#like they saw river going rogue and were like i know how to fix this

[lady-of-the-spirit]

...... winter soldier donna noble au.....

#mind wipe would have had to go differently of course #i'm imagining like. the predecessor to river song maybe? or maybe she was meant to be 2.0 bc of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff #like they saw river going rogue and were like i know how to fix this #doctor who #donna noble #i'm saying stuff

[claybefree]

A Letter to Josh Poteat

To be honest, I don’t know why I’m writing you this. It should have been the art I made for my ex-wife Mary in 1995, that she gave back to me in 2008 after I left her, that I later put in the trash. The art you told me recently got you working with shellac. It should be that I’m giving you, instead of this depressing thing about how I haven’t spoken with the oldest of my children in almost nine months, and the younger not since two Christmases ago. 

I guess because when we talked about it before, I can’t remember exactly, maybe you asked in passing, “How’s the kids?” and I didn’t have an answer at the time. Maybe because I think you’ll understand me, like you always did. I haven’t been sleeping again lately, and this is when my mind wanders to the man I read about who died, trapped in a cave, but I don’t want to tell you about him. It’s too awful. If I find my mind lingering on him, I get seized by a whole body panic and I have to get up.

When I first got sober and couldn’t sleep, I went to war nightly with God. My mind was a scorched battlefield, blackened, shelled earth churned from trenches to craters. These days it resembles Zone Rogue in France, given back to nature and forbidden, saturated with ordnance, hundred year old arsenic lingering in craters. The toxic woods, wild and hoary, haunted now by deer and wild boar, trenches filled in with vines.

There is this vision I carry, not quite of myself- An old man alone in a mouldering trailer in the woods, bitter, childless and insane. No doubt, you have known such men. When I first got sober, he figured heavily in my mind- I considered this an alcoholic death even if I managed to stay clean. 

It’s cold mornings like these- when I’m up early to feed the yowling cats, but again not quite early enough to manage to write, I wonder if perhaps he’s already arrived. I get on my worn out coat hanging by the leaky back door I haven’t fixed yet and head out into the frozen mud to free the chickens from their coop. The cracked tile floating underfoot like a shit-covered mosaic, and I remember to grab the screwdriver. I’m not using it to kill anyone, it’s to prize the eight little half-domes of ice from cups of their watering bucket. You know how this works. I always figured that, being a country-boy, you grew up with the same tales of horrors perpetrated against these birds, or else, like me, witnessed them firsthand. 

Summer gets up and I finish my coffee with her as she tapes up my sprained hand. I try to get out the door before her kids wake. To facilitate quiet conversations that have a better chance of happening if I’m not around.

Pointing the truck toward Southside, it’s crossing the Powhite bridge where it really starts to bother me. Likely because it’s this point on the other side of the bridge, I’m only a mile away from their house. I ignore the river, bloated and steel grey,  I’m looking for the nameless creek that empties into it there. I’m sure you know it, completely fabricated, it passes under Forest Hill and the train tracks. It’s cold outside the cab of my truck, but I’m not fooled by the last groan of winter. Studying the woods alongside the road, accessible as they aren’t yet burdened but the weight of all that green, I’m not sure what I'm looking for. Lost children perhaps. The sandy stretch where it emerges from snaking around behind the toll station is lined there with birches, flaking and slender, and shouldered with granite as it runs fast from a glut of late March thaw.

I’ve been going this way for a little over a month, filling a friend’s garage with sawdust from fabricating casework for bookshelves, paying particular attention to whatever happens to be going on with the creek as it seems to determine the flavor of grief for that week. Throughout the winter It’s been ever present, with me to the point I feel like there's something wrong, like a vitamin supplement I'm not taking. 

Even though it’s been a string of bad days, the garage is warm enough, and I’ve been doing this work long enough I can rip down material on the table saw letting sadness wash over me without worry of losing a finger. I pay special attention to the music I listen to, so that I don’t have to take time and fall apart. At the end of the day I’ll sweep the dust-pile under the saw into a bucket for the chickens. There’s a ruined tire from the Harley I keep filled for them to bathe in. Which reminds me I haven’t told you about Greg the Bastard.

 When Summer brought them home a year ago as chicks, they were unsexed, and as they grew, we inadvertently wound up with two roosters. Even though Greg is much bigger, he’s still number two and it’s made him skittish and unpredictable. Fierce Greg the Magnificent, Hen Raping Greg. He charges the dog as well as the kids now, and he’s even started to buck up on me. He stalks the yard like boys and men you and I have both known all our lives- insecure, large and dangerous. He doesn’t scare me, I’m more afraid the day will come when I will have to kill this animal. 

In my twenties, Liz King, who you might know, got me a job after school let out with a woman I won’t name here. Another artist, she lived in an old farmhouse down Jeff Davis Highway and had been sexually assaulted by a man there. My job was to help powder and paint the place in order to put it on the market as she didn’t feel safe there anymore. We painted the whole inside. Flying the back roads in her pick-up to some Paint store way out Hull street, she told me how the man had befriended her dogs beforehand and how he threatened to kill her if she looked at him. I don’t remember asking her about it, just the image of her long legs in cut-off shorts clutching and shifting the small truck all over Southside. I made it most mornings, except after getting home late from a Rancid show in Hampton, I was too hungover and didn’t get to her place til well after noon. She was gone, but had worked the whole morning by herself. Later that day, when I called Liz to tell her how I fucked up, she fired me over the phone. 

I bring all this up because she owned a lone rooster named Ajax, who hated me. Specializing in ambush tactics, I wasn’t safe anywhere in the yard from Ajax. The lady usually escorted me in from the gate, but heading out to the shed was dangerous. I can still feel him on the backs of my bare legs. Once, while rolling the living room ceiling and overwhelmed by the fumes of oil based primer, I stepped out on the front porch to dry heave a minute and catch my breath. Ajax heard and came stalking around the corner. Incapacitated, I cussed him, but head lowered, he came for me, creeping up the steps one terrible talon at time. 

Later I made a six foot tall portrait of Ajax as best I could remember him. Crimson comb like a child’s depiction of fire out of control, waddles surrounding the beak blazing and reckless. The emerald of the sickle feathers a cyclone of green. Hock, shank and spur a series of harsh, black lines. Very Twombly-esque, it’s still hanging in my dad’s office. Based on this one hangover, I went on to make work for the next ten years depicting the Battle of Troy as a series of cock-fights. Achilles the Terrible dragging Man-killing Hector through the streets of Troy. That sort of thing. The drawing I made Mary came from that run. 

I go home by way of the Huguenot bridge, because the Nickel bridge takes me directly in front of the house where my children live, which no matter how I’m doing, always threatens to cave my head in. If I go that way, I always think about stopping, and kneeling outside in the cold, perfect grass, with the thought if I wait long enough they might come out to see me.

I know it’s merely grief, the same garden variety of depression, that Chris Cornell said in an interview once was no less dangerous and could just as easily land a man on the end of a rope. 

But that is not my way. I’ll drive home to Summer and her kids, help with dinner, watch TV and bed by ten thirty. Regardless. And if I find myself lying awake and the void comes, I won’t scream into it like the old days, I’ll sing to it. I don’t know why, maybe it’s a lament. Maybe I think my children will walk out of the darkness and into my arms.   

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 8

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 8 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 8/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

“Take a punt,” the Doctor told Clara. He was doing some sort of math on one of his chalkboards while Clara sat down near the console.

“Right,” Clara said.

“Your choice. Wherever, whenever, anywhere in time and space.”

“Well, there is something, someone that I've always wanted to meet. But I know what you'll say.”

“Try me.”

“You'll say he's made up, that there is no such thing.”

“Go on.”

“It's…it's Robin Hood.”

“Robin Hood.”

Clara walked up the steps towards the Doctor. “Yeah. I love that story. I've always loved it, ever since I was little.”

“Robin Hood, the heroic outlaw, who robs from the rich and gives to the poor.”

“Yeah.”

“He's made up. There's no such thing.”

“Ah, you see?”

The Doctor pulled a book off his bookcase. “Old-fashioned heroes only exist in old-fashioned story books, Clara.” He thumbed through a few of the pages before setting the book back in its place.

“And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You stop bad things happening every minute of every day. That sounds pretty heroic to me.”

“Just passing the time. Hey, what about Mars?”

“What?!”

“The Ice Warrior Hives.”

“After what happened on that submarine? I don’t think so,” Elise told him. She wanted to forget that adventure. She still had nightmares.

“You said it was my choice,” Clara argued.

“Or the Tumescent Arrows of the Half-Light. Those girls can hold their drink,” the Doctor rambled.

“Doctor.”

“And fracture fifteen different levels of reality simultaneously. I think I've got a Polaroid somewhere.” The Doctor came down the stairs towards the console with Clara following him.

“Doctor! My choice. Robin Hood. Show me.”

“Very well.” He put in coordinates and set the TARDIS in flight. “Earth. England. Sherwood Forest. 1190AD. Ish. But you'll only be disappointed.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You can’t wear a black dress! You’re not going to a funeral!” Clara told Elise. Clara wanted to look the part and dragged Elise along with her. Clara looked through the dresses and pulled out a green one.

“It’s perfect! It’ll go great with your hair.” She shoved the dress into Elise’s arms. “Well go on, get dressed.”

Elise changed into the medieval style dress. It felt wrong not to be in her leather jacket and boots, but she had to admit that she looked rather good.

“Might have to cover that though,” Clara said pointing at the roses winding down Elise’s neck. She’d still yet to understand why she had the tattoo in the first place.

Clara managed to cover it up with some heavy concealer.

The two women stepped out of the TARDIS.

“Might be a little bit much, but what do you reckon, Doctor?” Clara asked. She stopped when she saw him. Robin Hood.

“By all the saints. Are there any more in there?” Robin Hood asked.

The Doctor noticed how Robin’s eyes lingered on Elise and he moved slightly in front of her.

Clara patted the Doctor’s chest in disbelief. “Is that…?” Clara asked.

“No,” the Doctor told her.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God! It is, isn't it? You found him. You actually found Robin Hood.”

“That is not Robin Hood.”

“Well then, who, sir, is about to relieve you of your magic box?” Robin asked, pulling out his long sword.

Elise nearly rushed forward, but the Doctor pushed her back. He stepped onto the bridge, facing Robin. “Nobody, sir. Not in this universe or the next.”

“Well then, draw your sword and prove your words.”

“I have no sword. I don't need a sword.” The Doctor opened his coat and twirled around to show Robin. “Because I am the Doctor.” Instead, he donned a gauntlet and pulled out a spoon. “And this is my spoon. En garde!”

They started sparring and Clara and Elise watched on in excitement.

The Doctor got the upper hand and hit Robin on the back of the neck with his spoon.

“You're amazing,” Clara praised the Doctor.

Even Elise had to admit the Doctor was rather dashing.

“I've had some experience. Richard the Lionheart. Cyrano de Bergerac. Errol Flynn. He had the most enormous…”

Clara cleared her throat, cutting off the inappropriate comment.

“…Ego.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Robin lunged forward and sliced a button off the Doctor’s coat. The Doctor held his arms out and Robin got ready to strike the killing blow. The Doctor dodged this attack and spun around so he and Robin were back to back. He bumped Robin and Robin fell into the river below.

“Doctor!” Clara said, rushing to his side.

The Doctor polished his spoon on his coat. “Like I said. My box.”

“Doctor?”

Robin was nowhere to be seen in the water below. He popped up behind the Doctor and pushed him into the water.

Clara and Robin laughed.

Elise rolled her eyes and waded into the water. She helped the Doctor up and asked, “Are you okay?”

“More of a bruised ego than anything.”

“I’ll fix your coat later.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Robin led them to a small encampment. “Let me introduce you to my men. This is Will Scarlet. He is a cheeky rogue with a good sword arm and a slippery tongue.”

“My ladies…”

Clara giggled and looked at Elise, who had no reaction.

To this day, the only man to ever make Elise blush was the man in the café after they met Clara the second time.

The Doctor pulled out some of his hair as he bowed and scanned it with his sonic screwdriver.

Will cried out and grabbed at his head. “What do you want with my hair?”

“Well, it's realistic, I'll give you that,” the Doctor told him.

“And this is Friar Tuck. Aptly named for the amount of grub he tucks into,” Robin introduced.

“You skinny blaggard.”

The men around them laughed.

Friar Tuck stepped forward and nearly fell.

The Doctor was on the ground behind him.

“What are you doing?” Tuck asked him.

The Doctor stood up, holding one of his sandals. “This isn't a real sandal.”

“Yes, it is.”

The Doctor sniffed the sandal. “Oh. Yes, it is.”

Robin turned to introduce another one of his men. “This, er, is Alan-a-Dale. He's a master of the lute, whose music brightens up these dark days.”

“Stranger you are welcome here, in Sherwood's bonny glade,” Alan sang. He suddenly cried out as the Doctor stuck him with a needle.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Blood analysis. Oh. All those diseases. If you were real, you'd be dead in six months,” the Doctor told him.

“I am real,” Alan insisted.

“Bye.”

The last of Robin’s men was huge.

“And this is John Little. Called Little John. He's my loyal companion in many an adventure.”

The large man stepped aside and a smaller man jumped out at them. The men laughed.

“Works every time,” Will said.

“Oh, I cannot believe this. You, you really are Robin Hood and his Merry Men!” Clara giggled.

“Aye! That is an apt description. What say you, lads?” Robin asked.

His men laughed in response. “Stop laughing. Why are you always doing that? Are you all simple or something?”

Elise was beginning to become annoyed as well, while Clara looked to be enjoying herself.

The Doctor picked up a goblet and poured out the liquid before walking up to Robin. “I’m going to need a sample.”

“Of what?” Robin asked.

Clara quickly pulled the Doctor away from them. “What are you doing?”

“Well, they're not holograms, that much is obvious. Could be a theme park from the future. Or we might be inside a miniscope,” the Doctor told her.

“Oh, shut up.”

“A miniscope. Yes, of course. Why not?”

The Doctor ran over to the encampment, leaving Clara and Elise.

Robin walked to them. “Your friend seems not quite of the real world,” Robin observed.

“No. No, he's not really. Not most of the time.” Clara looked at Robin. “Dark days?”

“My lady?”

“You said that these were dark days. What did you mean?”

“King Richard is away on crusade, my lady. His tyrant of a brother rules instead,” Will explained.

“And the Sheriff. Cos there is a sheriff, right?”

“Aye. It is indeed this jackal of the princes who seeks to oppress us forever more,” Alan said.

“Or six months in your case,” the Doctor quipped.

Robin spoke in a soft voice. “It is a shame to dwell on murky thoughts when there is such beauty here,” Robin said.

Elise felt like she was intruding, so she simply squeezed Clara’s hand and joined her father instead. She glanced back at Clara and Robin talking softly with each other and she felt a pang in her hearts.

The Doctor saw the look on Elise’s face and walked over to Robin. “What time is it, Mister Hood?”

“Somewhat after noon.”

“No, no. Time of year? What season?”

“Oh, Dame Autumn has draped her mellow skirts about the forest, Doctor. The time of mists and harvest approaches.”

Elise frowned. That didn’t seem right.

“Yeah, yeah. All very poetic. But it's very green hereabouts, though, isn't it? Like I said, very sunny.”

“So?” Clara asked.

“Have you been to Nottingham?”

“Climate change?”

“It's 1190.”

“You must excuse me. The Sheriff has issued a proclamation and tomorrow there is to be a contest to find the best archer in the land. And the bounty, it's an arrow made of pure gold,” Robin said.

“No! Don't, don't go. It's a trap,” Clara begged him.

“Well, of course it is! But a contest to find the best archer in the land? There is no contest.”

The men laughed.

“Right, that isn't even funny. That was bantering. I am totally against bantering,” the Doctor snapped.

“How can you be so sure he is not the real thing?” Clara asked.

“Because he can't be.”

“When did you stop believing in everything?”

“When did you start believing in impossible heroes?”

“Don't you know? In a way, it's rather sweet.” Clara joined Robin and his men, while Elise stood next to him.

He looked into her green eyes and saw…was it hope? He was going to show her he could be the Doctor again. That he could be the heroic man she knew him to be.

#Twelfth Doctor #twelfth doctor imagine #twelfth doctor fanfiction #doctor who #doctor who imagine #Doctor Who fanfiction #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the new doctor #robots of sherwood

[spacecadetal]

two weeks - kakshi hatake x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, break up, violence, blood, cuts and bruises, drinking alcohol

Word count: 1894

It started when Kakashi said he didn’t want to be with you anymore and it ended with you telling him he had two weeks to get his stuff out of your house.

When he addressed it, you turned cold. Simply saying ‘okay’. You didn’t need to know why he wanted to end it and you didn’t want to know why he wanted to end it. The idea of all your mistakes and shortcomings was something you didn’t feel the need to confront. Him leaving you was crushing enough.

You weren’t normally like this. You were actually very kind and very warm but the second you felt heartache or emotional pain you shut down. Turned cold, dead in the eyes, expressionless. A defence mechanism against hurt. Kakashi didn’t like that side of you but then again it wasn’t his or your problem anymore.

Luckily Kakashi had excellent timing to leave you, you were due to leave for your mission the next day. Two weeks across the country tracking down a rogue-nin. Sounded like a pretty good distraction.

That whole time you were suffocating these feelings down, too numb to cry about anything. You wouldn’t cry about it. He was just another person that left you, just like all the others. Instead you focused on the mission at hand, easier to think about your own survival than some guy who dumped you after you gave him half a year of your life. It made you wonder how long this ache would last, how long would you be this cold and distant for?

You don’t have time to think about these things, not when you’re blocking kicks and punches. Instead you’re focused on the fight, the opponent, trying to be two steps ahead so you don’t end up dead yourself. Perhaps this wasn’t healthy, taking out your anger on henchmen. With each punch, slash and stab you could feel your anger consume you. Strangely enough, it felt good, felt right.

Even after your team had taken down the rogue-nin, you still felt this unsettling feeling in you. Maybe you would be this way forever now. living off anger, being cold and dead inside.

The first and only thought you had as you saw the gates of Konoha in the distance was: he better have his shit out of my house.

Giving a wave goodbye to your teammates after you all entered the gates, you were going to go straight home. You needed to bathe and maybe have something proper to eat, it had been two weeks and bathing in rivers wouldn’t cut it compared to a warm shower.

You couldn’t bring yourself to smile at the kids chasing each other around on the streets, couldn’t bring yourself to smile at the smell of sweet dumplings, couldn’t bring yourself to smile at a mother and her small child holding hands.

As you turned the corner, now on the street where you lived, you saw two figures in the distance coming your direction. One of them was a figure you knew all too well. Kakashi. Hands stuffed in his vest pockets, chatting politely. On his side was a very beautiful young woman, maybe just a little older than you were yourself. Dressed sharply and nicely, no headband or vest in sight. This woman wasn’t a shinobi.

Didn’t take him long did it?

Your nose screwed up, feeling sick to your stomach. That idle anger was brewing up again, taking every drop of inner strength not to go up to him and tell him he can shove that six months of your life he wasted up his ass. In the distance you could see your home, you considered it for a moment only to ultimately walk away. Luckily, he hadn’t seen you yet.

Instead you went straight to the bar. It was getting around six at night so you knew at least Kurenai would be nursing a drink. You were right, Kurenai was sitting in a booth next to Gemna and Iruka, you assumed Asuma would be trailing behind soon. Her face dropped as soon as she saw you.

“(Y/N)! Are you okay?” Kurenai asked as you approached the booth, trying to move as quickly as she could to meet you.

“I’m fine” you said as your backpack rolled off your shoulders and onto the floor.

Sure, Kurenai's panic was warranted. You looked like you had been dragged to hell and back. Your body and face was covered in bruises ranging from dark purples to icy blues to pale yellows. Scratches littering your arms and face as if you had been attacked by a stray cat. A single deep cut on your cheek from when one of the rogue-nin’s henchmen threw a shuriken at you, luckily only grazing you. Dirt smeared on your features. At this point you didn’t care what you looked like, you just wanted a drink.

Kurenai kindly went to get you a drink, the hard stuff because boy did you look like you needed it. Sitting down across from you and sliding it your way she cautiously spoke.

“So, I heard about you and Kakashi…”

“Yeah, it is what it is” you said, playing it off like you had lost something minuscule like a pen or a book instead of someone you genuinely loved.

“Have you seen him since you got back?” Iruka asked, you shook your head as you took a sip of the amber liquid in your glass.

It was strong, burnt slightly on the way down. Not that that mattered, you still were going to down the full glass.

“I don’t really want to talk about Kakashi, it’s old news” you lied through your teeth. It wasn’t old news, that’s why it still hurt.

“That’s okay! We can talk about something else!” Iruka said, thinking fast on what to change the subject too.

Soon enough Asuma arrived and the party really started. The booth began to laugh and drink and joke around. It was just what you needed, you felt yourself easing up. Maybe it was the company or maybe it was the drink, either way it was working and you were feeling a lot lighter. Your chest didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Maybe you weren’t going to be this way forever.

It was only when you saw the sharp points of spiked silver hair that the sinking feeling came back. What was he doing here?

“I’m going to head off, probably need a good shower” you said as you slung your backpack over your shoulder, receiving ‘goodbye’ and ‘take care’ from the group.

Kakashi was walking to the same booth you were leaving from. Your head was locked straight ahead, the target was the door. You wouldn’t give Kakashi a side glance, even if you wanted to glare at him. You refused to acknowledge his presence, he certainly knew you were passing in his direction. His eyes looked at you as you approached closer, expecting to be acknowledged only for you to walk by as if he was a stranger. Not the man you loved still.

It must have stung because as soon as you were out the door and walking down the street, you heard your name being called.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!”

You didn’t want to deal with this right now, you just wanted to go home.

“(Y/N)! Wait up!” Kakashi called for you but you kept walking.

“(Y/N)! Stop!” Finally he was in front of you, hands on your shoulders firmly to stop you from walking away. You shook them off, trying to get past him.

“Did you get your shit out of my house?” You finally spoke, your eyes looking bravely into his.

Kakashi nodded silently. Right then, you heard all you wanted to hear, it was time to go home.

“(Y/N), you look a mess. Have you gone to the hospital?”

“No,” you said plainly, trying to keep walking down the street, “it’s none of your concern”

“It is my concern” he said as he tried to keep up with your fast pace. The sooner you were home the better.

“No, it really isn’t” you spat, “not anymore”

You were having a hard time trying to supress the anger rising within you. Who did he think he was?

“(Y/N)-“

“Where do you get off? You dumped me and now you’re following me around pretending you care, leave me alone, Kakashi. We’re done” you interrupted him, saying all you wanted to say. This was a warning and he better back off before he gets the full extent of your anger.

“I didn’t leave you because I didn’t care” Kakashi tried to say but you already were walking away, hand up to tell him you didn’t care what he had to say.

“I don’t care”

Why was this walking taking so long? You didn’t even live that far from the bar. You just wanted to get inside and lock the door, get away from him.

“(Y/N)! I left you because I was scared”

That got your attention, you turned around to look at him. One hand holding the strap of your backpack tightly.

“I was scared that one day one of us might not come back through those gates” Kakashi said, finally admitting the reason he left you in the first place.

“It’s done, Kakashi” you didn’t want to hear anymore, turning around to continue walking home.

Why can’t he just respect his own decision? He chose this, he did this. Does he think he can cause all this grief and then come along and try to fix it? You hadn’t even gotten started about his little walk around the village with his pretty girl yet.

Finally your street was coming up and you felt instantly relieved. Kakashi could stand outside your house and say all he wanted once you got home, it wouldn’t matter because you’d be in the shower instead of being forced to listen to him.

“(Y/N), can you just listen to me?” Kakashi began to plead.

“I’ve heard enough” you said almost as if you were bored of it, tired of it.

Your front door was in sight now and in a few minutes you’d be home and there would be a big wall finally separating you and Kakashi. You couldn’t get there fast enough. Fumbling with your keys, your hands shook as you tried to insert the key quickly. Trying to pay no mind that he was leaning against your door frame, trying to catch your attention.

