses.”

“Nice.” Barclay grabs his hips and yanks him down, the two of them moaning together as he sinks onto his cock. He rolls and rocks, Barclay grunting in time with his movements, mouth going slack after only a few bounces.

“Sensitive, big guy?”

“Uh huh, fuck, Joseph” his hold is terrifyingly strong and Joseph loves it, “babe, you feel so good.”

“Look it too.” Duck blows him a kiss. Indrid gives a little “mmhmm” and bobs his head.

“Fuck, I’m, fuck this is gonna be really embarassing, fuck, you’re so fucking good, feel so good.” He yips, pleased, when Joseph bears down harder. A sharp “fuck” bursts from beside them; he turns to watch Duck cumming on Indrid’s face. The villain doesn’t miss a beat, scrambling into his lap to kiss him before turning his red eyes on Barclay.

“The next time I pick things up from the hideout, I shall get your cockring.”

“A cockcage might be better for this, nnhff, beast.”

“Yes” Barclay growls, holding him down so hard he can’t get free. He gives him back the use of his hips and he bucks up violently, “yes, yes, put me in one, make me wear it all day, but you better put that one in one too, you, fuck, you’ve seen how he gets.”

“Nah.” Duck kisses Indrid slowly, “think I’ll tie him up and wring as many orgasms outta him as I can.”

Indrid gives a high, trilling moan and dives in for another kiss.

“Good plan.” Joseph can see it now; he even knows which rope Duck will likely use. Then he can’t see anything at all, his vision blurry as Barclay bounces him on his cock. There’s a howlgrowlpurr and then he’s cumming, growling even louder when Joseph clenches around him for fun.

“Fuck that was hot.” Barclay plants kisses down his brow, “how, how do you wanna get off, babe?”

“May I suggest sitting on my face?” Indrid says hopefully.

“Like mike cum so much you’ll lick it outta someone else, little moth?”

“No. Well, yes, but my offer comes from both a desire to know the feeling of blowing each of you, and because the position allows Duck to use his fingers on me while you, dearest, work my cock.”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin smart sugar.” Duck hops up to retrieve the lube while the other two join Indrid on the floor. Joseph settles into position and immediately learns why Duck was being so loud.

“Lordalmighty, Indrid, you’re incredible.”

“‘Ank ‘ou.” Indrid closes his lips around his dick, humming until his toes curl. Barclay kisses him lazily, snickering when Indrid occasionally turns his head to lap at his softening cock.

“This is the best part.” Barclay murmurs as Duck pushes Indrid’s legs apart.

A muffled moan signals the other hero working his fingers in, Indrid twitching and whimpering as he fucks him. Joseph glances back to see Duck thoroughly entranced by the sight of his fingers opening that very cute ass up.

“You’re right, big guy, he sucks cock better when he’s screaming.”

“Learned that by putting a vibrating ring on his dick and making him cockwarm me.”

“Holy fuck.” Duck groans, “add that to the fuckin to-do list.”

Joseph lets himself be drawn into another kiss, stays there for a long, long time as Indrid’s cries coax his orgasm closer.

“Tell me when you’re close. Don’t want him cumming until you’re done.” Barclay whispers. Below them, Indrid whines. Barclay wipes cum from his boyfriend’s cheek, “you want to cum soon, better get Joseph off.”

“Shit” Joseph braces his hands on the floor, grinding his hips and dragging slick across Indrid’s chin, “shit, that’s it.”

“MMPPPHHHHH” Indrid thrashes as Barclay begins rapidly jerking him off. The villain even bends to lick the head once or twice, and Duck does his best to thrust harder whenever he does.

“Cannot fuckin wait to see you cum again, sugar. You looked so fuckin perfect last time.”

Cum splatters Joseph’s lower back, his own climax buzzing through his veins and bursting across his neurons, more intoxicating and invigorating than the neon green shock all those years ago.

He climbs off Indrid, flops back into what turn out to be Duck’s arms. Indrid shifts onto his side, curling his arms around Ducks leg and bumping Barclays knee with his thigh, “We are going to need a bigger house.”

Joseph believes in prudence and caution, in not rushing into relationships (especially with men who were once your enemies). But as he takes in the scene around him, the love flooding his chest, he knows Indrid is right.

He start researching listings in the morning.

#OT4: Government men and their cryptid boyfriends #indruck #sternclay #superhero au #meet ugly #inclay #taz amnesty #agent stern/duck newton #trans duck newton #trans agent stern

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 47

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Chapter 45 | Chapter 46

It is always difficult, abandoning XingChen in the midst of a battle.

Xiao XingChen, the former First Prince of the Shan Empire, the notorious Rogue Prince to some, the Blind Immortal to others, whose cultivation had surpassed Song Lan’s while they were still children together, has always hurled himself headfirst into danger, heedless of consequences. Even now, shoulder to shoulder with the Lan Sect Leader, glowing like the sun, he pays no attention to the chaos around him. There is much to be admired in his single-minded focus, in his ability to step forth bravely into the oncoming storms. But Song Lan lives in terror of the day when he may not be by XingChen’s side when needed, the day when XingChen’s impetuous courage propels him into a battle he cannot win alone.

It is illogical to think this way; Song Lan is aware that his fears have very little basis in reality. XingChen is no wilting Prince of the court, who must be held gently and shielded from the storms. He does not need Song Lan to be his faithful shadow; it has been many years since he has needed a companion to watch his back. XingChen is a true descendent of the Immortal Empress, his power and skill near impossible to match.

Still, Song Lan hesitates.

He is aware of the three Jin disciples who must be monitored at all times, but knows nothing of those who had been assigned this task. True to his nature, Nie HuaiSang had offered no information that had not been asked for outright. Still, Song Lan had watched these disciples closely throughout the ceremony, reasoning that an extra set of eyes could not go amiss.

One of these disciples has left the hall in a hurry.

Song Lan sees three Nie disciples follow only moments later, their movements fluid and lethal, as if tracking the scent of prey. A single Jin disciple should be no match for three boys from QingHe Nie, especially those who have been trained under Sect Leader Nie’s heavy hand. But any one of the three Jin disciples could be the person they had been hunting.

This person, boy or not, is far more dangerous than any of them can imagine. This monster, who had killed over three hundred people, will not be so easily overpowered. Song Lan cannot allow him to slip through their fingers again.

XingChen’s profile is immaculately serene. It gives no hint of the power he exerts, not a single whisper of fatigue or distress. 

It takes effort, to turn away from that tranquil expression, and trust that XingChen will keep himself safe.

The small arch leads out into the palace meeting hall. The hall is cavernous and empty, the commotion of the disastrous Gifting Ceremony growing muffled behind him. He had dallied too long; he cannot see the Jin Sect disciple, or the Nie boys who had followed on his heels. Song Lan is intimately familiar with the Emperor’s palace, each hall and courtyard etched into his memory from a young age. But does the Jin Sect disciple know it as well? Does he have an escape route planned, or is he running blind?

In his place, Song Lan would have cut across the empty East courtyard, as the Emperor’s public study is often unguarded when vacant. From there, an easy path through the second Imperial library would lead out into the Imperial Gardens, which would provide the necessary cover, as well as multiple points of egress. Especially now, with the palace having descended into chaos, and the Emperor incapacitated, the Imperial guards are doubtlessly being issued multiple conflicting orders. It may not be so easy to slip past them at the main gates, but it is unlikely that any of the guards would consider Imperial Gardens as a plausible escape route.

An ordinary Jin disciple would not think like this. However, a murderer who had avoided capture multiple times, who knows the palace well enough to perform multiple assassination attempts, would have planned his escape well ahead of time.

The disquiet over the possibility that he had chosen wrong does not last. The clash of steel and indecipherable shouts reach him before he steps out into the East courtyard. By then, one of the Nie disciples is motionless on the ground, and the other two have abandoned their sabers to tackle the Jin Sect disciple, all three rolling in the dirt like they had forgotten how to fight properly.

There is an alarming amount of blood smeared over all three of them, but they seem lively enough, and even the motionless Nie disciple is only unconscious, his chest rising and falling. Song Lan means to step in and grab the Jin boy before the other two suffer the same fate, but there is no safe way to approach the flailing tangle of limbs. Instead, he uses a small trick XingChen had invented for hunting, a thin rope of spiritual power that can bind a person as securely as a set of chains.

He uses the rope to drag the Jin Sect disciple away from the others. One of the Nie Sect disciples, the smallest of the three, uses his enemy’s immobility to his advantage. He kicks the Jin boy twice, each kick ruthless, but clearly uncoordinated, driven by fury rather than any calculated intention.

This is precisely why Song Lan has never been fond of the Nie Sect disciples; they may be skilled and fearless, but their tempers often lead them astray.

“Enough,” Song Lan says, “you should not kick your enemy when he is down. Go see to your friend.”

On the closer inspection, the Jin Sect disciple appears to be much younger than Song Lan had thought him to be. It is difficult to imagine that this boy, who looks no older than fifteen, could have murdered over three hundred people.

Could they have been wrong in their assumptions?

The boy, his left cheek smeared in fresh blood, grins at him widely, displaying two rows of bloody teeth, “You have finally caught up with me, daozhang. I have to admit, I was starting to lose hope.”

“You are behind all of this?” Song Lan says, unable to keep disbelief from his voice, “The slaughter to collect the resentful energy, the assassination attempts, the attack on the Emperor, it was all you?”

The boy’s lips twist into a feigned moue of disappointment, the expression both mocking and delighted, “All these months of hunting, daozhang, and you still know nothing. I can see that the tales of your skills have been grossly exaggerated. How is the Emperor, by the way? Is he mad already, like his grand-uncle?”

The small Nie disciple is a blur of movement to his right, but Song Lan manages to snatch him by the robes while still maintaining his grip on the binding cord. Spitting and hissing like a scalded cat, the boy tries to propel himself forward anyway, nearly choking himself on his own collar.

“You speak of the Emperor again, and I will rip out your tongue,” he growls.

“This one bit a chunk of my ear off,” the Jin disciple says conversationally, “He will die for that.”

“You can act brave now,” the Nie disciple shoots back, “but you squealed like a pig.”

“He will take a long time to die,” the Jin sect disciple says.

“Shut up,” Song Lan says, “or I will let him loose, to see if you do squeal.”

Trying to shake off Song Lan’s grip, the Nie disciple spits on the ground, “I would not bite him again. I have bitten into garbage that tastes better.”

“Enough,” Song Lan says, wishing he had a free hand to rub his aching temples, “go and summon the Imperial guards.”

The Jin disciple smirks, “Am I being detained? What, exactly, will you accuse me of?”

“The attempted murder of the Divine Ruler.”

“But this is where you are wrong, daozhang,” the boy says seriously, his expression no longer mocking or amused, “I have never wanted to kill the Emperor. I only wanted him to meet his full potential. I wanted him to achieve greatness.”

Song Lan does not know what that means. He is beginning to think that this boy is much more disturbed than he appears to be upon casual observation. Questioning him may turn out to be problematic, especially if he continues to spout nonsense.

“Who are your accomplices?” he asks instead.

“You are asking the wrong questions,” the boy tilts his head, unperturbed by the blood dripping from his ear, “you truly are a disappointment. I had expected better. When can I meet the First Prince? I think I would rather speak to him.”

The idea of XingChen being anywhere near this-- creature, with his disturbed talk of meeting potential and achieving greatness fills Song Lan with unease.

“Never,” he snaps, more unsettled by the boy’s words than he wants to admit, “the First Prince would not waste his time in speaking to you.”

The words seem to strike a nerve, because the boy snarls at him, pushing at the binding. His spiritual power is not insignificant for a young disciple, but it is nowhere near Song Lan’s own.

Another assumption they had gotten wrong. It is possible that this boy had committed all the assassination attempts on the Lan Sect. It is even possible that he had been the one to release the arrow that had wounded the Royal Companion. But he could not have murdered over three hundred people without attracting notice, not with his limited power, not unless he had the help and protection of someone else.

“You think very loudly, daozhang,” the boy mocks, “I can practically see your mind struggle for answers. Does it amuse the First Prince when you do this? It amuses me. I think I know now, why he keeps you around.”

Song Lan knows the boy is only trying to provoke him, but it is unnerving to have a complete stranger zero in on his insecurities so quickly. A stab in the dark it may have been, but it is a fairly accurate one nonetheless.

He does not respond, letting the boy mock him until the Imperial guards arrive. Once they have him in hand, however, he does not hesitate to issue specific instructions. No one is to speak to the boy without the Emperor’s order, or the order of General Nie.

It is a logical decision; they do not know who the boy’s accomplices are, or how close they may be positioned to the throne. The boy is clearly unhinged, and skilled at provocation. Keeping him confined and isolated should tamper most of the damage he is capable of causing, especially while the Emperor is indisposed.

Still, watching the boy be led away, he feels unsettled. The boy may be the one they had been hunting all along, but his capture has provided no answers, only more questions.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #I HAVE BEEN STARING AT THIS CHAPTER FOR 5 DAYS #I HATE IT #but if i have to look at it again #i'm gonna scream #i need to just #get past it and move on #or the whole thing will stay here an not get finished #you know how i said there's like 5-6 chapters left like 10 chapters ago #yeah #i'm a liar #hopefully the rest of it will move faster now #ily chickens

[grimmseye]

Tandem

Read on Ao3 Here

Rating: Gen

Fandom: She-ra

Relationships: Hordak & Entrapta, Hordak/Entrapta (pre-relationship

Chapter Characters: Hordak, Entrapta

Chapter Tags/Warnings: This is just 1500+ words of Hordak’s thoughts about Entrapta, Pre-Season 2

(Disclaimer: remember that Hordak is both an imperial soldier and a cult survivor. This is also before he and Entrapta have really started building their relationship. His narration is told through that lens. )

— — — — — — — —

Years of sifting through the Horde’s administrative detritus had not made the job any more bearable for him. Even when Shadow Weaver had been keeping operations smooth, there was a certain portion of work that had to fall on his head, plans and projects needing review before they could be dismissed or approved of.

It was aggravating work, with one new exception. When he reached the file with telltale oil smudges on it, he could already feel the weight of his armor ease. There was a quickness to his movements as he flipped the file open — certainly not eagerness, but anticipation. For once, the weight of the file pleased him rather than had Hordak biting back groans.

