#raw air had so much potential i hope they bring some of these things back because they make it so special

[masonjarsmoments]

Raw Air definitely is lacking spice this year and with spice I mean this:

1:Press conferences and behind the scenes

2: super extra and dramatic head shots

3. The special Raw Air graphics and black and white athlete pictures (couldn't find the ones I mean but you know what I am talking about)

4. Them teaming up with VY and all athletes sharing a train up to Trondheim

5. Lellinger sunset Date Photoshooting

6. Raw Air Name Bibs

7. Lillehammer

8. Wazon

#raw air had so much potential i hope they bring some of these things back because they make it so special #so many iconic moments #i really miss Lillehammer in raw air #also never forget wazon #ski jumping

[plush-rabbit]

Corruption Kink + All Might - Headcanons

Request: Hey! I dunno if you're still taking requests for all might, but if you are and you have space, could i request a pre-injury all might x f!reader fic? I was thinking the reader could be significantly younger than him, with like a bit of a corruption kink and a lot of guilt for Toshi. I thought that one shot you wrote for him was adorable! Take care, bunny :)

A/N: Headcanons seem easier for me since I’m still new in writing Toshi (im also not sure if this is entirely corruption but i hope you like it)

-

To the public, All Might is the Symbol of Peace, he’s everything that children and heroes want to become. However, you know him better than that. Or at least, you know him in a way that others don’t and some that possibly wish they did. Toshinori is much older than you, everything about him screams of authority and power that you wish for. The public can approach him, ask for pictures and smile beside him. They can hold his hand and stand beside him, but you, on the other hand, can't do that. What you can do is more intimate, more than what anyone can wish for.

He’s an older man, and he’s a hero. He’s supposed to know what’s best; he’s supposed to be the responsible one in whatever relationship he’s in. You’re the complete opposite from him- you don’t have to worry about the status of being a hero, you don’t have these gruelling responsibilities that he has. While you two are together, he has yet to formally announce to the public about the relationship, which you don’t particularly mind. You know how it would look if he was seen out with a much younger partner. You could already picture the headlines and the comments that would appear, the slander that would go towards your partner. You’re okay with just playing the secret partner; if you were to be honest with yourself, you actually welcome the secrecy, the little bits of love and knowing that you’re the only one to see him in such a light that is anything but the hero face that he shows.

Due to the secrecy in the relationship, most dates are held at home. However, the idea of at-home dates that you both have are quickly depleted and repeated. Frustration plays a part, something heavy and thick in the air. You both are consenting adults, one that is just frustrated at being stuck at home with their partner and the other that holds the weight of the country on their shoulder. It’s only natural that the frustration would turn into something more primal and raw, that you two would comfort each other and become stress relievers to each other. You’re both still fairly young- despite the age gap that puts you at a much younger age than him- and couple that with stress and ansty feelings about the relationship, it leads the two of you to explore a rather more sexual aspect.

The Symbol of Peace is something that is untainted in the eyes of the public. He isn’t necessarily pure- often asked about the features that he seeks out in potential partners- but he is someone who is held to a high standard. He’s a savior to the people, the reason for the lack of crime. He’s the Symbol of Peace and you get to corrupt that. You get to twist his image behind closed doors. He comes from heroism, he holds the image of the golden boy well. On the other hand, you don’t have to worry about the image you hold, you can only hope to make time for your personal life and not make a bad impression on the people you meet. You get to see him in other ways that people could only dream of; you get to see him beg on his knee, his iconic grin ruined, stuffed with a gag and drool covering his chin as he bows before you.

His shoulders are weighed down by the country, by the responsibilities that he has to bear. He’s so used to being admired, to be the number one hero, that when you come along and tilt his head, your lips curved into an almost sadistic smile, he’s willing to listen to you. Even when he's on top, he’s doing what you tell him, listening to every command that you have to say, he’s opening his mouth and suckling on your breasts whining with your pert nipple his mouth as his hand desperately latches onto your body. His cock will be naked, rubbed against your thighs as he begs for release, whimpering about how it all hurts too much. He lets you take the lead, he does whatever you tell him to do, too drunk on lust to actually do anything more than whine and buck his hips into your greedy cunt.

Always in his All Might form, he has yet to reveal his smaller size to you. Perhaps it comes from trust issues or that he wouldn’t know how to bring it up so far into the relationship, but he’s always big around you. At first he felt a twinge of guilt of having you take him in his bigger form, to thrust his cock inside of your cunt and hear you yelp in pain, but if he were to be honest the sound of you in pain added with how your nails would dig into his skin, turned him on in a way that he hadn’t ever thought about. While he gets drunk off of lust from having you take control over him, he also has this more lustful nature to take control over you. He wants to witness as his bulging cock enters you, to hear you cry his name and arch your back to fill his hand with your soft breast and wipe the beading tears away from your eyes. He wants to know that he’s the reason that you’re crying, that it’s because you simply couldn’t handle his cock.

Corruption isn’t something that he wants to say- it leases a bitter taste on his tongue that doesn’t wash away so easily. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s corrupted, he doesn’t want to think what that word means when he’s out on patrol. He wants to rescue people, to help others and be the hero that he want to be rather than think about how soft the inside of your sex is and how it seems to mold to his shape. On certain nights, he’ll visit you when he’s supposed to be out on patrol. He’ll knock on your door and claim that he’s doing an inspection- something that he says for him, just to find a worthy excuse to actually leave his patrol- and he;l lock the door behind him. His moans aren’t loud enough to drown out your words, how you claim how he’s grown idle in his responsibilities- that he would prefer to have his cock sucked on rather than go out and patrol the area. But he is your hero, and you have to at least thank him for taking care of you for the time being that he is there, asking him with his cock in your hand and a devious smile played on your lips if you’re just special or if he does the same with others.

As a hero, he has built his stamina and you welcome that with eager arms and lips. Even after he’s reached his climax, he’s still hard, thrusting lazily into you, begging you to make him release once more. He’ll hold you close to him, his arms thick with muscle and littered with scars, his lips pressed against yours, his tongue thick as it fills your mouth. He wants to keep you close, to hold you and keep his cock buried inside of you until either you or him are too overstimulated to actually continue. You welcome it, you want him to say, to have him pleasure you and think about your needs for the day. Your lps will press against his neck, leaving a bright make in its place. Your words are alluring, asking him to stay the day with you, to ignore his responsibilities for the day and stay nestled inside of you. You promise him that if he were to stay the day, that you would try whatever he wanted, tightening around him and kissing his lips.

You encourage him to stay home by playing on his status. The streets are much safer thanks to him, he’s the reason for everything good right now. Just the mere sight and mention of him is enough for criminals to stop in their tracks and return home with their tails between their legs. He’s allowed to stay home, he’s allowed to take a bit of time for himself to just rest his cock between your thighs and fuck himself between your thighs. It’s during these times that you’ll grip his hair and have him kiss at your sex, pressing your thigh against the side of his head. You’ll tell him how he’s such a good boy, doing all the dirty work that other heroes would rather not do, running your hand through his hair and telling him nothing but sweet things.

There’s pleasure that you take, having him nestled so close to you, almost dependent on emptying himself inside of you. You were the one to reduce the number one hero into a puddle of goo. You were the one to see Toshinori as a sweaty mess, to have him nurse on your breasts and suck on your sex as if it held the sweetest nectar that he would ever have. You convince him to stay. You sit naked on his thigh as he wears his hero outfit, your sex pressed and leaking in heavy arousal onto him. You know that when he goes out, he’ll carry your mark on him. He’ll remember the way that you taste, how you bite into his shoulder and how he humped your leg like a dog, his semen dirtying the inside of a costume. You were the one to reduce the hero to nothing but some sort of lust-filled man who can only muster the thought that he had to release himself inside of you, to fill you with his cock until you’re leaking with his seed.

#bnha imagines #bnha #bnha headcanons #all might #all might x reader #all might headcanons #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi x you #bnha yagi #bnha toshinori #toshinori imagine #toshinori yagi imagine #i hope you like it!!

[misselko]

Got this idea from Dimitri’s conversation with Byleth before Fort Merceus battle with the Death Knight. Put some angst, fluff, and a pinch of smut spices into the dish and let it simmer down! At least, that’s what I want! But it turned out... different ;) Sorry not sorry

This one took me some days to write. I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to give me some advice and ideas for my next fic! Your warm comments will be cherished very much 💕 Thankies!!

 

RECKLESS

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, violence, smut

Words: 3316

 

POST TIMESKIP

Empire will be the only remaining enemy and to move on to the Imperial Capital, Enbarr, capturing Fort Merceus is a must. Praised as the strongest defense with its fortified military installation  in the Empire, seizing it won’t be an easy feat.

Liberating Arianrhod, calming down Holy Kingdom of Faerghus political issues, winning over the Leicester Alliance and gained their support. Getting a lead on Lady Rhea’s location. Although things were a rough go, but thinking back on it now, Blue Lions sure has really come a long way. Things have been wonderful in these past moons that it almost feels like dream too good to be true.

You don’t know why but you can’t shake your uneasy feelings and dread. War is raging and everyone knows there is a big battle on the horizon.

“We must not falter in our assault. The Death Knight is the enemy commander in Fort Merceus. He’s an unpredictable opponent. A dangerous one. Please proceed with caution, (Y/N).”

“I will, Dimitri. No need to worry.”

“I have not come this far just to lose you here. I’m serious. Do not be reckless out there.”

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course, (Y/N). You were the heart of the Blue Lions, and the same holds true for the Kingdom Army.”

You smiled at his concern and hold his hands gently.

“I will do my best as well to support you, my Dimitri.” His cheeks turned into rosy blush at your words.

 

“Whoaa!! You’re getting pretty chummy, aren’t you, Your Highness? Go get a room!” Sylvain winks and got punched HARD, dragged away by Ingrid. You make mental notes on giving her a delicious roasted meat from that famous new shop in the town later as your gratitude. Serves him right!! ...But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world. Everything will be alright with them. Blue Lions are your precious family. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.