“(Y/N)” he whispered gently, his fingers under your chin raising your head to look at him, “I made a mistake by leaving you”

You felt your heart stop as his fingers delicately traced your jawline, lightly touching the bruises and cuts on your face. Finally his thumb made its way to the gash on your cheek. “I’ve made a mess of things haven't I?” he whispered.

The lock clicked and your door was ready to be opened thankfully. You had no intention of standing out in the cold while Kakashi played games with your mind. Hand twisting the handle, your door opened and you were ready to retreat.

“You did this” you said quietly as you walked inside.

Taking one last look at the man almost in ruins on your doorstep before you closed your front door on him.

#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake imagines #kakashi imagine #my fic

[onwesterlywinds]

Where Flood Waters Ran

Part of my Godhands series, set roughly in the year 1544 of the Sixth Astral Era - thirty-three years before Hydaelyn’s present-day, and thirteen years before Ala Mhigo’s fall.

GODHANDS IS NOW ON AO3! If you like it, send over some kudos!

Despite all their digging, Ashley and Marco might well have been the last people in the Undercity to learn in full what had happened to Elza. The Blackram Knights had taken her deep into the Iron Maiden for more than a week, mere days after she'd offered her hideout to two teenage boys in need of shelter. The screams had been horrific, or so they'd heard, and the smell of gore and shit had overtaken the Undercity's lower reaches by the end of it. To finish with her, the Knights had welded an old Skallic diving helmet over her head, leaving her with a few slits in the metal through which she might eat or drink or breathe, and only then had they released her from their captivity.

For a dubious mercy, Elza was not yet dead, and yet much of the Undercity seemed to have written her off as such. She had attended no meetings with her fellow sigil-bearers; none of the young ones had taken errands from her. No one spoke to her wellbeing, let alone her whereabouts. She was a living ghost, a memory most had already seen fit to discard.

"We have to go find her," Ashley whispered.

They could speak with some freedom from their present surroundings. It was Flood Day, and a throng of nearly two score shouting children had gathered in one of the great storerooms up a ways from the ancient canals, both to avoid the black water when it surged over its banks and to have a proper vantage for when it did. The littlest ones had settled into some massive game of tag with rules Ashley didn't pretend to understand, except that in such tight quarters, it seemed to mimic the ebb and flow of the river not so very far below them.

Ashley stared out across the room, to where K'tobha and some of the other boys were tearing apart shipping crates apparently for the hells of it. "She helped us at our worst. It isn't fair for her to take the fall for us."

Marco's face was fixed in an uneven scowl; he made no attempt to keep his face pleasant for the children, as he so often did. "If she's keeping her head down, there's nothing we can do for her," he said. "She knew what she was doing when she helped us, and she's got her reasons for staying away now."

"Why can't we go to her?" Marco turned to him as if to tell him off, but he pushed on. "I know she's not stupid enough to still be in her hideout, but she can't be that hard to find, with that thing over her head-"

Ashley cut himself off as a familiar shape sidled up alongside Marco, his face cloaked in shadow until the moment he clapped a hand on Marco's shoulder.

"It's pointless," Hawthorne said by way of introduction. "Overheard Palolo, the little shite, telling a few Blackram Knights all about that 'careful' conversation you had with her ma about Elza's meetup with the Maiden." Then, with one of his signature grins, he added, "You fucking loudmouths."

Marco swung an elbow toward Hawthorne's general direction, albeit without much enthusiasm; the boy dodged the swipe easily and reappeared at Ashley's side. "Anyway, Elza's off to wherever she's off to, and the Knights know you're looking for her now. They were staking out her place when I passed by just now; think they're hoping to find her first to get the jump on you."

Ashley let out a growl of frustration so loud that a few of the nearest children turned to him, momentarily distracted from their play. "How can they just let him do this?!" he fumed. "Any of them!"

"Listen." The voice was low, and he nearly mistook it for Marco's - but it was Hawthorne, deadly serious for perhaps the first time in Ashley's memory. "Marco's got it right. Elza knew what she was getting herself into. You think she'd lose her man, and her boy, and still think Blackram couldn't touch her?"

"No."

"Fuck no," Hawthorne confirmed. "Best thing you can do to repay her now is keep the hells away. She isn't dead - and with a bit of luck and a whole lot of minding your own business, she could stay that way."

With a hearty blow to Ashley's back in farewell, Hawthorne left the chamber, dodging a charging throng of sprats as he did so. For a time, he and Marco stood in witness to the chaos, both of them with their arms crossed tight over their chests. It would not do to leave so soon after an argument - especially not when anyone sparing them a whit of attention might guess what they had fought about - but far more practically, neither of them had anywhere better to be.

"I felt the same way when Sigrid died," Marco said to him at last. "Was so mad I couldn't even grieve her. The other sigil-bearers all knew the bastard had an eye on her, and they did fuck-all to keep him away from her. ...Even Elza."

Ashley mentally thanked him for not saying Blackram's name aloud, as Hawthorne had. "Were the two of you close?" he said, softly. "You and Sigrid."

Marco shook his head in vehement denial. "We didn't ever really talk. But she did a lot for me, 'specially when I was a lad: letting me stay in her territory up by the palace a few times, and always giving me coin for my tips, even when we both knew they were worthless. Probably kept me alive more than once."

"Hells, that's something," said Ashley.

His remaining thoughts scattered as a child careening away from the others tripped into his side; he immediately reached for his pockets to ensure their integrity and, for a blessing, found them uncompromised. Together, he and Marco revisited their familiar silence.

The patterned batiks of a Fist-in-training reemerged through the crowd to lean beside Ashley once more, and Ashley's only indication that this was Gelva and not Hawthorne was the prodigious depth of her scowl from under the hood.

"Since my brother won't shut up-"

Marco gave a little snort of laughter. Gelva's frown deepened, but she did not turn to face him. Whatever reason she had for joining them, it wasn't to start a fight.

"I have no idea where I'd start looking for a deposed lord with no options, who's got the Undercity's worst dogging her steps, and who's already had every last secret beaten out of her. By her own account."

His heart leaped, despite himself. Despite everything. "You're saying-"

"Not a single fucking word out of you, or I'm gone. If I'm saying anything, it's that Dad's been keeping a new shipment in one of our warehouses. I told him it was useless and more trouble than it's worth, and he called me an idiot for it. So there's that."

Ashley could only stare at Gelva's face as he rushed to piece together the implications of her words. "Thank-"

"That's a word," she snapped. She left as quickly as her brother had, albeit in much more of a huff and with less resistance from the crowd around them.

His ears were ringing long after her departure. When he stared over at Marco, he saw some trace of hope on his features as well. Still, Ashley could not concentrate through the noise and cheer around him, and his mind and heart were unable to settle.

"I'm gonna go," he said to Marco at last. "Need some sun."

"'S probably past midnight by now," his friend reminded him.

"Some fresh air, then."

He pushed off the wall and stretched as he waited for an opening in the children's game to make an inconspicuous departure. Before that chance arrived, a cry tore through the tunnel outside the storeroom. Every head turned, almost in unison, to note its origin, and a man in leathers threw himself through the doorway, drenched all over and sporting a deep gash to his bare forearm.

"Marco!" he yelled, then- "Marco's friend! Crusader, in the canal!"

The storeroom settled into an odd calm. As Marco ran for the door, with Ashley following close in his wake, the children seamlessly cleared a path for him.

"Barricade the doors!" Marco shouted over his shoulder. "Big ones up front, little ones in back - you know how it goes!"

The man who'd shouted the warning nodded and staggered in, back toward the ruined crates to lend himself to the defense, while Marco and Ashley slipped past him to meet the danger head-on.

The floodwater was already lapping over the canal's banks, stretching wide across the white stone of the landing station a few ilms deep. On the opposite side of the rush of dark water lay two bodies with a heavy net floating near them; between him and Marco and the current, a towering suit of ancient armor turned.

It was wrought entirely of metal and somehow no less hideous for it. It had no head, let alone any semblance of flesh to speak of - and yet the longer Ashley stared at it, the more clearly he could envision a ghastly face twisted in agony, and a frame racked by the spasm and twitch of rogue muscles, driven by whatever fell magicks compelled the armor to attack.

"AIM FOR ITS CORE!" Marco called - and at those words, Ashley's eyes fell upon a glowing, pulsing crystal, smaller than his own clenched fist, hovering at the center of its two massive pauldrons.

"How the fuck are we supposed to reach-"

The crusader raised a greatsword covered in glowing runes and charged, the ringing of its steps dulled by the floodwater lapping out across the stone hall. Marco feinted to its right and submerged himself in the shadows; the armor's torso pivoted, tracking him with nonexistent eyes.

Ashley ran at it from the side. The core lay in position well above the height of his head: he could perhaps reach it if he extended his arm in full, though doing so would expose nearly the full length of his body to the crusader's blade. Almost as an afterthought, Ashley drew his knife from his waistband and stabbed into the closest available gap between plates of armor, somewhere near where the crusader's thigh would have been. A dark swirl of aether, thick and shimmering like oil, gushed from thin air and a hellish roar burst forth to resonate against the walls, and then the crusader raised its arm-

"ASHLEY!"

A gauntlet collided with his ribs and sent him flying, stunning him even before he landed hard against the wet stone. The whole side of his face seared with pain, his nose and mouth stifled with blood and saltwater. Somewhere from up above came the slosh and clang of the crusader's steps, getting closer and closer - then an otherworldly hum.

A deep purple magick enveloped his arm and subsumed his knife. Ashley braced for some new agony to reach him, only for the magick to fade almost at once - and when it did, his knife's blade dissolved into the water beneath him in a shower of rust.

The crusader took another step closer, and another, and all the while Ashley staggered to his feet in a vain effort to ignore the screaming pain along his side. He had no weapon and could not retreat back to the storeroom without the crusader following him, without it reaching the children.

From dead ahead, Marco loosed a loud cry and leaped onto the crusader's back. He fought the armor's movement with all its strength, straining to hold just one of its arms, and yet the other arm reared back as if preparing to gore him.

At once the pain retreated to a place within Ashley's control. He lunged forward and grabbed the crusader's sword arm in both his own, standing fast even as the flood water surged against his legs and the monster howled in outrage.

He could barely see Marco, covered in sweat, leaning over the crusader's headless shoulders; he watched his friend stab once, then twice, and miss both times. Then the crusader shuddered with some desperate strength, and it was all Ashley could do to continue pulling at the arm with the greatsword, diverting its swing away from Marco at all cost.

He did not see Marco land the finishing blow. He only knew the crusader was defeated when it lost its strength, when its sudden lack of resistance sending him lurching forward. One by one the plates of ancient armor splashed into the water at his feet - and when he turned around to ensure Marco's safety, his friend stood with his chest heaving, holding up his knife, upon which was skewered the crusader's dark and lifeless core.

***

As Ashley returned up to the canal storeroom to try to find something for his face, a handful of Undercity leaders had already arrived to take stock of the crusader's defeat: a Duskwight matriarch, a merchant clad in blue who swept several of the children into his embrace, and the respective keepers of the Laurel and Kalmia Sigils. When the storeroom became too crowded for comfort and the only healing to be found was a grimy rag from a nonetheless well-intentioned little girl, the pair of lords followed Marco and Ashley back down to the canal, where the water had already risen up past their ankles. As Marco helped him splash water onto his scraped cheek, the lords worked in tandem: the Laurel Sigil leader, a conjurer with a halo of dark hair, chanted over the empty armor and scattered consecrated salt in wide but calculated circles; the Kalmia Sigil's keeper, a tall and imposing warrior with a crossbow strapped to their broad shoulders, traced out the crusader's battle in the gouges its sabatons had left upon the stones of the landing.

The warrior glared over at the other side of the canal, to where the bodies of the crusader's two victims lay entwined in their own net. "Idiots," the warrior whispered, then: "That cave-in up by Aster's has closed off the other bank, and there's no chance of crossing the water until the flood subsides. We'll have to let the river take the corpses and pray for the best."

"Mmm," the conjurer responded. "I don't like the chances of them coming back."

"We're talking ghosts at worst, Dagmar. Things don't come out of the river. The only reason that armor did was because those scavengers decided to test their luck on Flood Day." They shrugged. "I'll take it with me, if it makes you feel better."

Dagmar frowned but nodded. The warrior procured a length of rope and set themself to binding the crusader's empty armor into a single tight bundle.

"Wait," said Marco. The warrior did not stop their movements. "Dagmar, Neele. We have to talk."

"Shhh," Neele, the warrior, shook their head. Neither they nor Dagmar looked at him or at Marco; they were pointedly staring up toward the ceiling, or at some intricate tilework along the canal wall. They might have resembled Heart-Seers for their lack of eye contact, were it not for the fact that they were not listening - not to the water, not to the stones, and not to anything the two boys in front of them were saying. "You lads did good work today. That's forty-five children you've saved."

Ashley managed to take a single step forward without his hip giving in to the pain. "What are you-"

"You've every right to hate us," Neele continued, looking down the tunnel where the rush of water disappeared, "for how things have transpired. I'm sorry we weren't there for Elza, and I'm sorry we can't be there for you."

Marco let out a strangled sound that might have been the beginning of a growl of frustration; instead, he spoke only one word. "Why?"

The conjurer, Dagmar, spoke up for the first time. "It's quite the omen," she said. "I, too, have forty-five souls in my care. At least for now. Forty-five souls to cull the Undercity's legions of undead, and that's with the Knights picking us off at a whim. If I cross their master, we'll doubtless pay an even greater price."

"The last time I opposed Blackram at the Quorum," Neele chimed in, "one of my border-fighters went missing the first day. Then two. Then four. We're strapped as it is, but I'd be a liar if I gave you any reason for keeping my hands clean of you save that they're my people, and I'll do whatever I must to keep them alive."

"And this way," Dagmar added, blinking pointedly up at the ceiling, "we never saw you."

Marco shook his head. "Listen," he said, and his voice wavered with a desperation Ashley had never heard from him before. "Ashley won't bring you any trouble."

"Marco," Ashley interjected.

"I don't care if you leave me be, but just give him a chance, and-"

"You're not that daft, lad," said Neele. "Trouble's all he'll bring - Blackram's already seen to that. And the longer you stick with him, it won't matter how many young ones you save: you'll only bring trouble, too."

With that, Neele hoisted the bundle of armor over their shoulder, and they and Dagmar left the canal as one. Marco paced the landing for another minute, until the flood reached up to their knees.

"I can just-" Ashley began.

"Nah," Marco said, albeit without his regular levity. "We'll find somewhere to collapse. Good thing we don't need their permission to watch each other's backs, right?"

#Godhands #Ashley Rosenheim #Marco

[littlemeangreen]

Onism

The frustration of being stuck in just one body

@thecorteztwins your favs call me daddy too.

"Oh god, oh god, oh fuck-" Shinobi Shaw swore as he tripped over a table leg. Who put table legs in the hallway? Who put tables in hallways? God, they were so gaudy. But then again, it seemed like a thing for Haven. She was a sweet woman and a total milf but like all rich people, she had obviously never had to furnish her own home before.

But still, for what Haven lacked in moderate taste she made up for in a caring attitude that made most mutants of Krakoa swear that she had some sort of...super mothering powers. Yeah, that seemed like a valid enough thing for Haven.

She was always caring and polite and Shinobi was hard pressed to think of a time where she didn't help any members of the team. Like taking Alice shopping to develop her own style, letting Claudia ramble on about something, being there for Pyro when he either started going off about one of his books or dragged her off to talk in private and letting Madelyne go off on her personal martyr missions because it was "healthy for her".

Hell, she even made an effort with Shinobi's father, Sebastian. Shinobi didn't think that much could happen there, once a lost cause then always a lost cause, right? Still his father hadn't given any hints that he fucked her so Shinobi could admit that a great deal of his love for Haven came because of that fact.

But still, Haven gave almost everything she saw effort and that weirdly enough included the Shaws for god knows why. They were then Kardashians of Krakoa! There was no point for Haven to try and use her feelings to try and get along with his father. You could try to feed a donkey a carrot but you couldn't do it by shoving the carrot up its asshole.

That's why it was odd that she had called him so....late? Early? He had been at a delightful party-turned orgy so he had lost track of the time. He'd gotten told that he had a text right when it had been getting good and now here he was, rushing down a hallway because Haven had texted him in a middle of an orgy because something had happened to his father and no one would tell Shinobi what is was.

It was maddening. Infuriating. Worrying. Shinobi wanted his father to be okay.

Shinobi also wanted to hear that his father was in pain.

"Ah! Shinobi! Forgive me for not passing any details, the situa-" Haven seemed to have been cut off by the look he had given her but really, surely the woman would know not to ramble on after giving such a text!

"Right, yes, sorry. Your father is...okay." Okay? No mutant was ever okay in their lives! "He was on a mission with Fabian-"

Oh fuck. Shinobi imagined that if his father had another son (that Shinobi knew of) and dropped him down a river like Mystique did, it would be Fabian. A disaster of a birth could only make such a wreck of a man years down the line in Shinobi's opinion. But it wasn't like he would actually ever say anything to Cortez. After all, who knew what a mutant with power enhancing skills could do to a man who phased through things. Better to keep his tongue away from Fabian Cortez, both metaphorically and physically. Especially physically.

Wait. Shit. Haven looked like she was done speaking. Had Shinobi glazed through it all? Haven would be perfectly fine with explaining it again but still...did he really want to stand through another long winded and overly detailed talk? Probably not.

"-Trust me, we're going to try and reverse what happned but first we need to just simply wait and find out if..." Haven seemed to stop for a moment, biting her lip and looking away briefly. She fiddled with low hanging necklace riddled with red jewels. Shinobi distantly remembered that red apparently evil comings in Egyptian mythology.

Shinobi sighed and decided that, like all things in life, he would do this head first. After all, he was excellent at head.

"Right....well. Take me to him, I suppose he will be wanting to talk to me." He frowned and waved a hand, trying to come off as aloof. Father had done it many a times and he hoped to think that he had gotten the gesture down to the same titbit.

Haven seemed to account his aloofness for grief and stepped forward, offering her hand and not looking off-put when Shinobi didn't take it. "Of course. Follow me, he- they refused anyone in the room apart from Dr McCoy, Charles, Moira and....Madelyne." Haven winced at that last bit and Shinobi could only imagine what it could mean. Did Sebastian demand that she stay? To keep someone the smallest bit familiar that he could stand? Perhaps he liked it when Madelyne presence could soothe something in him, like a twisted beast disguise as a beauty.

No, that was ridiculous. Shinobi's father could take more comfort from a wrinkled bill rather than any person.

Fabian though? Yeah, that made sense she'd be there.

Shinobi was led through the halls, where he saw the rest off his team waiting about. Alice was leaning against Pyro, frowning as he rambled on about something to make her feel better. That was good of him, Pyro often than not was able to pull through on comfort far more easily than he thought he could. He'd hold on just fine until Dom came over to help him out.

Claudine was leaning against a wall, nodding at Haven after looking up from her phone and rapidly texting. Shinobi didn't want to think about what she would hope to gain from whatever happened to his father.

But what was surprising was the fact that the rest of the Acolytes were standing around near the doorway, Anne Marie being helped by Delgardo, who was passing her a glass of water as the blue haired woman took a sip and cradled her head. Also...Quicksilver was there. Which Shinobi didn't want to think about why other than him being on he mission with Fabian and Sebastian.

All of these people for the worst men on Krakoa...it was astounding honestly. "Are you ready?" The tall woman was weirdly insistent on making sure Shinobi was prepared for something he wasn't even sure about yet. But he liked surprises for the most part, maybe this would be one of them. Or better yet, this whole charade was just some sort of...surprise birthday party. You never knew, he certainly didn't know when his birthday was. Father was never big on celebrating milestones that just reminded him of the disappointment he seeded years ago. Ugh.

Shinobi nodded, adjusting his tie and taking in a deep breath as the door opened up. Whatever this was, he could easily handle it. Contrary to belief, Shinobi was capable of doing tasks for his fa-

Oh.

"Oh." Shinobi said.

"Oh." Haven agreed with a small sigh, covering her mouth at the unfortunate sight.

"Oh." Charles Xavier, sitting by a table in the room, seemed to think that this was the best greeting.

"Oh?" A new voice, deep enough that Shinobi could feel it rumble in his chest, deep enough that it caused he windows to shake gently. The voice belonged to a horror of a nightmare and oh god Shinobi was going to become a nun or whatever the hell meant he could never look at evil again. Because this?? This was evil.

He was big. Like, eight or nine foot big. Fucking stacked with the small pouch of fat that all middle aged people got eventually. There were also stretch marks across his skin and Shinobi wished that he had the decency to either cover himself or to just not wear a shirt at all, with the way that he wore ONLY sleeves that were buttoned above his ridiculously big man boobs, the type of man boobs that only jacked guys or the Blob had and the type that Shinobi prayed every night that he wouldn't get one day. Thank god his pants stayed on, despite how...hugging they were.

His face was chiselled enough, with a shady stubble that definitely make a picture with the brownish-red hair that was currently tied up in a ponytail trailing down his back and Shinobi couldn't help but notice the fact that his eyes were practically glowing blue among a pitch black scelara.

"Shinobi, I HOPE that you aren't going to just STAND there and stare like a FOOL." The same deep rumble was back and with every word that was seemingly emphasised, Shinobi not only heard his father's voice, but also a deep surge of something that made a churning feeling arrive in his chest and stomach. He didn't need to stand around here to know that he didn't like the way that another set of eyes opened up and stared from what was supposed to be Sebastian Shaw and Fabian Cortez's throat and left cheek. He also didn't like how a crunching noise led to another set of arms, just as muscular as the first pair.

Haven seemed to catch on to what he was feeling, she always did. And the kindly woman was quick to carefully place herself between the...two? Three? Of them. Luckily Fabian's liking for Haven seemed to transpire over to Sebastian and the giant's eyes softened as he stared down at her.

Well. Shinobi would feel traumatised over that later. It would give him something to do when he wasn't partying.

"Okay, let's...take a deep breath and...try to think about this. After all," Haven dropped her hands and winced, obviously thinking back to something Shinobi had missed. "We don't want a repeat of what happened to Scott when he tried to get you two to split up..." Shinobi didn't know it now, but he would definitely laugh later when he heard how Scott blasted an eye beam when Fabastian got too rowdy, only for his own lasers to bounce off him and.. seemingly emit from Fabastian's own eyes. Beast and Chrome had suspected that rather than increasing other mutant's powers or absorbing them in force, Fabastian took the power in and replicated it in a more extreme force, rather than a simple absorption like Rogue did.

Fabastian sighed and nodded, turning away to stare out the large windows, his awful back...rippling. ugh. How did someone ripple that much? It was gross and unnatural and ugh, oak trees were skinnier than Fabastian's arms. It was like bear meets bear meets bear with a bear with a steroid problem. "We are absolutely SURE that we can fix it BECAUSE, no one can even BEGIN to be trusted with this!"

Then, as an afterthought and lower to himself, Fabastian added, "And it isn't like any of you will be willing to help me or him or us or what makes this form so brilliant."

Behind them all, Pietro seemed to wince and look away, like be didn't agree with that sentiment. Which was fair, Shinobi didn't like it either so Blues Twinky Clues had a very good point there.

"Um. Okay." Shinobi made the effort to try and ignore the way that his - father? Guy he didn't want at orgies or doing drugs? Or anywhere near him? - Spoke. "So. Um. I think...this is a big problem and Haven is absolutely right when she thinks that this shit is weird and we need to-"

He barely got to finish before large hands were shooting out for him. Haven...she tried to stand in the way again but it seemed that Fabastian's emotions had taken over and large hand roughly shoved her away, causing Haven to slide across the room and into the back of a wall. Funny enough, almost no one noticed the flare of darkness coming across her eyes and spilling out of her mouth as she took the sudden force and was...seemingly okay.