Entrapta’s projects were the only things that brought him any mental stimulation these days. He took a cursory flip through the first packet, ears perking as he spotted the first draft of her blueprints. For once, she wasn’t offering new weapons to deploy, but rather a more espionage-focused design: something small that could scope out their targets before they sent any troops to seize new territory.

It was delicate work, and deeply time consuming. He settled in to read in more detail, making a note to himself to grant her a more direct line of contact to him. From now on, Entrapta’s projects should be sent through communication pads, to be vetted by the only person in the Fright Zone who could offer worthwhile criticism. Two pages in, he could tell notes from those who had reviewed it before were utterly worthless, all questions and conjecture with no understanding of what it was that they demanded. It was worthless to insist she work faster if there wasn’t a method to do so.

There was one, potentially, but not a single of the previous readers had mentioned it.

Hordak created a document on his communications pad and set a stylus to the screen. He got several lines into his writing before he had to stop, giving a faint sneer. His armor weighed his limbs, making his writing sloppy, and regardless...

He tapped his nails along the edge of his throne. As excellent as Entrapta’s reports were, she did not receive the same work with enthusiasm. Audio recordings were her preferred means of reference if he recalled correctly, remembering a delay in her work when she'd first began working on his bots. When he'd inquired about it, she'd mentioned something along the lines of struggling to digest the information. A vocal repetition and a recording of the instructions had been enough to get her back on schedule.

A moment’s deliberation sent to the security feeds, ensuring Entrapta was in her lab before he flicked on a monitor. Through his screen, it gave an overhead of Entrapta at her workbench, looking to be setting up to get to work. Good. He wouldn’t be able to interrupt her if she were doing something delicate.

He lifted his chin before announcing himself with a call of, “Princess Entrapta.”

She straightened up at once, head swiveling before she caught sight of the monitor, gawking for a moment before breaking into a smile and calling out, “Hello!”

She’d forgotten to bow. Again. He pushed a breath through his teeth, finding that the urge to demand proper respect felt oddly diluted for Entrapta. Whether or not she bowed had yet to compromise her work. Instead he skipped to the point: “I received your newest blueprints. The design is promising, if… inefficient.”

Entrapta clapped her hands together, looking excited before the words caught up with her. “Oh, I know. I’ll need to develop a prototype to get a real sense of what materials I’ll need and how much time it’ll take —” As she spoke, her words grew quick, almost snappish. “— But right now the estimated time per drone is much longer than I’d like, let alone viable for regular use.” Her hair frizzed out, bristling not unlike a cat’s. A clear sign of displeasure.

He lingered in that for a moment, then spoke. “I have a suggestion,” He said, appreciating how she perked up at once. It was gratifying to work with someone who knew what they were doing, and even understood what he was doing — at least as far as an upbringing on this planet allowed. “There is a synthetic compound we produce here in the Fright Zone that may work as a substitute for what you intend to use: adamantine. It should have the strength to support this device even in sheer pieces.”

She listened to him speak, interrupting only once to ask if she could run a recorder. Once again, he found satisfaction in that. He rarely had trouble with being listened to — with the exception of Entrapta, all knew to bow in his presence, to not speak while he was speaking. He had fear, and respect, and obedience, he had created a facsimile of the true Horde, successful in his emulation of Horde Prime. And yet, while Princess Entrapta did not fear him or even always obey him, she heard him in a way no other creature on Etheria had before. She challenged him, even, and as irritating as her insubordination could be, there was value in an alternative perspective.

Truly, she was impressive. Despite being a princess, Entrapta had taken well to life in the Fright Zone. Everything he knew of the Etherian princesses suggested inordinate wealth and luxury that would not lend itself to the Horde’s lifestyle. The primary kingdoms were disorganized and self-serving, lacking unity and loyalty to any but themselves, excising that which they found displeasing and then stuffing their castles with unneeded opulence. Here, closest thing to luxury Entrapta had been provided was her own room, something all ranking officers were granted. And yet he’d heard none of the anticipated whining, just a snippet of her voice from Imp about the brown nutrition bars being unfavorable in texture, even once cut into smaller cubes.

He wasn’t sure he could count her among the ranks of the princesses at all, and that was entirely favorable. Dryl had such organization and stability that even in their princess’ absence, the small nation ran like clockwork. It seemed almost entirely self-sufficient, and what necessary trade was denied to them after allying with the Horde could be supplemented.

Again, he berated himself for not considering Dryl’s value. It seemed that like the other nations of this planet, he’d vastly underestimated its value, and Princess Entrapta’s value most of all.

At some point, their conversation drifted off track, to the materials Dryl itself mined and then stories of what Entrapta had found beneath the earth, the First Ones’ tech she was so enamored with.

“Their power sources are more efficient than any Etherian technology I’ve seen,” Entrapta breathed, her chin cupped in her hands. “One crystal,” she framed her thumb and forefinger approximately an inch apart, “could have enough energy to fuel one of your Skiffs for a full day of flight, longer if you stop to let it replenish — because that’s what makes them so amazing, they don’t run out of power. I think eventually they might exhaust their capability for storage but I have yet to prove it, but in the meantime they seem endlessly capable of recharging their own energy, potentially by harnessing the latent magic in Etheria’s atmosphere.”

Sometimes it could become difficult to keep up with the pace of her voice, when her words began to run into one another and she took great gasps as she ran out of breath. And yet, the subject held his attention, ears perked forward with fascination.

“If we were able to collect such crystals…” Even that much energy would be insufficient for his portal machine, but to collect a great quantity —

“That’s the trouble,” Entrapta sighed, deflating. “I’ve rarely found these crystals intact.”

Disappointment weighed heavy in Hordak’s chest, then curled into anger. He’d hardly known about it for a moment, and already his hope —

He slammed his fist down on his throne. Hordak glanced at the clock, realizing half an hour had slid by without his noticing. This entire thing had been — “A waste of my time.”

“I disagree!” Entrapta’s rebuttal made his eyes narrow. Still, he knew to listen to his officers when they spoke — even to Shadow Weaver, who had to walk through elaborate metaphors and tangents before she ever got to the point. Though perhaps he should have listened less to her. The very premise of her arrival should have served a warning — seeking revenge did not sow loyalty.

Unlike Entrapta, who worked for her discoveries, for possibility rather than vengeance on the fools who had left her for dead.

So he did not silence her as she continued, “Your input was quite valuable! If you could have some of that material sent to my lab, I’ll be sure to attempt a prototype using it and see if it will be a good substitute.”

His ears relaxed from their flattened position. Hordak glanced away from the screen for just a moment, taking a breath to calm his frustrations. “Of course. I will see it is done.” He hesitated for just a moment before saying, “That is all. You are dismissed, Princess Entrapta.”

“Okay!” She smiled. “It was nice talking with you! We should do this again!”

His finger hesitated over a button. Hordak inclined his head, half of a nod before he ended the transmission.

The quiet that followed left him with a strange feeling: reluctance to continue his work, the want to shift it aside and perhaps pull up his records on Dryl to read more on what Entrapta had told him. Instead he took his pad, putting in two orders: one to deliver a shipment of adamantine to Entrapta’s lab, the other opening a direct line to her own communicator.

Just in case she wanted to consult his opinion once again.

#Entrapdak #Entrapta #Hordak #spop #spop fic #entrapdak fic #my writing

[gingerwritess]

Theo, my girl, my idol, my star, my main bitch, I gotta read about the first time that Loki is seen out and about after he's been released pleeeaaaasseeeee (and some sexual tension wouldn't hurt)

part 18 of predating idiots, in which you speak with that idiot for the first time since…everything happened. (he hasn’t exactly been released, but close enough ;))

warnings: long ass chapter with blood, injuries, pain, alongside some denial and awkward moments :))

Life without a fake-boyfriend has become rather, well, quiet.

No more surprise visits with only the excuse “I’m dying” being given, no more lying about the exceptional dates you’ve been on…no more ridiculously attractive doctor on your arm.

No one’s stealing your bagels anymore. That’s a plus.

But work is slow, suddenly. The weight of the secret, sneaking Loki into your office to eat and sleep and rushing him home on lunch breaks for a shower, was, in it’s own twisted way, exciting.

Loki admitting to the fact that it’s been “centuries” keeps floating back into your consciousness. You continually choose not to dwell on it.

Your first day back after Tony gave you a four day weekend to recoup went smoothly, without a single hitch nor a word from your special alien. Asking about him while trying to remain casual didn’t get you far, so you resigned yourself to a quiet day at your desk, sometimes sending Marcus off to make copies for you when even he looks bored.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he pipes up one day from his station at the doorway, “I kinda miss Lucky. Thought maybe I’d get to stop a bad guy, that’d look good on a résumé.”

You shake your head with a laugh, scrolling through a file of release records. “Sorry you’ve got to just watch me all day. Can’t be the most exciting thing.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. You don’t look up.

Another day ticks by, then another, and then a whole week and you still haven’t heard a single bit of accurate information regarding Loki.

Plenty of false information is circulating though, and you pick up bits of pieces around the break rooms and bathrooms.

“Yeah, he got the chair, they wouldn’t have kept him alive.”

“No, they’re rehabilitating him. He’s of use, he’s basically another Thor, don’t you think shield would want to hang onto him?”

“What, make him a new avenger?” The voice by the sinks laughs, and the faucet shuts off. “Just what we need. Another superhero. Jesus, I can’t keep up.”

Break rooms are to be avoided as of late, since you can’t go near another coworker without them jumping you with questions, assuming you must know what happened to him.

“Wish I knew,” you always reply. It’s not exactly a lie.

This fine morning, you pass the god of thunder on the way to the copy room. He gives you a grimace of a smile, lifts a hand, and turns to walk back the way he came before you can call out to him.

Strange. You haven’t seen Thor since the day Loki confessed.

Assuming he’s been busy helping his brother, you hadn’t worried about what he’s been thinking of you. Granted, his impressions of you haven’t been of the greatest, most respectable caliber, from asking you if you were attracted to his brother to watching you rip his brother’s shirt from him while straddling him on a bed—

Yeah, it’d be better not to dwell on what awkwardness Thor may have started to feel towards you. You’d rather not know his thoughts.

Then the next day, Thor is there again. You manage to get in a wave this time, giving him your politest please-don’t-talk-to-me smile and heading for the copy room again.

This time, the god follows you, fidgeting with the strap of mjolnir.

“I would like to talk to you,” he announces, trying to lean casually in the doorway. It doesn’t work well for him, so he straightens up and goes back to fidgeting with the hammer, staring at you.

“Okay…go for it.”

“I’d like to-to—” he breaks off and clears his throat. Finishing your copies, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’d, uh, like to apologize.”

Your brow knits in confusion and you cock your head at him. “What for?”

“Not to you,” Thor clarifies with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Do I owe you one?”

“No, not really, I guess.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he tries again, “to, uh, to my brother. You know, Loki.”

“Ah.” You nod with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m acquainted with him.”

Thor lets out a relived laugh at that, tossing mjolnir in the air and catching it. “Of course you are. The only trouble is, I don’t quite know how.”

“And you’re coming to me because…”

“Because you may know this Loki better than anyone.”

“Right.” Biting your lip, you stare at the crease in Thor’s brow. This Loki. A bit of a terrifying thought, really, but he may be right. However unpleasant, your interaction may have been the first semi-normal one Loki had had in a long time. “Well, um, how can I help?”

“How…bad is he?”

That’s a loaded question, and you pretend to look through your papers while you think. “He’s in a bad state,” you venture to say, “he’s definitely hurt. Somebody hurt him, and not just physically.”

“Right. Alright.” Thor nods, tossing his hammer back and forth between his hands. “I can work with that. Sensitivity, I’m getting good at that.”

“Good for you,” you laugh. “Be careful with him. I mean, I don’t know him very well. But I know he’s not one to open up, so…go slow. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the apology.”

In all reality, you have no idea if Loki will give a shit about Thor’s apology, but in theory it sounds like a good thing to happen. It can’t go terribly wrong.

“Just be gentle with him, will you?”

Thor nods. “Of course.”

You rifle through your papers, gaze dropping to them to avoid his. “Where, uh, where is he, by the way?”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the question leaving your mouth, but hopefully you can pass it off as casual curiosity, keeping your gaze trained intently on the papers in your hand.

“The healing wing,” Thor replies with a growing smile. “The two-hundred and third room. I am sure my brother would be happy to see you, my lady.”

“He hates me,” you answer way too quickly, flashing him a forced smile and pushing past him. “He won’t—no, he doesn’t—heh. Just curious. Thanks.”

—

Curious enough to go find him on your lunch break, that is.

Room 203 is a drab white room that reeks of disinfectant, one single bed in the center next to stacks of monitors and a cot-like couch beside it. It’s an improvement from the cell, you’ll give them that, but the pure white gives you a headache the moment you enter, and Loki still looks trapped.

Trapped, and deliberately expressionless upon seeing you sneaking through the doorway.

“Hello.”

He says it carefully, eyes narrowing at you as you wring your hands with a sheepish grin.

“You’re, ah, looking better.”

More like an angry cat who just had to resign itself to the fact that baths are inevitable, but better nonetheless.

“I feel like my limbs have been filled with lead,” Loki replies. He limply tries to lift his arms for emphasis.

“Nothing a god can’t lift, I’m sure,” you laugh, taking the few steps needed to be by his bedside. His piercing gaze tracks every one.

Checking his water jug and the tray of food still untouched by his bedside, you give him a mildly disapproving look, one he certainly disapproves of. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something.”

“Not interested.” He sinks back into the pillows, watching you with hawk-like precision. “Why are you here?”

You give him a casual once-over, disguising it with a quick look about the room, as well. His arm is in a sling—that’s new, he must be cooperating at least a little if they’ve been treating him.

“Uh, curious,” you decide to answer. “I’m curious, just, y’know, want to make sure you’re being treated right. You healing up?”

Loki nods. Yes, he is healing, technically, but at a glacial pace that’s nearly historic for asgardian abilities. Maybe he had pushed his limits a little too far with all the illusions and covering undressed wounds for so long.

Your not-so-discrete scrutinizing of his shirtless body doesn’t slip his notice and reopens a whole other wound, but he can’t think about that right now. Or ever.

“You’re wearing a sling,” you lamely point out, desperate to fill the silence, and mentally slap yourself.

“That I am,” Loki replies, and can’t help the smug little smirk that starts to turn the corners of his lips. You’re a bit out of sorts—this could be fun. “Did you miss me, darling?”