---

Capturing Fort Merceus is a daunting task. Endless enemies are approaching and relentless. Felix and Sylvain are working together cut through the snipers and mages. Ingrid and Ashe are doing their best to handle the pegasi knights. Dedue, Annette, Mercedes, and Flayn makes great combo on cutting through enemy reinforcements while providing healing to everyone. Slowly but sure, you and Dimitri managed to push Death Knight on the corner. But it doesn’t make things less difficult for both of you.

 

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

The beginning of it was barely a bellow that grew steadily to a deafening roar, piercing the air and shaking the ground. Areadbhar crack in deafening clash against Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. They raised their weapons, waving them overhead.

 

“Yes. I dare stand against you, Death Knight!!”

 

Dimitri decides to face Death Knight head on as you tried your best to keep his back safe from the Imperial soldiers assaults. Keeping a close eye on him... just in case, following from a few meters back, cover his blind spots that way, look out for any potential danger. You could see them coming around, carefully and quietly trying to find their way to Dimitri.

 

Landing sharp blows, you bring the blade down on the head of another mage. Slashing your way through numerous enemies, you start to feel fatigued. Countless enemies lying dead behind. You looked around, among the sea of red and black, a swordmaster is sneaking his way behind Dimitri, ready to ambush him.

 

But you wouldn’t let it happen!

 

You were fully offensive, rapidly swinging your sword down on the swordmaster. You were able to deflect, parry, and block most of his attacks until his foot swept across your ankles, knocking you hard to the floor. The swordmaster stood above you, ready to press his sword into your chest to end your life. Fatigue made it harder for you to evade his deadly stab completely. Sound of a weapon piercing through flesh filled your ears, followed by an intense pain in your side. He pulled it back out with a triumphant smirk on his face. Despite the searing pain, you made it in time to grab your own weapon and thrust it up to his neck, your arms shaking as you tried to counter the weight of his attack. Grimace crossing your face as he fell, blood painting the earth a sick shade of red.

 

You sat up, wincing at the searing, burning hot pain on your side. The stab wound was way too deep. Your hands trembled, desperately attempting to put pressure on the wound as heavy flow of your blood is trickling through your fingers, colors your skin and clothes. The world had turned blurry, and your body felt weak. Ignoring the excruciating pain, you rush forward to help Dimitri. He has won against the Death Knight. But in his brief reverie, the Tempest King failed to notice two opposing snipers are approaching him, expression intent to kill, aiming their arrows at his back.

 

You acted on instinct, rushing forward, sprinting to intervene. To protect him.

‘We have been through so much together and he’d been through hell and back... I want to ease his pain. Knowing he’s safe... I can be at peace.’

You thought to yourself, launching forward. You barely has energy to stand up, but you tried to muster your last remaining strength to dove in before Dimitri. The arrows managed to easily make it’s way through your armor, landing in your chest and abdomen. ‘I have no regret when it came to protecting Dimitri.’

 

Your body slammed hard on the ground, careening across the battlefield. A sharp cry pained noise escaped you; that was all it took. Dimitri stiffened at the sound. It pulled him from the high of the battlefield down to reality in an instant.

 

“(Y/N)!!!”

 

He turned; filled with horror and rage. The fires blazing around him didn’t give off any heat. The battlefield around him turned black and white. His ears were ringing as if he’d been caught in an explosion. Dimitri went after the snipers and thrust them both at their hearts. After a quick glance to make sure no more surprise attacks happen, he kneels and pulling you into his chest. You looked so small, felt so limp that it sickened him. Broken and battered with littered scars and large wound on your side. Arrows jutting out of your chest, much too close to the heart, and another one lodged deep in your abdomen.

 

Dimitri watched as the blood pooled around you. Blood... there is so much blood. Your blood.

“Goddess... what were you- MERCEDES! FLAYN!! SOMEONE...HELP!!”

 

He pulled himself up, beside you, staring at your face. You were so pale. Oh, Goddess, you were dying. Were you already dead?

“I’m sorry.” There isn’t a reason to apologize, you aren’t sorry, but it still came out like the blood that is on Dimitri’s hands now.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” his voice choked off in his throat feels raw with emotions, barely able to hold back the sob which demands to escape, “not when you are like this. What were you thinking, (Y/N)? You have promised me to not be reckless.” He phrased it in a question, but both know why.

 

“Y-You... haven’t seen the... swordmaster... and those snipers. Y-You...were going to die...if they attack you. I want to protect you.... and I don’t regret my decision.“

 

You opened your mouth to speak but immediately coughed, feeling globs of blood on the corners of your lips. Dimitri gripped your hand, his hold so tight that it hurt, but you wouldn’t waste your breath on telling him. You could barely see Mercedes scurried over to your side as quickly as she could, Flayn follows behind her, leaving the Death Knight behind with tears running down her cheeks.

 

“Please stay awake for me a little longer, please.”

He choked out, pulling you closer if possible as it would keep you from leaving.

 

The chaos around you went mute as your eyes grow heavy. Maybe a quick nap would suffice.

 

“No...no, no, (Y/N)!! You can’t do this to me, you can’t-! Please, (Y/N), I can’t lose you too.....”

 

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. You fell asleep.

---

Every second was filled with anxiety; you’d lost so much blood. The wounds were too deep to heal completely. There was little to no possibility of survival. Not after what you’d been through.

The days turned to one week, then two...then three. The physical wounds had healed, mostly repaired and faded to scars. There was potential for things to return to normal, and you may wake up sooner rather than later.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, your upper body covered in bandages. The first thing you’re aware of is a dull throb radiating throughout your entire body. You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your body and sending a wave of pain through your chest and stomach as you tried to get up. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before. With much struggle, you sat on the edge of the bed shakily trying to stand up. The door creaked open and you looked up to find Dimitri peering inside.

 

”You’re awake,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. You tried to stand up and walk to him but failed, Dimitri ran in and caught you before you fell over. “I thought I was going to lose you, (Y/N),” he said, lifting you up effortlessly, settling you gently onto the bed and pulled up a chair. 

 

As cautiously as you could, you managed to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the young king, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

 

“You nearly died because of me. I have no right to be... you of all people shouldn’t-!” He managed to say, his voice shaking as his fingers trembled.

His head shot up to look at you, cerulean blue eyes dampened by tears that pooled in them. Your eyes were open, though weakly, looking at him and his disturbed state. You sensed his worry, but also his relief as he hovers next to your bed, engulfing you in his embrace and squeezing you against his chest for all he was worth. He was mindful of your wound, but that wasn’t enough to keep him away. No, he needed you. He needed to be beside you, to feel you, to know you were there.

 

“I’m okay, Dimitri...” You whispered, resting a hand on his chest where his heart thundered. You closed your eyes against him, relishing the feel of his tender warmth.

 

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening. Your arms wrapped around his heaving back weakly, rubbing it soothingly. He pulled you closer in response—closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

 

"I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, holding your hands so tight that it hurts.

“But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

 

His voice was as quiet as it could be and it made you frown your eyebrows in worry. You were happy to see him alive, that was your goal when you decided to protect him from the approaching enemies. However, seeing him so distraught and afraid twisted your insides uncomfortably. The way he held your hand so desperately, afraid to let go.

 

“Dimitri.” You call him quietly, which makes him look at you with those gorgeous eyes of him.

 

You move your hand to his cheeks, caressing his soft skin, trying to bring him even the tiniest amount of comfort. Leaning to give him a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocated by open-mouthed kiss you with such fervor. There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way Dimitri kisses you, as if this is the last moment he’ll ever feel it. It’s almost as if it pains him to be this close to you. You were alive, yet he couldn’t help but doubt it. Perhaps it was once again due to the vicious noises he still heard, though faintly. However, he was glad that they allowed him this moment of happiness.

 

“I won’t leave you, Dimitri.” You promised between ragged breath, your chest heaving.

 

“We are so close to ending this. Please, promise me you’ll stay safe. Rest, for now, my beloved.” Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding your hand to his chest. “I promise, I will never let you be hurt for my sake again.” Covering you with a  blanket  and tucking you into bed to retire for the evening.

---

After your awakening, the Blue Lions and Professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts (flowers and snacks), always encourage you to get better soon. But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved gentle king.

It was two weeks since you have gotten better. Mercedes promised to take care after your bandages this evening.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?”

You met Mercedes’ warm gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mercedes.”

 

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your breasts to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Mercedes sighed, slowly traced the scars your chest and stomach.

“I’m sorry but we will never be able to remove the scars. The wounds all healed, but... the scars will never go away completely. I’m sorry (Y/N).”

 

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“It’s okay. I will never regret such a thing.” You smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you need anything else, (Y/N)?”

“No, I’m all good, Mercedes! Thank you for your help.”

“All right, then. Annette said that she needs my help with her baking this evening. We have to finish it before midnight! Should you need anything, please feel free to call me.” Mercedes gave you last smile before excusing herself politely from your quarter.

 

“Dimitri.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince. Refusing to look at your scar, a harsh reminder of his failure.

“Look at me.”

He stilled and won’t budge to look at you.

 

“I will never regret nor blame you for this. It was my decision and if it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Or... perhaps.... I can understand if you find that my... scars are disgusting, appalling, even....” you whisper softly, almost inaudible. Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into your bed.

“DON’T SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!!” He growled “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me. If.. If something ever happen to you.. I’ll live a life worse than death itself, (Y/N).”

 

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. His mouth moved awkwardly yet full of affection. Hands planted  on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravishing kisses. Dimitri pressed his lips further into yours, swallowing your moans. His lips left yours to trail down around your neck, breasts, and stomach lovingly. “This wounds... I cannot lose you again, my beloved.” His body quivered.  The King kissing the scars on your cleavage and abdomen, worshiping them reverently with tender touches, almost like touching a porcelain doll. Afraid to break you with his almost inhuman power. Biting and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites, leaving you a panting mess.