Everyone else though, took it as the motion of "oh fuck they're angry time to fight" and now Shinobi was suddenly surrounded by a room of heroes, villains for hire and whatever Pyro was, as they took the big fight scene poses. Completely ready to get their asses kicked if you asked Shinobi.

After all, no one went up against any part of Sebastian Shaw and came away perfectly fine. He always hurt you in some little way that maybe you won't notice for months until someone sneered or yelled at you in the right way and your stomach would clench and you would start to shake because they were right, he was right about everything when it came to how awful you were but you could never hope to say anything to defend yourself.....ahem. Shinobi was getting ahead of himself there but the point still stood; You never won in a war with Sebastian Shaw, even if you had won the battle of that day.

And maybe someone would think that seeing Haven getting supposedly hurt would make Shinobi be more heroic and actually stand up for her for once. That having everyone in the room, including Anne Marie who normally would never harm a mutant so long as she knew stood on her side, was now staring intently at the awful muscular being and...well, fuck. It was going to be one hell of a showdown and Krakoa would definitely be busy over the next few weeks bringing people back to life. That is, if Fabastian didn't explode on impact, like am oversized balloon.

And maybe you would expect Shinobi himself to start fighting. To finally take a big stand against his dad and the asshole that kept ruining the good parties and orgies.

No.

Instead, Shinobi took a step back, a deeper intake of air that seemed to keep on running away from him. His eyes were wider by the second as Fabastian took a step forward and something pulsed within him that....well, he didn't like thinking about the sudden sharp fear, like he was a deer in headlights. Only that the headlights were an overzealous and violent man who was currently screaming over how; "He KNEW you would all betray him how DARE you ALL!" You know, the scary shit that you tended to hide from when an incredibly creepy guy and your scary parent were getting into that awful mood.

Instead, Shinobi decided that dying again wasn't worth it. And something in him twisted and turned in an ugly manner as the sight of familiar eyes shifting in anger as they took in all of the opponents they would hurt and prove their worth to. He didn't want to die like this and something in Shinobi (the part of him that went "that catch of tequila will fuck you UP" And was usually right) told him that he especially didn't want to die by his father's hand.

It was cowardly. To step back and simply...phase through the floor before Fabastian could touch him. He couldn't deal with this. Not right now. There was nothing funny about the current situation or the anger that was taking hold in a normally coll and collected man. Right now, all Shinobi cared about was getting to safety for himself. Maybe finding Storm because even when he was being awful and flirty, he did admittedly admire how she was seemingly never scared by what she faced.

And besides, he could always laugh at Pietro being punted into Anne Marie out of a window later.

#marvel #thecorteztwins #shinobi shaw #sebastian shaw #fabian cortez #pietro maximoff #Anne Marie Cortez #charles xavier #madelyne pryor #my writing #belle blurts #ok this is SUPER messy #but i thought: fuck it finish it while u can before u get distacted #so sorry that the rest of it is clearly rushed i didn't want to lose focous #tw child abuse mention #did i portray on Shinobi a bit????? maybe #Fabastian more like FabASStian #honestly I'm better at headcanons and i could probably do fusion headcanons much easier since it helps direct my thoughts easier #but uh. ta da???

[katiek101]

Swept Away AU

(In response to the Mistystar AU ask)

This ask could technically be tied to the Stonefur AU I posted a few days ago. I love Mistystar but she isn't being very inspiring right now... I do, however, have an old AU about her kits that never became warriors: Pikepaw, Primrosepaw, and Perchkit.

Perchkit died before he was apprenticed, so I'm trashing that. Pikepaw and Primrosepaw I believe drowned in the river. Let's go with that.

Working title: Swept Away

The AU starts with Mistyfoot's four kits (including Reedpaw) making the most out of their day off from training. They're playing hide-and-seek in the reed beds; chasing each other across the sand. Finally they reach the river.

After a lot of heavy rain, the river is dangerously high and too powerful for most warriors to swim across; thus, the reason the apprentices were given the day off. Their only instructions were to stay away from the river.

"Wow," Reedpaw breathes. "No wonder the river is off-limits today! I bet none of the warriors could swim across!"

Perchpaw has never been one to stick to the rules. He smirks.

Pikepaw knows that look all too well. He immediately meows, "Whatever you're thinking, get it out of your head right now."

"I could do it," Perchpaw ignores him. "I'm already one of the best swimmers in the Clan!"

Primrosepaw and Reedpaw exchange glances, then get comfortable. They know better than to try and get between their brothers once an argument has started. Likewise, they know that they'll probably waste their day off by standing here and fighting all day.

The argument escalates until Perchpaw throws out the usual, "you're not my mentor, you're not Mistyfoot, you think you're so great just because Leopardfur is your mentor," etc.

Pikepaw has heard it all before, but today he's decided he's sick of it. "Fine then," he exclaims. "If you think you're StarClan's gift, then swim! I dare you!"

The littermates all stop and stare at their eldest brother. Pikepaw is set in his ways to the point where he is predictable. This is new for him.

Perchpaw sets his jaw. He has never backed down from a challenge.

"Watch me," he growls. Then he spins around and without another thought, leaps into the river.

The weight of what Perchpaw's just done strikes Pikepaw, and suddenly he panics. "No, wait!" Primrosepaw rushes forward to jump in after her, but Pikepaw blocks his sister. "Stop!"

Perchpaw starts off strongly enough; his ego is inflated, but he is a talented swimmer. "Quit worrying!" He calls over his shoulder, as he kicks across the river.

Reedpaw's fur bristles across his spine. Disaster is on the way, he can feel it. "I'm going to get Mistyfoot!" he tells Pikepaw, who is too busy struggling with Primrosepaw to tell Reedpaw to stay put; this is his fault, and if their mother looks at him with disappointment-

In a flash, Reedpaw is racing back to camp.

Suddenly Perchpaw is sucked underneath the rushing waters, and Primrosepaw breaks free of Pikepaw and leaps into the river to save her brother. She is almost immediately sucked underneath the surface as well, and the crashing waves drown out her screams.

Pikepaw is frozen in place as he waits for his littermates to resurface again, but when they do, they’re much further down the river. If Pikepaw doesn’t do something fast, he’s going to lose sight of them. 

So he does exactly what he should not and jumps in after them.

In the distance he can hear Reedpaw and Mistyfoot screaming. He hopes Mistyfoot won't ever forget him. He hopes Reedpaw will forgive him.

Pikepaw is thrown into a rock. Then everything fades to black.

The three apprentices are knocked unconscious. Primrosepaw is the first to awake, and when she finally does it’s clear they are on a beach, but this beach is unlike the one back in RiverClan. The sand is dark gray and as she walks, it feels like she’s sinking into it. The water tastes salty on her tongue, and the water stretches out until she can’t see land on the other side.

The elders told stories of an ocean. Primrosepaw never believed those stories, but she can’t think of anything else to call this strange place.

Soon after Perchpaw and Pikepaw wake up, and argument ensures. Pikepaw exclaims that this is all Perchpaw’s fault, and Perchpaw calls Pikepaw out on his superiority complex. They’re both right, but without Reedpaw around to be the peacekeeper, there is no one to split them up. Primrosepaw could do it but then she would get dragged into the middle of things, and the cycle would never end.

Something in the distance catches her attention: a tall, red and white structure. It must have been created by twolegs, but the whole beach seems to be abandoned.

Can StarClan even see us here, she wonders hopelessly.

They need to get back to RiverClan, but the tall structure calls to Primrosepaw. Maybe it can help us find our way home. She looks back at her brothers and gets their attention, pointing to the twoleg structure.

Pikepaw wants to stay far away from it, but Perchpaw is drawn to dangerous ideas (or any idea that Pikepaw doesn’t like, for that matter), and agrees to go with her to check it out. It’s a majority vote, so Pikepaw gets sucked into it.

They don’t make it to the structure, however. Halfway across the beach, a group of rogues jump out from a bunch of rocks and surround them. There aren’t many of them, and with their warrior training the littermates could probably take them, but they’re dehydrated and hungry and sore. Negotiates it is.

A white she-cat steps forward and informs the apprentices that they are trespassing.

“This is your territory?” Pikepaw asks. “So you’re a Clan?”

The she-cat tells him she doesn’t know what a Clan is, and she doesn’t care. This is their beach. Primrosepaw thinks this she-cat could be considered pretty if her face wasn’t twisted into a permanent snarl.

Pikepaw quickly explains their situation, and asks if they know how they can get back home. The she-cat hesitates before she tells them, No.

“Drift,” a tom starts. “They could use the Lightbox.” He gestures to the twoleg structure.

The she-cat, Drift, scoffs. “Don’t be foolish, Gale. The Lightbox hasn’t worked in seasons if it ever worked at all.”

“They could fix it,” Gale argues. The other rogues exchange looks with one another. 

“How could your Lightbox help us?” Perchpaw asks curiously. 

Drift spares him a withering look, then reluctantly explains, “Old cats have told stories of the Lightbox. When twolegs first created it, a light like a never ending stream would shine at the top of the tower.” She huffed. “They say that the Lightbox knows where every cat’s home is. If you are ever lost, it will point you in the direction of your home.”

Primrosepaw frowns. “How do you know it isn’t just a story?” 

Gale shrugs. “Some believe it is just a story.” He shoots Drift a pointed look. 

“If it’s true, then how do we fix it?” Pikepaw asks. Unfortunately, none of the rogues have an answer for him. 

In the distance, thunder booms. Another storm is on the way.

Drift reluctantly offers the trio shelter during the storm, under the conditions that they must leave as soon as the weather permits. Primrosepaw isn’t sure they can trust the rogues, but what other option is there? Her brothers seem to struggle with the same thought.

Lightning follows the thunder. It seems like they don’t have a choice.

The rogues lead them to the Lightbox. Even though it does not guide cats home anymore, the inside of it still shields them from the elements. Pikepaw finds a dank corner to settle down, and Primrosepaw and Perchpaw lay on either side of him.

“I don’t like this,” he mutters.

“Hopefully the storm will pass soon,” Primrosepaw meows. Perchpaw simply looks around the tower with interest.

Unfortunately, the storm rages on all day and night. Just when Perchpaw thinks he might die from starvation, one of the rogues drops a large, salty-smelling fish in front of them. 

It’s called snapper, she tells them. She introduces herself as Opal.

Even in the stormy shadows, Perchpaw thinks she is pretty. 

The snapper has a different taste. It’s saltier, but to his groaning stomach, it is delicious. It is also large enough that the littermates can share it and once they’ve picked it’s bones dry, they are satisfied.

“Reedpaw would have liked it,” Pikepaw mumbles. Neither Primrosepaw or Perchpaw can bring themselves to respond. It is going to be a long night.

At least, that’s what he thinks until someone pokes him awake. When Perchpaw opens his eyes, Opal stands in front of them. “Come with me,” she whispers. 

Perchpaw thinks the wise thing to do would be to wake his littermates, but he doesn’t. He goes with Opal, alone, though he isn’t worried. When the rogues jumped out from the rocks, he saw the curiosity shining in her pale-colored eyes. 

“Your brother talked about a Clan,” she whispers to him, once they’re alone. “Drift won’t say anything, but a Clan used to live here. They called themselves ShoreClan.”

Perchpaw blinks. Whatever secret he thought this she-cat wanted to share, that was not it. “Why won’t Drift say anything about it?” He asks. 

Opal scrapes her claws against the ground. “Most of the group doesn’t know about it, but our mothers were warriors; Clanmates. We grew up hearing stories about ShoreClan.” At that, Opal looks away. “ShoreClan was wiped out before we were born. Drift knows how, but she won’t tell me.”

Perchpaw asked about their mothers.

“Storm,” Opal meowed. “They made Drift and I race to highground, but they fell behind. We never saw them again, so we assume they drowned.” She speaks like the memory doesn’t hurt, but her eyes give her pain away. “Anyway, we wandered across the beach until we found others who were separated from their kin, including Gale. Eventually we found the Lightbox, and an old blind cat who called herself The Watcher. She’s the one who told us the legend of the Lightbox. She died soon after we found her, and we’ve stayed here ever since.”

It’s a lot to soak in. Perchpaw can hardly wrap his mind around it all -- if ShoreClan really existed, are there other Clans out there now? He always assumed there was only RiverClan, ThunderClan, WindClan and ShadowClan.

Apparently, Opal isn’t out of surprises yet. “There’s one more thing,” she whispers, and now she hesitates.

“You can tell me anything,” Perchpaw promises her.

Opal searches his face for a heartbeat, then murmurs, “I haven’t dreamed of my mother ever since she died. That’s strange, isn’t it? Well two nights ago I finally did, and she told me that ShoreClan would rebuild. I asked her how, and she said that there would be strangers on our beach who knew of Clans, and that we should trust them. Perchpaw,” she breathed, “I know you want to return to your Clan, but I think you and your littermates are supposed to help us rebuild our Clan.”

SkyClan rip-off, anyone? Let me know if you would like a Part 2, or even a one-shot!

#or I could just. start a whole new fic #Y/N? #Swept Away AU #Perchpaw #Pikepaw #Primrosepaw #Reedwhisker #Mistystar #AU game #warrior cats au

[celticfeather]

Chapter 1: https://celticfeather.tumblr.com/post/188433697686/akatsuki-fic-campfires

Cannibals Chapter 3: The Lineage of Izanagi

-Uchiha Itachi-

Something particularly loveless prodded Itachi awake.

"You're the last watch till dawn," Kakuzu said. Itachi activated his sharingan as he woke, his dark eyes shifting to red. He could see Kakuzu's green ones were dilated near-sightlessly in the blackness.

Itachi rose and leapt up their chosen watchman's tree. The sharingan allowed him to see a wider spectrum of visible light than a normal human, and what should have been the black jungle night gained a strange ultraviolet tinge, a whitish-purple color somewhere between neon and dark that his language could not well describe. The stars and chakras shined different, coldly-bright, minty colors too. But he saw no glows of enemy shinobi in the night, just the gentle silver chakra silhouettes of sleeping birds and insects, and the three ninja below him. He let his sharingan fade. In an hour it had become bright enough for ordinary humans to see.

He alighted between the three ninja sleeping on the ground to no response. So much for Kisame's 'I only half sleep' claim.

Unsure of the best way to wake them, Itachi announced at normal volume, "It's dawn."

They rose quickly and quietly, professional in every mercenary sense of the word. For a troupe of cantankerous rogues, Itachi was surprised no one complained. He supposed that would resume once they decided they were no longer being hunted.

"No sign of the enemy since I've been awake," Itachi reported.

"Time to get the hell out of the land of Lightning. Anyone gotta take a piss, now's the time," Kakuzu said. After a short moment, the four ninja oriented themselves against the eastern dawn, and began leaping through the trees.

"Where's Zetsu when you need him?" Deidara muttered as they ran. "He'd say what Pain wants us to do about this."

"You don't need Pain or his pet mushroom. You have me," Kakuzu said.

"Yeah? And who made you second in command?"

"I'm the one who actually talks with our contractors. So naturally, I have our mission intel, and there's no reason to stop work."

"Hmpf," Deidara said.

"Since you fucked up the least, Kisame, I'll let you pick what you do." Kakuzu said. "You want to fix this Raikage incident, or make some money?"

Kisame looked at Itachi for his opinion. Itachi merely raised his eyebrows in reply.

"Make money," Kisame answered. Good. Itachi wanted to be away from this disaster.

"Great. You two go to this shithole village and kill their patriarch. When you're done with that, some pirates could use a lesson in not leaving witnesses." Kakuzu tossed a scroll to Kisame and one to Itachi, who each caught them deftly. Kakuzu then looked at Deidara.

"Deidara, you and Sasori will fix your fuck up. We don't want the Cloud or Mist investigating the Akatsuki. Blame it on different terrorists."

"How do we do that?"

"Doesn't matter," Kakuzu said.

Deidara frowned. But his calmness suggested he thought Sasori would know how to fix it.

They were soon over the border of the Land of Frost, where they said the brief goodbyes of stiff men. Itachi and Kisame continued west. Deidara went north. Kakuzu south. They stopped at a collection point on the way to get Kisame a new robe and gear, and began their ascent to the next mission's village in the afternoon.

They stopped along a river to prepare. The mint-colored alpine meltwater cooled the air in a low dense pocket from the beating sun. Itachi opened the scroll of mission intel and familiarized himself with the details. "Small town. Better we don't make a stir."

Kisame grunted in acknowledgement and stepped towards the river, swinging Samehada off his shoulder. He summoned a large deep-blue shark along the bank. It opened its mouth, and Kisame pressed the wrapped Samehada inside its white-fleshed throat. The two ninja being armed to the teeth was useful for intimidation, but a hindrance to infiltration. As if it was a loyal horse, Kisame patted the magical shark once on the muzzle once it closed its jaws around Samehada.

"You ever touch a shark before, Itachi? Try it."

Like he had been invited to partake in the most dangerous petting zoo, Itachi wet his feet at the bank where the shark, high as his hips, swayed half submerged. He thought the shark would look at him, or at least acknowledge him, but its circular black eyes didn't waver. With a slowness Itachi hoped the fish would interpret as respect, he brushed his palm against its exposed gray flank.

"It feels like sandpaper."

Kisame smiled. "Shark skin is actually made of dentin, the same material as teeth."

Because they need more of that, Itachi thought. He removed his hand, and deeming its duty done, the huge probably-sentient carnivore disappeared with a puff of mist to the realm Kisame had summoned it from.

"It's not easy to make a summoning contract with a shark, you know. Ninja tend to not come back," Kisame said.

"I thought you said sharks don't like how people taste."

"Oh, the sage sharks of Koraru Depths make exceptions for arrogant Mist chunin. You don't taste that bad."

He sent Kisame a reproachful look at his choice of pronouns, but Itachi's face was something of a resting scowl, so Kisame seemed not to notice.

To appear like a traveler of the civilian sort, Itachi untied his shuriken packs and the ninja headband. They kept their robes, no one yet recognized the red clouds as unique. He thought living in the forest on the run gave him enough of a convincingly rough appearance. Lifting his gaze from the water's reflection, he regarded his partner.

"Do I pass for a trader?"

"You look fine. It's your voice that's the problem."

"My voice?"

"I don't know how much you know about the Hidden Mist, but there we have a caste system, and the Hoshigaki belong to a certain caste. And people like me can tell by your dialect, Itachi, that you come from a noble family, and there's not a chance in hell you're a traveling merchant."

Itachi never thought of himself as in an upper class, and caste had been abolished in his land seventy years ago. Kisame's background in the Mist allowed him to perceive things that Itachi never intended to exude. "I see."

"Try gotcha, instead of I see."

"Gotcha."

Itachi pulled a piece of paper from the scroll and unfolded its careful nine-faceted square. A sketch of the man they were paid to kill stared back at them. Taika Hiroki. About sixty years old, leader of the local clan, someone had it out for him. Kisame nodded, having committed his face a last time to memory. Itachi burned the incriminating documents between his fingers.

The pair climbed ancient stairs carved from wood, stone, and roots, along a humid forested mountain crest. Traditional torii winged gates arched over their heads, and the small village soon appeared along a glacial lake between the mountains. A chunin posted at the doorless entrance looked the two travelers up and down. He pulled a root of wild licorice from his teeth before he spoke.

"What brings you to Honomura?"

"We're merchants," Kisame said.

"Here for the festival?"

"Of course."

The guard escorted them in. A minor official who clearly did not get enough visitors gave them each wooden travelers' passes. What a bothersome village.

Itachi felt more endangered in these hamlets. He paradoxically would be less noticed in a large ninja village. It was in these tribal redoubts, where most of the settlement consisted of a single clan, that he knew he was immediately recognized as an outsider. By the introductions they made with petty officials, the pair gleaned that three quarters of the settlement's two-hundred-odd population had the surname Taika, and it would not be easy to find theirs.

But the presence of the foreigners attracted mercifully little attention at the festival. Like moths drawn to the warm haze of paper lanterns, the outlaw pair wandered dazed to the center of the fairgrounds. After weeks in the forest they were transfixed by the live music, the vendors, and best, the greasy scent of real food -not whole animals- which glistened with salt and sauce. They looked at each other with testing eyes that betrayed the same poorly concealed thought.

"How much money do we have," Itachi said.

Kisame checked himself. "I've got eight hundred."

"I have one thousand."

Crap.

"I'll find some more money," Kisame said. Good. They were on the same line of the same page. In less than two minutes, Kisame had stolen a two centimeter wad of cash from a food stand.

Itachi's eyes darted from stand to stand. "What do you want to eat?"

"Do I look picky to you?"

Bristling with treasures —foods on sticks and cups of tea and sake between their knuckles— Itachi and Kisame seated themselves at one of many low tables near the town's stage and began to eat. Soon enough an announcer entered stage center, and introduced an act on the origin of deities.

"How's your knowledge of religion, Itachi?"

"Average."

The play began as they ate, and rusted to art forms, Itachi found himself paying rapt attention. Two actors dressed in white robes, a woman and a spear-wielding man, stepped onto the stage, where white lanterns cast the empty scene in an ethereal fog. Dipping his spear into the water, or rather tapping the stage floor, the man created land, and the white-clouded lanterns slid on the string to be replaced with ones tinted a jungle green.

"Izanami and Izanagi," Itachi whispered to Kisame. "Siblings, but also..." he waved his hand in esoteric explanation.

The creation gods Izanami and Izanagi had several deformed and normative children. First born was Hiruko, stricken with a hunched back, and cast into a river. They had many others, at last birthing Kagutsuchi the fire god. Izanami died giving birth to the flaming infant.

"And with Izanami's end, the world's first death occurred, and with it the age of creation. Intent to amend his wife's unjust fate, Izanagi plunged into the underworld, which then, was not separated from the realm of men," the narrator read.

Izanami wandered through a darkened stage, and stopped short. Behind a veil shined the unmistakable silhouette of his beloved wife.

The curtain lifted, but the woman it revealed was not fair Izanami. The actress's serene white face-paint had become putrefied in death. Children's gasps accented the moment. Fingers curled in shock at his rancid beloved, Izanagi turned away. His wife was enraged at his superficial rejection, and spurred demons after her former lover. Izanagi raced from the underworld, off the stage, where demons in fur-rimmed masks chased him through the audience until Izanagi circled, panting but safe, back onto the stage of the surface world. He pushed a prop-boulder over the cave, forever sealing life from death.

The narrator stepped onto the stage, and a spotlight centered on him, with Izanagi bathing himself in background.

"Izanagi cleansed himself from the underworld in a rushing river. The water that streamed off his face became three new gods:"

The spotlight jumped to greet the new characters in regal dress:

"From one eye sprung the proud moon god, Tsukuyomi."

"From the nose, the mischievous god of sea and storm, Susanoo."

"And from the other eye, artful and enlightened, patron of our village: Amaterasu the sun."

"Amaterasu was by far the most righteous and beautiful of the three new gods," the narrator crooned, and stooped low to leer at her backside. Amaterasu raised her fan to her face, whumphing the announcer without a lapse in grace, and the audience laughed.

The three new gods greeted the world of men -the audience- each with kabuki flourishes that reflected their personalities. He thought Amaterasu made eye contact with him from behind her fan.

"Hm." Kisame smiled slightly and his pupils slid to Itachi.

Itachi sipped his tea. "We might be the most interesting thing that blew into this town in a week."

"You should talk with her."

"I'm not good at flirting."

Kisame snorted. "Just like your knowledge of religion."

"I'm not being modest. I haven't spoken with a girl my age in years. In this town, I'm just a merchant."

"A kind, handsome one."

Itachi was struck that Kisame had called him 'kind.' He did not think Kisame would evaluate someone with that category. Not knowing how to take the compliment, Itachi stared back at the stage. Amaterasu and Susanoo competed over who was a stronger god. Amaterasu had just turned Susanoo's sword into five human beings, versus Susanoo's ability to spring only three from her necklace.

Their low table quaked. Kisame had plunged his cup down so hard and fast that his drink sloshed over the rim. His wide nose wrinkled and the stare Itachi met was battle-urgent.