Your face goes sour, crinkling at the nose. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki breathes deep with a grin, and Dr. Laing takes his place in the bed, lounging much more seductively, injury free and on his side, with an arm draped over his hip.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

“If you weren’t on the verge of death and in a hospital, I would slap the shit out of you.”

Laing laughs as he fades back into Loki; it’s a tired sound, scratchy and painful and rattling in his chest, but somehow he manages to sound so disdainfully full of himself that you don’t know if you want to soothe his aches or cause him a handful more.

He does look better though. Weak, definitely still as weak as before, but better. Not so gaunt.

“Have you been eating well, then?” You ask, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’ve filled out a little.”

“Define well,” he replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“More fast food, I take it.”

“If I wasn’t close to death before, I am now.”

“Well, take what you can get.” You reach over and give him a pat on the arm, just one awful pat before you think better of it and immediately hate yourself for doing that. “So, uh, what was the verdict? On your…y’know. Crimes.”

Loki shifts on his pillows, trying to sit up a little straighter, and his blanket slips further down to his hips as he struggles to with one arm.

“My crimes…right, trying to conquer the planet. Those crimes.”

Without thinking, you lean in and straighten his blankets for him, tugging them back up to lay just under his arm.

His voice dies in his throat, and he stares.

You stare, too, but unfortunately at the bruises littering his ribs and the scar racing right over his heart.

“There you go staring again,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you quite finished?”

Ripping your gaze from his chest, you meet his narrowed eyes and swallow thickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you…are you using any illusions right now?” You gesture at him, emphasizing his relatively scar-free face.

“I may be,” he replies.

“Why? You should be healing, not hiding anything.”

His eyes roll and he sighs. “I do still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. Maybe no longer with you, and something must be done about that, but as for the others, they don’t need to know any more.”

“I don’t really care about your reputation,” you tell him, and he laughs as if that were obvious. “Or any image you’re trying to make of yourself, just so you know.”

“Oh, you did miss me, mortal.”

“No,” you snap, “I just…well, I don’t want you getting any more hurt than you are. And…maybe might have been a tiny bit worried.”

The last part you blurt, staring out the window with a burning gaze. You would like him to know, just for the sake of knowing that he’s not necessarily alone in this, but when you say it out loud, like that…

Loki appears to have swallowed something sour, when you glance back at him, and he stares at you.

Confusion, maybe?

Or maybe just shock. Or maybe he has morphine pumping through his veins; that’s a very possible answer.

“Are you on morphine?” You whisper when he doesn’t move, still staring. “That stuff can kill you, y’know. Careful.”

Slowly, he nods, lips parted.

“I…am.”

“On morphine?” You give him a sad smile. “That’s why you’re being friendly. Well, by your standards.”

“No,” he cuts in, cocking his head at you. “Still using an illusion.”

You nod, glancing down at your hands in your lap. “I figured. You can take it off now, I’ve already seen the worst of it.”

Room 203 falls silent for a moment, nothing but the air conditioning whirring in the background as a wave of green energy passes over Loki’s body.

“Just for you,” he clarifies when you look back up at him, “only for you.”

“Of course. I won’t tell.”

Taking a steady breath, you scoot forward in the chair and begin your inspection, ghosting along the parts of him you can, too used to cleaning him up to the point where it’s almost routine. He sits quietly, you point out to him which bits he should really show the others, berate him again for waiting so long to tell the truth.

“I lie,” he murmurs, and you almost catch a smile playing at his lips. “It’s what I do.”

“Roll on your side,” you simply respond. “You’re letting them treat your back, aren’t you?”

He grimaces, but doesn’t move. “In a way.”

“Please? Can I see?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t know if you realize this,” you exhale, exasperated already, “but I’m a little more trusted here than you are. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He squares his jaw, fighting with himself for a second longer—then rolls his eyes yet again and turns to face the other direction, exposing his back to you.

“Loki, come on.”

“I tried,” he cuts in before you can berate him further on the hideous state of his lashed back. “Really, I tried, but they can’t treat them yet. It’s not a flogging like any that have happened on Midgard, believe me.”

The thought of something worse than a flogging makes your toes curl, and you gingerly brush your fingertips over his shoulder before the sight makes you retch; one of the few unmarked patches of skin left on his back.

“You’re still bleeding.”

He nods, face turned from you. “I would imagine so.”

“Bled through your sling…” a quick look around finds the spare cloths and towels in the cabinet under his bed stand, and you take a couple soft rags. “Want me to, y’know, clean you up?”

He’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he nods, just once.

“I would–I would appreciate that.”

His whole body jerks with every few dabs of the cloth, trying to at least stop the trickling and sop up what’s pooled in the bony dip of his shoulder blade.

You try to tell Loki which cuts desperately need stitches, but he just chuckles dryly and explains that these cuts aren’t meant to heal; that they rip and open any stitching or bandages applied to them. Each attempt to close the wound is predestined to worsen it.

“So you’ll always have these?”

“Until I can find a way to heal them,” he grunts, letting you help him sit up, “yes. It’ll be wonderful for when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The sling, as it turns out, is covering a much deeper gash than the rest, one that the skin around the edges looks burnt—but weirdly enough, also looks almost crystallized where it should be scabbed. Almost…icy.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just continue in silence to switch out his sling, sick to your stomach. Nothing you could possibly have to offer, any assistance from anyone on earth could make up for that.

It’s been a couple months now, since New York. There have been no other attacks, clean up has been relatively successful with the camaraderie of the nation. The avengers have been assembled, tested, and proven effective.

Loki’s in custody, no longer hiding, no longer blackmailing you into keeping his secrets while he runs. He hasn’t stepped out of line since, he’s been offering his knowledge, he’s been cooperating.

Yet he’s the only one still bleeding.

“Loki,” you say quietly, glancing at the door, “are they actually helping you?”

He gives his shoulder a testing roll with a wince. “That’s too tight,” he tells you, tugging at the fresh sling. “I’m being treated. Accordingly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve received the help I need.”

“I don’t believe you,” you reply with a huff, fighting with the knot in his sling. “I mean, has Thor even come to see you? He told me he wants to talk to you, but he’s the only person who’s mentioned you…”

Loki gives you a nod when you finish with the sling, finally lifting his head to look at you with an illusion-less face, ripped flesh around his lips where a cord stitched him silent.

A fist closes around your heart, clenching it and leaving a hollow ache in your chest. Your skin burns at the sight of him.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry.”

The stitching was crude, unevenly spread along his upper lip, and the left side has a couple gashes where the skin is torn all the way through. Must’ve had to rip out it himself.

“Don’t victimize me,” he warns. “Don’t make me into something I’m not. Don’t.”

Your jaw clenches, eyes flitting from his lips to meet his gaze. “How do you expect me not to?”

He drops his head back to his pillow, shutting his eyes.

“You should leave.”

“Yeah.” You stand, and he doesn’t open his eyes. The closer you look, his scars are fading again, back under the facade you broke. “I probably should.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to touch him, just once on the back of the hand that’s draped over his chest. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“I don’t think I trust you,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight.

A lump catches in your throat. “You–you can, you know.”

“I know.” He takes a shaking breath, wincing as his blood soaks the pillows. “That’s why I don’t.”

—

You give him a week.

You hadn’t gotten even half the answers you had gone in there for, leaving with more questions than before, if anything.

It’s hard to tell if he was pleased to see you.

So you give him a week. No visits, no telling him he needs to eat, no mention of him behind his back.

That week passes as normally as it could be.

By the next, you find yourself outside room 203 once again, psyching yourself up to just walk in there and cut right to the chase, not giving him even an inch over you.

But you open the door and he’s on his stomach, fists ripping the sheets as a nurse with a needle stitches the lashings on his back shut.

He’s bleeding. Badly.

“No,” you blurt, “stop, don’t do that–”

Your tongue falls limp in your mouth, and completely against your will, you walk straight to the couch beside the bed and sit.

Nothing you can do will allow you to move, and you spend the next few minutes struggling against invisible bonds, shouting silently into oblivion that you’re making it worse, horrified at the sight of Loki’s serene expression as he stares at you.

You can see it getting worse; each stitch undoes the last, reopening the wound from the beginning so that by the time she’s moved to the next cut, the one just finished is a fresh, open wound.

Even with his face perfectly calm, his gaze stone-set on you, his body betrays him. He jerks with every pierce of the needle, the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and he’s ripped the sheets by his fist.

It looks like pure agony, and you can’t do a single thing about it.

So you sit there, frozen to your seat and silenced, until the nurse gives up and apologizes for another failed attempt, promising that they’re trying to find a type of material that can hold as she tries to soak up the blood. She wraps his torso and he stays silent the entire time, knowing full well that nothing will change, and doesn’t move after she’s left the room.

You take a deep breath as Loki does, and the restraints on your body and tongue fall away.

“What the hell, Loki?!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“I think it’s warranted,” you cry, stomping over to his bedside. “You have a death wish, god, you–you–what the hell were you doing?!”

You’re shaking, half from the horror of having to sit there and watch him endure that, but mostly from rage—he could’ve stopped her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shh…”

“Oh, don’t you shush me, I’m so sick of this–I-I can’t believe you made me watch that—”

A cold hand curls around your wrist and yanks, and you fall to your knees by the bedside, nose to nose with the god of mischief.

“Let me bleed,” he grits out, each word ripped painfully from his throat.

“What?”

“Let me…let me bleed.” This time it’s on an exhale and his eyes close, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You can’t find it in yourself to move away from him.

“Why’d you do that, you idiot?”

Half his face squished into the mattress, he manages a hoarse laugh. “Punishment for my sins.”

“That’s not your call,” you hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You need to roll over, you’re laying on your injury. C’mon, move.”

He actually obliges and the two of you struggle to roll him onto his uninjured side. It’s not exactly comfortable, for either of you, and you realize after the fact that you had to practically hug the guy in order to haul him onto his side.

That’s probably why he went so stiff.

And…why he’s staring at you as if you’d sprouted wings, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you mutter, a little out of breath yourself from trying to lift him. “You’re a fucking masochist, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” He forces out another laugh.

Always laughing.

Always bleeding, always laughing. It’s exhausting, not to mention unbearably irritating when you’re nearly writhing in pain for him.

“Do me a favor, darling.”

“Don’t call me—oh, wait, do you want me to slap you?”

Another dry laugh, but this one sounds truer.

“Don’t make me beg,” he grins, and you almost find yourself wanting to grin back; it’s a breath of fresh air, after all the blood and pain. “Please, would you do this for me?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the tiny smile you offer back, hidden behind your exasperated sigh. “Yeah, of course.”

“Tie my hair back?”

You swear his cheeks burn bright red, but he doesn’t let his empyrean expression waver, sinking subtly deeper into the pillows and handing you a thin strip of leather.

“Sorry,” he says when you take it, voice muffled, “it only gets matted with blood if I leave it down. I’d cut it, but I can’t be wasting strength on that in this condition—”

“I get it,” you assure him with a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve already ruined your reputation with me.”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Biting back a grin, you pull the strip of leather between your hands. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“You are unbearably difficult.”

“Thank you.” You lean towards him, a tiny, smug grin just turning at your lips. “You answer any question I ask while I’m doing it. And no lies, trickster.”

He mulls it over for a moment, halfheartedly glaring at your smug self. You do look sure of yourself, leaning onto his bed, eyes narrowed playfully, his leather cord taut between your fingers. Daring him to disagree.

It’s not a bad look. Confidence, he supposes. Power.

The day has reached sunset, and in this moment of weakness Loki can’t help but notice—the light filtering through the lone hospital room window hits your face in a rather flattering way.

That, or maybe it’s been so long since someone smiled at him, laughed with him, teased him—maybe it’s…nice.

Maybe it’s been missed.

Maybe…that would be alright.

―   ―   ―   ―

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

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@highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote @vodka-and-some-sass @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sadwaywardkid @lokioneshot @brooksaza @wild-honey-piy @ellaenchanted91 @watermelon-lights19 @just-another-romantic @skinny-macncheese @lokisironthrone @rorybutnotgilmore

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#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki slowburn series #loki angst #loki fluff #pre-dating idiots #loki requests #loki fanfiction #loki drabbles #loki laufeyson

[maulusque]

guess who just learned a whole lot about burns for a smut fic

it me.

so anyway now i have Ideas about how clone medics would treat blaster burns and they Definitely aren’t all going to make it into the fic because the blaster burn is honestly supposed to be an excuse for one character to undress the other

TW: burns, description of how severe burns affect the body (clinical, not graphic) and burn treatment

So, let’s assume that damage from a blaster bolt is basically a burn that is very small in terms of surface area, and whose depth depends on whether or not it was a direct hit, any armor you were wearing, the power of the blaster, etc. So you get 3rd and 4th degree burns that are like an inch square, which you don’t really see in the real world that often. I think any blaster bolt that comes into contact with a person is going to inflict AT LEAST a third degree burn (which means the epidermis and dermis are destroyed, basically the whole thickness of the skin), but usually would be deeper (4th degree), destroying muscle and bone and whatever else is in there. You’d only get away with a second degree burn if the blaster bolt just skimmed you and didn’t actually hit. Skin around the blaster wound would be white or black.

A skimming shot (2nd degree burn) would actually be the most painful, because once you get to 3rd and 4th degree burns, the nerve endings are destroyed so you don’t feel any pain. Which means that when you get shot with a full-power blaster bolt, you might feel a momentary flash of pain, but then nothing, and if the shot doesn’t immediately down you, you’d probably just keep going, and you might not even notice. Which. Imagine the angst potential of a clone trooper being shot 3 or 4 times and just. not knowing. Clone troopers who keep fighting despite being riddled with blaster bolts, right up until they collapse dead, never even knowing they were shot. Oof.

On the other hand, a weaker shot, say, one that hit a weak point in your armor or came from an underpowered blaster, might dissipate slightly on contact, meaning you’d still get the deep wound that wouldn’t hurt, but there’d be a small area of 3rd and 2nd degree burn around the opening, which would hurt like hell. A painful blaster wound would be a good sign, since it means it isn’t as deep.

Treating blaster burns wouldn’t be quite like real-world burn treatment, because real-world burns, especially severe 3rd and 4th degree burns, tend to cover a lot more surface area of the body than a blaster bolt would, because the things that tend to burn you that badly are not tiny and focused like a blaster bolt. Which means a blaster wound is probably less lethal than severe 4th degree burns, so yay for that i guess. Bacta patches, as well as the ability to cover the entire wound site easily without risking damage to delicate tissue, would greatly reduce the risk of infection.