 

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling whispers of ‘I’m sorry’. Bittersweet smile formed on his lips. He gazed at you, eyes lidded with desires and need, mixed with guilt and love. “(Y/N)... My beloved...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled.

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into.

“I love you, Dimitri.”

 

He blushed at your words, then it dawned on his realization. Suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “Um, w-well...” As he came to his full senses he released his hands from you, as though from fire and stuttered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the dreamlike stupor a d hazy feeling to distract you, you realized just how naked you are. Nightgown pooled beneath your waist. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

 

He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah—Urghh!!! I’m sorry, (Y/N)!! I don’t know what came over me but.. but... P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...” The King unclasped his furred cloak hurriedly and put it over your naked body unceremoniously, hiding his flushed crimson face in his hands again, absolutely brutalized with shame. 

 

“Er.. Be certain to rest for now. We may have undone some of your healing.” Then he said hurriedly, almost inaudibly. “When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I promise.”

 

“Fine...” You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, Dimitri.”

You pulled his hand to your lips and give each of his fingers soft kisses, gazing at him lovingly. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the poor king desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

 

“Good night, my beloved (Y/N).” Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, the Blue Lions Leader left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow,  somehow  managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, locking his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his burning red face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

 

The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of (Y/N). All he could think about was your pure unadultered love, beautiful (E/C) that is gazing at him affectionately. Goddess, he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on you. All over you. Repeatedly. Savoring the taste of your lips as you moan into his mouth. Feeling your warmth and love. Unclothed. His mind is running wild. This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. It will be another sleepless night for the poor king. And it’s all because of you.

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fire emblem three houses #dimitri fluff #fe dimitri x reader #dimitri smut #sfw #fluff #smut #dimitri angst

[a-simple-imagine]

Playing With Fire

Synopsis:  When things don't go quite as planned, a bitter duo is led to fight for their lives while resolving locked away feelings.

Pairing: Hermione Granger x reader

Words: 3.8k+

A/N - This was a collab with the very talented @mionemymind​. They started it off and then I wrote the endings. I do so hope you guys enjoy it

Warnings - Blood, violence, mentions of injury and swearing. 

Oh bloody fucking hell, how did we get here? 

Being surrounded by death eaters definitely was not the most pleasant place of situations to be in. Having been separated from the boys, they found themselves being chased through the woods of all places. Trying their best to fight them off but it was proving to be difficult as spells were being fired left and right. Hermione led the charge with Y/N following in toe; stumbling forward the other collapsed to the floor abruptly. Reaching out Hermione helped them to their feet and they continued on like nothing happened.

“You got a plan, Granger?” Y/n asks, grabbing her attention. The two of them backed up until their feet reached the edge of a cliff; glancing down it had to be at least a fifty-foot drop. Hermione racked her brain for any kind of way out but it seemed hopeless. Y/N seemed to be searching for a way out too, she could practically see the gears turning in their brain. Their only saving grace was a big boulder they were using as cover. 

 “I’m thinking,” Hermione responded in an annoyed tone and Y/n just rolled her eyes. “I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas.”

 “Well according to you, I don’t even have a brain to use.” This time, Hermione rolled her eyes.

 “Are you seriously bringing that up right now?!” Y/n bit her tongue. They shouldn’t be fighting right now, Hermione knew that. It was only going to lead to their ruin especially if they didn’t come up with something soon. She watched as Y/N peered over the top of the rock, there was no doubt in her mind they had no chance of getting through the death eaters alive. They were outnumbered and who knows if they were going to bring more. Y/n turned back to the edge of the cliff. There was a loud waterfall to their left that seemingly led directly to a long river. Rocks of varying sizes lined the edge. Any wrong move and the impact would prove fatal. Y/N began rolling up her sleeves. “What are you doing?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any gillyweed in that little purse of yours, would you?” Hermione shook her head no but still had this ridiculous look of confusion on her face. Why on earth would she have brought gillyweed of all things? It wasn’t exactly something she could find on short notice. If they encountered water they had an assortment of other ways to survive; the bubblehead charm was the first that came to mind. “Well, there’s only one way.” And before she could object or figure out what was happening, Y/n wrapped Hermione in her arms and stepped off the edge. The wind was brisk as they plummeted into freezing cold uncertainty. Hermione’s grip around Y/N tightened significantly as they sunk deeper and deeper but then the river’s current brought them back up and down a rough path; ripping the two of them apart. 

The water thrashed them around violently like a little rag doll who had accidentally fallen in. Repeated dragged in and out of the water; choking up water that strived to fill their airways. It felt like a lifetime when the two were spat out into a calm lake. 

Y/N finally managed to reach her again, pulling Hermione out onto the bank where they both collapsed. Hermione managed to stand; hunched over and desperate for air as her entire body filled with rage. How idiotic… no reckless, could a person be to just jump off a cliff? They could have died; at least the death eaters may have offered to let them surrender; it was unlikely but still. “Are you… bloody…  insane?!” The brunette scolded between shallow breaths. “You… could’ve… killed us!” It took a moment but Hermione finally noticed. Her eyes widening as the white of Y/N’s shirt was now stained dark red as she wriggled against the ground. “What happened?” Panic set in as Hermione rushed to Y/n’s side, pulling up the shirt carefully to get a better look. A pain radiated deep in Hermione’s chest as she stared at the damage. It looked… painful and raw. Even if they had hit rocks, it was unlikely that they were the only cause. Had Y/N been hit by a spell? It would explain the stumble which Hermione had put down to clumsiness. 

“I’m fin-“ Hermione brushed her fingers delicately across the skin under the large gashes, the other’s words cut off by a loud wince. Kneeling beside Y/n, Hermione rummaged through her purse in search of a certain little potion. She could fix this. Everything would be okay. Y/N would be okay. They came this far, they couldn’t stop now. She grew more anxious and frustrated with each passing second as she shifted through bottles, books and other essentials. “Accio dittany.” Hermione caught the small bottle that flew out and tossed the bag aside. 

 “It’s-it’s gonna sting, okay?” She said nervously but she never expected an answer because it wasn’t really a question. Hermione was simply trying to prepare Y/N for the pain. It was hard watching someone she cared about so deeply suffer in such a way. To feel like she was the cause for making them drift off from the plan. How could she have been so stupid? They should have just stuck with the boys. Then maybe this all could have been avoided; they’d certainly wouldn’t be dripping wet. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Were they a response of concern or guilt? Perhaps both. Unscrewing the top, Hermione pinched the pipette to collect some of the liquid inside. Her hands shaking, but the blood that dripped from her fingertips was more apparent. “You’re- you’re gonna be alright.” One drop. Two drops. Y/N withered in the mud, desperately trying to muffle the painful groans that erupted from their throat. They were harsh on the ears. The pain in Hermione’s chest sank deeper. “Ju-just a bit more, I promise.” The crack in her voice betrayed her brave face. Hermione was scared. Scared this wouldn’t work and she’d have to watch someone so special to her die. Scared that even if it did the death eaters would find them anyway. Scared of the battle they would be running into. What she wouldn’t give to go back to a time when her world didn’t feel like it was crashing down around her. A stray tear descended down her flushed cheek as Hermione quickly applied a few more drops. Watching as the wounds slowly began to heal themselves. It was hard to tell if the pain was subsiding but she assumed by Y/N’s stillness that it was fading too. A sigh of relief left Hermione’s lips with the knowledge that Y/N was going to be alright… at least for now. They had to keep moving if they wanted to stay ahead of the death eaters. Hermione’s gaze lingered on the cliff they just stupidly jumped off but only for a moment before turning back to Y/N. “We have to go. We’re not safe yet.” It was going to be a struggle considering the previous injury as well as the cold that now nipped at their skin thanks to them being soaked but they had to try. Hermione placed Y/N’s arm around her neck. Helping them slowly upright but not without a little stumble first. All of their weight was placed on Hermione’s shoulders as they hobbled away from the lake and back among the trees. No words were shared between them. What even was there to say anymore? 

It was close to a mile before it became too much. Hermione was struggling to stay upright as more weight was pushing against her. Y/N seemed to be on the verge of collapsing which wasn’t a good sign. “Stop… please,” was but a whisper in her ear. Carefully, Hermione lowered the other to the ground. Rolling her neck and stretching her muscles as she surveyed the area for any potential danger. “I can’t- I can’t keep going.” 

“We have to,” Hermione explained, the desperation clear in her voice. “They’ll be looking for us.” 

“I can’t.” Y/N hissed pathetically, “I don’t feel… good. I just… I’m gonna stay here. You go on without me.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” They would get out of this together or die trying. Y/N shuffled back slowly towards a nearby tree, leaning back against its trunk. 

“If you stay they’ll just get us both,” Y/N voice was beginning to drift. Hermione kept her eyes on her, watching such a feeble attempt to pretend everything was okay. “You’re gonna do so much more for the wizarding world than I-” she stopped to cough- “ever could so if one of us needs to make… it’s- it’s you, Hermione.”

Hermione? Y/N never called her that anymore; not since they broke up anyway. She always saw it as one way the other was trying to distance themselves from her; trying to respect the fact that they weren’t what they used to be. Her heart ached at what Y/N was implying now. The value of a life was not subject to how much they plan to achieve. Hermione put so much pressure on herself to get good grades, to know as much about everything as she possibly could it may seem like she valued it more than anything else but she didn’t. It was important but so were the relationships she had come to cherish. Despite their break up, Y/N would always be special to her. It didn’t matter that they often complained about studying or had a reckless approach towards magic; they didn’t deserve less because of it. Hermione may have tried to push Y/N away but they always came back. They were always there to support her when she needed it so maybe now it was time to return the favour. She couldn’t bear to see Y/N give up on themselves so easily. “Blimey, Y/N,” Hermione expressed sharply. “I’m not just going to leave you here.” There was desperation behind Hermione’s brown eyes; silently pleading with her friend to realise that they were in this together. But the desperation in her voice was masked by anger. “Are you seriously giving up on me? You just pulled me off a cliff but now it’s too much?” 