"There's blood, buckets of it, enough to drain ten men."

Itachi forced his shoulders to relax. They must not act or show awareness of this yet. His eyes scanned the crowd as a cheering arose and the taiko drums beat an excited sinister trot into the space between his ribs. A column of fifteen men and boys carved a path like a wild river through the parade grounds, a coarse wooden platform undulating on the men's shoulders. Atop it glistened a bleeding heap of fresh red muscles and white fascia. It was a dead, skinned, horse.

Kisame squinted. "What the hell?"

"The crimes of Susanoo. Upset with his sister, he flayed the skin off Amaterasu's horse," Itachi explained. He also noted that in these conditions, Kisame could not differentiate human from animal blood.

Susanoo charmingly presented Amaterasu the horse carcass from the audience. Amaterasu strode off the stage in grief and anger, her silken white-red sleeves snapping, and the stage darkened with the egress of the dawn goddess, plunging the realm of men into darkness. Susanoo smirked and laughed, and the loping demons in fur-rimed masks began to howl. String instruments climaxed crescendo and fell, marking the end of the play's chapter. The audience gasped and clapped. The festival night was now without the Sun's guidance, and any kind of crookedness could occur before dawn returned.

The men heaped the horse onto a pyre, and a chunin lit it with a fire jutsu, enflaming a birchwood pile which was small enough that the meat might be cooked rather than carbonized. The village had a dark interpretation of their worship: Itachi thought that the goddess Amaterasu would not appreciate the flaying of another horse in her name. But the villagers seemed to like it.

"The Leaders of the Mist would consider this barbaric," Kisame said, his sly eyes smiling behind his cup.

Itachi matched Kisame's sentiment. No, the great ninja villages did not sacrifice simple horses to gods of sun, but sacrificed men and souls to gods of war. Gods they hailed each time they smithed a kunai, and who licked their lips at each newborn baby.

The next performance started, some students playing taiko drums. It was a banal sight compared to the play. Itachi ate his dango and drank his tea, listened to the music, and watched thick smoke rise from the pyre.

A gang of the village's teens stood by the pyre, the actress for Amaterasu among them. She had removed the headdress and white facepaint, but she still wore Amaterasu's red and white wake-sleeved furisode. One of the group looked at him and Kisame and giggled, as if discussing a dare. Then Amaterasu looked at the two travelers and grabbed a tray. He realized with a start that she was coming towards them. Kisame, who smelled caste like he smelled blood, tugged Itachi's robe, telling him that this is when merchants stood.

She dipped her head in greeting. "Excuse me sirs, my name is Taika Hato. I'm priestess at our temple and actress at the theater. We noticed you're not from around here. Would you like some horse flesh?"

Itachi blinked: the sun goddess Amaterasu had just offered him to eat her horse. He stumbled out a yes.

"And you, sir?"

"Please give me the shoulder, Miss Hato."

"Sure. May I ask your names?"

'Itachi' meant weasel. Weasels were small, ambitious, mean, and hungry. His parents' birth judgement had been imperfect: Itachi had become a man who was calm, sharp, and observant.

"I am Karasu. And this is my companion, Mekajiki. It's very good to meet you, and thank you for the food." Itachi bowed his head and gave himself a name meaning crow, and swordfish for Kisame.

"You're welcome! How was the show?"

"Your performance was stirring. I only hope your next act is soon: if I remember, demons terrorize everyone on earth until Amaterasu comes back," he said, trying his best to exude friendliness, but he had not spoken to anyone he considered a friend in years. He sat down, and with a gesture to the empty space, he invited Hato to join them if she wanted. He noticed Kisame's chin dip near-imperceptibly in approval of his manners.

"You know your religion," she said, taking a seat. "Stick around tomorrow at seven to see me kick Susanoo's butt. What brings you two here?"

"You mean, you can't tell by our dress?" Itachi asked.

"It is odd," she agreed.

Itachi smiled. "We're charcoal burners."

"So you...?"

"We fell trees, burn the logs in an earthen kiln using fire and water style, and then travel from village to village selling the charcoal. Smiths burn it to keep their forges at the correct temperature. It's also used in cooking, fertilizer, detergent, explosives, traditional medicine- even cosmetics. We've got a wagon full of it down the road."

Her look between the two men deduced Itachi was the fire user. "How good is your fire style?"

"Just the basics," he said modestly.

Hato's eyes changed from simply friendly to that of intrigue, and her expression became appraising and hopeful. "For the last act, the village guards cast fire jutsus as tributes to Amaterasu. You should join them."

"I couldn't possibly intrude on your ceremony as an outsider."

"When it comes to this ceremony, I am the authority. Plus, gifts from strangers mean more than gifts from friends, we say."

Itachi nodded. He would make an offering of flame to Amaterasu. And the girl, her representative, smiled with her eyes. "Thank you, Karasu! They'll love it."

Kisame stretched, looked at the two youths, and stood to leave. His gaze alerted Itachi not to expect his return. "I'm going to… get some more sake."

"You don't want to watch your friend perform?" Hato asked.

Kisame grinned and waved. "He's not so impressive."

Hato led Itachi backstage to meet the village's top military brass: a gaggle of four men spanning years fifteen to thirty who passed a ceramic bottle between them. The root-chewing gatekeeper was youngest among them. Hato was received warmly by the soldiers. She introduced Itachi as a pious charcoal merchant, and he was quickly ignored by the men.

For this dangerous and final act of the night, the stage had been stripped bare of its curtains and paper lanterns, and strapping men spilled buckets of water across the hardwood stage. A grinning bucket-spiller splashed the remaining water dregs onto the squealing children in the front row. From the backstage tent, Itachi watched the first four performers submit their offerings, each casting the biggest sun he could into the night sky in honor of Amaterasu. The crowd shrieked and laughed, fire reflecting on their wide scleras. Stepping forward for his turn, Itachi decided he would create a fireball that was the third largest- no need to upstage the locals.

Itachi mounted the stage as the penultimate performer left. His eye caught on Hato staring at him encouragingly, she flashed a thumbs-up, and he was bolstered with a better idea. Halting just one step onto the stage, Itachi faced profile, and his chest swelled like a bird. He blew, and his fire bloomed a deep ferrous red sparking with trace elements, and the chakra fireball sprinted across the stage in the shape of a stallion. Mane flaring, embers sparking from its light hooves, the fleet, shrieking horse appeared and faded in a vacuum roar. He returned backstage to raucous applause. When the soldiers' mouths gaped wide enough to catch frogs, a quiet grin cut Itachi's lips.

It hadn't been larger than yours, he thought.

Hato linked arms with him and led him through the festival crowds. She would introduce him to people and he would forget their names. Villagers welcomed him like a hero and plied him with sake. A kind old lady handed him a skewer with cubes of horseflesh. Any friend of Amaterasu was a friend of theirs. He was happy. Kisame was gone, the mission was something for tomorrow, Hato was a nice girl, and he could pretend to be normal for a night. Her attention made him feel pleasantly male, that he wasn't strange, isolated, murderous or evil.

She had showed him around the small town and they found themselves walking along the cold, white-graveled shores of the glacier lake. The gentle summer alpine night glowed cobalt blue, lightened by a huge low moon, whose coolness was relieving compared to the warm and dark frenzy of the blood festival.

"Actress and priestess," Itachi said as they strolled. "One's devout, and old people would say the other is sinful. I haven't met a person who's been both."

She smiled. "Each coin has two sides, and the same goes for you. Where'd a merchant learn ninjutsu like that?"

"The road is dangerous… and," he whispered like sharing a secret, "Sometimes really boring."

"Hah! Can't be less interesting than here."

"Did you know, that was a curse you'd tell your enemies in the old days? 'May you live in interesting times'?"

"Sounds menacing when you say it. Can you do other ninja tricks?"

In a heartbeat, he threw three kunai in a perfect line along a slender birch, each resonating a deep thunk that merged into one. A white and gold moth fluttered impaled on the center knife. She gasped.

But when he looked back at her, her face seemed uncomfortable. The throw was well above chunin level, above most jounin. Itachi knew he should not be careless in his desire to impress her by throwing beyond the abilities of a merchant. But somehow, the throw had not pleased her.

"Is something wrong, Hato?"

"What I liked about your fire jutsu wasn't its killing power; it wasn't a weapon, it was art."

"Art..."

"It's like how you and Mekajiki use fire and water style to make charcoal. Your fire style painted Amaterasu's horse, and it was beautiful. Performance is art, and it makes people happy."

Itachi regurgitated what he knew of art. "Do you think art is a single rapturous instant, or eternal?"

"Weird question. Art isn't a period of time, but a place. It transports you somewhere you've never been before, to some feeling you've never felt before"

"Hm," Itachi pondered. He thought that was a better philosophy than that of either Deidara or Sasori. He wondered how mad they would be if he answered like that, and decided he would next time they asked his opinion. Which would probably be never.

She smiled at him. "I've got a stupid dream. Wanna hear it?"

"I'd love to."

"I dream to lead a group someday that practices more peaceful uses to ninjutsu than war. Even if it was just a traveling circus of theater artists, and all we accomplished was making some villagers laugh."

"You've already got a talent for performance. The road is dangerous, but train and surround yourself with others like you, and only a fool would rob you."

She smiled sadly. "Dad wants me to marry a prince in the next village."

"Bring the prince along."

The actress said nothing and skipped a stone over the lake. It failed after two stops, and she made a noise of embarrassment. Itachi picked up a small flat stone and also skipped it badly. Ripples in the lake reflected the moonbeams like bobbing driftwood.

"It's late," Itachi said after a while.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?"

Itachi did not answer right away. She said, "Stay the night at my house."

Itachi bowed. "That's very generous of you. I would be happy to stay overnight in your stable, and my partner as well, if possible."

There was a sly shift of her eyes, lids heavy around her big, black pupils. "I think he'll have found an inn by now. But that shouldn't stop you."

Hato escorted him across flagstones that shone silver in the moonlight. Carrying their shoes, opening a sliding door with the utmost care, the two tiptoeing teens entered her sub-clan's complex and slipped into her bedroom.

Itachi set his shoes along the wall, wondering to what extent he should undress himself. When he turned around, Hato had knelt on her white futon. With her eyes trained at him, she slowly loosened the belt of her furisode to bare her chest. Itachi did the same. He reached to kiss her, she kissed him back. He shed the rest of his clothes, then did the same for her. He leaned into her. This is what people did.

He shuddered at the unfamiliarity when her weak hands touched his neck, they were warm and soft, hot as death-blood. He banished the rising memories, memories from the last time he did this, no, from the last time he thought he did this with Izumi that terrible night. Their bodies fit together like hot white ivory, and like smoke and steam, a very un-normal man tried his best to do this very normal thing.

Author's Note;

Heyo, thanks for supporting this fic. I plan to post Chapter 4 around Friday Nov 23. This will be a long dramatic fic with probably about 10-15 chapters this length, and I have a lot of progress made already.

Let me know your thoughts. And thanks of course to thanks again to beta myochiikurin!

Steadfast,

Kelto

Follow on FF or Ao3

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863

#split this one because it was too long #but chapter 3 yay! #this was delayed because i literally could not write the last paragraph how i wanted for two weeks #but its an important skill to just say yeah im 80 percent satisfied with this and publish it anyway #campfires #naruto #akatsuki #akatsuki fanfic #itachi #kisame #kisaita #celticfeather #keltodier #thanks for reading!

[dreamss-of-boston]

Healing

After SnK chapter 115 (Support), Reader discovers Hanji and Levi washed up on the riverbank.

Warnings: A tiny bit of swearing, descriptions of wounds, lots of blood (you know why), SPOILERS - DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT CAUGHT UP ON THE MANGA

link on AO3!

this is deadass some therapy i whipped up post-115, in which the reader takes care of both hanji and levi bc i can only see them suffer so much. im not sure if im gonna make this a mini-series with eventual levi x reader, but we shall see! pls don’t think of this as me trying to re-write canon, this is only a little day-dream i had of what might have happened post-115. 

Your home by the river was warm inside. Since it was raining, it gave you an excuse to start a fire. You were planning on doing laundry today, but with the terrible weather, that was no longer an option. The rain pattered against the roof as you sat, nestled in a blanket by the crackling fire while your stew cooked in front of you. Your home smelled delicious; you wished your family was here with you, but your father and mother had to travel far into town in order to settle a debt with the bank. So, it was just you for the rest of the week; you and the other animals in your little farm.

You glanced out the window, dismayed to find that it was still raining steadily. The clouds had cleared up maybe two hours prior, just for a little while, and then it had gone right back to raining. You had hoped it would have stopped raining to give you enough time to go out and re-stock the hay to feed the cow, but it looked like you would need to brave the cold and wet today to feed Bessie.

She sniffed at you interestedly as you stuffed fresh hay into her feeding bin. You rubbed her snout affectionately, smiling as she leaned up to meet your hand. The chickens were clucking away, and you looked in their coops to find that there weren’t any eggs today. You sprinkled some feed on the ground for the chickens, and when the cold started to get to you, you decided it was time to get back inside.

As you turned to go back into your house, something very dark and hairy had appeared on the bank of the river since you last looked at it. You squinted, trying to get a better look at what it was; an animal? But it was so big…

You hesitated a moment; it was potentially dangerous, investigating this situation. While you didn’t live in a city let alone a town, you had still heard the news of how dangerous the world was right now. Still, something in your gut told you that something was off. With a deep breath, you began to cautiously approach the river bank.

As you got closer, you saw brown and black hair, and dark green cloth, and then - the insignia of the Survey Corps. That really surprised you; after confirming that these were indeed humans, being pushed against the side of the bank by the current, you hurried down to them, mud and rain caking your boots and dress.

“Hello?” You said cautiously as you got closer. You reached out a hand, only to have a hand grab back. With a yelp, you pulled back, but the other person’s grip was too strong. You looked at them, their face finally visible, surprised to find a person with dark brown hair and glasses staring at you wildly.

“Help me carry him.” They demanded, and before you knew it, you were hauling the man with black hair up the bank and towards your home.

“Um-- I have shelter,” you offered meekly, not entirely sure why you did. These people just seemed desperate, and you wanted to help. The brown-haired soldier said nothing, just kept glancing behind them as if someone were following them, and they were pushing you to move at a quicker pace despite your obvious struggle. You weren’t the strongest, and carrying a whole human person (even with help) was a challenge. Still, you made it to your front porch in record time, and you flung the door open, closing it just as quickly to prevent any more rain getting into the house.

Without even consulting you, the brown-haired soldier had pushed the little vase sitting on your kitchen table to the floor, hauling their friend onto the wooden surface. It wasn’t until he was laying on his back that you saw that his entire face and body was covered in blood and shrapnel. It was unlike anything you’d seen before-- and you and your mother had been doctors during the titan raids. You had helped clean up soldiers’ wounds and carried corpses to be burned or buried; but this man before you was a sight to say the least.

“The lights!” The soldier hissed, snuffing out your candles one by one.

“What-- why?” You asked incredulously, although you helped extinguish the candles, as well.

“We’re being followed-- get down.” They ordered, pushing you to the floor as they crouched down with you. You did as they said, although you were sure to explode with a flurry of questions in a moment. Any inclination you had to speak was silenced soon enough, though; the unmistakable sound of horses hooves thundering towards your home froze you in place, and you shared a worried glance with the brown-haired soldier. Their jaw was set with a strong resolve, though you could see the flickering of panic within their gaze. You glanced at the fire as the horses came closer; would that give away the hint of life?

Without thinking too much, you quickly pulled the soaked green cloak off the soldier's back, and crawled towards the fire. You smothered it quickly, thankful you had more matches and firewood so that once this was over, you could continue cooking your stew. Turning back to the soldier, they nodded to you appreciatively as the horses inevitably came to a stop just outside your home. You heard Bessie moo at the new arrivals, and followed the soldier as they crawled under the table.

You always kept the curtains drawn closed whenever you were home alone; you silently thanked your past self for doing that without thinking. There were voices outside; you didn’t recognize any of them, but to the person beside you, they meant danger.

“How could we have lost them?” One man exclaimed.

“Shit, we’ll really get our asses handed to us.”

A pause. Some shuffling.

“Do you think anyone’s home?”

A knock on the door.

“Hellooooo?”

More waiting.

“Maybe we can take some eggs for the road?”

“They must be gone for the day. Plus, I don’t think they’d be able to haul him all the way up here alone. We’d see the blood.”

Another moo from Bessie.

“Let’s keep going. Maybe there’s a town further down…”

The voices faded and the sound of galloping hooves resumed, this time fading in the other direction as the group made their way further downstream.

You gave it a moment before you crawled out from under the table, putting your hands on your hips as the soldier crawled out after you. They immediately began inspecting their friend, who was currently bleeding out on your table. You gathered that he was in a serious condition, if not already dead. So, you bit back all of your questions as you rushed into your mother’s and father’s room to retrieve their medical supplies.

“I’m a doctor-- I’ve worked with soldiers before.” You explained as you began cutting away sopping wet clothes-- drenched in either rain or blood-- bit by bit. The soldier stepped back, obviously relieved as you began to work. Before you knew it, they had re-lit the fire and two other candles, bringing them over to you so that you could better see what you were doing.

You nodded a thank-you, astounded at how many injuries this man had sustained. Porcelain skin was stained red, shrapnel was sticking out of too many places. You began to work on his torso first.

“You’re probably wondering what happened.” The soldier sighed, plopping down into a chair. “Well, first of all-- my name’s Hanji, nice to meet you.” They pushed their glasses up onto their forehead, rubbing their eyes. As you pulled out fragment after fragment, they explained their whole situation to you: the coup, the rogue soldier being kept prisoner by the man you were attempting to fix, the explosion. You listened solemnly, thankful that your work gave you a free pass at not having to respond.

When Hanji finished, you had started cleaning off his face, gently wiping away the blood to reveal the soldier beneath. In the silence, while you stitched up wound after wound, you thought perhaps Hanji had fallen asleep. Your stew bubbled in the distance; once you finished stitching up this particularly long and deep gash across his entire face, you would remove it from the fire. You suspected this man had lost his eyesight in one eye; the cut was rather deep.

“So, who are you?” Hanji asked, much to your surprise.

“(F/N, L/N). Nobody important.” You said with a wry smile, and stood back with a sigh. “Your friend might live… might. I didn’t notice any signs of internal bleeding while I stitched up his torso, but he’s pretty unresponsive. I’m sorry I can’t do more.” You said, and went over to wash your hands in the little basin by the window.

Hanji sighed. “Thank you. You’ll never know how much of a help you’ve been.”

“Who is he, anyway?”

“Humanity’s strongest soldier.” They said, gazing at him solemnly. “And a good friend.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. “...Do you want some stew?”

Hanji looked at you with a smile. “I’d like that.”

[-]

You told Hanji that if Levi-- they had told you his name while you spoke over dinner-- made it through the night, then he would have a better chance of living. You and Hanji worked together to carefully move him into your bedroom, laying him gingerly on the soft bed. You would prefer it if he bled on your sheets and not your parents’-- Hanji couldn’t thank you enough. Once you found out the two were Survey Corps soldiers, you were more than eager to help.

You were able to give Hanji a cot to sleep on. They used the one your father would take on hunting trips; it was soft, and relatively comfortable. They insisted on sleeping on the floor while you slept in your parents’ bed, and before you settled down for the night, you checked on Levi one last time.

He was breathing a bit more steadily now, and you decided to take that as a rare, good sign that he would live. You wondered for a fleeting moment how he would possibly continue being a soldier after sustaining these kinds of injuries; he would have to be decommissioned, surely. Just as you were about to turn away, his eyes began to open just the slightest bit. You paused, silently encouraging him to open them more. He just stared at the ceiling for a moment, his steel gray eyes focusing on nothing in particular, and then they closed again.

[-]

The next day brought life. The rain had cleared up, and Levi was still breathing. Hanji was relieved beyond all measure; luckily, they hadn't sustained any wounds themselves, but you suspected they were catching a cold after being in the rain and then the river for so long. You had enlisted their help to change Levi into some of your father's warm, dry clothes before settling him into your bed the night before so as to prevent the wounded soldier from getting any sickness.

As you brought a mug of hot tea to Hanji, sitting by your fireplace, they smiled at you warmly.

“Thank you,” they said, taking a sip. “If you ever get to talk to Levi, you should make him some tea. You'll get on his good side.” Hanji chuckled to themselves, and you just smiled politely. It must have been a joke that only they understood.

You did your morning chores as usual, and when the afternoon came, you went to check on Levi again. As you sat on the bed, inspecting the bandages to make sure no infection had started, Hanji's voice coming from the doorway gave you a start.

“I might need to leave you soon.”

You paused, turning to them in confusion. “This man is in no condition to travel.”

“I know.” Hanji sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I… won't be bringing him with me.”

Clearly, it pained the soldier in front of you to be making this kind of decision. You sensed that they weren't telling you the whole story; there must have been something deeper going on, something dangerous that couldn't be discussed with a civilian like yourself.

You sighed, looking back to Levi, still sound asleep and breathing steadily. You decided you would change his bandages after dinner tonight.

“You've hardly been here a day,” you said cautiously. The thought of this person leaving you with their friend in your care, with the potential of dangerous people on the lookout for him, was daunting to you to say the least. “Wouldn’t you prefer to stay for supper? Maybe you can leave tomorrow--”

“I’m sorry.” Hanji cut you off, crossing their arms. They almost refused to look at you or Levi. “But there are a lot of people out there that need my help; I need to find a way to fix this. Sitting here, hiding here--” they sighed in frustration. You folded your hands in your lap, staring at Hanji’s shoes absently. “I know what I need to do. I know he’d understand…” Hanji came closer to you, and gently placed a folded note on your bedside table. It had Levi’s name written on it, and although you knew neither of these people very well, your heart ached at the tender gesture. Based on the physical wounds on Levi and the scars on Hanji, you knew these two had been through a lot; you could hardly imagine what sort of hell they faced daily. The closest you had ever come to a titan was pulling the corpses of soldiers out of giant decaying bellies.

You stood up, allowing Hanji to sit next to their friend.

“Let me at least make you some tea before you go.” You said as Hanji took hold of Levi’s hand, gingerly holding it as they gazed at his bandaged face. The soldier only nodded, and you turned and left to give them some time alone together.

While the pot of tea warmed over the fire, you gazed outside the window absently. Bessie was chewing on some grass, flicking her tail this way and that while the chickens clucked away. The sky was more vibrant after the rain had wiped everything clean the day before; the sun seemed to be clearer, brighter. As the pot began to boil, you heard Hanji’s footsteps as they emerged from your room, wiping away the vestiges of tears from their eyes.

“I really can’t stay.” They said, pain in their voice.

You bit your lip.

“I’ll take care of him. If you need a horse, there’s a farm not far away from here, maybe two miles east-- the farmer, his name is Ernst, tell him that I sent you and maybe he’ll give you a deal--” You said quickly, wringing your hands. This whole situation was painfully ominous. You felt like the fate of the world was in these soldiers’ hands, and all you could do was wipe away the blood from their eyes and bid them farewell.

Hanji placed their hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile. “Thank you, truly. I doubt anyone will come looking for Levi here.” They pulled on their Survey Corps cloak, which was covered in soot and smelled like fire after you had used it to smother the fire yesterday. Hanji paused, glancing at you cautiously.

“Would I be able to borrow some of your father’s clothes?” They asked quickly, and you blinked slowly at the odd request. “As a disguise; I need to not look like myself if I’m to make it anywhere past your town.”

You bit your lip; clothes were expensive, and your family didn’t have much money. Still, this soldier was indeed very desperate, and given the times they were living in, anything you could do to help was valued beyond measure. With a nod, you once again ventured into your parents’ room, and pulled out some clothes that looked like they might fit Hanji.

When you gave them to the soldier, they smiled and once again thanked you. Once they were changed, they gave you their uniform and told you to burn it just in case anyone came looking. You only nodded, feeling a knot tie itself in your gut. You couldn’t help but get the feeling that you had dug yourself into a situation you wouldn’t be able to get out of.