Treatment involves excision (removal) of dead tissue, and usually for 3rd degree burns, skin grafts. 4th degree burns tend to need amputation- but I’m not sure if that would apply in a situation where the burn is deep but very small- instead of burning your fingers down to the bones (don’t go look at the wikipedia article for burns unless you want to see that), it’s just one small area of your body, with living tissue all around it. And since Star Wars has Magic Healing Juice, clone medics probably don’t need to go around performing amputations on everyone who gets shot in a limb. 

I think that burn treatment in the Clone Wars would be somewhat like this:

-in the field, slap a big ol’ bacta patch on it, to protect the wound and help stabilize the patient until further treatment can be performed (bacta would help the body handle the sudden physical trauma, as well as actively fight off any infectious microorganisms). Most blaster burns would probably heal okay with just a bacta patch (see: Rex on Saleucami), but really won’t heal properly without actual treatment. (Although Rex seemed to be just fine the next day, despite the nerve damage that immobilized his arm. My personal theory is that Kix used some sort of mega bacta patch, a step up from the standard. The little blinky lights on it indicate that it has electric components for some reason, so my interpretation is that somehow that bacta patch has Extra Features (tm) that allow it to regenerate nerves)

-once there is more time, the patient can be treated for reals. Removal of dead tissue could be accomplished by a medic with a scalpel, but it would also be interesting if there was a patch or ointment of some kind which was applied to a wound which would just, dissolve the dead tissue without damaging the surrounding tissue. Perhaps it involves some sort of microbe. Sort of like those tanks of tiny fish you stick your feet in and they nibble all the dead skin off your toes? Like that, but microscopic and for wound care. 

-the medic would then apply a burn patch, which is essentially a specialized bacta patch. The patch not only applies bacta to the wound, but also contains a pre-generated skin graft, so that as the wound heals, it incorporates the skin tissue from the patch into the healing wound site. The patch is not meant to be removed or replaced. Eventually, once the wound is healed, the top layer of the bacta patch is shed like dead skin flaking off a sunburn. These patches were developed specifically for the GAR, and can only be used on clones, since the skin tissue is generated from clone stem cells. The burn patches greatly speed up and improve burn treatment, since clone medics don’t have to go back in later and perform a skin graft, and subsequently monitor the healing of two wound sites, which would greatly increase the chance of infection. 

-Nerve regeneration does not always occur with the standard burn patches, and if it does, is not always complete or perfect. Many clones, therefore, have small numb patches at the sites of old blaster wounds. They may also suffer chronic cutaneous pain at those sites. Unlike in the real world, treatment for this would exist, but would not be available to clone troopers since clone trooper healthcare sucks.

-Nerve-regenerating treatments, like Rex received on Saleucami, are expensive, and are only used when the nerve damage is severe enough to be disabling (e.g. Rex’s arm). The special patches are particularly costly, and normally Kix would have waited until Rex was back in the medbay in order to apply a slightly less costly treatment for his nerve damage, but since they weren’t able to transport Rex and had to treat him in the field, and the nerve-regeneration treatments become less effective the longer treatment is delayed, Kix used the Mega-Healing Patch right away. 

-so post-engagement med-bays would have the following procedure: blaster wound patients who are well enough to move on their own (which is more of them than you might expect, since they’re not bleeding out or immobilized by pain), would line up in the med-bay, probably along a wall or in a designated area. Medical techs would go around, removing armor and blacks around wound sites and cleaning the area with water. They would then apply debriding ointment (the dead-tissue-eating stuff), and move on to the next patient while the microscopic pedicure fishes do their jobs. The patient would be checked every ten minutes or so to see if the ointment has finished removing all of the dead tissue. I think it would be cool if the ointment fizzed as it worked, due to the microorganisms releasing gasses as they metabolize dead tissue, and once the ointment stops fizzing, you know it’s done.

 Once that is done, the ointment is gently removed, and a burn patch is applied. The patient is assessed for further treatment, paperwork is filled out, painkillers given if the wound is less severe (and therefore painful), and the trooper is free to go. Troopers would probably be talking to each other and cracking jokes, singing songs, or complaining about being bored. Most of them aren’t even in pain. Medics aren’t at all reluctant to physically hogtie a trooper to prevent them from moving since it’s easy to forget that you’re wounded and start roughhousing with your brothers.

-improperly treated blaster wounds, i.e. ones that only received a bacta patch instead of a burn patch, would take much longer to heal, would leave a more noticeable scar, and would cause the skin and muscle of the healing wound to contract, which could be painful and limit mobility, depending on the location of the wound.

-which is why it is common practice to check your squad-mates for blaster wounds they may have missed after engagements, and it’s not uncommon for a medic to menacingly track you down like “I know you got shot, i saw it happen, now get your ass into my med bay before i write you up for clinical stupidity”

so ANYWAY there’s my Clone Wars Medical Headcanon of the day, happy new year. I’m going to go back to writing my smut and if anyone can guess the pairing i will be VERY impressed

MORE under the cut because i fell down a bit of a rabbit hole lol

OKAY so dehydration is a big concern with burns because the skin is what retains fluid and severe burns obviously damage your skin. Fluid leaks from the burn area, since the skin is no longer present to contain it, and this leads to loss of electrolytes and dehydration, and can be lethal. From my brief google foray, it seems that it wouldn’t be a huge concern for blaster wounds, since the surface area that is burned is very small. However, multiple blaster wounds would probably be dangerously dehydrating. Clone troopers in standard blaster wound treatment (i.e. the guys sitting around bored while the debriding ointment fizzes) are probably fine with oral rehydration, meaning that someone shoves a bottle of rehydration formula at them and makes them drink it while they wait. 

Patients with more severe blaster wounds are probably kept hydrated intravenously.

There are also potential complications during or after wound healing that are very interesting! Fluids continue to leak from damaged tissue while the wound is healing, and if the surface heals before the deep tissue, can lead to edema (basically, accumulation of fluid in body tissue) can occur. Edemas get worse with rehydration. If the wound doesn’t heal quite right, it can form a compartment, which is a closed space of muscle tissue, nerves, and blood vessels, surrounded by a fascia, which doesn’t stretch. If fluid is leaking into the compartment, the pressure can compress capillaries and nerves, which is called compartment syndrome. Troopers would be told to look out for the symptoms after they are released from medbay. Symptoms include:

-severe pain, out of proportion to the wound, which does not respond to pain medication

-paleness of skin

-weakness or, in severe cases, paralysis of limb

-prolonged capillary refill time (takes a long time for capillaries to refill with blood)

This would have to be surgically treated. 

3rd degree burns in real life can take months or years to heal. Due to Star Wars Advanced Healing Juice, and clone trooper genetic enhancements allowing them to heal faster than standard humans, this time is reduced to weeks or even days (again, see Rex on Saleucami). 

#tw: burns #clone trooper healthcare #hc #maulusque's stuff

[kittystargen3]

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13534569/1/Return-of-the-Survivors

Summary: Alternate Universe- What if Anakin's mother survived and Anakin never went dark side. Padme has the twins on Tatooine and survives. Anakin tries to help the surviving Jedi, while still keeping his family secret. Meanwhile Darth Sidious has been crowned emperor and is going after the remaining Jedi. Rumors have it he's looking for a new apprentice. Anakin gets to be a daddy.

Today I updated Return of the Survivors. Below is a small selection. Click one of the links above to read more.

Chapter 74 - Carbonite!

“Quiet!” Boba shouted and he slammed his fist down to make his point.  The prisoner stilled, breathing heavy in anticipation.  Boba held up a finger.  “You're worth a hundred thousand credits as you are.  Those force-cuffs are worth five thousand, and that room you just tossed trying to escape was worth another ten.  You get too expensive to keep, I may just decide to forget about the bounty and kill a few Jedi.

The boy spits.  “Go ahead and try.  You wouldn’t stand a chance against my master.”

“Oh.  I’ve been killing Jedi since before you were born, kid.  There’s nothing that makes me happier than to slice off their limbs, shoot their insides full of holes, or burn them into a pile of ash.  But for the moment I’ll be happy with your bounty.”  The prisoner’s eyes went wide, and he seemed to realize his position.

‘Good,’  Boba regretfully thought.  Sure, he’d prefer to do everything he just said, but it would be bad for business.  He had so many contracts with the Empire, to anger them now would not be good.  And he’d already told them he could deliver the little scum rat.  ‘If only there were a way to stuff prisoners into the hold.  Then I could go out and have a little hunt.’

“Lemal.  What is going on?” Boba shouted at his man outside.

“Sir, something’s wrong.”

Boba sighed, and he got up to stick his head out and yell at the man’s incompetence.  Lemal was really not that incompetent.  Well, maybe at being a warrior, he would be.  But the man was hired to fight with his skills instead.  In their business, it would be so simple if every bounty was dropped off in a field, ready to be chased after and captured by the strongest hunter.  But often they require tracking down first.  Having a man skilled in hacking computers certainly makes the tracking easier, and Lemal was a very competent hacker.

He was so competent, infact, that when Boba came across a job for someone to hack Cloud City, a city almost entirely run on computers, Boba thought of Lemal first.  Sure, it was strange for a bounty hunter to consider this type of contract, but then he could think of the city as a person on the run, and the bounty he would receive for this city was substantial indeed.

So he ordered the hacker to come with him to Bespin.  Lemal was too valuable an asset to send out without a guard, and most of his men were too brash and illiterate to even come close to understanding what Lemal was doing.  Not Boba though.  He still remembered his instructors on Kamino.  Sure, it was with his own Buir’s other clones, but in a place like Kamino, the only other choice would have been a class of Kaminii.  In those classes, he remembered being more interested in the mechanics of starships than in computers, but some of the fundamentals did stick.

And so, while Lemal had laid the groundwork in hacking the system, Boba could do some of the work too.  That way they’d get this job done faster.  Boba had been reading bounty bulletins, looking for their next job when they finished this one, while monitoring the feedback from the cyborg, Lobot, when this all began.  Lobot was easily programmed to do certain tasks for them, getting them practically into places in the center of the city, where otherwise they’d have to risk leaving their hideout to do so.  When Boba looked up to check the readings, Lando Calrissian was sending his Cyborg a message.  ‘Han Solo.  Where did I read that name before?’   It took Boba only a little backtracking to find the builitin for the man, and suddenly this job was looking twice as profitable.

Of course Boba would never have thought to send the cyborg to collect their bounty, but Lemal was a genius.  The empire had asked them to alter certain drilling schedules to suit their needs.  Lemal figured out how to alter the very data Calrissian was approving.  Thus they could get him to approve only the deals that suited their benefactors.

And so, Lobot had been charged with bringing in the Pirate, Han Solo.  Boba had only just barely contacted the guild to promise delivery, when the Empire called him back.  They wanted to know everyone the pirate was traveling with.  Boba gave them a list of names, and they replied back with prices.  ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi: 1 million, dead or alive.  Anakin Skywalker: 5 million, dead or alive.  Any other Jedi, 500,000, with proof of lightsaber.  Luke Skywalker:  100 million Alive.’

Boba couldn’t imagine what the Imp’s wanted with a single Jedi, or why the order was so specific for him to be alive.  He didn’t care about any of that.  The bounty for him was huge, especially to a man living one bounty to the next.  He used the interior city sensors to detect Luke’s location and fortunately, the lad was headed directly for them.  Oh, sure that price was more than he quoted to the prisoner, but then in Boba’s experience, it rarely was beneficial letting a captive know how valuable he or she really is.

And that’s how Boba got here, waiting on his ship for Lemal to finish up.  Luke was imprisoned in his cockpit, and now Lemal was cringing over another issue outside.

“What is wrong?  I already commed the Empire letting them know to expect another delivery.  We need to get out of here now,”  Boba urged.

“Do you remember the original personality for the Lobot cyborg, the one I trapped in backup memory files.”  Lemal winced.  “He’s escaped.  And now the codes I put in for your ship to be able to come and go from the hangar above are gone.”

The Mandalorian Bounty hunter shut his eyes.  He imagined his Buir beside him now.  “K'uur jii ner ad.  Cuyir kovid, par gar buir cuyir olar.”  His father had often spoken in the old Mando’a to him. Boba still remembers those words first.  “Hush now my son.  Be strong, for your father is here.”

Boba sighed.  ‘If only.  Buir, If only that were true.’  “Alright.  What are our options?”

“We could take one of the transport freighters,” Lemal suggested.

Boba nearly wrinkled his nose at the suggestion.  “Fine.” It was a poor trade, one of these shipping canisters for his beloved ship, but then he supposed that with the kid’s bounty he could afford to replace her.

#anakin skywalker #anakin doesn't turn to the dark side #boba fett #obi wan kenobi #luke skywalker #leia skywalker #leia organa #han solo #lando calrissian #Lobot #bespin #cloud city #mandalorians #mando'a #bounty hunter #chewbacca #star wars #star wars fanfiction #starwars #starwars fanfic #starwars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction.net #a03 fanfic

[heyheshi]

"Baby, we're going to have our own family!"

2.9k words

written and uploaded: July 13, 2020

🦋 - fluff

🌙 - angst...?

Please like and reblog! Also please don’t post my writings anywhere!

Also this was supposed to be really short, like just about 700 words but I couldn’t help it!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

_________

"H, are you sure you want to go to the doctors with me?", you asked your husband for the third time in the last 30 minutes.

"Baby stop doing that!", furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at you accusingly - talking about how you're asking him that question again and about your food as you toy it around your plate using your fork.

Earlier after he woke up, Harry made sure that your day starts off as great as possible. He's so giddy. He knows that this day is going to be wonderful. He can just feel it - and so he made sure to wake you up with his kisses and a huge variety of healthy breakfast.

By "huge variety of healthy breakfast", that meant different slices of fresh fruits and organic vegetables, whole-wheat bread, cereals, yogurt, scrambled eggs, bacon (your absolute favorite and he cannot forget to add that), freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh cow milk, and mixed nuts.

He really went all the way with your meal and you're really thankful for that. 2 months ago, you would think that the two of you can't finish all of this food in just one sitting but how wrong could you be? Harry ate a lot but you're kind of having almost the same portion as him, not that he minds, he wants to keep you as healthy as possible for the baby on the way even though you told him that you're not certain about it just yet.