“I almost died, Hermione. Chill.” 

“No,” She growled, surprising her tired friend. “I will not chill.” Hermione took a deep breath, settling her nerves. It didn’t feel right shouting at someone in such bad shape but they couldn’t understand how hard this was. How confusing it was. How much guilt she was carrying right now. “The Y/N I knew would never just give up when things got tough.” 

“The Y/N you knew didn’t almost die.” Despite how quietly they were talking, the bark behind their words was mighty vicious. “The Y/N you knew wasn’t… slowing you down. The Y/N you knew… wouldn’t be able to handle if she got you killed alongside her.” 

Hermione sighed softly. “I’d rather die beside you than leave you alone for them to find. I’m staying. It’s not up for discussion.” Whipping out her wand, Hermione got to work putting up a protective ward around the two of them; just small enough to surround them and the tree Y/N was leaning against. Once finished, she sat down beside the other. “You have so much to offer the world Y/N. You shouldn’t sell yourself short.” Hermione placed her hand softly on the other’s knee. “I think we’ll both do great things once we get out of here.” 

“If we get out of here,” Y/N replied quietly. 

“When we get out of here.” Technically the odds were kind of complicated and they swung massively towards not getting out of here but for once, Hermione didn’t care for logic. “We’re gonna be okay. We just have to get back to the castle.” 

Y/N seemed to drift off after that as Hermione sat beside them on guard duty. She was almost certain the death eaters would show up at any second and then it was game over. The gentle, shallow, breathing of her friend brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. Y/N was in a worse condition than she had originally thought but at least right now they shared a moment of peace. The creepy noises that often haunt forests were actually welcomed as Hermione stared under the darkening sky. It was the first taste of calmness they had experienced in a long time. It was hard not to countdown the seconds until it was ruined and they’d have to go back to fighting to survive. 

The crunching of leaves brought Hermione to attention; something or someone was coming. Taking out her wand, Y/N stirred awake. “How long was I-”

“Shush,” Hermione whisper-yelled. Grip tightening her wand. 

“Why-”

“Shhhhhh!” She hissed. The sound grew closer and in a flash, there were death eaters all around. As quietly as possible, Hermione stood up slowly. Y/N followed her lead but it was obvious, she was still feeling groggy. 

“What do we do?” Y/N asked. 

“I… don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. They could stay put and hope the death eaters don’t notice or they could fight. The castle couldn’t be much further, right? “I think we just have to keep going.” 

“For real? Hermione, we can’t possibly win this, there’s like fifteen of them and two of us- we can’t possibly win.” 

“It’s either we fight or wait around to die, Y/N. We can’t hide out in the woods forever.” With a heavy sigh, Y/N took out her wand too. They just had to survive. They could do that. “On three, okay?” 

“I’ve got your back. If we’re gonna die, might as well go out fighting.” Y/N offers up a smile but Hermione could see it faltering. There was fear behind those tired eyes and for a second she thought that maybe this was a bad idea. The other was in no condition to be fighting but Hermione couldn’t just sit around and do nothing anymore. 

“One…” Hermione returned her friend's smile, forcing her confidence to surface. 

“Two,” Y/N hummed, meeting Hermione’s gaze. “T-“ 

Before she could finish, Hermione took a leap of faith and connected their lips in a messy embrace. It was confusing and unexpected; she wasn’t even sure she knew she was gonna do it before it happened. It had just felt right in the moment and they were gonna die anyway. “Three,” Hermione whispered against Y/N’s lips as she pulled away. And with a shaky breath, the young witch brought down the wards. 

Snapping out of the moment, Y/n fired her wand directly at the group of death eaters causing a huge explosion to erupt. Solid ground and clumps of dirt went flying alongside several of Voldemort’s followers. "Cover me!” Given the small distraction, Y/n cast fiendfyre.

“What in bloody-” Hermione’s words trailed off as she witnessed an enormous wave of yellow and orange jet out of Y/N’s wand. The flames rapidly engulfed the space between them and the death eaters. The roar of burning hot flames sent the death eaters running to safety and Hermione backed up a little. Her eyes narrowed in on a couple of strays “I don’t think so.” Using the fallen tree near them, Hermione had sent it flying through the flames and slamming into the death eaters. Her stomach sank but she’d push through; death was a casualty of war. It was the only way. Only a couple seconds had passed, however, there was now a giant wall of flames towering over them. If she hadn’t been standing behind Y/N, she was sure the flames would have engulfed her. The heat radiated everywhere along with the devastation the spell caused. The flames were so bright and fierce, it almost felt like her skin was on fire. It was hard to navigate their surroundings with so much fire around them. Every so often she’d notice the flash of a spell fired in their direction and so far their success in dodging was pure luck. Blocking a curse with protege, Hermione raised her wand. “Stupefy!” A scream was cut short as they fell back into the flames. Hermione glanced back at Y/n to see a proud smirk on her face. It was a little worrying how much pleasure she seemed to be deriving from this fight or maybe she was just grateful they had each other’s back. Either way, it brought along with it a warm feeling that was fighting with the pit in her stomach. 

“Won’t hurt a fly my ass.” Hermione rolled her eyes but there was a tiny, wobbly smile on display. With a small flick of Y/n’s wand, the flames morphed into that of a ferocious dragon that targeted the group. Quickly, Y/N grabbed Hermione’s hand and they ran for their life. Looking back, Hermione saw that there were still death eaters on their tail. 

“Expulso!” Debris flew everywhere as two death eaters were hit with the spell. Hermione was going to cast another when she was abruptly dragged to the floor; Y/N dropped her hand to support herself. Hermione jumped up sharply but her friend remained on their hands and knees breathing raggedly. The young witch reached for Y/N but they shook her off. 

“I- I’m fine.” Hermione let out a huff of a laugh, they didn’t look fine but she couldn’t help where she wasn’t wanted. Turning around, she fired spell after spell to keep the death eaters at bay as the other scrambled behind a tree. Hermione ducked out of the way too. 

“Do you think you can keep going?” 

“What choice… do I… have?” Hermione wasn’t sure how much more Y/N could take but they were right. 

Avada kedavra. At the sound of the killing curse, Hermione was yanked flush against the other; shields in their arms. Only a split second later, the blast of green flew past them. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline pumping in her veins or how her heart was going to beat out of her chest, but the need to kiss Y/n rose up within her. The two didn’t have much of a height difference. Y/n was only a couple inches taller, however, their faces were only centimetres away. As Y/n peaked to see their enemy, Hermione’s breath had caught in her throat. For just a moment, Hermione was awestruck at the person in front of her. This was the very same Y/n that she had consistently lectured for not taking her classes seriously. The same person that joked alongside Fred and George at any possible moment. This was the same person that just saved her life. Snapping out of her thoughts, Hermione caught Y/N’s gaze, “Do you have a plan?”

With a devilish smirk, Y/n responded with, “Dance with me, Granger.” With no other thought in mind, Y/n grabbed her hand and spun her out into the open. A very confused Hermione Granger shot the other a confused and somewhat annoyed look but as the death eaters focused on her, spells were shot back in defense. 

“Sectumsempra!” The enemies came to an abrupt stop before collapsing to the floor. Hermione wasn’t familiar with that spell, only heard it in passing when Harry mentioned it. Where had Y/N even learnt it? With only two left, the duo quickly yelled, “Expelliarmus!”

After disarming them, Hermione sent another explosion towards them, completely obliterating the enemy. With heavy breathing, the two glanced at each other with small smiles. They had done it. But as quickly as the moment arrived, it was soon ruined by the distinct call of more death eaters. With all the energy they had left, Y/n ran towards Hermione and had started another infernal spell. This time, the flames surrounded them in a circle causing mass damage to any that stepped close. “What is your obsession with fire?” Y/n smirked at Hermione and grabbed her hand once again. Creating a gap in the fire formation, the two of them ran as fast as they possibly could. 

How they managed to get to the castle despite all odds was beyond anyone’s guess but they did it. They managed to get to the castle with just a few scratches and smoke. Y/N still looked like she could do with some TLC but there wasn’t exactly time. 

“That was-“ Hermione started at the same time as her friend decided to speak.

“So-”

The two bore tired smiles. “You go first.” 

“I was just gonna say that was… crazy. I think I’m ready for bed.” 

“You could do with it, you look awful.” Hermione teases, hoping it didn’t come across as offensive. 

“That’s the look I’m going for- I call it my almost died in the middle of a war look.” 

She chuckled a little. Hermione knew better than to think the fight was over, it was far from, but being here right now with Y/N, she felt nothing short of content. “I’m surprised we made it back here. I thought for sure we wouldn’t make it.” 

“Is that why you kissed me?” 

With a look of bewilderment, Hermione looked towards the other; however, she wasn’t confused at all. “What are you referring to?” 

With a strained groan, Y/N pushed themselves up from against the wall. “Before everything happened? You just kissed me out of nowhere.”

“Yes?” Hermione shrugged a little. 

“So maybe we should… talk about it?” Y/N’s voice grew quieter towards the end. 

“It didn’t mean anything,” She bit back defensively but her cheeks were dusted in a deep shade of pink. “I just got caught up in the moment and thought we were gonna die.” Had it meant something? Did her heart betray her head by holding on to lingering feelings for the other? “We’re not getting back together if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“I wasn’t,” Y/N’s voice was sickeningly sweet which suggested she was lying. She wore a knowing smirk; one Hermione knew well and often didn’t like. Could she see through the walls she was very quickly putting back up. “I just… it was nice is all. Unexpected but nice.” 