Hanji thanked you again-- you gave them some bread and cold meat to start their journey. As the soldier left your home, trudging upstream, you turned back to your home, still nestled in the rolling grass by the river. Now, apparently, you were the caretaker of humanity’s strongest soldier.

#snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk fanfiction #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfiction #hanji zoe #hange zoe #levi x reader #snk 115 #snk spoilers

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Little Peach, Chapter Three

Notes: Big thanks to my amazing editor, Drucilla!

NGL, the onslaught of Ducktales has been very distracting. But I promise I'll see this Mickey story to the end! Also, this is only the beginning of so, so many anime/manga cliches. I mean them with love, I truly do.

Summary: With his home lost to the enemy, Mickey sets out on a journey to change his destiny. Elsewhere, the ruler of Japan issues her own challenge.

It was not accurate to say Mickey woke up still exhausted, as that would imply he slept at all that first night. When he and Donald returned home, Daisy had been so grateful they returned that she never noticed that what little emotional bond the men had was severed harshly. Mickey went to his room – the top shelf of Daisy's drawers – but did not sleep, could not sleep. While he had known for some time that Donald had felt that way toward him, actually hearing it made it more painful. There was nothing that could fix it – he never would be Donald's son. Donald would never see him as anything more than a burden, and wasn't he? All he'd done that night was get Donald injured.

Come the morning, Daisy opened the drawer to offer Mickey his birthday breakfast, but he declined. She assumed he was upset over the village now being owned by the Oni, and could hardly blame him. She decided that, perhaps, it would be best to hold off any celebrations until they felt a sense of hope again. Neither man had told her what actually happened that night, out of shame – and an accurate fear that Daisy would tear Donald to pieces. She allowed Mickey to wallow in solitude, and Mickey intended on wallowing for a very long time. But life was moving on without his say-so, and there were more important things to think about than self-pity.

Over the course of the day, Donald's injuries meant he could barely get out of bed, so Daisy went out to  help clean up Grandma's farm. The fire had destroyed most of it, but the old woman was determined to restore it, and everyone in the village joined hands to help. Daisy didn't return home until night, and when she did, she opened the drawer to Mickey and cheerfully told him everything was fine, don't you worry, Mama would never let anything happen to you. She gave him his dinner and closed the drawer, in order to relay her real fears to Donald.

“How bad is it?” Donald asked, sitting on the bed, his arm in a clumsily-made sling. Occasionally he glanced at the drawer, and during the day had made efforts to go near it, but each and every time he gave up, though Mickey was oblivious to this.

“It's not as awful as we thought it would be,” Daisy attempted something like bravado, but Donald knew his wife well enough to see the strain in her eyes. Mickey could hear it too – he'd let his parents believe that the drawers blocked out all sound, when in reality he could hear every word. It was a mischievous lie as a child that grew into a necessary lie as an adult, as sometimes Mickey felt the only way he'd hear any truth was if they thought he'd never hear. “We can still come and go as we please...we aren't being captured and sold off like horses.”

“But.” Donald raised an eyebrow, knowing full well there was a “but” coming.

“But...” Daisy sighed, hanging her head. “They're demanding money and food from us daily. With each passing day that the princess doesn't hand over the Lucky Hammer to the Oni King, we're expected to give away more and more. At that rate, we'll all wind up starving in a month or two.”

“The princess won't surrender,” Donald cut in, but not out of malice or anger. This was a tone of deep respect, though she'd been born after he'd left the Emperor's side, so he'd never even seen her face. “The royal family must stay strong, if we're to defeat the Oni. The Emperor would never have a child that would back down!”

“That's all well and good for her, but what about us?” Daisy sat on the bed next to Donald, looking him over – she didn't expect his arm to get any better overnight, but it was still a depressing sight. “You said it yourself, they're torturing us in order to put pressure on her. If something isn't done, we might have to leave our village, our home! What will we do?”

Donald didn't answer, and Mickey didn't blame him. This was as hopeless a situation as one could get. Honor was a great and powerful thing, and no one wanted the princess to hand over the Lucky Hammer, and essentially all of Japan, over to the evil Oni King. But honor wasn't going to save anyone, and their village was down one powerful samurai. They needed all the help they could get, and Mickey was upset that he couldn't provide this. He wanted to keep his parents safe, and held no hate for the man he thought of as a father. Donald had only said the truth. If only there was a way he could, at least, provide Donald with some kind of pride and happiness. Maybe then Donald could think of a way they could save the day.

Mickey sat on his own bed – a sock with ripped fabric for sheets – and held his head in his hands. Was his father right, and that things couldn't change?

“Maybe the princess could use the Lucky Hammer to turn into a giant and squish them all,” Daisy said in an attempt at humor, resting her head on Donald's shoulder. “I've heard that she's very beautiful but also very small. They'd never see it coming.”

Donald chuckled weakly, his good arm around Daisy's shoulder. “Wouldn't that be nice...but a weapon that dangerous can't be used so easily. There were so many rules and restrictions about it... why, I never even saw it for myself. Maybe that's a good thing. I would've been tempted to add a few inches.”

Mickey quickly lifted his head.

“Hush, you're the right size, you always have been.” Daisy kissed Donald's cheek. “If you were too tall, you couldn't have carried me over the river when I lost my sandal.”

“I did fall in the river first,” he reminded her. “But I would have carried you all across the ocean if you only asked.”

While his parents fell into sickeningly sweet mushy memories of their courtship, Mickey's mind was elsewhere. The Lucky Hammer – why didn't he realize it sooner? If he had that, why, he could be as tall as any normal man his age! That would surely bring his father happiness and pride – and maybe he could teach Mickey proper swordsmanship, so they could fend off the Oni together! The idea excited him so much that he jumped out of bed – and hit his head. “Ow!”

Daisy turned her head, surprised. “Oh, dear. I've told him to be careful in there... I do want to celebrate his birthday soon. He's eighteen now, but it feels like just yesterday he came to us. You never did tell me what you got him as a present.”

Donald didn't reply, detaching himself from Daisy and crawling into bed. Daisy's voice went from sweet to sour within seconds. “You did get him a birthday present this year, didn't you?”

“He wouldn't want one from me – WAK!” That answer got him shoved out of bed, and he fell onto the floor with a thud.

“You don't get to share our bed unless you get our baby a present!” Daisy snapped, and then tucked herself into bed, throwing Donald a pillow – Mickey couldn't be sure if she threw it at him – before huffing. “Goodnight.”

“Good-ow-night.”

Mickey shook his head, trying to get rid of the pain as soon as possible. It wasn't too bad – his usual three-pronged headaches were much worse – but he wanted to get ready for what he was planning. In order to get the Lucky Hammer, he'd have to get to the princess, who lived in the palace, which was miles and miles and miles and miles away from the village, a place he'd never left. It'd take a long time for an ordinary person to get there, perhaps made shorter by horse or carriage, but Mickey had neither, and was as non-ordinary as you could get. Daisy would never allow it, so he'd have to leave in secret.

It would be a journey fraught with perilous dangers, ranging from deadly Oni to a person accidentally stepping on him. He had only the faintest idea of where to even start, and given his size, he couldn't pack much of anything. Every mile of this idea was threatening – and Mickey couldn't be delighted. A real hero's journey! The makings of a rogue samurai warrior! He'd have his own legend, just like his father! He'd bring his family honor!

He waited until he heard Donald snoring, and climbed out the back of the dresser. He could only afford to carry a few things, so he made quick choices – his mother's sewing needle for a blade, and the “bedsheets” would carry what food he could bring – cuttings of bread and cheese from the kitchen. With that tied around his neck and hanging off his back, he returned to the bedroom to make his goodbyes. He climbed into his mother's bed, and gently kissed her cheek, apologizing for the worry he'd no doubt give her.

He then turned toward his father, who snoozed away on the floor, and bowed deeply to him.

“This I vow,” he said quietly, “I will not return until I am a man you would call your son.” No matter how long it took, no matter the danger – once a samurai gave their word, it could only be broken by death.

With a deep breath, Mickey left the bedroom, made it to the first window he saw, and climbed down into the grass that was taller than he was. The night was full of brightly shining stars, and for now they would have to be his guide. He took his first step, hesitated, looked back at his house, and then walked forward again. All right, so he was a little nervous. Perhaps a little scared. But in order not to be little anything anymore, he would have to push on and let nothing stop him.

There was of course one more matter to consider – convincing the princess to let him use it. Yet Mickey didn't see this as any great obstacle. After all, he was in a very unique position! He'd never heard of anyone small as he was, and it wasn't as if he was asking to be made as tall as a mountain. He only needed to borrow it for a moment, and then he'd return it, and all would be well. Surely the Princess would understand – why, once she saw him, she'd know what he'd want immediately!

He'd never heard much about her, even in his mother's tales – supposedly the young woman was around his age, never left the palace due to the Oni King's attacks, and she was pretty. That was about all he knew, and he figured it was enough. Her father, the Emperor, had been a wise, vitreous, and noble man, one Donald had been honored to serve. Donald even got along with his fellow samurai, and they were all one big, happy family. Certainly his daughter would be the same way, as Mickey wanted to be the same way as his father.

And so Mickey set off on his journey, head held high, dreaming of the day when he would be Donald's real son, and a real man on his own. The princess would help him out – a wise and powerful woman like that, who held rule over all of Japan, surely could be compassionate and logical as well. How could she not be?

~*~

At that same time, there was another young man who was thinking the same as Mickey – that the young woman before him would be wise, worldly, and able to help all. Their meeting was almost over, as the hour ran late. Yet there was one subject on which she would not budge, no matter how high the moon was in the sky.

“I will send provisions to the north, but they must take the mountain path,” the princess answered, sitting on her throne, her gorgeous kimono covering her feet and floor like and endless ocean of blues and grays. Though she was using a wooden fan to cover her mouth, her demure voice came through clearly, without hesitation or pause. Her thick white make-up allowed her sapphire eyes to shine even brighter, cutting through air like the sharpest blade. “It will be difficult for the Oni to ambush them this way. Even so, prepare them with archers – we mustn't let a single grain of rice be taken. Once it has been delivered, I want a full report on the south.”

“Yes, my lady,” the man replied, trying to keep his head respectfully bowed and low. Yet for the next question, he couldn't help but glance at her. “But... ah... I don't supposed... you've considered my proposal...?”

Snap. The fan was shut instantly with a harsh noise, and her lady-in-waiting at her side visibly winced. “My people continue to suffer under the wrath of the treacherous Oni King. Their fields burn, their livelihood stolen, and with each passing day, my father's legacy is either tainted or forgotten. And you think I have the time to consider something like marriage?”

The man yelped, and tried to get to his feet, stumbling. “I-I meant no disrespect, my lady! I just – I thought – your father said - ”

“I am fully aware of what my father said. I was at his bedside when he passed.” Her cobalt glare now made the calm sea of her dress turn into a raging storm that would drown anyone who came nearby. “Do you think you know my father's wishes, more than his own daughter would? Do you think so little of us both? We, who are Japan's very soul? Do you have no love for your own land?”

Had the young man not been so afraid of upsetting the princess any further, he might have noticed the lady-in-waiting rolling her eyes. “No, no! I do! I – that was – I'll see myself out!” He scrambled to get to the doorway, nearly knocking over her second most trusted guard on the way out.

The guard whistled, impressed by the man's speed. “Gwarsh... everyone's in a real hurry these days! Why do you think that is?” he asked the man with him, the princess' third most trusted guard.

“You know what they say, goof. Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'!”

The lady-in-waiting waiting grumbled, helping the princess off her throne – it was tall, and she was small, so it was always a process. “That was the fifth suitor this month you've chased off! You can't keep this up forever!”

The princess calmly walked forward once she was on solid ground. “I've made my demands clear, Clarabelle. Besides, didn't you hear a single word I said to him? All of it was true.”

“Sure, it was true,” Clarabelle crossed her arms, “But they ain't the real reason you don't wanna get hitched, and we all know it. A husband would help you through these tough times! You can't do this all on your own, things are getting worse by the day! It's too much of a burden!” She followed along, and both guards bowed deeply as the Princess passed. “I worry for you, my lady! I truly do!”

The number one most trusted guard was waiting for at the end of the hallway, and he smiled pleasantly as she approached, gesturing to the door beside him as he bowed. “The delivery has arrived, princess. As always, I made sure it went right to your room.” When he straightened up, he gave a little wink to Clarabelle, always flirtatious even when the situation was beyond appropriate. “Why must you worry so, Lady Clarabelle? It's a sin to the world to see such a lovely face frown.”

“I got plenty to frown about, and you're not helping.” Clarabelle huffed, sticking her finger right on the guard's small beak, pushing him back slightly. “She just had a delivery a week ago! You're encouraging a bad habit!”

The guard merely blinked at her, not intimidated. “She is the princess! We have sworn to obey her every order. Goofy, Pete, you agree, yes?”

“Every single order!” said Goofy with a salute, though he did it so hard he hit his head with his hand, and he wobbled backwards dizzily.

“No matter how crazy it is,” Pete added, side-stepping away from Goofy's problem.

The princess ignored all the rabble, sliding her door open, and snapping her fan shut. “I'd like not to be disturbed for an hour. Have the next delegate for the countryside ready for me.”

“Oh, no you don't!” Clarabelle made a grab for the princess' shoulder, but she was too slow. “My lady, don't make me beg! You need a husband, and you need one pronto!”

“And I've told you time and time again...” The princess walked right up to the delivery – which was a mountain of books, three times bigger than she was. She whipped out the closest one, and stabbed the cover with her finger repeatedly – within her room and with those she trusted, she allowed her real personality to flourish.

“I'm not going to marry anyone who isn't exactly like Sir Sakura from Doki Doki Melody Springtime: Love's Sweetest Singing Song!”

With that, she sat on the floor, giggling wildly as she flipped through the book, squealing at the illustrations and holding them up to the sky. “Finally, volumes sixteen through thirty-four! I can't wait to catch up!” This was an opulent room, full of treasure, silks and other beauties – although it was difficult to know this, given how most of the room was now covered in similarly illustrated books, including her bed, and fit to burst from her closet. One good gust of wind would probably send those stacks of books falling and crushing anyone beneath it.

“Last I checked, buying the first one was your idea, Lady Clarabelle,” the most trusted guard reminded her with an amused smirk, leaning on the doorway.

“I thought it would cheer her up after her father died!” Clarabelle protested with clenched fists at her side. “How was I supposed to know she'd get so darn obsessed with it? Who would spend all their time and energy devoting themselves to stories about girls with giant sparkly eyes and fights that last three hundred pages without doing a thing?” She was tempted to go inside to try and wrestle the princess back out, but she feared doing so would start a chain reaction that would send all the books collapsing. “My lady, Sir Sakura isn't real!”

“He's real to me!” The princess whined, holding the book tenderly to her chest. “He's kind, and thoughtful, and brave, and clever, and I will not settle for any man who isn't exactly like him, down to the last detail!”

“Guess that means he better only be a couple of inches tall, too,” Pete snickered, jabbing Goofy with his elbow, only to grow frustrated when Goofy didn't get the joke. “Cause he's on paper, you dope!”

“You need to pick a real flesh and blood husband!” Clarabelle yelled, even while knowing she was being ignored in favor of fictional exploits. “I don't care who it is anymore, even a commoner will do! I'd be okay with you marrying the first man who walks into the door! Here, marry Pete!” She yanked Pete over by the arm and tried to get him into the room. “Just marry somebody!”

Pete grabbed the doorway with his hands so he wouldn't be pushed in any further. “I'm not going in there, those books will bury me alive!” He then put a hand to the side of his mouth, trying and failing to  keep a whisper private. “Not that I'd be opposed to bein' your husband, princess, if you wanna think about it.”

But she wasn't thinking about it, or about anyone else anymore. No, the princess was in another world now, where a handsome wandering soldier was pledging his loyalty to his fair beloved, vowing to be by her side no matter what troubles came their way. The hero of these novels always did right, always saved the day, and always cured his lady of any heartache. How could anyone settle for less than that? He was flawless, utterly flawless! How was the princess supposed to be content in a marriage if they couldn't be half the man Sir Sakura was?

If she married someone inferior, she'd be miserable, and a miserable ruler would make for a miserable land. Japan was great and vast, so was it really so impossible to think there wasn't a single, solitary man that was exactly like her fictional favorite? There must be! And she'd wait until the end of time to be with him. Then she'd feel like the characters did in the book – her heart racing, her face warm, her body aching in a good way! That last part always confused her, though. Aches were painful, and she had enough stubs to her toe to know that for sure. So how could an ache be a good thing?

Well, no matter – once she fell in love, she'd understand it all at once. If anything, these books were practice for the real thing. Once she met her real-world Sir Sakura, she had several ideas on how to ensure a proper relationship – like bumping into him around a corner with bread in her mouth, or falling down in just the right way so that when he fell on top of her their lips would meet without their noses bonking somehow. Then she'd have that wonderful, glittery, sparkling feeling, and she'd never be sad again.

“Oh, just let her enjoy herself.” The trusted guard gently began to lead the others away from the door, sliding it shut quietly with one hand. “She's still young, and a young lady in love is a precious flower that must be handled delicately.”

“What do you know about love?” Clarabelle slammed a hand on his helmet, forcing it down so hard that one of his feathers was roughly scraped off. “You go out with a new girl every day! If the princess becomes anything like you, I swear I'll burn all those books and have a great big bonfire for all of Japan!”

Goofy lifted his head. “Oh, can I bring potatoes? I love roasted potatoes.” His helmet was slammed next, and his long ears got stuck inside it.

Pete swiftly decided to excuse himself before he became victim number three. “Maybe we should go back on guard duty. Never know when those smart Oni might come back to cause us some trouble. And remember, you two!” He lowered his voice, eyes dark. “No one must know that the Oni King is in hiding.”

“Secret's safe with me, Pete,” Goofy said, still trying to free himself from his helmet. “Don't think anyone outside of the castle knows that anyhow.”

“It'd scare our people down to the core,” said the bird, readjusting his helmet so he wouldn't lose anymore feathers. “Knowing that the Oni King can still somehow order his people around without being seen. Whatever he's doing, whatever he's plotting, we have to be ready for it. The princess and the Lucky Hammer must never get into his hands!”

Clarabelle glanced back at the room, sighing but not saying another word as the guards left with new resolve. Perhaps the princess spent so much time in the fantasy world because the real one was so much trouble. Even she, the lady-in-waiting and one of the princess' most devoted allies, had no idea where the Lucky Hammer was hidden. Not for lack of trying – why, it was a mere matter of curiosity, and no one could be blamed for trying to find it when they first started working in the castle. She remembered Pete spent three times as long as most newcomers trying to find any clues when he first joined a year ago, and he was incredibly sour when he had to give up, since it was cutting into his actual duties.

Very, very slowly, as though not to be heard, she slid the door open a crack to peek inside. The princess was still reading, sighing dreamily as she turned the page to the next development. One day that girl would find out love wasn't so black and white – literally – but it wasn't going to be today. The princess wasn't a bad person, but she certainly could use some guidance. Deep down, there was wisdom in her, the same wisdom that her father used to rule over the land. It just needed to be brought out.

The princess finished the volume, and proceeded to pull out the next book from the pile – which resulted in it falling on top of her, covering her in paper. She let out an “Eek!” and wiggled under the remains, reminding Clarabelle of a turtle on its back that couldn't get up. “Nooo! The spines are going to be bent! Help! Helllp!”

Clarabelle rubbed her temples. “Maybe I would let her marry someone a few inches tall.”

#disney #fanfic #the little peach #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #donald duck #daisy duck #clarabelle cow #goofy

[kisstheashes]

Glimmers of Control

Goretober Day 8- Mind Control: Chase thought he could trust Maze to help alleviate his migraine

Content warnings: Graphic (?) depictions of violence, forced self harm, major character death

Tagging: @writerwithdepression @superbanananinja234 @egopocalypse @gum-xx-drop @clownoutofdarkness @shadowstakeall @spicydanhowell @friendly-neighborhood-badger @rogue-of-light-analyzed @acuriousquail @maybekatie @here-be-becquerel @shamrockace @sylver-rhymes @space-babe-writing @cute-anxious-kitten (If you want to be tagged, lmk and I’ll happily add you to the list!)

A/N: If any of you are interested in more of this verse, here is a little sequel to it :D

yes I know this is late

Chase sat at the dining room table, head low and covering his eyes as even the dim lights made his pounding head worse. "Marv, I know you hate using hypnotism on us but please! I can't take it bro. Everything hurts and I can't walk without feeling like I'm going to fall over! Don't you know what that's like?"

Maze was leaning against the wall, fixing the cuffs of his blood red button down. He sighed and pushed off the wall. His heeled combat boots clicked on the linoleum as he approached the table, inspecting Chase. "I haven't had one for a very long time. And it's not exactly normal hypnotism. It's dangerous." He kept his voice low as he leaned on the empty chair across from Chase. He bit the inside of his cheek, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.

"I don't care! Nothing is working. It hasn't gone away for days. Marv, please. I can't work like this. I'm behind schedule and I don't want to disappoint my viewers." Chase pressed his thumbs into his temples, unintentionally hiding the scar on the right side.

Maze sat down in the chair, letting out another sigh. "I can't guarantee it'll help, Chase. It could end up hurting you. And it may not work at all." Little flurries of purple smoke wisped from his hands as he flexed them. His eyes never left Chase. "I don't like hypnotizing any of you because I can't quite control it yet. It's a work in progress." Maze cracked his neck. "But if you're sure, I can try something small to at least help with the pain."

Chase nodded quickly then groaned, holding his head tighter. "Do something, bro! It hurts..."

Maze nodded slowly, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. The veins on his arms glowed a blackened purple as he summoned his magic. "Look at me, Chase. It's imperative." Slowly, Chase removed his hands from his head and looked at Maze, squinting in the dim light. "As I said, this is not normal hypnosis. You'll go down quick. I don't need aids of any kind; my magic does all the work for me. That's why it's so dangerous. Now, follow my magic." With a flick of his wrist Maze summoned a tight thread of smoke, playing with it between his fingers. "Breathe deeply for me, Chase...follow the smoke and breathe for me." Maze watched him carefully. "Keep breathing..." He danced the smoke closer to Chase, the vlogger still following it. "That's it..." he murmured. "Down down down, like the little rabbit you are..." Maze created another plume of smoke, a few black glimmers hanging inside of it. With a snap of his fingers, they exploded in Chase's face, causing him to inhale them and make his eyes water. There was a brief moment of panic where Chase's eyes widened and he moved, likely to get up and run. Then he slumped in his chair, a blank look on his face, his eyes glossed over and pure white.

Maze smiled, leaning forward onto the table. "You always were going to be the easiest one, Chase. Really, you should have listened to when Henrik warned you about me. The doctor is smarter than you give him credit for." Maze studied his prey, drumming his fingers on the table. "Let's see if this worked properly...get up and get the pear knife."

With jerky movements that seemed more suited for a ball jointed doll than a human being, Chase did as he was told. He found the pear knife in a drawer and sat back in his chair with it. Maze chuckled lightly through a smile much too pleasant. "Draw the blade down your palm." With clumsy movements and a grip that was too tight, Chase slit his left palm open with the knife. His scarlet blood dripped onto the wooden table, falling into the grooves of the wood. Maze noted how not a single drop of pain showed on any of Chase's features. His smile turned into a smirk. "Good, good...make sure it's clean and put it back. Take the carving fork and bring it back."

His puppet did as told, bringing back the two pronged fork with him. Maze studied his face to make sure his spell wasn't wearing off. "Stab your left hand." Movements still jerky, Chase did as he was commanded. Cracks sounded as bone broke and the fork slid into the table top. "Take it out." Blood flowed onto the table through the gaping holes in Chase's hand. Maze watched the blood seep across the table, backing up his chair a bit. Disgusting. He rested his chin on his hand as he commanded Chase to stab himself again and again. Blood soaked his shirt as he stabbed his chest and left arm. Maze leaned back in his chair as he sighed, scanning the kitchen for other things to use. A sheet of metal reflected the dim light of the kitchen. Oh for fuck's sake. "Put it back. Grab the cheese grater."