He made sure to talk to the hotel's head chef just to prepare your breakfast and strictly said "just the best and freshest once for my wife and make sure not to add any preservatives, just all-natural", and that's how you got here.

He even insisted on not ordering a coffee for you. You LOVE your morning coffee but H said that it's not good for your heart - which is true. You think he's being kind of dramatic and overprotective but you like it a lot.

It seems like everything he does is way too great; hormones. But it's not like you're gonna admit it to him anyway, it'll boost his ego more, your husband is narcissistic.

"Babe, babeeee, baby??!", you came back into reality. You didn't even notice that Harry has been snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

"Sorry, just got ca-"

"Too caught up in my handsome looks, huh?", your husband winks at you, he always teases you!

You just rolled your eyes at his antics, "course not!", you said defensively. "Was just thinking! Plus, I wasn't even staring at you!"

"Yeah sure lovie. What's on that pretty little head of yours, hmm?", he leaned his elbows on the table and put his head on his hand.

"Just thinking 'bout how you took my morning coffee away and thinking 'bout what my lunch's gonna be."

"Stop bein' grumpy", he just chuckled at your answer, knowing your sarcasm really well, "just finish your breakfast so we can leave. Already called the clinic for our appointment. It's at 10 a.m., I don't wanna be late.", he just continued eating his part but you're the exact opposite - you froze.

"You what?"

"What? Said finish your food... and that I booked our appointment...?", he asked uncertainty. He's really confused right now and you are too! You're not even sure why you're confused, you just are. Maybe over the fact that H is so excited about this and you might not even be pregnant.

Of course, you're happy with how he's acting. You're just worried that this might just be a false alarm and it will crush him so much.

"Why did you?", you looked down at your plate then quickly stuffing your mouth with the rest of your food while Harry answered.

"Just wanna be the best dad and husband you could ever ask for", he sounds sad, he really thought that you would be happy, you already talked about going to the doctors last night anyways!

"Okay.", you shortly replied and stood up to your seat rounding the table. Harry felt his chest tightening - too much - he thought, until he felt your arms around his neck from behind and tucking your face on his neck. He quickly interlaced your fingers with his.

"I love you", you quietly whispered to his right ear. "You don't know how much this means to me, you're already the best, gunna be the best dad.", you pressed a kiss on his neck. "I just don't want you to get hurt if I'm not pregnant.", your voice seemed to get quieter with each word.

Harry just stood up from his seat and faced you, "whatever happens, we're going to be okay, alright? If we're not pregnant then it's fine, I'm not going to lie and say that I won't be affected by it because I know I will be, but let's always keep in mind that God already has better plans for us, okay?", he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

You just squeezed your face in his shirt, "I'm scared of another heartbreak. I really want this with you.", you said and Harry felt his shirt getting damp.

"Nothing's going to change. I'll still love you more than ever and will always be here to take care of you", he's now whispering while wiping your tears. Everything about this is so intimate. "I love you too, so much Y/N", with that, more tears fall as you kissed him like your life depends on it.

---

"Patient 104, the doctor is ready to see you.", you heard the nurse called your number.

With shaking limbs, you managed to stand up and walk to the doctor's office while Harry assisted you.

"Mister and missus Styles! It's so nice to meet you in person! I'm Doctor Amelia Welsh, just Doc Amy", your doctor looks friendly and it eased you a bit.

"Harry", your husband shook the doctor's hand then slowly turned to you, "and this is my wife, Y/N.", you smiled as you shook her hand.

"Such a lovely couple! Anyway, you called last night, right Harry?", Doctor Amy asked as she sat on her spinning chair while you and Harry take a seat on the opposite side of her table.

"I did, yes. We wanted to have a check-up on my wife", your husband did all the talking, you know he can sense your nervousness.

You're eyes slowly observed the clinic. It almost looked identical to yours, with the office table on the middle and a medical bed on the far left side of the office and a rack full of different medical supplies, the only difference is that your clinic has so many baby pictures and toys for your patients to play around with.

"Okay, so what seems to be the problem? I already got a hold of your medical records, Mrs. Styles, or should I call you Doctor Styles too?", Doctor Amy joked and it made you chuckle a bit.

"I'm a patient right now so I'll just stick with Mrs. Styles", you felt Harry squeezed your hand that he's holding and you smiled to yourself. He always loves it when you claim your self as "Mrs. Styles". He said it makes him all warm and fuzzy and makes him just wanna love on you all day, every day.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"Ummm okay, so I've been eating a lot - more than usual, it can be because of stress since I'm a stress - eater...", you took a deep breath and look at Harry then back at her, "also I've been feeling nauseated and often having sickness, but in the afternoon not morning so I thought it might be my eyesight."

"Hmm okay please continue", the Doctor continues jotting down on her note pad at a fast pace, you understand it tho, you do the same stuff every day.

"I'm more often bloated than not but this one's different, my abdomen looks bigger than usual..."

"When was the last time you had your period? I know your period is irregular but I still need to know", the doctor pulled her glasses down on the bridge of her nose.

"I think it was November...", you're really not sure, you gave up on tracking your period when it downed to you that your period is never gonna be regular at all.

"Last time you had sexual intercourse?", your face feels hot but you know that these kind of questions are relevant, on your side you can see Harry's ears become reddish.

As if your husband can sense that you're not going to answer that question, he stepped up even though he's shy about it, "last night."

It's not that the two of you are embarrassed about your sex life, it's the opposite actually, you just want to keep it private.

Doctor Welsh just smiled at both of your embarrassment, "well how long had you been feeling this? Did you took a pregnancy test?", she looked back down and continued scribbling.

"Just this January, I never really paid much attention, and I did, a couple of weeks ago, 12 positives and 3 negatives."

"Okay well, why don't we take a look? You can change into this gown and lay in there", she said giving you the gown and pointing at the bed on her clinic, "I'll be back in a few."

You looked at Harry and as if he can hear the voices inside your head, he pulled you into him and kissed your cheek, "we'll be alright", he smiled at you but you can tell that he's really nervous too.

You both are, this is the break it or make it time of your lives. You're not sure if you're ready for it but you shook your thoughts out of your mind and changed into the gown and went to the bed, Harry hot on your heels, quickly took a seat beside the bed and held your right hand.

"I love you", he whispered, he thinks he's as nervous as the first time he auditioned on the X-Factor, when he asked you to become his girlfriend, or when he asked you to become his wife, all combined.

"I love you too", you kissed his knuckles as he smiled at you.

It didn't take long for the doctor to come back.

"Ready?", she asked and you nodded. She set the machine up and made sure you're comfortable before putting the gel on your tummy.

Nobody dared to make a sound and you never dare to look anywhere besides Harry's eyes as he presses his lips on your palm.

"Okay...", you hear the doctor mumbled that made you whip your head up to her.

You looked at the monitor and saw it, there's a heartbeat. You knew what exactly it was but your husband doesn't since he never accompanied someone to an ultrasound appointment before.

And then the silent room heard it, the heartbeat.

"Wa- was that...", Harry slowly looked at you with red eyes.

"Yes", you whispered while nodding your head.

This is it.

"Oh wait", the doctor said suddenly, you froze, this can't be happening! There's nothing wrong with anything! Everything is fine!

You never dared to look at the monitor and Harry too, much too scared of hearing the next words that will come out of the doctor's mouth.

You're finally pregnant and you're going to love your child with everything you have and you just hope there's nothing wrong with your baby.

"What was it?", Harry asked in a croaked voice, still not looking up.

"Well, I'm seeing... not one, but two heartbeats!"

Both of your heads snapped back at the monitor and there you see it! From a different angle are two little heartbeats, two blips, two fetuses, two babies in the future!

You almost felt your heart stop from so much happiness!

"Congrats you're having twins! You're about 8 weeks pregnant!", Doctor Amy rejoiced but you still cannot move, neither can Harry until...

"I- oh my God! Is this real?! Is this really happening?! Oh God Oh God Oh God!", Harry jumped from his seat covering his face with his hands.

"Baby, we're going to have our own family!", H crouched down next to your bed while slowly kissing your nose and that's when it finally sunk in! You're pregnant! And with twins! This is more than you could ever ask for!

You're nodding your head repeatedly with tears running to your cheeks rapidly while Harry tried to catch everything.

"Happy, I'm so so happy, H."

"Me too my love, me too... twins?! I- thank you so much baby, you're so wonderful to me and I-", you didn't let him finish talking as you kissed him, not caring if the doctor is still in the room.

After you pulled away, you only smiled at him and pecked his lips once again. Harry helped you clean up the gel on your tummy and go back to your seat earlier, the doctor is already there typing on her computer.

"Congratulations again! Twins are hefty but I'm sure you can both handle it!", you thanked her and proceeded to talk about the pregnancy.

"I'm assuming you already know what to expect, what to do, and not to do, and what to eat mostly, yes? Hopefully, you didn't consume any alcoholic drinks during the last at least 10 weeks and no birth control at all", Amy asked.

"We do know, yes. And no, I didn't drink, and no, none at all.", you're smiling so big, mirroring H.

"Well then, there's really not much to discuss other than your next ultrasound. You two would be great parents! Do you have any questions?"

"Not for now, I think...", and Harry agrees with you.

"If you do then don't think twice of calling me. I'll print the pictures and have my assistant help you with the next appointment if you need to be transferred to another country then let her know, I'll have her recommend you on my pals", the doctor smiled and almost left the room but...

"Can you make it 5 copies?", H asked suddenly.

The doctor looked back and laughed, "of course, you'll just gonna need to pay extra on your way out", she replied.

"That's won't be a problem, just make it 5 please!", Harry looks and sounds like a child asking for another cookie.

"It's settled!", with that, the doctor finally left the room.

The silence is really comfortable as you change back into your normal clothes.

"H, why 5 copies? We don't need that much!", you laughed as you slowly approached your husband to leave the room.

He only smiled and simply answered, "one for you, one for me, one for your parents, one for mines, then one for their album - I'm getting it enlarged and framed."

You just melted as his answer so you just hugged him tight, “I’m having your baby, and it is your business”, you joked and he laughed, exchanging "I love you's".

---

You're back at the car now, looking at the ultrasound pictures. You can see on your peripheral vision how big Harry is grinning.

He faced you and lifted up your shirt, the car still in the parking lot of the hospital. Thank God you managed to be discreet as possible, not seeing any paps insight.

"Hello bundles!", he greeted your tummy with a kiss.

"See, I know you're both there, daddy can sense it. Can't wait to hold you both and protect you from the world", he looked up at you. "Please don't give mummy a hard time, especially now that there's two of you and daddy's gonna be away a lot, but I promise to be there while you two bake in there as much as possible!", he kissed your tummy once more and pulled down your shirt.

You can't help but grin at him, "bundles? And bake?", you asked your husband while laughing, your shoulders shaking from how many laughs you're producing.

"Bundles, they're two, that's what you call it baby! Like the buy one take one thing on the store, bundles! And bake cause they're a bun in the oven, your tummy's the oven and they're the buns! Bundle buns!", he looks so excited while explaining his shenanigans to you.

You face palmed yourself but can't help but to fall in love with him more, if that's possible.

"Know what baby? Let's just get lunch, yeah?", he only nod but he didn't find your response offensive.

You secretly loved his terms "bundles" and "bake", it makes your heart warm.

"What're you all craving, tell daddy!", you slapped his arms at his double meaning!

You answered either way, "we want pasta, daddy!", then winked at him.

"If pasta is what my babies want then pasta is what we'll get!", his hands found your lap to hold your hand but yours isn't there.

He then looked at you holding your tummy with a fond smile on your face and he joined your hands with his, both of you caressing your babies.

"32 weeks baby, 32 weeks.", you said to H and he smiled at you, looking back on the road.

"I'm already thinking of getting us a customized Gucci family clothes for when they arrive!", H cheekily said to you but you know he's not kidding so you just agreed along with him.

You know you're gonna love this pregnancy already. Not only you got one, but two babies! You're more blessed than ever! Plus, you're sure that Harry's going to be giving you everything you crave for! Midnight ice cream sessions, here we come!

_____

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles pregnant #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #solo harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagines #harry styles drabble #harry styles prompt #harry styles preferences #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harries #harrie #heyheshiwritings

[lilyswrittenworks]

ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀꜱ ᴘʀɪᴍᴇ || ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Prompt: 

What if a Cyborg was thrown into a different universe where the Autobots reside, and when they do cross paths would they be friend or foe?

        Everything seemed fine, or so you thought. One moment you were helping out your comrades and the next thing you knew you had suddenly awoken out outdoors in the middle of the night. You stood up, dusting off the dirt from the sleeves of your black trench coat and inspected the new terrain. It was a dense forest, owls were hooting above the trees, and the sounds of wild wolves could be heard from afar.

You weren’t certain how you got there and attempted to contact the professor but was met with radio silence. Wasting no time as you began to wander the area in hopes of finding civilization. There, you stumbled upon a town, however, upon further inspection you noted that it had been abandoned for quite some time. Any hopes of finding any sort of communication in this particular area is meaningless.

When you were about to turn around to leave is when you heard heavy footsteps which caught your attention. You followed the sound and hid behind a tree, peeking your head out the corner to see a green robot organism running on the path of the railroad tracks to which lead to a rail tunnel. When the robot entered the tunnel that’s when you followed making sure to keep a low profile.

Halfway inside the dim tunnel is when you find a door where you approach it and twist the handle. Conveniently, it was open as you made your way inside the hidden facility. Along the way you had encountered a few men in suits and easily dispatched them with ease, without killing them of course. Upon arrival, you can see through the crack of the door that there were monitors displayed to your left and moved your gaze to see various suited men taking apart another robot, who was fully conscious. The sight caused you to build up the anger within you, it irked you at how these humans treated other lifeforms like guinea pigs.

One of the men in suits approached the door before you slammed it open with your feet sending the man hurtling towards the monitors. The sudden commotion caused everyone in the room to stop and turn towards you.

“A civilian? How did she infiltrate our base of operations?!” Yelled a man in annoyance.

Two suited men attempted to grab you, in return, you knocked them down with little effort. This caused the men to open fire at you and dodging every bullet that was fired and disarming them in the process. Then you jumped to avoid being grabbed and landed perfectly on the opposite side of the platform. You raised your head and realized that the man with a scar over the bridge of his nose had thrown a grenade towards you. Instantly, you raised your left arm and grab the grenade before crushing it within your grasp which caused it to explode.