It was nice; Hermione thought so too. It felt nostalgic. Reminded her of old times back when things felt normal… well, normal for Hogwarts. It was a time she would willingly go back to right now. Maybe the kiss had been a result of a desire to return to those times. A desire for comfort in the arms of a former lover before their demise that never came. However, it didn’t feel right to leave the questions unanswered. Hermione took a deep breath. “I-” A loud bang bounced off the walls of the castle, startling the two of them. They couldn’t be sure what the cause was or even where it came from but they probably shouldn’t wait around to find out. They may as well run back into danger, not to mention, they needed to find the boys. “We’ll continue this later,” she reached for Y/N’s hand and offered up a brave, determined smile. “Let’s go.” Hermione knew the conversation didn’t end the way she wanted, but deep in heart, she knew it was open to new possibilities. 

#Hermione Granger #hermione x reader #hermione granger x reader #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger imagine

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Only Time Makes It Human 3

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: hi and sorry for the long wait, I had to squish my brain real hard to get this chapter out, but I hope you like it, I decided a chapter about growth wasn't enough and y'all gave me an idea for angst so I just splashed it there and we'll delve into it more on the next chapter. 10/10 the idea works well enough for me to bring Levi and reader together even more. So don't call me out on being random. This is raw, un fucking edited, I'll edit later 💗

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: modern au, college au

Warnings: mentions of blood

Special kudos if you figure out why I used this gif ;)

The problem with your feet being numb in the morning when you woke up wasn't supposed to phase you as much as it currently did, but the weathering cold that had barged its way to your room silently begged to have you feel something other than the everlasting whirlpool of regret.

Which was -unsurpisingly- something you had been spiraling into a lot lately.

Your ringtone -or rather the caller that had caused it to go off- nontheless remained mercilessly unforgiving to your current condition. The brute vibrations that accompanied your once favorite song ripped through the air and bounced on every wall inside your room before it wooshed inside your eardrums.

You fucking finally had to change that ringtone, you thought.

Your feet, moist and heavy as they buzzed with the aftermath of the coma-like sleep you had just gone through, struggled to wiggle from underneath the comfort of your blankets. Your hands instinctively rubbed the underside of your nose as you sniffled all the cold of the room around you. Throwing the blanket off of you, you groaned at the non stop ringing of your phone.

The few steps to your desk felt like an eternity of having to walk with a badgy weight on your feet, but the faint feeling in your body didnt come to an halt even after you picked the device in your hands. Your eyes couldn’t really adjust well to make out the ID of the caller, of course, sleep hadn't rubbed off your eye lids yet, but still you slid the emerald button to acceptance with no resistance.

“Hey” you sleepingly moaned.

“Hellooo! (Y/n)!” Hange called enthusiastically for the other line, her joyous voice piercing your eardrums “Where are you booo?”

“I just woke up why?” you yanwed.

Pacing your eyes around your room you noticed the dull daylight creeping in through your blinds, signaling the gloom of another potentially snowy day for Trost. You blinked as you took notice of the few articles of soon to reside in the laundry bin clothing as well as the dress that hung from your closet door.

And then, it all snapped.

“Oh. shit!”

Anxiety rushed through you like a bullet to the gut, gushing numbness and waves of cold sweat from the point of impact. Forcefully, you ripped your phone off your ear and double tapped at screen to make it light up. The date read December 25, and below it, laid numerous notifications of your alarm and even a pop up reminder from last night to not forget the food you had to take with you.

Thinking back to that, your head started spinning like crazy, the familiar, yet bizarre feeling of your stomach dropping overtaking you. You hadn't cooked, rather, you had spent all night drinking and sulking on your own, cursing yourself for all your choices up to date.

"Yes, oh shit!” Hnge laughed “Oh! You forgot?”

"Hangeeee stop screaming oh my god no I didn't forget, I'm on my way okay?"

A little yelp came out of your mouth as the cable of your charger prevented you from taking another step closer to your bedroom door; letting out a curse under your breath though you quickly unplugged your phone, and rushed over the mess of your room and out to your living room.

"But you said you just woke up."

"Ahhh," you scratched your head, feeling your loose t-shirt sliding down your shoulder "no!" You said, then in a sterner voice you repeated "No! I uhm, I was just-"

Your poor excuse to communicate after having just woken up didn't startled Hange. If anything, she seemed to find it amusing because she burst into joyous, bubbling laughter at the sound of your despair. And you couldn't blame her for it; were you under any other circumstance you would be laughing with yourself as well.

"It's fine. Erwin and I are making a cake for shorty so if you want to cook here you have plenty of time yet. I'm going to say it though, we could really use your pastry skill."

You let out a sigh as you took your phone off your ear and pressed on the speaker icon. Your hands worked fast to grip onto the hem of your shirt and then, even faster, they managed to pull it off of you in shift movements.

"I'm just going to have a shower, dress up and I'll be on my way. It shouldn't take more than 30 minutes."

Hange exhaled in utter relief through the phone and you could practically feel her sheepish smile as Erwin shouted a big fat 'thank you' from the depths of his kitchen. Bringing out a hand to grap your shower cap -the only shower product you loathed using- you ripped the cap off its place on your cabinet and messily shoved all of your hair in it in rushed movements.

"Got any questions before I hit the shower Hange?"

"Please ask her" Erwin was heard and you cocked your head to the side at the sound.

"No Erwiin, we got it under control okay?"

"No we don't."

Shaking your head to prevent yourself from zoning out, you clicked your tongue before opening your mouth to address your two friends. Asking as to what they were referring to was easy, although it was obvious that Hange felt confident in succeeding in the task Erwin was referring to. Knowing Hange though, you thought you could guess perhaps what exactly was going on.

"Please don't mix food coloring with spinach juice to make the cake green like two years ago."

Erwin's laughter was pretty much evident through the other line as Hange went on blubbering about how she wasn't going to do it again giving extreme emphasis as to why she couldn't understand the reason it tasted bad in the first place but would go with what you said nevertheless. At that point Erwin was laughing hysterically, telling you how Hange was once again, indeed, thinking about it and the sound of his laughter grew even louder than Hange's words.

"Do you have food coloring?"

"Yes Hange I have food coloring."

"Plea-pleaee bring some. Dammit Erwin what's gotten into you- gotta go (y/n) see you in a while."

The beeping sound from the other line left you little to no time to properly reply to your friends with a much wanted greeting, though, you didn't think much of it. You were going to spend the whole day with them, so getting upset over not getting the chance to say goodbye over the phone wasn't something that should have caused guilt to spurt in you.

But surely, this wasn't the only cause of your overly bubbling guilt. The actual cause of the knot in your gut laid to the fact that within the time span of two weeks you had managed to to drag Levi and yourself into a rather steep rabbit hole. There was going to be a serious impact of your relationship with your friends had the two of you made it known to them; everyone would scold you -and they'd be right at that- and maybe this time they'd pick sides as to what wrong or not. And you didn't want that.

Although you secretly wished everyone went with Levi. Or at least you had come to the conclusion that that was what you deserved.

You had been feeling bothered and repulsed by what had caused you to make out with him that night, given the fact that you had been the one that initiated the kiss. And just as much, you had been feeling furious over Levi allowing this to ever happen. But looking back at it now, you couldn't say you regretted getting close to him even in such way. And that was probably the most infuriating thing of all.

Nevertheless, there was also the fact that you would be seeing Levi today and frankly you didn't know what to do with that. Should you act like everything was fine? Should you simply ignore him? Was Petra going to be with him?

Speaking of Petra it would be best if you straight up let her know of what had happened. Acting shady with another woman's man behind her back was outrageous for anyone to do and you hated being in that position like the next person.

Your stomach twisted dangerously at your spiraling thoughts, but you chose to ignore the tight knot, attributing the loud growl you had heard to one caused by your excessive hunger.

Perhaps, your shower was going to help you sort out your thoughts and intentions.

With a twist of your wrist the water started sprinting out of the tap in your shower. Your eyes were fixated on your phone, your thumb roaming through Spotify in hopes to find the perfect song to company your bath with. You simply said good for a Christmas playlist that Spotify suggested, tapping on that, a list of numerous jolly songs popped up in your screen and you simply pressed the big shuffle button before putting your head on your cabinet.

..

The walk to Erwin's house was very much and as previously expected, quiet. The sidewalks on your way were all covered in sugary white snow, decorating each different apartment complex in the non urban side of Trost along with the standard holiday decorations.

Taking a deep sigh you brought the back of your finger to the metallic button of Erwin's doorbell. Blinking rationally, you looked around at the marble front door frame of his apartment complex, your blood subtly rushing to your feet. You dragged the tip of your combat boot over the snow, curling your toes on the fuzzy material that covered the inside of the shoe.

You were beginning to become impatient as you waited on the doorframe, Erwin was taking way too long to open the door and you were practically freezing out there; the dress you wore did almost nothing to keep you warm. Despite you taking precautions by wearing a cardigan and the leather coat that you had snatched from your brother, the cold still pierced through your sheer black pantyhose, as if your efforts to stay warm were ridiculous.

The sound of footsteps was what startled you next but still your head didn't turn to the source of the buzzing noise. Your nose simply nuzzled to the scarf you had wrapped around yourself as you rubbed your face onto its warm fleece material.

"Uh, hi."

This time you could help but turn around to check who had thrown a greeting at you.

A familiar puff of ginger hair greeted you as you snuck your nose out of the edge of your scarf, two big and round hazel eyes stared right at you as you blinked rapidly back at them.

Great. Just great.

"Hey."

Petra wiggled her nostrils once to the left and then to the right, seemingly scratching the awkwardness in the atmosphere away. She blinked her eyes a few times into yours, her lips pursing together slightly as if she was coming up with a good comeback to your greeting, yet it never came.

"uhm, what's up?"

Your fingers slightly clutched the edges of your coat, crossing over your chest as you felt your jaw start clattering. Your pupils gathered at the corners of your eyes, catching small glimpses of Petra as you eyed her up and down.