Maze tipped his head back, running a hand through his hair as Chase brought the cheese grater back. "Take it across your right arm." He slid his eyes over to Chase as he did so without hesitation. The first thing Maze saw was the blood start making rivers down his arm. When the cheese grater was pulled away the skin had divorced from the muscle and hung in the air, making a V shape with his arm. Maze made a disgruntled noise as he watched Chase bring the cheese grater to his arm again. Flecks of skin caught in the ridges of the grater and fell to the floor as Chase's blood cascaded down his arm. He could hear Chase's skin ripping off of his arm and his blood dripping to the floor. He could see how the grater tugged at the skin before ripping it off and it falling to the floor, into the blood. The whole of his bicep was bloody and torn apart before Maze commanded him to stop. He huffed. "This is taking forever. Stay put." Maze got up and walked to his room, taking one of his throwing knives out of his nightstand before returning. He put it on a section of the table that was clean of blood before sitting back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. "Slit your throat."

Movements slightly more human than before, Chase grabbed the knife and put it to his throat, the motion fluid as he cut deep across his throat. Blood soaked the whole of his front and squirted across the table. Maze bit the inside of his cheek as spots of it stained his shirt. His knife fell to the floor- regrettably in the pool of blood and flesh.

He crossed his legs as he looked at Chase's body like it was on display. Static pricked his neck as Anti appeared behind him. "Your methods are always so messy," Maze commented. He sighed as Anti's fingers stroked through his hair.

"H̵e̶'s ͞much̡ ͡p̨r̸ettįer ̢l͘i͠ke ̷th̷i͜s.͡" He held out Maze's jet black cat mask with his other hand.

He hummed, taking the mask and leaning into Anti's touch. "It's still messy. My methods are much better. There isn't anything left for anyone to find."

"Yo͝ur m̛e͠t̴ho͏ds ár̀e ̸st͏ale҉." Anti scoffed as he rounded the table, picking Maze's knife up from the puddle of blood. He licked the blood off of it, enjoying whatever bits of flesh came with it. Maze watched him intently. "Yo̷u ̀li͡ke ̛s͏eeing͜ t̸hem̶ ble̕èd out, m̶a̷g̀i͡c͞ian̡."̵ He grinned, teeth stained red.

"Still a mess." Maze put his mask on as Anti leaned over to lick up the blood still pouring from Chase's slit throat. "Which is why we're going to kill the next two how I want, with the mess this left." Maze giggled lowly. "Fucking bloodthirsty bastard." Maze saw Anti's smirk before it was covered up with a grin. He followed the glitch's steps to the other side of the table, staying clear of the blood. He lowered his eyes to Chase's body, soaked with blood. Maze leaned into Anti's body directly behind him; the static ghosting his skin was like therapy. "He is much prettier..." he murmured.

Anti made a static sound as he handed Maze his clean knife. "T̷he̛ ̨do҉ctór͞?̛" His static started prickling the air.

"He won't be alive for long. I need to dispose of him before he can convince anyone I'm evil." Maze let out a deep breath as he leaned more weight into the glitch. "You can join me when he's dead. You'll fuck up my cover."

Anti grinned as he separated them. "̡I̢'̀l҉l̡ be w͠atc͠hin͜g, ̛m̴ag̕íc͟i͘a̧n.̸"

Maze smirked. "I wouldn't expect you to miss the show."

#jacksepticeye #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #antisepticeye #jse egos #jse fanfiction #jse community #goretober #goretober 2k18 #ik this isn't my usual marv but let me have fun with him #ashes writing corner

[justauthoring]

Feigning The Connection (17/?)

Prompt: You seem so invincible. But just touch you and you’ll wince. You have secrets and trust no one. You’re the perfect example of betrayal. Because anyone you’ve ever trusted broke you. Thrust into a new world, will you be able to stay alone, or will Bellamy work his way in

SEASON ONE + SEASON TWO

SEASON THREE: PART ONE

A/N: So this chapter a bit shorter than usual and I apologize for that, but in a way this is kind of a filler chapter? like sorta. Anyways, here you guys go :)

I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Pairing: Bellamy x Reader

Based off of: The 100 03x03 and 03x04

Warnings: spoilers?

Tag’s List: @super-river-walker - @deathofthethrones - @dontstopxx - @chebz - @isabellaskyliner - @jeppthatsme - @sarita-villa - @jedibookmasterofnorta want to be featured on my tag’s list? message me letting me know.

“Kane’s trying to teach me a lesson.”

“He’s trying to teach us both a lesson.” You scoffed, raising an eyebrow Bellamy’s way. Turning around, he looked at you and you shook your head, moving around the help Raven. Though as you turned, you didn’t miss the way Gina gazed at you, but you chose to ignore it. Hefting a bag off the back of the rover, you grunted, dropping it on the ground.

“Did I ever tell you guys about that time I saved Sinclair’s ass on the Ark?” Raven asked, a bright smile on her lips as she too helped unload bags. “Please don’t.” Octavia groaned and you let a smile slip, laughing at Octavia’s reaction.

“You mean the time he went rogue on a space walk?” Gina asked. Turning, you shut the back of the rover, walking in step with Raven and Gina as you patiently waited for Raven to answer. “That depends on your definition of going rogue.” Raven shrugged, you chuckled lightly.

“Really?” You asked, turning your head towards Raven.

“I just hopped on a robotic arm and aimed it at the solar array.” Though some of her words made absolute no sense to you, you still laughed along with her joke. It was these moment you enjoyed the most, moments you’d never experienced up on the Ark and certainly not when you’d first landed on earth. It was a new thing, being able to be yourself and relax. Even if you were incredibly nervous about entering the place where thousands had died, where Maya had died along with her father and all those who helped you, you enjoyed the peacefulness. “The whole time I was out there, the control room thought I was just fixing a loose wire.”

Looking over at Gina, you raised your eyebrow, knowing she was thinking the same thing; “that is in fact the definition of ‘going rogue’,” Gina reminded. “You dangled yourself within inches of an electrified array that could’ve killed you.”

“Only time I ever saw Sinclair lose his Comms.”

“So how long were you benched?” Gina asked and you found your attention drifting elsewhere. Looking around, you remembered the distinct build of Mount Weather, and even at first if it seemed like walking into this place wasn’t going to bother you. Actually seeing it now... it most definitely did. 

“Benched? I got the job in record time. What can I say? Sinclair thinks I can do no wrong.”

Walking around the corner, you heard the distinct noise of chatter. Your stomach tightened at the sight of the place where all those had died that day, instead replaced with your own people, chatting and laughing as if no wrong had been committed here. Walking up a bit, you stopped beside Bellamy; “looks like nothing’s changed, eh?” Though your comment could’ve been perceived as a joke, your expression was one of disappointment. 

“Welcome!” Pike suddenly announced, your gaze falling on him. He was quick to get up from his seat and make his was over to you five. “Come. Join us.”

“Someones made themselves at home.” Raven uttered sarcastically. With response you shook your head, trying to stay calm so you didn’t burst out. 

“There must be thirty of them in here.”

“Thirty-six.” Pike corrected, a bright proud smile on his lips. “But the more the merrier.” Bellamy stepped forward, offering Pike a handshake to which he took. Rolling your eyes, you bit your lip. This was ridiculous. They really had no care. Even if all those who’d done you wrong when in this mountain died, along with them innocents had died. Children. Babies. Parents. Some people who may have not even know what Cage and all them had been doing. And here your people were, sitting in the room they died, laughing. 

“Thirsty-six?” Octavia repeated, “wow. The Grounders are gonna think we moved in.”

“Well...” Pike started off, “there was no room at the inn.”

“And this is your option?”

“O-” Bellamy interrupted, glaring back at his sister. Octavia scoffed, nodding before turning towards you. Handing off her bags in your hands, you accepted them, nodding her way. “I’m out of here.”

Pike chuckled; “spirited.”

You raised an eyebrow, dropping the bags on the ground so you could cross your arms over your chest; “she also happens to be right.” You drawled, smiling shortly and forcibly his way. “Not to mention hundreds of people, innocent people, died just where you’re standing now.” 

“Y/N.” Bellamy interrupted you, much like his sister. Though, the only difference was you weren’t his sister, and he definitely did not have the right to talk to you like that. So taking a deep breath, you walked forward, stopping just beside the two. Looking up at Bellamy you shook your head; “didn’t you help murder them?” You questioned, knowing that would hurt him. Part of you felt bad, before this was something you would’ve never thought of saying to him. But part of you was so angry for everything that had happened with him the past three months, you didn’t care.

“I won’t pretend like it didn’t happen.” 

“Y/N, wait.” Bellamy called after you but you were already walking through the cafeteria, walking past everyone. 

“I don’t remember Y/N being that... um-”

“Angry?” Bellamy offered, looking after the direction you’d gone. Sighing, he shook his head; “she isn’t. Well wasn’t. I-I deserve it.”

-

“Listen up, okay.” Bellamy called as soon as you walked in. Surprisingly you found everyone there before you, so picking up the speed in your step, you were quick to reach them. Bellamy wouldn’t have called all of you if it wasn’t important. “If we want to get to Polis before the attack, we have to move.”

“Attack?” You questioned, pausing Bellamy.

“Do we have confirmation on that?” Sinclair asked, and you nodded. It made sense, as this was so abrupt and out of the blue, you questioned if this was really a code red or more just a fear.

“We radioed, but no answer.” Bellamy shrugged and your eyes fell on the newcomer, she didn’t seemed recognizable. And she was obviously a grounder with the face paint but it seemed Bellamy held no hostility towards her, which regarding his record with grounders was a bit odd. The only one he was himself around now was Lincoln, and that was months of trust. But this girl seemed to already have it.

“They may already be dead for all we know,” Pike interrupted, shaking his head. “And if they are we need to be ready to respond.”

“Don’t make this about the missiles.”

“This is about survival.” Pike stated, no room for argument in his tone. Crossing your arms, you bit your lip. This really could go either way and both sides were right, no matter how much you didn’t like to agree. If this was bigger and there had been an attack you did need to respond, but if it happened to just be a mix up and this grounder girl was lying... well everything that needed to be done was just slowed down for a day.

“We don’t have the numbers, but the missiles in this mountain. Even the playing field, and you know i’m right.”

“Even if I did agree with you,” Sinclair responded. “We still don’t have the launch codes.”

“No,” Raven cut in, gaining everyones attention. “But we have me.” Sinclair walked towards Raven, shaking his head at her jokes. Before you knew it they were walking off in the direction of the launch pad and Pike had grabbed ahold of the grounder, hauling her off. Turning your head, you froze when you saw Gina only a few inches away from Bellamy, her hands around him. You paused, unsure of yourself before turning. 

You made your decision and bit down the jealousy you felt. You were the one who turned down Bellamy, not the other way around. And even if you hadn’t, maybe things wouldn’t have worked out, they certainly weren’t now.

“Hey,” Bellamy called, gaining your attention before you walked around the corner. Pausing, you held onto the wall, turning your head. Gina was right in front of you, softly placing her hand on your shoulder before walking past you. You nodded softly at her, still unused to the kindness she was giving you. After all the silence and awkward disappearances anytime she’s been around, you would’ve figured she’d want nothing to do with you. But, it seemed she really was too kind for her own good. 

Turning your gaze to Bellamy, you pushed down your nerves and nodded; “yeah?”

“Aren’t you coming?” He asked, pointing in the direction he needed to go. Bellamy asked it as if it was obvious and you guessed, it had been. Anytime he had gone out of the wall or on a mission, you’d been the first to sign up and join him. Some of it was because you hated being kept inside all the time and liked the adventure. But it was mainly because that meant you could keep an eye on Bellamy, keep him out of trouble because he had no one else to do it. Even if Gina wasn’t going with him, he had someone else now. Bellamy didn’t need you.

“No...” You finally replied, drawling. 

Bellamy turned his head in a movement of shock; “you’re never one to turn down a mission.”

“You don’t need me.”

“Is this really how it’s gonna be between us?” Bellamy asked, referring to all previous times there had been tension between the two of you, in the last few days. The snubs, the glares and the remarks. You knew what he meant. You just didn’t know how to answer.

“You don’t need me anymore.” You repeated, turning back to your destination. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

-

“Gina, are you okay?”

“What’s wrong?” You asked, running into the launch room. Raven’s attention immediately turned to you and you could tell by the expression on her face something was really wrong. Walking in more, you raised an eyebrow; “Raven? What’s wrong?”

“Gina.” She rushed, panicking. “Somethings wrong with Gina.” Your head shook repeatedly, fast movements trying to understand. “I don’t understand. Where is she? I’ll go to her.” Raven nodded and you turned towards the door, ready to make your way out before the radio beeping caught your attention.

“Raven, we’ve got a problem.” Gina’s raspy voice echo over the radio, and you paused, turning your head back towards Raven. She looked up at you, and she knew you wanted to stay, wait to see what’s happening. “A grounder set off a self-destruction sequence. He has the codes on his arm, you have to catch him.” Just as Gina finished explaining, a figure ran past you, slightly knocking you back. You wasted no time looking back at the others and picked up the speed in your feet to catch the man. 

You were only a few steps behind him, and while your heart was racing you didn’t stop. Instead only picked up the speed, going as fast as you possibly could. You faintly heard footsteps behind you and figured it to be Raven and Sinclair. You paid no mind, your eyes only on whichever direction the grounder was taking.

“How much time, Gina?” Raven yelled. 

“Forty-five seconds Raven.” Hearing the small limited amount of time you had, you pushed yourself further. Soon the grounder led himself outside and watching his movements closely, you jumped on his back. While you considered yourself an okay fighter this man was much stronger than you and managed to fling you off his back. Your head hit the back of the ground dazing you for a moment when Sinclair showed up.

Panting, you pushed yourself upwards, knowing this was no time to delay. Shoving the grounder off Sinclair, you pushed Sinclair away; “help Raven!” You screamed, blocking a punch from the grounder. You didn’t need one of your best engineers getting hurt, so it was best you did this on your own.

You managed to land a punch on his stomach and then the side of his head, but he retaliated only stronger and shoved you to the ground. Groaning at the impact you kicked at his feet but he was quick to grab your ankles, hauling you towards him. Letting out a scream, you placed your hands above you, stopping the knife from piercing your throat only inches away. Breathing heavily, you bit your lip and shoved with all the strength you had.

Just before it seemed you’d lose, a gunshot echoed and the grounder above you slumped. Looking over to your right, you saw Sinclair and Raven, a gun in Raven’s hands as smoke floated on top. Panting, you nodded their way, crawling up. “Get the numbers on his arm!” Raven ordered and you were quick to obey, crawling over to the man. Grabbing ahold of his arm, you pulled his sleeve back, revealing the code. 

“Gina, Gina. We got the code.” You looked over at Raven, waiting to hear Gina’s voice but nothing came. Still you waited and nothing, this could only mean... Eyes widening, you began pushing yourself up. “Gina?”

“I’ll go in.” You declared, marching towards the Mount Weather door.

“No, Y/N!” Sinclair called, grabbing your ankle. 

“We can’t just let them die!” Raven bellowed, crawling up herself. 

Then an explosion echoed and suddenly an invisible force hit your chest, knocking you back. You screamed, the blow taking everything from you as you slammed against the ground. You were knocked a good distance away from the door, and smacked against the ground. Your chest burned and you found it hard to breathe. As you blinked, your vision blurry, you tried to find your surroundings but only felt sweat pour down your face and your body ache. Your vision blurred and you suddenly found it much harder to stay awake.

“Gina...”

-

Taking a deep breath, you slowly raised your hand, knocking on it. Your presence was immediately known when your father looked up from the table, his face softening when he saw it was only you. Nervously, you wrung your hands together, unsure of how to start. “May I- may I come in?” 

“You know you don’t have to ask,” your father replied, beckoning you in. “What’s the matter?” 

It still felt completely weird to come to your father for these kind of things. When you were upset, you mainly bottled it up inside because your father had never been an option, and after your mom dying, no one had. And even if Marcus had made it clear time and time again that he was now willing to be the father he should’ve been a long time ago, it didn’t make it any less odd. 

Nonetheless, you walked into the room, shutting the door behind you. Just as you were about to open your mouth, the corner of your eye caught a jacket laying on the table. From the many times you’ve seen him wear it these past few months, it wasn’t hard to tell it was Bellamy’s jacket. Walking up to the table, your hands found the jacket, fingering the material before turning to your father. “Bellamy?”

“Resigned.” Was all your father said.

Biting your lip, your brows furrowed. Obviously you found this strange as the position Bellamy now held, or did hold, was something he’d been working hard for for a while now. To give it up like that, made you worry. “But we’re not here to talk about Bellamy, Y/N. How’s your chest?”

“Better.” You smiled lightly.

“Y/N.” 

Scrunching your nose, you tried to stop yourself from tearing up. This was pathetic really. All the crying you do now a days. You needed to be stronger than this, wiser and crying about every wrong thing that happened wasn’t happening. “Hey,” you heard your father whisper and then Marcus’s hands were on your shoulders, directing your attention his way.

“Every time something goes right, something always goes wrong.” Looking down at your hands, you tried to blank out the noise of the explosion. If you had just been quicker, caught the grounder a moment sooner than maybe everyone would be alive right now. Gina would be alive and Bellamy wouldn’t of resigned. “I’m sick of everyone dying.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“This time it was. I had him, but I let him slip through my fingers.” Your voice cracked slightly as you realized all those that had died when you could’ve done something. Finn... Maya... Gina.. All of them died on your watch. Your mother.

You jumped slightly when arms wrapped around your figure, but soon relaxed when you remembered it was only your father. Letting your strength slip, you sobbed against his chest, squeezing him tighter for support. 

Bellamy heard your soft cries from behind the door, faltering in his step. He knew it was you. No one else would go to Kane for that purpose and he knew of the guilt you felt even if you hadn’t really told him. Clenching his fist, his lip snarled as he thought of the blame you were putting on yourself. It wasn’t your fault. Not you. It would never be your fault and here you were crying because you thought you were a murderer.

Taking a deep breath, Bellamy turned away from the door, nodding to himself.

-

“Who will speak for Gina Martin?”

It was undoubtedly Bellamy who stood up, walking to the front of the crowd with a book in his hands. Though no one could really see you, you’d gone to the memorial. It wouldn’t of been right if you hadn’t. But you also didn’t want to really make your presence known, so you opted for standing in the back, hoping somewhere in his mind Bellamy knew you were here. Supporting him.

“Gina was real.” Bellamy started, his voice cracking slightly. “She always saw the light. Even here. She deserved better.” That concluded Bellamy’s speech as he walked over to the memorial stand and placed down the book in his hands. 

A door opening pulled your attention away from Bellamy and standing up straighter, you saw a group of guards walk in, Lincoln following. Though instead of walking to the rest, he trailed across the crowd. Deciding to finally make your presence known, you stepped away from the shadows, walking over to Lincoln. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Fine.” Lincoln replied shortly, his gaze falling on you. Staring at the bruise on your cheek that had consumed from your battle with the grounder, he faltered. “And you?” 

Your hand shot up to your cheek, holding it. “Yeah,” you laughed lightly. “Yeah, just a little bruise.”

“You gave a grounder one of our radioes?!” 

Pulling your attention away from Lincoln, you looked over at Pike with a curious look. He was obviously angry or at least shocked, but for whatever reason you didn’t understand. You’d been in contact with the grounders for a long time now, Indra having a radio was old news. And besides, you were standing in front of a grounder right now, in your peoples guard uniform. It seemed odd of Pike to react like that. But then again, Pike didn’t like the grounders, that was no secret.

“Sir, are we under attack?”

Murmurs followed the guards question, everyone standing up in alarm. You shot a look at Lincoln, confused but he only shook his head. 

“No, we are not under attack.” Kane was quick to answer, “the Commander sent a peacekeeping force to ensure that we can defend against any further attacks from Ice Nation.”

“Peacekeeping force?” Pike spat, “even you can’t be that naive, Marcus.”

“Watch your tone, your talking to the next chancellor.” Abby reminded, before turning to the rest of the crowd. “We’re all grieving. This has been hard on all of us, but we can’t let our anger drive policy.”

“Anger is our policy.” Pike reinforced, raising his voice. Murmurs of agreement echoed and you turned your gaze to the ground, suddenly weary of how this was going to turn out. Stepping forward slightly, you grabbed ahold of your gun. “Now if they’re here to defend us, like you say, then tell them to go home. We can defend ourselves.”

“Yeah!”

“Right!”

This wasn’t good. Your heart beat sped up, the last thing any of you needed was to retaliate against the grounders. Especially when things were finally working out in a truths.

“You,” a man spat, pointing your way. At first you were confused, until you turned and found Lincoln. “You don’t belong here.”

“He’s one of them.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” you yelled, raising your hands. “He’s one of us!” 

“Y/N-” A rock flew in the air, hitting Lincoln in the head. Turning your glare to the men and women in front of you, you braced yourself. Mocks of people who didn’t agree with your fathers ways came at you, as guards, Bellamy and yourself created a line blocking Lincoln from the angry mob.

“Arrest him!”

Raising your hand, you punched the man in front of you, trying to get him away. He grabbed ahold of your wrist, pulling on it and you let out a groan. Kicking out your foot, you knocked him to the ground just as a whistle blew. “Hey!”

“We do not attack our own!” Pike yelled, silencing everyone. “Fighting each other only makes us weak. The enemy is not in this camp. The enemy is out there!” 

Turning around, your attention flew to Lincoln. “Lincoln, are you okay?” You walked up to him, trying to help him but he gently shoved your hands away.

“Lincoln, you need to go to medical.” You heard Abby say behind you and you turned to her, nodding. “Please, Lincoln. Let me help.” You pleaded softly, worried for your friend. 

“I’m fine.”

-

“You need to step aside right now.”

“What are the guns for?” Harper asked, and you took a deep breath bracing yourself. You haven’t gone against Bellamy like this since when you first hit the ground.

“There’s an army out there.” Bellamy reminded, his voice blank. “We need to hit them before they hit us.”

“That army was sent to protect us.” Biting your lip, you gripped your gun harder. This was becoming more and more difficult by the minute and even if you knew you were doing the right thing, you felt like you were betraying Bellamy.

“Do we have a problem?” Pike asked, and you glared at him. Stepping out from behind Lincoln, you made your presence known to Bellamy and for a split second you could see his expression change before it hardened once again.

“No,” Bellamy answered. “I have always done whats best for us. I need you to trust that i’m doing that now.” Bellamy’s eyes flickered to Monroe, nodding her way. “Monroe.” Taking a steady breath, you watched from the corner of her eye as she backed off.

“Harper.”

“Sorry, Lincoln.” Turning you shook your head at her, and she only offered an apologetic look. “Sorry Y/N.”

Turning back to Bellamy, you found his eyes on your own and you faltered for a moment. But you knew what he was going to do, and it wasn’t good nor would it benefit anyone. For the first time in a long time you didn’t trust that Bellamy was making the right decision, and rather the opposite. “Y/N, trust me.”

“This is the first time I don’t trust you.”

“You too, Lincoln.” Pike started, stepping forward. “You wanna prove your one of us, let us pass.”

“You think you’re right,” you started, shaking your head in disappointment. “But you’re wrong. Bellamy, don’t do this.”

“I’m not moving.” Lincoln said.

The boy from before, who’d thrown the rock at Lincoln stepped forward, gun raised threateningly. Hesitating, you tightened your grip on your gun, raising it slightly as the man walked forward. “Get out of the way, grounder.” Jumping, Lincoln grabbed the edge of the gun and yanked it back, smacking the boy in the head. In one fast movement, Lincoln had the boy in his hands and a knife against his throat.

The crowd in front of you raised their guns, and you were quick to follow suit. Watching for anyone headed both yours and Lincoln’s way. 