The man chuckled. “Foolish girl.”

However, the victory was short-lived when the smoke had dissipated revealing your figure completely unscathed by the close ranged detonation.

 His dark eyes traveled down to your forearm and was taken back by what he was seeing. The sleeve of your trench coat had been torn off where it revealed your mechanical arm, its glistening dark blue hue with a skin-like silicone and metal plating cover both the exterior and interior of your limb. This newfound discovery about what you are certainly intrigued him and the malicious smirk said it all.  

Suddenly, there was a loud and continuous banging coming from further down the tunnel. The monitors were airing a live video feed and it showed the green robot making his way towards where you were.

“More crisp for the mill.” Muttered the man in displeasure as he fled with the rest of his men.

By the time you ripped your gaze away from the video feed, the man had disappeared from the scene along with his henchmen. 

There were heavy footsteps approaching and you simply watched as the green robot finally came into view, with his blaster out ready to aim on sight. Yet, he hadn’t really noticed your presence since his attention was purely directed towards the other unfortunate robot that was strapped on the table. 

“It must be your lucky day.” 

Then he proceeded to rip off the restraints and walk around the table to where his feet were and tears off the others. 

“What are you doing?” He inquired.

Perhaps they’re friends? You thought to yourself and continued to watch silently as the green robot offered his hand for him to take.

“Getting you outta here. Yeah, I don’t believe it either.”

She watched the exchange as they now stood beside each other. Then other robot, who was missing his right eye, turned to her.

“And you, human, thank you for… for saving my tailpipe earlier.” He muttered out through much hesitance, but was undoubtedly grateful for your assistance.

The green one turns to you in disbelief, finally taking notice of your presence. “What—wait, you saved him?!”

Suddenly the alarms blared out and both robots ran towards the exit with you trailing right behind them. Along the way, you encountered more soldiers, however, their focus were directed at the two robots. Since you were fairly hidden in the dark, wearing dark clothing and all. Either way, you made sure not to be seen by them. Once you were out in the open, the two robots were surrounded by green military vehicles, as well as, helicopters flying above them and were rapidly firing at them.

You on the other hand remained out of sight, not really wanting to partake in the event as you watched the scene unfold. Eventually they fled the scene for unknown reasons which left only the robots behind. The sound of jets soaring across the skies can be heard followed by the sounds of metal shifting in the air; five new robots had landed. The exchange was short and the green robot took on the enemies alone, including the one that he just rescued which he tossed around like a rag doll towards the others. 

“Come on, I’ll scrap all of you!” He yelled, summoning his mace on his left forearm preparing to take them all at once.

The adversaries didn’t get the chance to fire when another pair of robots entered the scene. You watched as the jets retreated, transforming and soaring high into the night sky whilst the other drove off from the scene. 

“Engaging the enemy on your own was even more foolish this time, Bulkhead. But I am honored that you saw fit to rescue your rival. You have truly risen above yourself.” The baritone voice said, which belonged to a red and blue robot, fairly taller than the rest.

“Did you see? I beat Breakdown and bashed him all with his own hammer! I won the rematch!”  The green robot, known as Bulkhead exclaimed enthusiastically.

“I’m sure Miko would be proud.” The two-wheeler said, with her arms folded in front of her chest.

You took this opportunity to approach them.

“Excuse me,”

Their heads turn towards you where stand right before them, although far enough so that your head wouldn’t cramp up from their tremendous height. You can faintly hear Bulkhead cursing under his breath, seemingly forgetting that you had existed.

“I apologize for my unannounced visit, but I seemed to have lost my way. Can you help me?” 

The other robots exchanged suspicious glances to one another. It was only natural for them to feel wary of you, in fact, this outcome didn't really surprise you. But this was the only logical way. They were the only ones that could help and no human could help in your predicament in fear of turning you in because of your uniqueness. 

“You allowed a human to see you?!” Whispered yelled the white and orange robot, looking furiously at Bulkhead.

Bulkhead averted his gaze elsewhere and was rubbing the side of his head. “Ratchet, if it weren’t for her, Breakdown would’ve been long gone before I got there.”

This earned a couple of gasps from the group, except for the taller robot,  who merely stared at you through curiosity.

You stepped forward, “Please, don’t hold him responsible. He did what was necessary. I should be the one to take blame.” You argued, motioning with your right hand towards yourself to secretly hid the exposed one.

Bulkhead was taken back from you defending him that it made his stagger from where he stood. No one has ever done that before except for his human charge. 

“What is it that you want in return?” The taller one gestures his hand towards you.

“All I ask for is for you to take me with you, maybe even allow me to seek shelter. If that is alright with the rest.” You glance over to the others who stared at you cautiously. Then the female robot stepped forward pointing an accusing finger at you.

“How do we know you’re not some sort of MECH agent?”

“Is that what they are called? Interesting… Then explain to me, how can I be speaking to you all instead of attacking you? Shouldn’t I have retreated with the rest of those MECH people?” 

No one seemed to catch your genuine reaction, it was made quite clear, however the only one that truly noticed the change in your tone was the to the red and blue robot. He quickly knew that you were telling the truth.

“Very well.”

The others didn’t argue further with his decision before contacting someone. 

Suddenly a green vortex appeared just behind them and proceeded to enter it. With that you followed behind as you entered the vortex, it left a pins and needle kind of sensation throughout your body. On the other side, you arrived inside a missile silo with platforms throughout and with monitors nearby. Staring down you can make out a strange insignia embedded in the middle of the room. Your mind wandered off until a young voice spoke.

“Bulkhead, you’re back! Did you beat Breakdown?” Based on her features and her accent. You concluded that she was of Japanese descent. 

While the girl spoke to Bulkhead, you proceeded to walk up the flight of stairs where you were met with the girl who was ecstatic in seeing you. Her nose nearly touching yours. She clearly didn’t understand what personal space was, that or she really didn’t care. You can feel the others' intense gaze on you, seeing that you're a stranger in their base. They had every right to be defensive when the girl was ogling you so closely.

“No way… another human! Sweet!” She exclaimed before bombarding you with questions. “Who are you — where are you from — how did you meet the bots?” 

The list went on until you decided to extend your left hand and then pressed your index finger against her lips.

“You’re an energetic one.” She pulls back as you lower your arm back to your side.

“Actually I consider myself an adrenaline junkie.” She points her thumb to her chest with a grin.

You went to say something but was interrupted by a new voice, an angry one too.

“What in the name of Sam hills is going on here?!”

You turned to see a tall man with dark skin as he pushed himself off the couch where he undoubtedly slept on judging by the wrinkles in his shirt. He narrowed his gaze at you for a while before moving his gaze towards the group of robots.

“Prime, you better have a good explanation why there’s another human here.” The man demanded at the red and blue robot, being displeased to see they had brought a newcomer into their base.

“Human? Is that what you think I am?” You noted with a raised brow towards the man, then your attention was focused on the group. Might as well reveal your true self before any assumptions were made.

“I can assure you,” 

Then you proceed to unwrap the belt from her trench coat and then peel off the coat, allowing it to fall on the floor. Underneath, you wore a black turtleneck crop top, long jeans and black combat boots. It’s true that you do resemble that of a human because of your features, however, from the collar bone below you had a body that was purely made out of silicone and metal. Strapped around your waist was a curved short sword tucked away on the right side of your waist. 

“That I am in no way shape or form considered human.”

Everyone stared at you with a mixture of awe and utter disbelief, however,  girl didn’t seemed bothered, in fact, she was thrilled! She takes your wrist and inspects your left forearm with interest where she then begins to trace your skin. It tickled at first but the feeling had adjusted to the foreign touch, noting that the girls fingertips were rough and calloused. Possibly from doing manual labor or something else entirely?

“Whoa, your skin is soft… freaky.” She mused as she continued to examine your arm.

“Miko,” The tone in Bulkhead’s voice was stern, it’s only natural for him to be protective of the human girl.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind being handled.” You assured him, by glancing over to him from the corner of your eye and then back at Miko. Once again being bombarded with quite a few amusing questions to say the least.

“Does your arm turn into a blaster just like the Autobots — what about a sword — whoa, so you do have a sword! And—”

You proceeded to interrupt her, “You ask far too many questions. But wouldn’t it be fitting if you let me explain first and ask questions later? I promise to answer them fully.” 

Miko couldn’t contain her smile as she furiously nods before stepping away from you, eagerly waiting for you to start. With that out of the way, you turned to face the group of robots and began to explain.

“As I stated before, I am not human. I’m a Cyborg, a being with both biological and artificial parts. In order to function as I am, the only part that’s human within me is my brain, nothing else.”

“My sudden arrival here was uncalled for and I have yet to find the main cause of it. I was unable to contact the professor leaving me no choice but to wander. Then I stumbled upon an abandoned town where I encountered your friend here. I knew that if I had any chance to contact anyone from home it would be with him, and this happily led me to all of you.”

“How come you weren't able to contact anyone? Aren’t you Cyborgs’ capable of communicating off-world?” The dark skinned man asked. 

You turned to meet his gaze, only showing a side view of your frame to him. “Yes, however, we still require a main communication hub to be able to do so. The equipment which I currently lack. All I ask for is to be allowed to take sanctuary here until I am able to communicate with the professor.”

His face hardened before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. But I have to talk to the boys back at the pentagon. They’re gonna have a hard time having you around, especially for what you are. Which means that they’ll have to debrief you to make sure you don’t cause any trouble.”

“Do what you must. I will graciously comply to whatever they ask.” 

The Prime stepped forward, where he stood right in front of you the only thing that separated them was the metal railing between them. You moved your gaze away from the man and towards the larger robot before you. His azure eyes studying you from head-to-toe, not in a suspicious way, it was more out of genuine curiosity.

He kindly introduced himself to you and then presented the others to you. As he then began to the entire story of their race even including their ongoing war with the Decepticons. Once he was done with his explanation, Miko had purposely nudged your shoulder to get your full attention.

“So, what’s your name, Cyborg girl?” 

Those brown eyes that showed so much curiosity that it reminded you of  yourself. The memories of when you were just as curious to explore and learn about the world that you were created in. That curiosity and excitement that was written across her eyes, Miko deeply represented your younger self. So it was no surprised that neither Miko or Optimus could’ve noticed a ghost of a smile appearing on your normally neutral features.

Perhaps being stationed on this planet for an extended period of time wouldn’t be so severe, as long as you had company. Maybe even make new friends along the wall as well.

 “Ariel.”

(2,882 Words)

#transformers #Transformers Prime #transformers fanfic #tfp #TFPRIME #transformers prime short story #short story #fanfiction #fanfic #an idea for a novel that sadly didn't come true #this was suppose to be an Optimus x Original character story with Ariel reminding him of Elita-One but it ended being scrapped #you are free to interpret this story in whatever ways you like!

[thewildomega]

Star in the Sand Ch.10

The journey to Sabaody seemed to take twice as long as it actually had. For the two day sail he had stayed in his room, watching over her. She had developed a fever and her body trembled in his bed. Twice daily he sat her head in his lap while he tried to get her to swallow down the tea Maverick had made to help keep her alive. It was nothing but herbs that they had on hand but it was something. Not having a choice he had removed her clothing but kept her covered with his blankets and sheets to help hide her nudity. She looked so tiny and frail in his large bed, her skin flushed of color and a cold sweat covering her brow.

 He had been dabbing her bruised face with a wet rag when Daz had spoke outside his door, telling him they were at the Archipelago. Tossing the rag aside he put on his boots and hook. Walking over to the bed he made sure she was wrapped up tightly before lifting her into his arms again, her head lolling back like a rag doll until he adjusted her. His back was stiff from having slept in his chair for the past two days but he ignored it. Holding her in one arm he grabbed the corner of the blanket and covered her face from view. Walking to the door it was opened for him and he looked towards the Mangrove forest and silently prayed there would be a doctor there that would be able to help his soulmate.

...................................

He paced the hall outside of the room, the floorboards soon to have a permanent track in them. Lighting what had to be his fifth or sixth cigar he shoved the lighter back in his pocket before lifting his hand to rub his face, brushing back his hair. Another loud scream made every muscle in his body tense and his teeth bite down on the butt of the rolled tobacco in his mouth. Daz was there, sitting in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. As her agonizing sob rung through the halls he growled and snapped his eyes to the door. Just what were the doing to her?! Moving to take one step towards the door he heard Daz speak.

"If you interrupt them it will only make her pain last longer."

Freezing he snapped his eyes to the man, a deep frown on his face but he saw his eyes still closed. Looking back towards the door he sighed and stood back straight before walking over and sitting in the chair beside Daz. Crossing his legs and arms he puffed on his cigar and sighed. "Why are you here?" he asked. The rest of the crew had went along to do their own things but his second had willingly come with him. "You don't have to be."

"I care for her well being. Once I know she is stable I will leave." Daz answered honestly.

Knitting his brows he looked to the man and saw him open one eye to meet his stare.

"I was questionable when you first showed up with her but she quickly grew on me. Y/n is a kind woman, too kind to be around people like us but one can not help who they are destined to be with."

Breathing out a lung full of smoke he let the man's words sink in. "Have you found your soulmate?"

Sighing he closed his eyes once again. "Yes. We grew up together and married young."

"You never asked for leave to go visit her..." he said, furrowing his brows.

"Because she is no longer living... She passed in childbirth, along with my son."

Blinking he watched the man's face remain as stoic as ever and felt his brow twitch the slightest amount. "My condolences." he said in a low voice. Seeing him nod he turned his head back to stare at the door. A few more hours went by before the door to the room opened. He watched as two nurses walked out pushing a cart with bloody equipment on it, a shiver running down his spine before he saw the doctor stand in the door and look to him. Tapping out his cigar he stood and walked over to meet the man, trying to peek inside the room but only managing to see the end of the bed. Looking down at the older man he saw his face tired.

"I don't know what happened to her and I don't care to but I will say this, if you hadn't gotten her here when you did she wouldn't have made it another night. Along with multiple deep cuts and bruises she has at least four broken ribs. Her body is littered with welts, the bottom of her feet were embedded with glass as well as a few larger pieces in her thigh and calf. She has a concussion and was shot in the right shoulder. The bullet shattered when it hit her shoulder blade but we were able to get all the pieces out. We have her on some medicine to help with pain and infection and we will monitor her to make sure her fever goes down. She is doing better, she will need time to heal and she will need to take it easy for a few weeks but you should be able to move her in a day or so."