She too had opted for a cardigan and a dress. A very safe choice if you were in a place to express your opinion but hers, despite being adorned with numerous tiny and dainty coral and red flowers, looked so thin and tule like and it barely covered her thighs, so much that you felt a pinch of concern run through you that you were slow to decide on whether you wanted to brush off or not.

"I'm.. good." She managed to let out, but you noticed how her lip trembled.

She was definitely shivering, if that wasn't concerning enough you didn't know what was, and she looked so frail and out of place that she could definitely beat you at it. Plus, the lack of a warm jacket struck somewhat of a nerve at you. Even feeling so much guilt over being in her presence you couldn't help but feel your motherly friend instincts wash over you; why wasn't she wearing something warmer? And why were you seconds away from taking off your jacket to offer it to her when you knew she wouldn't even accept it.

"Damn, Erwin's sure taking long, do you want my jacket?"

"Uh-"

Once again and mostly out of instinct, your finger tapped over the metallic button, covered by the edge of your sleeve. Suddenly, the familiar buzz of the intercom growled in your eardrum and you shook your head to its direction automatically.

"I'm so sorry!" Erwin said. "Come in!"

"Hey Erwin!" Petra spoke before you had a chance to say your wanted reply.

Even if you couldn't see him, you knew how shocked of an expression he was wearing.

Taking the few steps into the apartment complex's yard, you rushed to the next door and waited for the known buzz which signaled that Erwin had finally let you inside. With awkwardness spread over your face though, you pushed your lips into a thing line, holding the door back as you signaled to Petra that she should be the first to come inside.

"Thank you." She muttered.

"No prob."

You watched as Petra hesitated to push the elevator button; with a set of trembling fingers her palm rested only a few inches before the metallic button that was lit in a red arrow. With another smile you came closer to her and went to check in which floor the elevator was currently at. Whether she flinched intentionally or not, you didn't know.

"Wanna share a lift? It'll be a while till it comes down again." You offered.

"Uhm, yeah okay."

Once she responded, Petra tapped onto the elevator button with her thumb.

Petra looked at you and clung onto the edged of her cardigan once again. You took notice of how she looked a little more casual and unkept, despite being dressed on point; the lack of a jacket and her tousled naturally wavy bob betrayed an unwillingness to be present to today's event and it's was painfully obvious.

"I'd like to" Petra hesitated, "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Oh sure, what is it about?"

"It's about Levi."

Dead silence fell as Petra didn't dare turn her gaze to your direction. The little screen over the elevator button still showed that your lift was taking long to come down as if it mocked you, but you couldn't find it in you to tap into the button once again.

"Would you like to grab some coffee with me tomorrow?"

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

To say that you were panicked would be an exaggeration and probably a degradation to Petra's feelings. Her breathing was heavier than your own, frankly because for her it must have been even more uncomfortable than it was for you. You couldn't blame her for that.

Nonetheless you couldn't help but be genuinely curious as to what she had wanted to tell you? It was evident that she knew something. What's slipped you was whether or not she want to bash you for your actions.

She had every right to do so.

"Yeah. Of course, uhh, tomorrow sounds good."

....

Christmas day wasn't as bad as you had expected it to be when Hange had announced to you that Levi would be coming alone with Petra.

For starters, the food was in plehtora; Erwin had cooked your jolly favorite roasted chicken, Mike and Nanaba had brought an enormous plate of their creamiest, most mouth watering souffle, Levi had made some god tasty pumpkin soup and Hange had taken actually good care of fixing a custom non alcoholic cocktail to each one of you.

All of this drool worthy deliciousness had caused, and non surprisingly at that, your body to submit in that peaceful demi slumber that tagged along with the fullness of your tummy. Frankly, it had been so long since you had enjoyed such a good meal and you didn't think you would be enjoying another one until Mikasa's birthday.

Thus, the cool evening sir that entered the room when Erwin opened the window door to the balcony, found you laying on the floor right next to the tangerine fire that danced in the fireplace. You could faintly feel Nanaba's hand scratch at the roots of your hair, her almond tipped nails slowly running in purringly mellow lines over your sculp that sent you to pure delight.

Levi's eyes danced over your form more than he'd like to admit so. Ever so slightly his pupils would travel up and down your thighs and calfs, examining the material of your sheer back pantyhose but whatever emotion overcame him wasn't the animalistic lust he had expected to feel.

He felt rather guilty. And not only for staring at your legs. For bringing himself upon the situation he was in.

It wasn't easy to think with a throbbing head but in Levi's world this poor condition was translated as a prompt to try to get out of whatever shithole he had found himself in. Maybe. Because there was also a certain part inside of him that bashed him to no end about his previous and degrading actions to both Petra's and his person, which part he completely and rationally justified.

With a quick glance at Petra, Levi brought his hand to his face to hopefully wipe any of the numbness his guilt had got him feeling. Petra seemed to enjoy herself as per usual. With her soft smiles and the mellow sway of her hair over her shoulder, she'd often reach for the hem of her white wooly cardigan to cover her shoulder while cooing into the soft material and onto the side of the couch she was seating in.

It would be hard for anyone to guess that the two of them had broken up.

She was unsurprisingly sitting as far off him as she could; the fact that they hadn't announced to anyone they had broken up because they didn't want the Christmas party at Erwin's to be ruined didn't mean she owned Levi to act like his faithful and bubbly dog.

It happened that night after he had stood her up at the movies.

Levi had gathered all of his determination and had managed to push all thoughts aside from the back of his brain, as he was despairate to ignore that feeling your make out session had brushed on him. He had walked up to Petra, all dissolved and stoic, his chest swelling with anxiety. He had stared at her with an agape mouth, he had been muttering words so honest that he felt were fatally brute and Petra had digested them all without any difficulty.

And before he knew it, he was over and done.

Petra hadn't cried, she hadn't wept, she had only answered him with a smile that she'd rather just be friends with him if things weren't going to work between them.

And to an extended it tortured the ravenette, mostly because he remembered the hurt look in her face before she had managed to hide it with her usual mellow smile.

Taking another sigh, Levi stared at Petra's hand while she played silently with the lettuce hem of her dress. Her hazel orbs were fixed on you, who laid before the fireplace like a stray cat on the tire of car during a snowy day. Levi couldnt exactly place the exact emotion behind Petra's expression, though it would be perceived by most as a saddened one. There were specs of regret gathering at the corners of her eyes, reluctance gathered at her slightly puckered lips and a hint of determination to the front tips of her eyebrows.

Maybe Petra's inner strength was something that Levi deeply admired.

Levi made no effort whatsoever to reach out to her to ask what was going on, not even to show some seemingly convern. The more he looked at Petra, the more it felt utterly wrong for him to simply stand next to her, knowing what he had do behind her back. Whether he loved her or not, it wasn't like him to be caught up in such stupid drama.

"Shorty!"

Levi looked up to an enthusiastic Hange with much tousled hair and a big grin on her face that spread from one ear to another. With another, more thorough glance, he quickly became aware of the cake in her hands; a cake covered in white frosting, decorated with soft pastel green letters that wrote a simple birthday wish to his person. He couldn't help but let out a sigh.

"For you!" Hange smiled further "Erwiiin, come light up the candles!"

Looking around the room he noticed how all of his friends' gazes were on him. Mike and Nanaba remained cuddled on the couch opposite to the one he was on, Petra was mellowy smiling at his eith her cherry lips pressed into a thin line and you were fiddling with what seating arrangement was most comfortable for you at the moment.

"We're celebrating another year where you went up in age and down in height, how delightful." Mike commented, causing laughter to spark between the small group of people around you.

After the spur of happiness died out your eyes met with Levi's, briefly and then they traveled anywhere else in the room altogether.

"Let's light up the candles!" Smiled Erwin as he flicked the small metallic button of his lighter.

"I don't want too many, shit. The last time you took my lungs out."

"Not our fault that you're old Levi!" You spoke, earning a half smile by the ravenette.

"Very old!" Hange agreed.

"Tch, I'm only turning twenty six shut your shitty mouths!"

The warm light of the fire licked each waxed strip of wick that hung from the candles, illuminating Hange's face in warm orange light. Once done with lighting up the candles, Erwin plopped himself in between Levi and Petra, crossing his hands over his knees as he shifted his bottom in the most uncomfortable seating on a couch you had ever witnessed.

You merely caught a glimpse of Hange kneeling before Levi as you dragged your gaze over to Petra, fixating it on her for the thousandth time this evening.

There only was one thing in your head that bounced between the crevices of your brain like crazy. Just one simple words that held so much behind it.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you were going to apologize to Petra and try to make amends. Being the despicable toxic person you had turned into didn't suit you. Owing up to your mistakes was the first step to redemption and you weren't afraid to take it.

As you fell into a spiral of thoughts and guesses about tomorrow though, you couldn't help but subtly ignore the cheerful sing alone to Levi's birthday song.

.....

"Thank you for coming!"

Petra's hair was messily swaying all over her face, falling a direct victim to the frozen December air, yet she smiled as if nothing was going on.

The park around you was covered in snow. White was primarily the color that was plastered on everything, save for the dry stems of trees that were once covered in forest green leaves.

Your peeping hot coffee did nothing to warm up your hands, despite your best wishes and in the moment you had called victim to some specs of jealousy over Petra's gloved hands as they rubbed soothing over her own coffee.

"Of course, I had been meaning to talk to you as well."

"Oh you did?" Petra spoke with her eyebrows following the little surprise that was masking her tone. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd come."

"Yeah about that-"

"Can I please go first?" Petra cut you off.

Her huge hazel eyes that blinked into yours from your left side left you little to no space to deny her wish. Thus, by taking a sigh, you pushed past the quick beating of your heart and gestured her to go first with a kind smile on your face.

"Okay oof, thanks!" Petra huffed "look. Levi and I broke up. Now I know that you'll say it doesn't concern you, and frankly it'd be ideal if it didn't, but I know it does, because Levi explained to me what happened."

At that Petra slightly paused.