“Guns down!” Bellamy ordered, “guns down!”

“Do what he says now.”

Everyone listened, lowering their gun but you kept yours up. What Lincoln did only made them more hostile towards him, and you weren’t going to let him get hurt. The boy in his arms struggled, but you paid no mind to it. 

“So much for the good grounder.”

“Quiet Hannah.”

“Whose people are you defending here, Lincoln?” Pike asked, and you stepped forward, shaking your head. “Our people.” You spat, “he’s defending our people.”

“Lincoln put the knife down.” Bellamy started, his gaze falling on your gun. “Y/N, put your gun down. We don’t want anyone to get hurt here.”

“Can’t let you start a war.” Lincoln revolted.

“We’re already at war.”

“You can’t stop this.” Bellamy shook his head, slowly stepping towards you. You shook your head, pleading for him with your eyes to just stop this. You really couldn’t believe that Bellamy thought this was the right thing to do. Start a war with the grounders. 

Just as Bellamy neared you, the P.A. dinged on, signalling all personal to report to the main gate. Shaking your head at Bellamy, you looked up at him, “please.” You begged. “Don’t do this.” Octavia stormed by you, falling next to Lincoln as she stared at her brother in bewilderment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Main personal walked through the crowd, your father in the middle. Lowering your gun slightly, you backed off. It was good that Marcus had arrived, he would be able to handle this situation much better than just you or Lincoln could. Farm station, upon Pike’s command, dropped their guns on the ground as Marcus stepped in front of the crowd.

“Lincoln, it’s okay. Let him go.” Marcus ordered, “Y/N, lower your gun. It’s fine now.” You immediately obeyed your father’s command, dropping your gun to your side where it usually rested. Lincoln followed suit, letting the boy go, as he scrambled back to the rest.

Abby appeared and you let out a breath of relief. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What you didn’t have the guts to do.”

Watching your father carefully, you found him make his way over to Bellamy. “Did you arm these people?” Bellamy said nothing, only slowly nodded his head. You sighed, knowing that this wouldn’t end well. Your mind was still baffled that Bellamy would do this, it was like he was a completely different person.

“Guards, take them to lock-up now.” The guards scrambled around, locking all those who had committed the treachery in handcuffs. Pike and Bellamy also fell in that category and when Bellamy’s gaze fell on you, you only looked to the ground in shame, unsure of what to do. “Everybody, back to your quarters. It’s over.”

“Nothing is over.” Pike yelled as the guards dragged him, effectively stopping their movements. “We are surrounded by warriors who want us dead-”

“That’s enough!”

“No.” Pike shook his head; “it isn’t. Not even close. Why don’t you show us all, what you let the grounders do to you yesterday? Or how they beat up your daughter?” Gazes fell on you and your father, specifically you found Bellamy’s on you. And self-consciously, your hand found the bruise on your cheek, covering it from view.

“Come on Kane. I think that the people who are about to vote for you have a right to know.”

Looking back at you, you waited for your father to comply. Though when he did, you certainly didn’t expect to find a burnt symbol on his arm. Your hand flew to your mouth in shock, not expecting such a wound to be there. “It’s the mark of the Commanders coalition.” Marcus explained, nodding at you. Slowly, you let your hand fall, nodding back. “It means, we are the thirteenth clan.”

“No, it’s what farmers used to do to their life stock.”

“Right before the slaughterhouse.” Screams of agreement echoed and you shook your head, this was bad. Everything was going wrong. And when things went wrong someone payed the price for it.

“Pike for chancellor!” Your mouth opened in shock, turning around in the direction of the voice. They couldn’t be serious.

“Sir, you should be on the ballot tomorrow.”

“That’s enough,” Abby interrupted, stepping forward. “Take him away.”

“Pike!” Bellamy chanted and your gaze fell on him. Eyes wide, your head jutted backwards in surprised. What was he doing? “Pike! Pike!” Everyone followed him, chanting Pike’s name and you shook your head. 

“You can’t be serious.”

#the 100 #the 100 imagine #the 100 characters #bellamy blake #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 bellamy #bellamy imagine #bellamy x reader #bellamy #blake #feigning the connection #ftc #the 100 series #series #imagine #imagines #drabble #drabbles #prompt #prompts #request #requested

[niamhuncensored]

While I’m in the mood to bitch about comics, let’s talk about Batman Damned

If you haven’t heard of it or read it, Here is the link to read it in its entirety (disregard issue 4, for some reason the site thinks it’s still ongoing). It’s a black label production, so use your discretion.

Once you’ve read it, Here’s a list of reasons why it might’ve been a flop. if you still haven’t read it, spoilers ahead.

Nothing is real

Here’s a panel from the first issue.

They literally tell us from the start that not only is Bruce questioning his sanity, but that the voice-over/narrator is also possibly lying to us.

Unreliable narrators can be fun, but seems like this is a cheap tactic for the writers to do whatever they want. The readers are left without anything to hold onto. Nothing is properly real, which leads to a confusing story.

Case in point: the character (Enchantress?) who was haunting Bruce. Was she really haunting him in his childhood? And why? Or is Bruce hallucinating her as part of his guilty conscience? What does she want with him? And why does no word out of her mouth make sense?

Lesson to writers who use unreliable narrators: if your audience has no way of knowing what’s real and what’s not, you’ve failed at writing an unreliable narrator.

missing stories and transitions

We don’t even know for sure what the fuck happened to Joker. It’s kind of stated at the end that Bruce let Joker fall into the river, but when we see the fall scene in the first issue, it’s as if batman is falling, and it’s implied to be a flashback. So what happened and why were they fighting in the first place.

Then, at the end of the first issue, we get to this page, where batman is chasing a possible witness.

That’s immediately followed with this scene, where he seems to be entering batcave and begins stripping down (we’ll get to that in a bit.)

sidenote: how can a heart rate be two numbers? It’s one number. They could’ve just said blood pressure. but I digress.

Isn’t he still chasing that guy? It wasn’t like he burst through the wood to a blank wall, so the guy could still be in there and your plan, Bruce, is to - ahem - intimidate him?

Then, after talking to Zatanna (more on her, later) we get to this panel.

This is supposed to imply that Joker is still alive, but then the plot completely forgets that 3 people were kidnapped. We don’t even see them when Harley rolls around.

At the end of the second issue, Harley attempts to r*pe batman (which I will not be showing) but he turns it on her and we get this panel where he’s choking her out on the batsignal

But then the next issue starts and we get...this...

What the fuck?! This isn’t a hallucination or anything, this is supposed to be real, and it feels like we started a whole other comic. John is no help, either. He only cheekily implies that they had sex (not what happened) and moves on to annoying the shit out of swamp thing.

There’s just no transition from a rooftop with Harley Quinn to a pine box. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Not to mention, Deadman says that there’s a plot against Batman. What plot? We don’t know.

Swamp Thing says that “both sides lay claim.” On what? Bruce’s soul? Is that even on the table, since he’s alive? It’s still unclear. The narrative is quick to open up these loops and quicker to forget to close them.

Pointless Nudity

Remember the “bata-wang” jokes after the first issue dropped? if not, here’s the background: Batman walks into his cave (somehow) and requests a full body scan. The scan completes while he’s still mostly clothed, so he strips down to his birthday suit for basically no reason.

He also sits totally naked in his own house, wherein only one chair is uncovered(Where the fuck is Alfred? or the rest of the batfam? wtf?!). Of course, we also get Zatanna’s cleavage and ass, because, as we all know, women are always wearing fishnets and thongs at all times, right? As well as most of Harley’s torso.

If you’re going to have nudity, it has to have a reason. never go full frontal without a reason.

The Devil went down to Gotham

Remember the guy that Batman was chasing? When we first see him, we think he’s just some hobo who saw something.

Turns out, by the end, he’s some kind of judgemental deity, who may have been talking about himself when he said “The devil’s in gotham city.”

This came out of fucking nowhere and we’re just supposed to take this? The guy looks like Kessler in inFamous and we’re supposed to understand that he’s the Devil? or is he supposed to be God? God’s been a puppy in Constantine’s new 52 run so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

Also, in the second issue, he was speaking in green text. Was that supposed to mean something? What was different about him then that isn’t in the first or third installment?

Whatever the answer is, we’re not finding out quickly.

Happily Married is an Oxymoron

In the comic, it’s pretty clearly stated that Thomas was actually cheating on Martha, and implied that they were getting a divorce. It seems like Enchantress was intending to distract Bruce from seeing the full scope of things, but it’s unclear.

Honestly, I was okay with this perspective on their relationship, but i think it was so out of the ordinary that it just further distances readers from the story.

A Dark Showcase (And I don’t mean Batman’s Dick)

If you’ve played the Arkham Games, you might’ve felt like the main goal of the games was at least partially to show off the rogues gallery, rather than to tell a story (which they did anyway but i digress). Batman Damned feels an awful lot like that.

in all honesty, that was kind of what kept me reading. I turned off the part of my brain that was going “What’s going on” and resorted to the part that was just going “look, it’s Constantine! Look, it’s batman! Look, it’s Zatanna!”

On a the third issue, however, the reasoning side of my brain took over and I couldn’t ignore the flaws. using characters as easter eggs with no real story can only get you so far.

In addition, some of the appearances make little sense. Take Zatanna, for instance.

In the first issue, she was a street performer who looked like a prostitute who put on makeup for a stage play. when she reappeared in the third issue, she was a professional - performer? Medium? it’s not quite clear - with a more revealing but better put together outfit.

I refused to believe that those two appearances were of the same person. why would Zatanna be doing street magic for tips, while she has a steady gig at a tavern? It makes no sense.

Deadman shows up, and vanishes. Shows up, and vanishes. Shows up, and vanishes again, doing exactly squat, each time. Same with Swamp Thing. He saves Batman from being buried alive, and saves Constantine from a killer statue, and does fuck-all else. Enchantress is basically there to be creepy and that’s about it. Etrigan is basically there to pull Batman out of the fire and not much else. And Constantine is basically there for deus ex machina and comic relief, and carries little weight for the story.

Even in the Arkham Games, the villains served a purpose. The fact that the characters are just there as easter eggs makes the showcase worse, i think.

How to fix it.

First off, make things clearer. Questioning a character’s sanity can be fun, but it’s only fun if it’s clear what’s real and what isn’t upon reread, or even first read. the goal is dramatic irony, not confusion.

Second, keep track of the doors you open and make sure close them. Transitions should make sense and drastic plot details should be addressed. It’s okay to leave an audience with some questions, but this many of this scale is evidence of a failed story.

Thirdly, thoroughly justify the nudity or cut it out completely. I know this is black label, and that that gives you more wiggle room for mature stuff, but just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

Lastly, CUT THE DEAD FUCKING WEIGHT. With the above fixes and minimal rewriting, this could have literally just had Batman and Zatanna in it. Honestly, that would have been a much better story.

If you keep Constantine, here’s a gentle reminder that CONSTANTINE IS ALSO CAPABLE OF MAGIC! If he had been doing all or most of the magic that Zatanna had done, and had done it from the beginning, this could have been one issue long. And then you’d have space for the other characters to be effective in their own rights.

#batman #batman damned #john constantine #hellblazer #zatanna #swamp thing #deadman #etrigan #joker #dc #black label #problems #bitching

[siriusly-random]

Land Next to Me: Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks to @cupcakecana and @x-benihime for being amazing and giving me feedback/editing this for me!! <3

Enjoy Natsu’s POV of chapter 1, which is mostly to establish his world!

(won’t be posting on ff.net for a while because I ran into computer issues-i.e., I spilled water on it and it is fried)

Translations at the bottom for Trigedasleng 

Fandom: Fairy Tail/the 100

Rated: T

Words: 3120

Pairing: Nalu

Characters: Natsu, Gajeel, Acnologia, Sting, Levy- mentions of others

Summary: Three hundred years since the human race has set foot on Earth, one hundred teen prisoners are sent down with nothing but their wits. Even though she’s just as scared as everyone else, Lucy Heartfilia will do anything she can to make sure they survive.

<<prev         next>>

Chapter 2: Down Here, Weakness is Death, Fear is Death

“What the hell?”

Fire blazed in the sky, bright and blinding as it descended, moving closer and closer to the ground.  Natsu’s eyes fixed on it, at first thinking it was a star, but the closer it got, the less likely it became.

A large group gathered, surrounding Natsu, all looking up at the sky. The younger children muttered to each other about it being a falling star, just like he’d thought it was, but those who were older knew better.

This was dangerous.

A heavy weight settled in the pit of Natsu’s stomach, fear of the unknown creeping up on him.

“Vieda.” Natsu tensed at the familiar voice and his back straightened as he turned to face Acnologia.

Natsu looked up at him. “Chief?”

“They’re from the sky—Skaikru. They are not welcome here.” A shiver ran down Natsu’s spine at Acnologia’s menacing expression and he nodded at the chief’s words as he hid his anxiety.

A new clan.

Skaikru.

The unfamiliar word sounded strange in his mind.

Even if there were people falling from the sky, they wouldn’t last long if Acnologia’s expression was anything to go by.

He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.  

The legends had spoke of those from centuries past who’d travelled to the sky, but he thought they would all be dead by now. It was inevitable. How would they grow food, or even get water? They were in space, where there was nothing but stars and the moon.

Besides, even if there were people coming down, those flames would’ve surely engulfed them.

“Come,” Acnologia barked. He strode to the main war hut and paused at the entrance, looking back. “Gajeel!”

“What?” It was muffled. From the other side of the hut. “Did you get everyone?”

“No.”

“Well hurry the fuck up. Get the council members. We gotta figure out our defense. Go now.” With that, their Chief disappeared inside.

Reluctantly, Natsu made his way over, Sting sidling up next to him. He quirked a curious eyebrow at the blond, earning a mere shrug from him.

It was clear to him that Sting also had his doubts. He’d never been as good as Natsu at hiding his feelings.  

Natsu kept his face neutral and shoulders pushed back as he entered the hut. If he wanted to stay alive, he couldn’t let his guard down. Not around their chief.

Being part of the chief’s personal guard was never in Natsu’s plans, yet here he was, thanks to being a protective idiot. He never would’ve volunteered if he’d thought there was any other way to protect Romeo or one of the other kids from being selected.

Taking his seat at the round table, Natsu glanced to the rest of the room—Laxus and Cobra on either side of Acnologia, Sting and Rogue beside Cobra.

He narrowed his eyes at Gajeel who sat beside him, cool air following him from the outside. His obvious pleasure at being back here once again written all over his face, no doubt aching to kill.

Disgusting.

Not to say that Natsu didn’t love a good fight himself. He just didn’t like killing for pleasure like the others seemed to.

“The legends spoke of the sky people and how one day they would return,” Acnologia stood, expression hard yet manic. “I cannot predict where their ship will land, but if they come into our territory,” he gazed at each other them, grin turning sadistic as his eyes landed on Natsu, “frag emo op.”

Natsu heard Gajeel let out a grunt of agreement, saw Cobra’s smirk and the coldness in Acnologia’s eyes, and made a vow to himself.

He would kill Acnologia, whatever it took.

The Chief assigned positions. Cobra and Laxus would cover the North and South, respectively, Sting and Rogue the East, Natsu and Gajeel the West. Natsu tuned out the rest. He didn’t care about strategies or whatever else they were discussing.

Shuffling pulled Natsu from his thoughts as everyone stood and headed out of the hut, excitement and bloodlust clinging to them. It had been quiet recently, with the new Commander’s coalition, not many opportunities for blood to have blood.

The needless wars and senseless killing had stopped for the most part. Natsu had been able to spend more time with Romeo and the other children, grateful to keep them from the danger the other krus could be, and teach them to how defend themselves—not only physically but mentally.

Never show weakness. He told them, fiercely. Weakness is death. Fear is death. Don’t show your fear.

“Let’s go, Salamander.” The gruff sound of his reluctant partner broke him away from his thoughts. He turned to face Gajeel, and with a nod, grabbed his bow and arrows. He followed Gajeel to the trees, the pair moving quickly and quietly as they approached their border near the mountain, neither saying anything.

They never really got along, though Natsu didn’t get along well with any of the guard for that matter. They enjoyed killing, he didn’t. It was as simple as that. If tolerated any of them, it was Sting and Rogue—mostly because he’d helped teach them to fight, and they knew when to spare a life.

The duo perched themselves up in the trees, facing the lake, waiting for the so-called ‘Skaikru’ to approach. Natsu still doubted that anyone could survive the fall on a flaming fireball. It could just be a falling star like he initially thought—even if that didn’t make much sense either—besides, if there had been people in the sky for all these years, why come down now?

“This is pointless,” Natsu grumbled as he adjusted his quiver. They would be stuck in this spot for days before Acnologia would send for them once he realized there were no invaders.

At least, Natsu hoped that was the case. If there really were sky people, they wouldn’t know about the boundaries or the kill order, and Natsu would be forced to kill innocent people in order to save himself.

He had to figure a way out of this.

“It’s the chief’s command, don’t complain.” Gajeel spared him a single glance as he surveyed the land in front of them. “Unless you’d rather step down from the guard?”

Natsu saw him smirk. Gajeel knew the answer already. The day Natsu stepped down from the guard was the day Natsu died. He would never let someone take his place and have them be subjected to Acnologia’s reign. It was his burden to bear.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves, Natsu. Don’t be afraid.

He wasn’t sure what Igneel would think if he saw him now. He hoped that he’d be proud.

Voices drifted over from across the river.

Voices speaking english.

His pulse quickened and his gaze darted to Gajeel, fists clenched at the ever-expanding grin on his partner’s face. He saw Gajeel’s grip on the spear tighten, poised to attack, aching to launch it.

“Only if they cross, Gajeel,” Natsu spoke low, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. He couldn’t see the people yet, but he knew they were there, and they were most likely not Trigedakru.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gajeel waved him off, branch beneath him bending dangerously as he practically bounced on his heels.

A predatory grin warped his face.

Scowling, Natsu readied his bow and tried to figure a way out of this. He could only pray they didn’t cross the river.

The group appeared from the woods dressed in strange clothes and, from what he could tell, weaponless.

He frowned and slackened his grip on his bow, curious. He couldn’t understand why they’d wander this far from their crash site, if it was indeed Skaikru, and without weapons at that.

“Gajeel,” he stated, hooking his bow over his head, string across his chest, “these people aren’t dangerous. They don’t even have weapons.”

“Your point?” Gajeel scowled and his eyes narrowed, not bothering to spare Natsu a glance.

“Wouldn’t it be better to question them? Ask them why they’re here?” He was grasping at straws—a lost cause, and he knew it. Gajeel knew it too.

“The chief told us to kill ‘em if they cross, so if they cross I’m gonna kill ‘em. End of story.”

Natsu sighed and turned to the odd looking group. They were young, two girls and three boys, probably around his own age. They were discussing something, looking at a big piece of…something with markings on it. What was it? They were pointing to it and then looking up and around. What were they doing? Maybe he could get a closer look—

His heart clenched at that. He and Gajeel were here to kill them. They couldn’t come closer. They needed to leave.

There was a loud exclamation from the orange-haired boy as he ripped the…thing…from the blue-haired girl. The rest of them looked worried. Uneasy.

Hope bloomed in his chest for a moment.

But then the white thing was tucked away, Skaikru’s faces changed from worry to resolve, and Natsu held his breath.

They’d found the old bridge, a path that Natsu and the rest of the clan used to cross the river when they were hunting or when the kids wanted to explore. Natsu chewed his lip, hoping they’d be too scared to cross. But then the blue haired girl stepped in the water, and Natsu could practically smell the smugness coming from Gajeel.

He let out a shaky breath, dread running cold in his veins as he watched the young, innocent, ignorant, girl practically skip across the water, distantly hearing someone call her name. Levy.

Two of the boys followed.

And then the blonde hurried out, and Natsu could see the desperation on her face—the worry.

A lump settled in his throat. Constricting Heavy. He wanted to scream at them to get. Back.

She stepped out of the water and onto the land—their land—with a wide grin from her apparent success. Natsu whipped to look at Gajeel’s readied arm and lust for blood in One.

Levy turned to her friends, smile only growing.

Two.

Gajeel’s left arm extended to aim, the other bent, readying to release.

Three.

Gajeel launched the spear. A perfect throw. Straight for the girl. No curve.

He knew without a doubt it’d hit it’s mark.

A scream and a frozen smile. Eyed wide. Shocked and empty. Forever etched into his mind. His heart plummeted. His stomach churned, horrified at Gajeel and what he had done.

He saw the rest of the group try to get to her, but the orange-haired one stopped them. It looked like he was in physical pain to have to do so. With how the blonde was digging her nails into him, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

And then Gajeel threw another spear.

He missed his target by an inch.

Anger roiled in Natsu. He had to stop this.

“Fuck.” He growled, unable to contain himself anymore. He leapt from the tree and he grabbed Gajeel by his ankle, yanking him down from his own branch. Gajeel reeled back, whirling on Natsu, his third spear now angled at him.

“What the fuck, Natsu!”

Natsu didn’t care. He shoved the point out of his face and yanked the spear away from Gajeel. “This is wrong, Gajeel. They’re defenceless.”

He quickly grabbed an arrow from his quiver and shot it out to the water.

A warning.

Though, he hoped at this point the message was already clear to the group.

They needed to get the fuck out.

His hands clenched as he looked back to Gajeel.

Gajeel was pissed.

And Natsu knew he was about to make it worse, but he didn’t give a flying fuck at the moment.

“You should be proud.” He made the hatred clear in his snarled words, spitting them at the black-haired male. “You’re turning into our Great Chief. Maybe someday you’ll kill someone’s innocent father as they beg you for mercy, just like he did.”

He’d struck a chord with Gajeel, he knew. He didn’t need to see the flicker of regret interrupt his gratified, murderous expression.

But then it was gone and Gajeel was advancing on him.

“Natrona.” Gajeel spat, fist flying towards Natsu. The hit struck his jaw, his head snapping to the side, body twisting with it from the force.

He could already feel the bruise forming and metal rolling over his tongue.

He stood, shocked for a moment, before spitting at the ground and turning to look at Gajeel, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in frustration.

Natsu stayed expressionless, no pain or fear, as he met Gajeel’s glare head on.

“I may be a traitor, but at least I’m not a mindless follower of a dictator. You know these people aren’t dangerous. You know they’re innocent.” He squared his shoulders and ignored the throbbing in his jaw.

“They’re Skaikru, Salamander,” Gajeel argued, hand flying to the sky, “they’ve been living in the stars! They ain’t fucking innocent and I’m gonna prove it.” He turned his back on Natsu, took a few steps, then stopped, looking over his shoulder.

“Though I doubt you’ll still be alive to see I’m right,” he spat, letting out a humourless laugh before taking off in the direction of their home, not once looking back.

Natsu never expected anything less from Gajeel.

He turned to face Levy, absently scratched at his face, and winced.

He really was an idiot sometimes.

So much for never stepping down, he thought, frustrated.

But he couldn’t have stopped himself.

These people were helpless, their knowledge of this world limited, as was his of theirs. They didn’t know any better. That didn’t mean they should be killed for it.

He turned back to the water just as they disappeared into the safety of the trees.

Good, he thought, flee.

He looked around, spotted some comfrey plants, and grabbed a few on his way to the girl. Gajeel was a good shot, but he’d been a fair distance away when he’d thrown the spear. With any luck it wouldn’t have gone all the way through and she’d still stand a chance.

He dropped to his knees next to her, taking care to not pull out the spear as he moved his hand under her small body. He sighed in relief as he felt only clammy skin, no trace of the spear or blood. He lay her back down, double checking for blood on his fingers, before he moved to her wrist to check for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.

He couldn’t believe it.

With a quick prayer to Pramheda, Natsu gripped the spear around and took a deep breath before he pulling it straight out, quickly and carefully.

He heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a pained groan, and his head snapped to her face. He froze for a brief moment at the sight of her eyes open, the terror in them unnerving. Her lip quivered, tears falling from her eyes in silent horror, the pain too much for her to speak.      