Nodding his head he glanced to the room again.

Understanding he opened the door and stepped out of the way. "If you need anything let one of the nurses know." was all he said before he left.

Shutting the door behind him he turned towards the bed and slowly walked forward. Standing over her he looked down at her small bandaged body and frowned. The sheet was pulled up to the top of her breasts but he could tell her entire upper half was wrapped in bandages along with little ones on her cheek and jaw. Her breathing was steady now and she didn't look like she was knocking on death's door. Although dark circles did surround both of her eyes, blending in with the bruises. They had been separated a total of five days and he had been told by Maverick that even days prior she hadn't eaten. More than a week she had been without a proper meal, her slightly hollowed cheeks told him she was becoming malnourished. When she woke up he would get her anything she wanted, he didn't care what it was as long as she ate something. Lifting his hand to her cheek he brushed his fingers over her skin, trailing his hand down her neck and over her collarbone. He wanted to see her soulmate mark again, wanted to stare at the proof that they belonged to one another but he wouldn't disturb her. She needed her rest and as much as he wished to stay awake he hadn't slept much since all this happened either. Glancing to the lounge chair he let out a sigh, his back would be ruined when this was all said and done. Tugging the sheet up to her chin he removed his coat and walked over to the thing, pulling it towards the bed a little more so he would be able to hear if her breathing changed at all. Getting as comfortable as he could he looked to her, staring at her until his eyes finally slipped close.

....................................

Were you dead? No there wasn't supposed to be pain when you died, well not unless you went to hell... Voices... they sounded familiar. Fluttering your eyes open you blinked a few times, the light in the room making you wince a little. Your head hurt. Looking up at the wooden ceiling you glanced to your left to see a window and a chair with a familiar fur coat laying in it. Furrowing your brows you brought your right hand up to your face, noticing how heavy the limb felt . Rubbing your eyes you pulled it away and looked to see your wrist and knuckles wrapped in bandages. Looking down your arm you saw more bandages here and there. Finding a IV line stuck in your arm you furrowed your brows and took another look around the room. It was a medium sized room with white plaster walls and wooden floors to match the ceiling. Other than the bed and chair there wasn't else in the room, a small table between he two. One of the two doors were closed, the voices coming from behind it. The other one you tilted your head and saw it was a bathroom. Licking your dry lips you tried to get some kind of moisture into your mouth but there wasn't much to be found. Lifting your head to look down you saw you were covered by a white sheet, lifting it you saw you were naked, other than the bandages. Blushing you looked again to the fur coat, then the door and knit your brows. Was he here? Why was he here?

Biting your lip, you painfully moved to sit up in bed, feeling like your chest and head were getting hit with a bat. Thankfully your bandages covered your chest completely. Slowly turning to drop your legs over the side of the bed you just sat there for a few seconds. Your feet were wrapped up as well making your huff, you felt like a damn mummy. Pulling the IV from your arm you stuck the needle back in the line. Holding the sheet you eased from the bed, breathing heavily when a sharp pain struck the soles of your feet. Your hands shook and your fingers gripped the bed so hard your knuckles were white. Taking a deep breath you pushed your foot forward attempting to take a step towards the bathroom and almost loosing your footing. Closing your eyes you kept going, holding the sheet around you. When you were close enough to grab the door frame you heard the other door open and then a woman gasp.

"No, No miss you can't be out of bed yet!"

Hearing the nurse's frantic words he stopped mid sentence and snapped his eyes towards the room y/n was in. Pushing the door open he saw as the nurse ran over to a stumbling y/n. He didn't even know she was awake. Taking a step closer he saw y/n quickly slam the door to the bathroom close.

Quickly locking the door you heard as the nurse tried the knob and then knocked. Leaning back against the door you closed your eyes and tried to even out your breathing.

"Miss you really shouldn't be in there alone, you could fall..."

Glancing sideways to the mirror over the sink you grimaced at the state of yourself. Your hair was mated with what looked like blood... you looked like death. Pushing off the door you reached over to turn on the shower and dropped the sheet.

"If you would like a bath I can help yo..."

"I am more than capable of bathing myself." you told the woman. Moving your hands to start unraveling the bandages you froze when you heard a deep voice speak.

"Y/n open the door so she can help you." he said in a low voice.

"I can do it myself." Dropping the bloody bandages to the bin you swallowed hard, the sound of his voice making your heart ache. You didn't understand why he was here.

Sighing he looked to the nurse and tilted his head to the door, telling her to go. Once she was gone and the door to the room was shut he leaned against the door that his soulmate was behind. When he heard a muffled cry he tried the knob. "Y/n..."

"Go away." you whimpered, trembling as you held onto the shower wall. Turning under the water some to wet your hair you watched the water turn a murky red. When you heard a thump and then a sliding you knew he was sitting on the other side of the door and felt tears brim your eyes. "Why did you come back for me? Why..why didn't you just let me die?" you asked, feeling your lip tremble and tears roll down your cheeks.

Closing his eyes he let out a deep breath, resting his arms on his knees and dropping his head. He had been thinking about what he would say when she woke, what he would say when he saw her again. He had never been good with emotions, he never cared about anyone enough to express the way he felt... until now. Looking down at his hook he licked his lips, "You know about this world, more than I know and probably ever will but there is one thing I do not think was in your books... The tattoo you saw on my hip, it's not really a tattoo. I have had it since the day I was born, everyone born in this world has one, they are all different, different placements, colors, shapes, sizes, every one is unique. They have many names, some call them bonding marks, others soulmate marks but their purpose is the same, a clue to who ones soulmate is." when he heard nothing he lifted her locket from his pocket and opened it, watching as the arrow spun around before pointing behind him, towards the woman currently taking a shower. Reading over the words he felt a small tug at his lips. "You are my soulmate y/n..."

You didn't say a word as he went about explaining everything to you. He told you about the night he was sent to your world, he told you about the witch who he now knew to be fate and how she had intervened when you were about to take your own life (Something you had never told him yourself). Hearing him mention the pull he felt towards you you closed your eyes, having felt the same thing but thinking it was all in your head. When he told you about how you were from this world, how you had been sent here through a mirror like the one in your dreams you closed your eyes tight.

"I know none of this sounds real y/n and I know I have done nothing to show you my words are true but I believe you know the truth. You know you never belonged there, you felt it. You told me that you were drawn to the one piece books that my world always called to you and that's because this is your home. I am..." Lifting his chin he closed his eyes, "I am your home."

Having moved to lean back against the shower wall you bit your shaking lip. "Y..you don't want me...I'm a burden, pathetic...."

She was crying, her voice soft and shaky. He had never seen her cry, not when she got hurt or even when he yelled at her but hearing her now he knew how much his words had wounded her and it made him feel horrible. It wasn't even like she was just repeating his words, reminding him of what he had said. It was like she was stating obvious facts, like she truly believed all of that. Clenching his teeth he swallowed down the knot in his throat. "No. You are wrong y/n. I never meant any of that, I was angry, I was trying to deny my feelings towards you. I searched for my soulmate for many years y/n and I am not ashamed to say I gave up hope. I'm almost forty five years old. Most find their destined love in their twenties, I thought my time was over but then I met you." Smiling he laid his head back against the door. "You, some woman I had never met took me in and you were so kind, even knowing all of my sins, you never said an ill word to me, you didn't even ask for anything in return. You make me happy and you make me smile and laugh and feel things that I had given up hope of ever feeling and..." Tightening his fist he closed his eyes. "... and I apologize for the way I treated you and the things I said to you. I was cruel to you and you didn't do anything to deserve it. When you said you didn't have a tattoo I lost all hope and I became angry. I thought if I avoided you and pushed you away then I wouldn't fall for you, that I wouldn't fall for someone that wasn't my soulmate."

"Son of a bitch.." you hissed through clenched teeth

Feeling his lip twitch he looked down, "Well I can not say I blame you for calling me names..."

"What? No...No I wasn't calling your that I got soap in my wounds." you told him, wincing and trying to quickly rinse the soap from your body. Choosing to bite you lip to keep anymore bad words from flowing out.

Tilting his head towards the door he rose a brow, "Are you sure you wouldn't like some help form the nurse? I mean I am paying for their services."

Looking down and frowning you blinked, "I... I'll find a way to pay you back..." you said in a soft voice, feeling guilty now.

Dropping his brows he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I didn't mean it like that." he grumbled. She wouldn't be here in the first place if he hadn't said what he had. She had gotten hurt because of him, even when he had gave her his word that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. Seeing how her hands had been tied and her shirt and bra had been ripped open it didn't take a genius to put together what that man had tried to do to her. The thought alone made his blood boil. How he wished he had had the time to make him suffer, he would have enjoyed listening to him scream... No she owed him nothing. He knew there was no point in telling her that though, she was caught on the idea that she didn't deserve things being done for her, that she didn't deserve the kindness she gave him to be returned. She had spent way more money on him with food, clothes and everything else she had bought him than he had her. It was something he was determined to change. She was his, his destined one and as such he would care for her, no matter how difficult she made it. After all her mother had asked him to do as much.

Rinsing off completely you sighed and grabbed the handle to turn off the water. Although you felt much better after washing and having a quick shave your body was still injured and your heart although not feeling shattered was still tender. Crocodile had never lied to you, at least not to your knowledge and so you believed what he said. You felt the pulling and strong connection he had told you was apart of the whole soulmate thing and he was right you had never felt like you belonged to your own world. It was a lot to take in though and you didn't know how much more you could take today. You were so tired, wither it be because of your injuries or the words he had spoken... probably a good mixture. Seeing a comb on the counter you picked it up and started taming your wet hair, deciding to leave it down to help hide your beaten face. Glancing up into the mirror you looked at your reflection and furrowed your brows. Your face wasn't swollen at least, a purplish stain along your cheek, under your eye and along your jaw that faded into a greenish yellow. There was even a healing cut along your cheekbone where that guy had kicked you. Your lip was busted as well. Looking down at your body you swallowed hard, some sight you were, he was likely to regret being linked to you once he saw you. How were you ever supposed to be enough for the warlord, Sir Crocodile?

The water had cut off some time ago and although he had heard her moving around quietly she had said nothing. "Y/n..." he said in a low voice and heard a dull hum. "Are you finished bathing?"

Dropping your eyes form the mirror you looked down at your feet. "Yes." There was a noise from the other side of the door before you heard his footsteps moving away from the door. Licking your lips when you heard him call for the nurse you took a deep breath as her soft knock sounded on the door. Reaching over you unlocked it.

..................................

Sitting in the waiting chair in the hall he sat patiently until the nurse finally opened the door.

"She is decent sir. I asked if she wanted to eat but she didn't respond. She really needs to eat to recover properly. Is there anything you think she might like, she can only have broths and such right now. "

Standing he sighed and looked down at her, "Bring her something and I will make sure she eats it." he told the woman and saw her bow her head a little before walking down the hall. Opening the door he saw her laying in bed, her back to him as she looked out the window. She was dressed in the gown the small hospital provided but he could still tell she had bandages wrapped around her. The sheet was pulled up to her waist, covering her legs from view but he could tell they were pulled up to her some. Her damp red hair fell around her to the bed, now clean from all the blood and dirt. Closing the door he slowly walked over to her, her lidded eyes stayed focused on the window, exhaustion clear on her face. Rounding the bed to take a seat in the chair he glanced to the IV line and saw they had put her back on her medicine again, her left arm now laid beside her with the line disappearing into the nook of her arm and taped down. "You take that out again and they will have to put it in your wrist or hand, it is much more painful." he told her, her eyes looking to him.

"Where are we?"

"Sabaody." he said and saw her raise her brows some. "I take it you have heard of it?"

"Yes. Since you want to go to the New World I am taking it you are here for coating?" when he hummed and gave a small nod you sighed. "You do know that 70% of all ships that are coated don't make it to Fish-man Island, the bubble pops and the ship is crushed by the pressure of the sea."

Tilting his jaw he hummed. "I don't suppose you know of a specialist?"

"I do but I don't know if he's here right now." you said.

"And who might he be?"

"Silvers Rayleigh, Gol D Roger's first mate. He's an expert in coating, he's the one that does it for Luffy."

"You said he may not be here right now, why?"

"Well I know sometime during the two year time skip he finds Luffy on some island and teaches him Haki. If he is still here though you will find him at his wife's bar, Shakky's Rip-Off Bar. Make sure you make a good impression otherwise he won't do it for you, no matter how much money you offer to pay him." you said.

Thinking on her words he looked down in thought but shot his eyes back up when he heard her moving. Seeing her try and move to lay on her back he furrowed his brows at the pained look on her face that she was trying to turn away from him. Standing he stepped over to her, "Lay still or your ribs will never heal right." he told her in a deep voice. Turning his hook away form her he pushed his hand under her upper half and his hook under the sheet and under her knees. Lifting her with ease he helped move her to her back, grabbing the pillow on the end of the bed and stuffing it behind her to help her sit up. Once she was situated he saw the sheet was revealing the top of her thigh, a large bandage wrapped around the area where some bigger pieces of glass had been. Pulling the sheet back over her he moved to sit on the bed by her legs. Glancing up he saw her eyes were focused on her hands as she tried to straighten out the IV line. Untangling it and laying it out of the way as much as possible he took her small hand in his huge one, noticing that the nurse had left her knuckles and and wrists un-bandaged. Frowning at the sight of where the rope had rubbed her skin raw he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "I failed to protect you, both from others and myself but perhaps you could find it in your heart to offer me a second chance." he said in a low, deep voice. "You will never want for anything, I'll take care of your every need..."

Keeping your eyes down you looked at his hand holding yours. It was so warm and big. His fingers were calloused a bit, contrasting with the smooth metal of his rings. Those ring, those expensive rings that reminded you of how plain you were yourself. What could he possibly see in you? You thought and swallowed hard, "You can have anyone you want, why would you want me?"

Furrowing his brows he gently lifted her chin with the curve of his hook, forcing her eyes to meet his. "There is no one like you my dear. I have been searching my whole life for you darling, for my soulmate.... I was not disappointed by what I found." he told her with a grin and saw her sea blue eyes look up to him, a small bit of shock in her beautiful orbs. Flickering his eyes to her lips he felt a warming in his chest and leaned down before finally claiming her lips.