Naturallye first thing that came to your mind was the need to express an apology. Although, you weren't that sure if Petra would perceive the apology as sincere, you felt like you ought to give one to her. Yet her eyes blinked into yours further as she took another turn down the path you were walking on and you wordlessly followed asuit.

"I love Levi you know," she sighed "but Levi loves you. You're not over each other and it's painfully obvious, I mean you did just collided to eachother quite literally, not giving a single care about whether you couldn't have each other or not."

A sheer red colored tint painted your cheeks at her words.

Your skin pricked you, burning up a stingingly painful path to all of the pores on your face as shame took the form of an earth shattering wave. Your heart started heaping beats, hollering into the depths of your chest and you could hear it bounce inside your eardrums as if your whole body was hollow save for the jolting organ and the echo of the sound it made was bouncing around each fleshy wall.

Petra was right and you couldn't help but accept but stand the as she was lightning you with her words.

"It hurts to see that someone that I love doesn't love me back but it hurts more to see that you two are very miserable without eachother. I really thought you were a bitch you know."

At the sound of that, you let out a startled laugh.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you just gave us looks when we'd shoe up together somewhere or you'd simply leave, but I don't like turning my back on people and judging them like that. I'm in no place to judge anyone a coping mechanism."

Petra sighed. Her fingers curled strongly onto her cup, while her left palm went to support the cup by the bottom as she angled it on her lips. She made a tiny gulping noise as she drank a sip from her latte, her nose crinkling up as the hot beverage brushed over her sensitive tongue. In turn, you sipped similarly, mimicking Petra just hoping it would serve as a sign for her to go on with her speech.

"I might be hurt, but I vouch to help you and Levi resolve what's going on and get back together."

"You do?"

"Mhm"

"Petra I, I don't know what to say you- you're a literal angel." You admit and the guilt in your stomach only growled in its awakening.

You and Levi had hurt a wonderful person. Petra didn't need to be nice to you, she didn't need to offer to help you with anything but once you made yourself step inside her shoes you were able to see why she had perceived you the way that she initially had.

"I'm sorry."

Your voice was silent and stripped of any emotion other than shame yet Petra was beaming at you in response.

Her warm smile was elegant and comforting as she stared at you, taking another gulp of her drink with a soft giggle. Your eyes were locked with hers, saddened (e/c) irises staring into her hazel ones, as she smiled even more little by little.

It was strange.

There was a different kind of bubbling inside your chest and you knew because your heart wasn't hammering anymore, not was your stomach trying to be ripped apart in tiny pieces after it vored into your other intestines. You felt serene, at peace even.

It clicked to you that this is what must feel to be forgiven.

"It's fine, plus you guys kinda deserve each other." Petra laughed at your chocked inhale, pressing a comforting, gloved palm to your shoulder. "I'd rather find my happiness when I'm not in between two people that struggle to find theirs."

Petra nuzzled to the comfort of her jacket, giving you a scrunched up bunny smile. You knew it's not that she hoped you could be best friends after this. She simply wanted to make sure that she could do her best to help two people find happiness. And it wasn't all that bad, you figured. You didn't know what you would do were you in her place.

In a way, you admired Petra for being so strong.

"Besides, girls shouldn't bring down other girls."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry about what I did behind your back. I own up to my mistake. I can't take it back but I can promise that I won't become this toxic ever again."

You shot an apologetic side smile at her as you followed her tracks.

Taking a new look in your surroundings, you deeply inhaled the cold air, filling your lungs in shivering winter freshness. A few specs of snow were adorning Petra's hair as the fell from the sky in a dainty manner, licking the stray threads that popped from her wooly gloves.

There definitely was a commotion a few blocks away. You could hear sirens go off not so far from your spot but you chose to ignore them, it was typical for a city person to filter out unnecessary noise, and having to live in Trost added tons to what you had to filter or not.

"It's December twenty six and the two is back to being a Mayhem." Petra sighed.

"It's like we're Gotham or some shit."

"Gotham?" Petra blinked at you, earning a gasp from you.

"Step one to being the friend of someone who's majoring in comics-"

"Oh, friends yay!"

Shaking your head, to ignore the child like enthusiasm, you continued, "Please know the most well known fictional city, it's Batman's city too."

"OH!" Petra's mouth fell agape as she took in the information, but she quickly giggled again as she saw that you easily took a gulp of your beverage "you're right."

For what seemed like a second you felt at peace once again. Petra bubbled about how she wanted to apologise to Levi about her rather cold behavior last night, and explained in the most non detailed way how it was the memory of the passing of her mother that had caused her to become this grumpy.

"Don't worry Petra! But beware, you could be turning into Levi version two point oh and-"

A loud sound startled you, sending both you and Petra back a few steps. Dumbfounded, you stared at each other and around you, locking eyes with different by passers that were just as shocked as you.

"Maybe we should go back!" Petra suggested. You simply nodded, hearing a good amount of running footsteps coming to the direction of the block you were in. In any way, getting caught up with a manhunt wasn't in your plans for today

"Yeah maybe we shou-"

Your words were cut off absurdly, harshly and shockingly all together. As gunmetal orbs locked with yours, your eyelids shot open, hour mouth dropping to the snow covered concrete.

"Levi?"

Wait, Levi? That was actually so random

Before you could manage to process what was going on around you, or why on earth Levi had just popped up from the alley right across you another head splitting sound filled the air.

Levi -yes, this was indeed Levi, you just didn't really know how to process this- collapsed on his knees like a rag doll, his torso and head giving in to the exhaustion of his body. Once he fell, you stood frozen, shieldimg Petra with one hand as the two of you watched in horror while crimson started littering the sugary snow.

"Call an ambulance." You spoke dryly, eyes still wide with horror.

The people who had seemed to be after Levi quickly fell onto the hands of the hands of a handful of police men who were on their tracks, but you couldn't care to look at their faces. You just run towards Levi, always followed by a petrified Petra, your feet giving in as you kneeled right next to him, your fingers gingery ghosting over him just to inspect what was his condition.

You listened as Petra spoke with the emergency center in horror, explaining what was the scene before her eyes while struggling to keep herself from trembling.

"What's going on?" Shy muttered once she detached the phone off her ear.

"I'm pretty sure now is not the right time for a story, but Levi used to be in a street gang in his teens."

"Oh boy."

Oh boy indeed.

Here's your gentle reminder that constructive criticism makes me cry because I'm a baby

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @liddolwhynot2000 @ackermans-freedom-inc @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @thethyri @hawkssnugget @berrijam @melancholicmonologue

#levi #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi imagine #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin imagine #snk season 4 #snk levi #snk imagine #snk imagines #aot imagines #aot one shot #aot au #levi aot #aot season 4 #petra ral #x reader #fanfictiom #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction

[ticklyfluffers]

Sensitive Seeker-TF TK Fic

Repost of fan fiction of mine.

To think, it all started with just a simple gesture.

Thundercracker mused in how he had gotten to the scene he stood in now: Starscream shooting off blast after blast at Skywarp, yet the purple and black Seeker just treated the entire thing as some sort of game.

And, perhaps in some weird way, it was a game. As “‘playful” as a “self-respecting” Decepticon could be, he supposed. Yet still, he’d known he would need to separate the two (as always) eventually. Yet when to jump in was the question, as he was in no mood to have a shot of raw, stinging energy or a null ray being delivered to his facial region, should he intervene at the wrong time.

‘How did I get here, dealing with this?’ He questioned, inwardly groaning. It was a useless question, having already known the answer.

It had begun but a few short Earth minutes ago, at least, it had for him and Skywarp, yet for their Commander, it had begun but a few solar cycles ago (at least that measurement of time was fairly close to those used in this planet). Once again, Starscream noticed a, in his own words, “massive flaw” in one of Megatron’s bids to acquire more energy, and thus, just HAD to point it out and make sure everyone around him could hear it. This then led into the regular bickering, which led to the Seeker (once again) proclaiming he’d make a more suitable leader for the Decepticons, which led to Megatron “reminding” him of his place (once again), which resulted in a trip to the infirmary (once again).

And, while Thundercracker felt Starscream deserved to be told to keep his mouth shut, the blue Seeker found himself dreading what Megatron had planned for the Air Commander, as while it was Starscream’s punishment, somehow, in some way, it would affect his wingmates. Once again. Thankfully, it wasn’t overly extreme, mainly because Megatron had two locations of interest in mind, and probably declared that more worthy of his time than looking over his shoulder for his 2nd in Command’s potential assassination attempts. The Decepticon Leader had assigned Starscream and his wingmates to keep watch over the Space Bridge until the operation to seize control over the locations was completed or disregarded.

“And knowing our ‘glorious leader’, he’ll probably fail at this plan too.” Starscream grumbled to himself, arms folded over his chassis.

Thundercracker only sighed. Ever since he had come here, slag, back when was alerted of his duties, the Seeker had done nothing but complain over his leader’s orders. Of course, with a little “encouragement” from Soundwave (as in, alert Starscream he would be relieved of his wings for a good while if he didn’t do as he was told), their Air Commander (begrudgingly) accepted the assignment. Of course, now that they were here, Starscream had seen it as the perfect time to go ahead and start his tirade against Megatron again.

And suffice to say, it was beginning to get on his trine-mate’s nerves.

“Guard duty,” Starscream growled. “Of ALL the humiliating tasks he could’ve thrust on me...guard duty?!”

Skywarp began to shake, fists trembling until finally, he had finally reached his breaking point. “Is it possible for you to shut the frag up for at least a FEW cycles?! Is that too hard to ask?!”

Thundercracker was quite taken aback by the violet Seeker’s outburst. If anyone was being told to shut up, it was usually him. ‘Primus, he must be REALLY mad.’

“I’ll say whatever is slagging well please, thank you very much!” Starscream retorted, clenching his fists.

“Well go off and do it somewhere else away from me!” Skywarp argued back. “I’m getting sick of hearing that shrill dog whistle of a voice you’ve got!”