“It’s okay,” he reassured—in english—dropping the spear and reaching for her hand. He worked quickly, pressing leaves into the wound, giving her hand a gentle squeeze at her soft whimper. “I’m Natsu kom Trigeda. I’m here to help.” She barely reacted, either confused at the use of Trigedasleng, or she just wasn’t processing his words. She was scared and in pain, and he was going to do his best to help her.  

He placed pressure on her wound to stop the bleeding..

He bit his lip, worried.

He couldn’t move her on his own, not without risking her injury getting worse, and he didn’t want to leave her in case she wasn’t there when he returned.

He wasn’t just worried about the wild animals.

He watched as the girl’s eyes closed and muscles went slack. Though he felt slightly guilty, he was grateful she wouldn’t be awake and in pain. He could’ve taken on Gajeel and stopped this.

But he had been a coward.

He could leave her, go back home and deny Gajeel’s accusations, which he knew Gajeel was making to Acnologia. He could say he just wanted to make sure the girl was dead, but nobody would buy it. Even if it were the truth, Acnologia was looking for a fight. He was looking for blood. He wouldn’t want Natsu to be innocent.

Natsu ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. He couldn’t think properly. He needed to figure something out. He needed to survive. He’d been doing it all his life. It was the one thing he was good at. So what was he supposed to do?

Protect those who cannot protect themselves, Natsu.

Igneel’s words always crept back. He knew what the right thing to do was.

But how was he supposed to do it?

With a deep breath, Natsu tried to calm his racing thoughts. There was a logical solution to this.

He spotted his quiver and he grabbed it, ripping the cloth he kept tied around it and wrapping it around her small frame to cover the wound best he could to apply a bit of extra pressure to it.

Natsu didn’t typically work with the healers—he only knew the basics in case he got hurt and was by himself—but he couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of his handy work. In any other case he would just go see Porlyusica for help. That wasn’t an option at the moment though…obviously.

He slung his quiver with its remaining arrows over his shoulder as he tugged lightly on the makeshift bandage to make sure it would hold. When it did, he slid his hands under the girl and hoisted her up in his arms.

He could only hope that he would be able to hold the injury steady long enough to get her somewhere safe.

He adjusted his hold, making sure she was secure, and looked out at the lake in front of him. He was doing the right thing.

Right?

If he didn’t bring the girl to them, she would probably die. He couldn’t count on the others coming back for her, and it felt wrong to just leave her.

But thoughts of his friends and the kids from home plagued his mind. He couldn’t leave them. Some of them didn’t have parents anymore. He’d be abandoning them.

Maybe he could go back after bringing the girl back. He could talk to Acnologia, could beg him to believe him.

Taking a deep breath, Natsu took a step forward, foot hitting the water.

He could only hope he wouldn’t regret this.  

Trigedasleng–>English

Vieda (vay-da)–> Invaders Trigeda (tree-ged-duh)–> Woods Clan Skaikru (sky-crew)–> Sky people Frag emo op (fe-rag em-oh ah-p) → Kill them all Trigedakru (tree-ged-duh-crew )–> People of the woods clan Natrona (na-trunna) → Traitor Pramheda (präm-head-da) → First commander Kom (come) → From/of the

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #nalu #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #land next to me #my writing #thank god for googl docs #don't spill water of your lap top folks #i know i know no nalu yet #next chapter #dear lord forgot to put in a read more bar I'm sorry!! #don't mean to clog up dashes #but I can't fix it now rip

[call-of-the-v0id]

This was a drabble I wrote back in 2009 for my mom after finding out she enjoyed reading stories about her favorite show, Johnny Lancer. This isn’t overwatch, it’s just that I found an old flash drive of mine from many years ago and have been finding all kinds of weird things. This is dramatic/comedy in case you lose the context of the story lol! xD

A Johnny Lancer drabble.

"The Journey to- Where Again?"

      Lately I've been catching myself staring at the sky. The vastness up above intrigues me to no end and somehow I wish I could be apart of that infinite escape. I do long for a retreat beyond these dimensions of the human world, to be apart of something greater and less frightening. To be away from the blood shed and leave the past far behind in the deep reaches of my subconscious, left to be forgotten and erased from my memory. It's plain today I haven't been myself. I was watching the clouds creep by in that infinite sky and the patterns that emerged from them dissipated to something completely different, unlike the everyday stern looks and stares a person holds with them till death. Ah yes, the sky is ever changing and it's will to do so is unstoppable by any human hand. My father was talking to me about the ranch and bringing up such topics as his will and how me and Scott will become the land owners when he finally passes. I secretly prayed to myself that that the reaper could spare my father, at least for another 10 years or more. I've grown attached to the man and Scott as well. There is this spot on my belly that has been bothering me for days now! It itches like hell and no matter what I put on it it doesn't seem to make it any better. Teresa took a look and I knew for sure she'd pull something out her ass and fix it right up but she suddenly disappeared about a week ago and we haven't seen her since. I just don't want anyone finding out about this, it's annoying but I'll live. I also found another spot on my -

"John! Get out here!" A shout from the door startled the man and he hastily shut a small notebook and slid it beneath a pile of paperwork on his work area. He rose quickly and stumbled to the door, but regained himself before Scott could have a chance to notice his odd behavior or at least he hoped so.

"What is it Scott? What's the problem?" Johnny managed to breath out before he was shoved outside. The sun hit him like a train. His eyes narrowed instinctively as he felt the sun burn into them. He had been inside all day and barely realized it was day time. In fact, it was early morning. Murdoch stood a few feet away,  a solemn scowl crossed his face as he regarded the blue eyed man who returned with a slightly more bewildered expression.

"Whats the problem?" He repeated his last and unanswered question to his father who merely shook his head lightly and closed his eyes. "Well son, I've got some terrible news. " He began, his eyes darting to Scott who seemed a tad on the nervous side.

"Yea?" It was all he could manage to get out. He eyed both his father and Scott and tried to gauge their behavior on the situation. It must have been real bad for them to be gathered like this in such a rush and on such short notice. Murdoch continued, letting his folded arms fall to his side. He raised a hand and held it above his eyebrows, scanning the horizon as he chose his next choice of words carefully. "There was a fight in town between some young boys and it got nasty. You see, Teresa was up there gathering some supplies and found herself in the middle of it all. Well, poor girl got herself caught up in a knife fight and was..." He couldn't finish the last sentence. He breathed in slowly and turned to Johnny, knowing the rest could go on without being said.

Judging from the man's reaction, he was right. Johnny's body slumped slightly as he tried to take in the information and shook his head in disbelief. "Well god damn..." He cursed a few more times under his breath and paced about, kicking at the ground beneath his feet. Scott swallowed hard and took a step forward. "That's not all." He added, his eyes nervously darting between his father and his brother. Johnny instantly ceased movement and raised his head at Scott, interest imprinted in his scowl. "W-well... I did a little investigating of my own. I went to town and talked to a few of the people that witnessed it and it appears it was more than just a fight between two men." He paused for a moment, trying to hold eye contact with his brother whose glare was shooting daggers through him. It wasn't anger towards him but none the less he didn't like those eyes staring at him like that.

"It appears they were fine before Teresa arrived but when she did come they noticed her satchel and obviously saw something they wanted. She... She didn't have a chance." As he finished his last statement, Johnny let out a grunt and rubbed the back of his head rather harshly out of frustration. "Those damn kids. Where they'd get off to?" His voice was hoarse, low and void of question, rather he was demanding an answer. Scott lowered his head at this and fumbled with his holster. "The law never got 'em. They got out of there just in the nick of time. I heard from a man he saw them riding west of here, toward some canyon. But that's at least a 2 week ride from here." He stated. He kept his head lowered but raised his eyes to Johnny, noting the subtle difference in his brother. He could tell the gunslinger was plotting.

Murdoch approached the door and rested a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "You two boys should know what you have to do. The funeral will be a week or 2, so that should give you enough time to be gone and back again in time. Don't worry about anything here, I'll take care of it." He declared, patting Scott on the back as he stepped by him. The two brothers didn't need to acknowledge this. It went without saying what they were about to do.

It took them only an hour or two to saddle up and bring only what they needed to be there and back again within the week. The trail was cooling off, and time was off the essence. They had to be hasty if they were going to take of the murderers and retrieve any of Teresa's belongings. Within the morning they managed to get everything and prepared and set off.

They hit the town and asked around a little more, trying not to waste too much time on the same old clues. The only hit they were able to dig up was names, ages, and possible hide outs. "Cori Benkston and Jessie Escaban. Cori's 33 and Jessie's 28. " Johnny recited from his mental notes. Scott followed closely behind as they sped off deep into the west. They had learned the two boys were gun fighters themselves, but rogue fighters that used dirty tricks and stole what they wanted, rather than earning it. They fought dirty and didn't care who died in their wake.

It took them 3 days to reach a sliver of a river, flowing gently due south of them. The clear crisp water waved at them, as if inviting them to a break. However time could not be wasted. They refilled their water supply and continued throughout the day, camping at small little concealed sites so it would be much harder to be spotted when they awoke in the morning to pack up and leave.

It was hard to believe it had already been a week. Off in the distance, at the very farthest reach for the human eye to see visibly was a small protruding piece of earth. It was the makings of a canyon. They were traveling in the right direction but it would be at least another few days before they got there. That night they spent most the time relating tales to each other and gossiping about past events and the dumb antics of the drunks at their favorite local bar. Scott had noticed Johnny had become much calmer than he was when they first started their journey. But something was bothering Scott tremendously. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he was best if he didn't worry Johnny with his petty self-issues.

The next day a small town laid across an equally small patch of land. It was surrounded by cliffs, hanging several hundred feet above. It was good to finally see some kind of civilization after almost a week and a half of nothing but the vast desert and your brother to keep you company. But within the town, there was no one. The streets howled a lonely tune as gusts of wind stirred layers of sand and dust from not only the streets but from the buildings themselves. "It's empty." Scott relayed the obvious information to Johnny, but it was good to hear it at least. It confirmed his suspicions.

"Well I'll be damned." Johnny let out a sigh and approached the last building of the town. "There's not a trail out of here. We'll have to head back and go around." Judging from the distance of the cliffs and the terrain amidst all of the bouldered rock, Scott was able to safely estimate the time of arrival. "That will be another day or two added to our litle trek, and that's if we can safely get our horses over those rocks safely. " He stated, his brow lines pinching together in concern. Johnny didn't offer any words, he simply turned his horse around and left the town.

As Scott predicted, it took them longer than usual. The horse had problems manipulating their way through the tough terrain but after 2 days of careful footing, everyone made it out okay. But as the horizon came into view again, both of them noticed something very daunting. The protruding rock that called to them previously was suddenly gone and westward only promised a vast and endless desert that seemed to lead to no where. Johnny, almost breathless at this realization, jumped off his horse and immediately set up camp. He was too frustration to weigh his options or even discuss it.

Quietly the two sat by the fire, watching the flames lick the open air and dance wildly in it's confined spot on the ground. For a while Scott had been wanting to mention something to Johnny but couldn't find the courage to do so. Finally, he gulped hard and opened his mouth to speak. "John, I got something I gotta get off my chest." He said, though his voice was quiet. Johnny heard him however and raised his head. "Yea, what is it?" His response was calm and showed none of the previous frustration whatsoever. This made Scott relax and he sighed inwardly. "Well, we've been out here for almost 2 weeks now, and lately I've been catching myself asking this one question. But I didn't want to bring it up because for some reason I felt guilty. So I just followed you, thinking you knew where we are going. But I gotta ask... What are we doing out here?" He finally asked, sincere confusion in his tone.

Johnny was startled by this question and froze for a moment. He didn't want to admit it himself but he was in the same boat as Scott. "You know what Scott, I'm not too sure myself. I've completely forgot why we're here too." He conveyed honest confusion as well that complimented his brother's. Together they sat for a long while, juggling reasons in each other's thoughts. "Well, I think we were following some trail to a canyon. But for the life of me I can't recall why." Scott finally said. It seemed both of them were unable to remember why they were there, which left them with only thing to do. "I suppose it's time to saddle up and head home Scott." Johnny stated. Scott nodded and could think of no other thing to do.

The next morning they awoke, packed up and spent the next week heading home. It was drizzling when they finally arrived and Murdoch was at the door already, watching the rain. He waved to his sons and offered a warm smile. "Where you boys been??" He asked through the light padding of the rain against the buildings and earth. Both of the men got off their horses and hurried inside. They sat down in the kitchen and shared a pot of coffee. Murdoch sat down across from them and nodded slightly. "A canyon? Why were you two headed off that way? I've been wondering where you two went off too. Well just glad you're back. We got some ranch business to take off tomorrow morning. Get some rest and we'll talk then." With that he raised his glass and retreated to his study.

Johnny decided he'd do the same. He said his good byes and closed himself into the safety of his room. From beneath a pile of paperwork he dug out a small notebook and pulled a pen out of a drawer next to him. He opened it up, dated it and began writing.

        About that thing on my belly--

The End.  

#drabble #johnny lancer #not overwatch #scott #murdoch #and everyone forgot about teresa

[safestsephiroth]

1: The Robbery

They were waiting by the plunger for the explosives they’d rigged to the train’s tracks, hiding in tall brush a half malm up the way. The trees on either side of them were filled with cicadas screeching in the ear-splitting manner only cicadas are capable of. They’d been waiting for several hours, evening slipping into night, with the stars and the moons looking down on them. Ostensibly, they were keeping an ear out for the incoming train. But eventually, Baram grew bored, and when Baram was bored he inevitably started talking.

“What’re you gonna do with your share of the money, Clyde? Invest it in some kind of business? Be a big responsible adult?”

Clyde Arrowny looked up at his friend’s snaggletoothed grin. Baram was a year older than him, at 20, but Clyde had always been the more responsible of the two.

“No. I’m going to take half of my half and get it to the Doman Resistance.”

“Stealing from the Garleans isn’t enough on its own, eh? Gotta pay to bring ‘em down, too?”

“It’s the right thing to do. Besides, it’s not like I’ll need all the cash where I’m going.”

“Oh, look at the big man!” Baram grinned again. “Going off on his own, gonna move too far up in the world to stick with his brother-in-arms!”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re welcome to come with me.”

“Well that depends. Are you headed for Eorzea?”

Clyde frowned. “Why Eorzea?”

“That’s where I’ll be. First I’m gonna go to Thavnair, word is they’ve got fine clothes, finer wines and the finest women in the world.” Clyde rolled his eyes, but Baram pretended not to notice and kept going. “Then I’m headed for Gyr Abania, a beautiful mountainous place. Bit too many Garleans, though, so I won’t stay long before I head to the Gods’ Forest. They’re not very friendly, supposedly, but enough cash and anyone’ll be your friend. Once I’m sick of nature, I’ll head to Ishgard and laugh at their religion. Then I’ll run all the way to Thanalan, buy exotic goods in the markets, sample exotic foods in the restaurants, live like a king for awhile. Once I’m done there, I’ll head for the isle of La Noscea, where I can hang out with rogues and swashbucklers and heroes like us. Then? Then I’ll probably go off into the La Noscean woods and build a nice little cabin for myself, maybe buy some books and hole up with just me and the woods and maybe some locals to trade with. And then I can write a book about all my adventures. How’s that sound? Wanna come with me?” 

Baram’s grin was the most sincere Clyde had ever seen it. He could see dreams and joy in his friend’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak when a train’s horn sounded in the distance. “There it is, Clyde!”

Clyde sat up, fastened his sword’s scabbard to his belt, and pulled his mask up over the lower half of his face.

“Ready, Baram?”

Baram rested his hands atop the plunger’s handle.

“Ready!”

“GO!”

Baram slammed the plunger down just as the train crossed over the explosives.

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

The explosion rocked the earth for malms, and the earth-shattering impact of the train crashing off the rails and skidding forward across the earth, smashing trees in its wake, was enough to rattle Clyde’s teeth so hard he wondered if they were going to fall out. When the carnage had slowed to a standstill, he picked up the wooden ladder one-handed and rushed for the train, while Baram set about calming their horses and getting them ready for the task to come.

Clyde sprinted for the third train car, which was completely on its side, and threw the ladder against it. He practically flew up the ladder, putting his weeks of practice to good use, and slammed a small explosive charge on the side of the car. He lit the fuse and jumped back down, landing just as the explosive blasted open the train car. He went up the ladder again and finally got eyes on the car’s contents:

It was packed, floor to ceiling, with gold bricks.

Just like his source had said it would be.

He started throwing gold, one brick at a time, out of the car and onto the ground behind him, keeping a mental count of his total. Outside the train, he heard Baram ready one of the horses.

“Keep ‘em comin’, brother!” Baram yelled. Clyde didn’t need to be told twice. The gold was heavy but the knowledge of just how rich they were going to be kept him going until he’d emptied out as much as they’d agreed upon in advance, as much as the horses would be able to carry along with them. His task completed, he climbed out of the car and took the ladder back down. Baram had almost finished packing the gold into the two horses’ saddlebags.

“We did it, Clyde!”

“We did it,” Clyde agreed. Baram raised his hand for a high-five. The instant Clyde’s hand connected with his friend’s, he heard a loud CRACK in the distance, and Baram hit the ground. The horses started to take off, Clyde desperately grabbing for his horse’s reins and only managing to rip off a saddlebag filled with gold. He dove over it, clinging to his and Baram’s dreams, as more CRACKS filled the air and sparks flew from the metal around them. Clyde could make out brief flashes of light towards the back of the train, each a second or so before the sounds reached his ears.

“They’re...they’re shooting at us, Clyde.” Baram coughed.

“They’re shooting at us,” Clyde confirmed. “And we lost our horses.”

“Can’t trust the damned things. We can run out of here. Right, Clyde?” Clyde turned to look at Baram. His friend was bleeding from his left calf. Baram tried to stand and fell back down. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

“You got shot in the leg.”

“Well I’ll be damned. I did. It’s just a nick, no big deal.”

“We’ve gotta go, Baram. I’ll help you.”

“Damned right you will! Tell me you got some of the gold.”

“I got one of the saddlebags.”

“That’ll be...what, forty bricks? Thirty?”

“You tell me, you loaded them.”

“That’ll be enough to get us around Eorzea, living like kings ‘til we settle down and write our book.”

“Get up, you idiot.” Clyde helped his friend stand and let him wrap his arm over his shoulder to keep his weight off his leg. He tried to lift the fallen saddlebag with his other hand.

It was much, much too heavy.

“I can’t lift the bag, Baram.” More flashes, more bullets headed their way. “What do we do? We can’t just leave it all.”

“Take a few bricks, that’ll get us to Eorzea.”

“What’s with you and going to Eorzea?”

“After blowing up a Garlean military transport train escorting a ton of loot they stole from Doma, do you really think there’s anywhere we can hide under their jurisdiction?”

“You make a good point. But why not-”

Baram was rocked by another impact, and went limp, falling to the ground again.

“Baram?!” Clyde checked his friend for injuries. Baram was bleeding through his shirt this time. “FUCK!” He took a single brick out of the bag and pocketed it, hauled Baram over his shoulder and took off running into the woods. A bullet tore across his scalp, cutting a gash through his hairline, but he kept running until he couldn’t run anymore, finally setting down next to a fallen tree. He put Baram down and immediately tore open his friend’s shirt, getting a good look at the wound for the first time.

It was bad. Baram had taken a bullet to the gut. Clyde didn’t know how to fix that. He took a handkerchief from his pack and forced it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Baram screamed.

“God damn, Clyde, not so hard.”

“I’m stopping the bleeding, you idiot.”

“I can’t believe they shot me! Did you get the gold?”

“I got one brick.”

“That’ll get us to-”

“I heard a scream to the east, sir!” An unfamiliar voice shouted.

“Fan out!” A commanding voice responded. “Find the bastards, and make sure they don’t live long enough to be taken prisoner. Make them pay for what they’ve done. The Emperor wills it!”

“Shit,” Baram muttered. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it out of this one, Clyde.”

“We’re gonna make it, Baram. We’re gonna go to Eorzea.” His friend’s face was starting to get unnaturally white. Panic was rising in Clyde’s voice. “We’re gonna go to the Gods’ Desert or La Nocho or whatever, and-”

“Listen, Clyde,” Baram whispered. “Just listen.”

“What is it?” Clyde asked, leaning close. Baram was shivering, his teeth chattering.

“There’s no sense in both of us dying. Go on without me.”

“I can’t leave you. We’re supposed to look out for each other.” Clyde didn’t care about the tears streaming down his face. Maybe he didn’t notice them. “We’ve always-”

“Don’t make me watch you die as the last thing I do, Clyde. Come on. Don’t do that to me.”

“God damnit, Baram! God damnit!”

“Go on.” Clyde clenched his teeth, shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“For fuck’s sake, Clyde-”

“I see them!” Another flash, and Clyde’s arm was burning. He felt something hot on his shoulder. He saw Baram’s face twist in rage, and his friend fought his way to his feet, yelling out the word “RUN!” before another volley of bullets tore him apart. Baram hit the ground for the last time, and seeing his friend die flipped a switch in Clyde’s brain.

He ran. He took a bullet to his hand and he kept running. He got shot through the hip and he kept running. A bullet caught his ear and he kept running.

He ran and he ran, the woods flying past him. He stumbled on loose rocks, tripped over brush, tore his clothing on branches and thorny plants. He made it to a small river, made it halfway across before his body gave out and he fell.

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

When he woke up, he was in a small hut, covered in a thick blanket and he felt that he would freeze to death. He was lying on some kind of soft mat with a thin pillow under his head. After struggling to move for a few moments, he gave up and resigned himself to studying his surroundings. There were strange paintings on the walls of a sort he’d never seen before, done with black ink and colorful paints. There was a small shrine in the corner with incense burning. It made his sinuses burn. He sneezed. He heard footsteps outside, then the thin wall slid open on some sort of track. A woman walked in, wearing a colorful robe. She said something Clyde didn’t understand, speaking far faster than he was used to.

“Sorry, I don’t...understand you.” The woman gave him a blank expression, then walked away. Faced at the prospect of being alone again, Clyde called out. “Wait, don’t go!”

But she was already gone.

He sighed and examined the ceiling. It was dark, and on it he saw Baram’s death play out again and again. He heard birds chirping outside somewhere. Then someone spoke, someone he hadn’t heard approaching.

“Do you understand me?” At least it was in his language, though the man speaking - it sounded like an old man, at least - had a very thick accent of some kind.

“I do.”

“You arrived in our river. My daughter found you when she was getting water. She carried you here. Fixed your wounds. They were quite bad. You’ve been asleep for five days.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“You had a gold bar that came from the tithes paid to the Garleans.”

“Yeah.”

“You attacked them.”

Clyde winced. He considered lying, but even if he could think up something convincing it felt wrong lying to the people who’d saved his life. “Yeah, I did. My friend and I. He’s dead.”

“This is very serious.”

“Really. You sure?”

“Yes. It is.”

Apparently he doesn’t understand sarcasm. “Okay. Now what?”

“Now we decide what to do with you. What do you do?”

Clyde thought back to his childhood with Baram, through his adolescence, through his teenage years. All he’d ever done was steal, fight and sneak into places he shouldn’t be.

“I’m a ne’er-do-well.”

“I do not understand this word.”

“A criminal. A bad guy. I steal. I fight people. I rob Garleans. I break into Garlean homes and steal their jewelry and sell it for cash. I give some of the money to people who can’t make any so I can pretend I’m a good guy. But I’m not.”

There was a long pause. For a moment, Clyde wondered if the man had left again. But then he spoke.

“You have dealt a serious harm to the Garleans. You have hurt them greatly. If you will learn our language, and if you will learn our ways, you may stay. You may join us. It will be difficult. Ours is not an easy way. But it is an honorable way. A good way. A strong way. We do what is right. We sneak. We hide. When necessary, we kill.”

“Who are you guys, exactly?”

Clyde heard the old man’s lips part into a wide grin.

“We are Shinobi.”

@red-dlai

#Clyde Arrowny #ffxiv rp #shadows of othard