Stiffening when his lips pushed themselves to yours you felt his hand move from yours to gently grab your hip while his hook stayed under your jaw, keeping you in the position he wanted. Soon you felt your eyes close and your body relaxing as much as possible with your injuries.

Restraining himself from snatching her into his arms he held her hip in a gentle grip. Her lips were so soft, even if he could feel were her lips was busted at. He wanted more, so much more but he couldn't right now. Hearing a small knock at the door he ended the kiss just as the nurse opened the door. "Time to eat."

Looking up at him you glanced to the nurse bringing over the tray and then back to him. Opening your mouth and giving a small shake of your head you saw him look down at you with a firm look that told you you had no choice in the matter.

#Sir Crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #one piece crocodile #crocodile fanfiction #crocodile x reader #one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #soulmate #soulmarks #soulmate au

[skinks]

I would just like to say Bongo Smugglers killed me. I’m sitting in class giggling thinking about a Losers movie night where they have a dramatic showing of the movie. Audra and Richie are less embarrassed then they should be. It becomes an annual tradition to play a bongo smugglers™️ drinking game at Christmas.

AHH this is amazing, I just shoved two words together that I thought were funny and suddenly it’s this whole ugly 2002 sex comedy fully formed in my head. Glad it killed you during class. And yeah, they’re definitely not embarrassed, everyone’s heckling the writing and the early 2000s fashion more than anything else anyway.

Richie happily provides commentary the whole way through even though he’s only in the sex scene, waving his tortilla chip in Eddie’s face because he’s got his arm around his shoulder, hugging him close into Richie’s side. Eddie keeps snapping bites at it so often that Richie just ends up hand feeding him chips.

“Aaaaaaand... that’s the first time I touched a boob, right there!“

“Glad to help,” Audra winks.

“The exact moment I realized I was totally lying to myself. I’m having an entire existential sexuality crisis right there on camera, but can you tell? Does my fratty façade crack an inch?”

“I could tell, because you spent fifteen minutes before the scene pacing around set and chanting you can do this, you can do this, don’t throw up, you like girls, but not too much, because you don’t get paid if you pop a boner, c’mon Richard, c’mon—”

“Like I said,” Richie shouts, over all his stupid friends laughing at him, “no one can tell, ‘cus I’m a pro—”

“You call yourself Richard during pep talks?” Stan’s grinning at him sharp-beaked, like a vulture. Has Richie seen him blink even once since he came back from the dead? Not sure, not sure, make note to ask Patty to spy.

Onscreen Audra is shimmying down her low-rise stone-wash boot-cut jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was in fact lookin’ at her. What the fuck was anyone thinking back then? Richie privately blames the Bush administration, and continues.

“You’re a great scene partner, Audra-my-deah, and I respect you for cougaring not one but two of our little balding Brady Bunch here, but you were kinda the reason I figured out I’m gay. Like, big time gay. Well, the second reason.” He rubs tortilla-salt fingers through Eddie’s hair and feels his stomach go fuzzy when Eddie kinda thrums out a low noise against him. Oh, he’s purring. Some deep down part of Richie’s caveman psyche, lodged right in the hungry reptilian nub of his central brain wants to bear-hug Eddie to a pulp, wants to Lenny him like a mouse until they both stop breathing at the same exact moment from the pressure.

Yeesh, dark!

He smooches one of Eddie’s Easter Island eyebrows instead, keeps his lips mushed there. Smooches again. “Biiiiiiig time.”

“My wife,” Bill whips around from his seat on the floor at Richie’s feet, cheeks bulging with wontons, “my wife did not cougar me.”

Eddie shushes him. Everyone else is exchanging Looks, including Audra, because she totally did cougar Bill. Good for her!

“My wife,” Richie mimics, all sing-song and bugling. “Who the fuck are you, Borat?” Eddie snorts, hard. “Turn around and watch me make sweet love to ya woman, Bill.”

Onscreen Richie is struggling out of a giant hockey jersey at the sight of Onscreen Audra’s nubile charms. Everything is lit terribly, to a Smash Mouth deep cut.

“Oh man, check out that figure.” Richie whistles at himself, twenty-six years old with muscles like long ropes. “These were the pre-gut days. Even though my diet was just Adderall and instant ramen.”

“I like your gut,” Eddie murmurs, squidging at it with the hand not shoved up the back of Richie’s shirt. He’s already looking pretty tipsy, because he told everyone loudly and at length that he’d have to be what he deemed, shithouse drunk, to cope with whatever 90 minute dick jokeathon he was about to endure for the sake of two minutes of Richie-ass. “You’re hotter than him.”

Richie preens. “I am him, dude.”

Eddie’s hand lands clumsy on his cheek, pulling Richie’s attention away from his own foregrounded bare ass and Onscreen Audra’s shocked expression, to face him. Eddie’s all unfocused, flushed in the cheeks. “You’re both hot. Him and you, I’d fuck you both. I’d let both of you fuck me at once.”

“Um,” says Ben. Mike keeps slorping up noodles, but his eyes are saucering at Bill’s giant TV.

“Hhohkaaay,” Richie breathes.

“Is this when you saw it, Audra?” Bev asks. She waggles her eyebrows at them from the muscular nook of Ben’s arms. “The famous Tower of Tozier? You mentioned in the group chat.”

“What group chat,” Richie croaks, wrenching his eyes from the sight of Eddie’s slick tongue pulsing gently against his lower lip, hanging open like he wants Richie to see inside his mouth. Yowza-yowza-yowza, this is so much better than movie-nights back in the 90s. “I never saw anything about that? And I monitor you all on WhatsApp twenty-four-sevs. I literally have nothing better to do while Eddie’s working.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beverly dismisses him with a flick of her wrist.

Audra is nodding vigorously while Onscreen Audra tilts her head comically far to the right. “That’s when I saw it,” she says. “They couldn’t find a modesty sock that fit you, Richie, remember? I didn’t have to fake that reaction. And that’s with them blasting the A/C on high so my nips would poke through my shirt.” She nudges Eddie’s shin gently and stage-whispers, “Well done.”

Eddie growls hot miso breath into Richie’s neck. Snarls, really. That’s the only word for it. Richie’s not embarrassed—he’s been telling people about his donkey schlong for years, not his fault nobody ever believes him. It’s a boy who cried wolf situation, perhaps, if the boy was actually telling the truth every time and just wanted to brag to everyone about seeing a really big, thick wolf.

“Honey,” Bill says, visibly distressed, “this is already weird enough for me, please don’t say nips.”

“Nips, nips, nips.” Audra tickles into Bill’s ribs, and Richie joins in the chant, they all do. It’s a hailstorm of sesame toast raining on Big Bill’s protesting head. “Stiff nips! Stiff nips!”

“Shut up, I’m, uh’wanna see Rich fuck!” Eddie roars, wrestling the couch cushions for the remote and stabbing the volume obscenely loud.

Moans fill the air. Rice sprays from Mike’s mouth, between his hasty fingers. Patty is laughing so hard into Stan’s shoulder Richie would be kinda worried about her, if he wasn’t so distracted by the way Eddie’s leaning forward, hand on Richie’s thigh and eyes locked to Onscreen Richie’s bare bucking hips. He remembers this part horrible and clear, preserved behind glass in his mind like the embarrassing ninth grade school photo his mom still won’t remove from the mantelpiece. Braces like train tracks and his eyes squinted up small and moleish because his mom said she wanted to see his handsome face without his glasses for once. Eddie laughed at it for five whole minutes the first time Richie brought him up to visit mom and dad as his—as his, at last, before snapping a careful picture of the photo with his phone and muttering, so cute.

It’s the noises.

“This was the day I learned women really can, uh, fake orgasms,” Richie says. He coughs. Eddie’s fingers tighten on his thigh and he looks back at Richie over his shoulder, eyes all drunk and dark and dilated like a shark’s to the backdrop of Onscreen Richie and Audra’s plastic din. Richie’s head thumps dizzily, sliding his hand secret under Eddie’s shirt to the damp small of his back, watching his neck go pink. This, now this is familiar from 90s movie nights, how sweaty they’d get, tangled together like pocketed earbuds the longer the VHS spun. Always on the same couch by unspoken agreement, kicking and left to do so by the others, like the clubhouse hammock flirting was more RichieandEddie status quo than behaviour tethered to any one location. Feeling your heartbeat in your ears and everywhere your limbs are shoved between another sapling boy-body, and the couch.

Richie can see exactly what Eddie’s thinking, in that darkness. That’s not how you sound in bed with me.

“This is revolting,” says Stan, mildly, but Richie holds up his hand like a stop sign, pulled roughly back to the present.

“Wait, wait, here comes my line!”

“Thought you said it was a non-speaking—”

The camera cuts from Onscreen Audra’s bouncing breasts to Onscreen Richie’s slack-jawed face, his ill-conceived soul patch. He was asked to remove his glasses for the scene, he remembers, and was glad of it, feeling useless and young and stupid and exposed enough already just by virtue of needing the money, he didn’t need to see this perfectly nice and reasonable actress pity him for not even knowing how to pretend at being with a woman. Onscreen Richie tilts his chin up, and Bill’s entire rec room holds its breath. There will be bruises on Richie’s thigh tomorrow.

A grunt, a groan. An unsubtle trumpet fanfare musical cue on the soundtrack, but hey, neither of them ever claimed Bongo Smugglers was a masterpiece. “¡Ay, chihuahua!”

Richie throws his arms up in triumph. “All my own improv, folks! And they kept it in the final cut!”

Eruption. He’s pelted with howls of disgust and prawn crackers. Eddie grabs one of his arms and just shakes him, ragdolls Richie’s laughing body around until he tips over and sprawls into Eddie’s lap, shielded from assault. Eddie chews his insistent teeth into Richie’s shoulder, and finally, the scene ends with Onscreen Richie leaping a naked escape from Onscreen Audra’s balcony.

“Worst,” Eddie mumbles against Richie’s nape. “Worst thing’ve ever seening m’life.”

He’s so drunk, sweet thing. Richie sits back up, still wheezing. He rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder and gazes starrily up at his plastered little face. Steel-cut jaw softened with laughter and stubble, un-gelled hair curling around like a chestnut lamb’s. “Worst ever-ever?”

“No,” Eddie says plainly, and that’s true, “but it’s up there. Woulda rented the shit out of this at Blockbuster.”

Richie flings his leg over Eddie’s knees, kicking Bill in the process. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, gathering up all Richie’s loose ends in a big circling cuddle. “Every week. Woulda worn it out. Broke the disc.”

“Got your ‘Lil ‘Busters membership card revoked for being a creep.”

“Worth it.”

“Aw, Eddie-baby.”

“Would you two stop, you’re making the rest of us look bad,” Bev says, smiling fondly. The movie’s moved on, and none of them are really paying attention now that the main event’s over, but everyone’s still coming down, dismounting from belly-laughter and landing ankle-deep in giggles. “That was inspired.”

“He made me laugh so hard on that take,” Audra sighs, leaning against Bill. “I remember thinking, shame he’s a closet-case. I always knew you were a good guy under all that fake stand-up.” She rolls her head back on her neck to look at Richie, upside down. “D’you remember right after, too?”

“Ah,” says Richie, tensing up. Eddie must feel it, because he makes a lowing noise of concern and turns the volume down.

“What you did to those guys?”

“Ahaha, uh.” Richie struggles to sit upright with hot embarrassment tugging at his stomach. “They don’t need to—Audra, it’s not, anyone would’ve done the same—”

“No, actually, you were the only one who ever did,” Audra says, sharp-eyed, and Richie remembers that too. How much surer and in control of herself she was than him, even back then, when they were both just simple bottom-feeders on L.A.’s sludgy floor.

“What happened?” Patty asks. They’re all looking. Richie stares at the wall beside the TV’s garish over-saturation, scratches at the back of his neck, until Eddie takes his hand softly back to hold in his.

“I was pretty much always the only woman on set,” Audra explains. “Par for the course on a movie like that, it was whatever. It’s nothing like real sex, obviously, you have to stop and wait for lighting changes, new set-ups and stuff, you’re surrounded by crew. But you’re the only ones naked, and pretending to fuck, right? It can be a little.” She pulls a face, tilts her palm back and forth. “Degrading.”

Richie snorts, humorlessly.

“Anyway, that scene wrapped and they called cut, and a few of the guys in the crew said some stuff. About me. The director ignored it, the producer ignored it. I was used to it,” Audra says. Richie can see the edge of Bill’s jaw clench and re-clench like a fist as he watches his wife speak. Audra smiles widely, then, and jerks a thumb at Richie. “But this guy?”

They’re grinning, they’re all grinning, because they know him. Richie squirms under it. He can feel blood pounding behind his ears, across the surface of his scalp in pulsing waves of embarrassed heat, because it’s one thing to spend your life running your big fat Trashmouth to distract the bullies’ attention onto you, but it’s another for people to treat you like some kinda hero for it. Like it’s not just something friends do.

Bev’s eyes go all emerald-shiny with delight, like the quarry in sunlight. She covers her mouth. “Oh, Richie.”

“Knocked the first one out cold,” Audra crows. “You tried your best after that. It was three against one and he had a black eye before the rest of us could separate them, but he had the element of surprise at first. I mean, he flew at them, if you can imagine it—you’re what, six-one, six-two?”

Eddie’s trembling ever-so-slightly against him. Richie screws his eyes shut. “Six-two.”

“No wonder the asshole shit himself, you came at him all six-foot-two naked inches, pissed as hell, with a massive—”

“Alright!” Richie yelps, because if there’s anything more embarrassing than his brief Bongo Smugglers cameo, it’s the fact that he left set that day with a black eye and no money. Who cares. His closest friends are alive and they’re cheering, and Eddie is shoving himself into Richie’s lap just like it’s movie night in 1991 but with 100% more enthusiastic frenching, seating his drunk ass in Richie’s startled hands and hissing god, you’re such a crazy dumbass, I love you so much, Richie, even back then with that soul-patch I’d have loved you so much, god, sexy, Rich, wanna see you with a black eye, can I give you one, can you give me one, Richie, I’m gonna fuck you so good for this later, ay chihuahua—!

#long post #once again i did not mean to write over 2k about fake sex comedy Bongo Smugglers (2002) when i started answering this message #reddie #ficlet #bongo smugglers