“Then get used to it, because I have no intention of stopping until I’m done!”

While he had no appreciation, let alone any sense of respect for it, since their arrival to this primitive world, some Decepticons had taken to using Earth expressions and terms in comparison to some more traditional, archaic language. The Casseticons were the worst out of these bots, outright using terms such as ‘dude’ and ‘man’, as well as copying much human cursing (a good portion of which humans based on their own bodily functions, to Thundercracker’s confusion). Skywarp, whether he had just decided that their regular curses weren’t enough, or he had been hanging out with Rumble and Frenzy on one too many assignments, decided to unleash everything that had been, as humans say, getting under his skin.

“Oh boo-hoo! You think YOU’RE the only one that doesn’t want to be here?!” the Seeker shouted, approaching Starscream. “This entire damn thing is your fault anyhow! You just HAD to go and run your mouth about how much Megatron’s plans suck and how YOU obviously had the better idea!”

“Because I do!” the Seeker Commander countered. “He wished to attack both locations at the same time, yet didn’t wish to better separate his forces into equal groups! Even if one was easier to access than the other, did he not think those blasted Autobots would just LET themselves be overtaken?!” he fumed, releasing a frustrated cry. “Bah! He had NO good reason to NOT send the Constructicons! There would’ve been no way that any of those slagging Auto-dorks would’ve stood a chance against Devastator! But NOOOOO! Apparently, they were needed elsewhere!”

“Because there was a crack in the hull,” Thundercracker interjected himself. True, he had little intention of getting involved, yet Starscream was forgetting one vital factor in Megatron’s decision. “The lower sections would’ve been at risk of getting worse and potentially breaking open. Then the entire Nemesis would’ve been flooded.”

“The pressure at the depths the ship’s at is far from enough to cause a breakage in such short a time!” Starscream argued. “We are situated in what the under evolved primates of this floating rock called the mesopelagic zone. True, we are away from the primary star of this current solar system, yet a majority of sea life in that area are perfectly capable of withstanding the water pressure. And they’re also organic, mind you!”

Skywarp scoffed. “You saying all that fancy mumbo-jumbo to make yourself sound smarter or something?”

“Hey, I WAS an accomplished scientist back in the Golden Era of Cybertron!”

“Of which you quit!” the purple and black Seeker countered. “And accomplished? That’s a fat load of shit, and you know it! I bet you only got a passing grade on whatever research logs you presented to those old farts running the academy!”

“Why you slagging piece of-”

“All right, both of you! That’s enough!” Thundercracker had decided that now was the time to step in, lest things start getting violent. Violence was an accepted part of Decepticon culture, seeing as many of their members had been forced to engage in it just to scrape by and survive via gladiatorial matches and other low ranking jobs (which didn’t house the most respectable of bots), yet the blue and black Seeker wasn’t in the mood in having to bring both of his wingmates into the infirmary because they decided to behave like a couple of Sparklings and duke it out.

That’s when the discovery had been made.

Thundercracker had pushed back against Skywarp’s chassis, yet he must’ve misjudged the distance between him and his oh-so-mature Commander (seriously, and he said Skywarp was the one who behaved like a sparkling). His servos made contact with the red and blue Seeker’s waistline, and that was when he and Skywarp heard it. It was a cross between a frightened gasp and an attempt to choke back laughter. Any anger between them had died that instant, replaced with curiosity and bewilderment. Their Commanding Officer was looking quite frazzled and on edge.

“Whoa, time out for a nano-second,” Skywarp said, lightly shoving Thundercracker off him. Nevertheless, he turned to him for confirmation. “You hear that too?” He then turned his attention to Starscream. “Hey, Screamer, what was that noise you made just now? And don’t say it’s nothing, I’ve got a witness right here!” Skywarp gestured to Thundercracker.

Starscream paled (even if there was no change of color) and stood there with wide, red optics. Nonetheless, he quickly straightened himself out and appeared to be cool and collected. “I was merely taken aback by Thundercracker’s sudden movements was all.” He explained, all the while trying to choose his next words very carefully. “You should be grateful he stepped in, lest I fire my null ray right in your face.” He glowered at the black and purple Seeker, hoping that his display would get his subordinate to back down.

But, as the humans said, no dice.

“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong-“ Skywarp began, taking a few steps toward, noticing how Starscream took a few steps back.

“And you are.” Starscream interrupted.

“But you seem a little nervous there.” The Seeker’s grinned. “All I’m asking is why you made that noise.”

Slag, Starscream thought. He wasn’t buying it. Ok, don’t panic. Just come up with another excuse. One that he surely couldn’t refute. “Well...it seems that my inner components are still a little sore from my last...disagreement with our all-wise and all-powerful leader.” He snarled that last part. Even if he were trying to get Skywarp off his back, it wasn’t all a lie. Hook had told him to take it slow for a few solar cycles for his internal repairs to mend the rest of him back together.

“Oh dear, are you ok?” Skywarp asked, an uncomfortable amount of mischievousness in his voice.

Slag. “Yes, I’m fine,” Starscream assured. “But...you shouldn’t touch me. In fact, I outright forbid it.”

Thundercracker analyzed the situation, looking back and forth between Skywarp and Starscream. He was puzzled at first regarding what had happened when he separated the two, yet given one Seeker’s predatory grin and the other’s excuses, it slowly dawned on him what was going on, as well as what Skywarp intended to do.

“Why?” He asked, taking a step towards Starscream while Starscream himself took a few steps back. “You took quite a bruising not too long ago. Maybe something is out of place or broken.”

“No! No, nothing is out of place or broken!” The SIC shook his head wildly.

“Are you sure? Because last time, you said Hook was a piss poor excuse for a medic.” Skywarp chuckled, raising his hands and spreading his servos out.

“Well, I think maybe he’s improved his craft these last few human weeks!” Starscream said, beginning to look around for any escape routes. “But...just in case, you shouldn’t touch anything! You could only make it worse!”

It was then that a familiar, magenta hue began to overtake the purple Seeker, Starscream’s optics widening in horror. “Why Starscream, I’m hurt! Do you think I’d actually hurt you?” He said coyly, optics fittingly red and devilish. “You’re my Commander, my trine-mate. It’s mine and Cracker’s job here to tend to your needs.”

Thundercracker gave a low growl, Skywarp knowing well how he hated being referred to by that name. Despite that though, he kept quiet.

“C’mon,” Skywarp cooed. Then, the magenta hue overtook his entire form, and in a flash, the Seeker was gone from sight.

“N-No! Stay away from me-“ Starscream shouted, yet was cut off when he felt digits traveling along his waistline.

“No need to be so tense.”

The reaction was immediate. Skywarp’s servos lightly stroked and scratched at the other Seeker’s ivory midsection, Starscream seizing up and doubling over, trying to get his “comrade” to release him.

“N-No! Stop it!” Starscream hollered, trying to grab at Skywarp’s hands. “I command you to-“ then out it came. “St-Sto-hoho-p!” A chortle caught in the middle of a demand (or was it a plea) to cease the infernal movements. Starscream had managed to wrench himself away from his assailant, but the damage was already done.

His terrible secret had been uncovered.

“No. Way.” Skywarp said. True, he suspected it, but to actually have confirmed blew his processor. “No. Fragging. Way!!!” He then pointed to his superior. “You’re ticklish!!!”

Now it was Thundercracker’s turn to be surprised, he looked at Starscream with bewilderment and shock. While it wasn’t a topic relatively discussed among themselves, he and the rest of the Decepticons would be fools if they didn’t acknowledge that their “hosts' ' shared more than a few qualities with the ones that had crashed landed on their planet millions of years ago. They were the only species to have similar civilizations to their own, same general body shape, they had an internal, skeletal structure that greatly resembled their own, lived as the dominant species on the planet (well, they were until the Decepticons and Autobots awoke), and fought and warred amongst themselves over the centuries. Yet when it came to the way their organic structure was put together, no one had an exact idea of how the human body functioned. Soundwave suggested gathering a few “lab rats'' and transporting them to Shockwave, yet so far, nothing else had come from that suggestion. Good thing too, Thundercracker felt such a thing was both unnecessary and, while he would never say it aloud, savage. But from what he had seen from Skywarp’s experiment, it seemed that they now were the ones to share the trait of ticklishness with the humans.

Starscream stood there, completely at a loss at what to say or do, processor scrambling to try and find something, anything, to keep the inevitable from happening. “I-I am not-AH!!!” He protested, only for Skywarp to teleport behind him and deliver a servo right in the crease where his hips met his waist. “Stop it!!!” He then aimed the weapon situated on his left shoulder in the other Seeker’s direction. “Try that again, and this null ray is going to blast you right in the face!”

Skywarp wasn’t the least bit intimidated. In fact, this just seemed to make him even more eager to go through with his plan. ”Primus, you’re acting like I’m going to kill you!”

“I’ll kill YOU if you get any closer! I mean it!” Starscream shouted, still aimed right at Skywarp’s head.

“Fine. Do it.” Skywarp laughed. “In fact, I doubt you’d be fast enough to hit me before I just warp out of the way.” He drew closer. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Thundercracker stood by, ready to jump in if things got too ugly. Starscream was cornered, he knew it, yet he seemed to be leaning much more into flight than fight. He looked to the blue Seeker as if trying to gain some support (or maybe a shield to use in case Skywarp made the first move), yet his optics mainly stayed on the third Seeker, trying to gauge what the next plan in his strategy was.

And it was then that Starscream made a critical decision. Frag it.

Immediately taking flight, Starscream transformed into his jet mode and zoomed off, leaving a long, cloudy trail as he departed.

“Oh no!” Skywarp declared, also transforming and chasing after his superior. “You’re not getting away that easily!”

“The slag do you think you’re going?! Get back here!!!” Thundercracker bellowed, yet either Skywarp didn’t hear or just outright disregarded his command, because he and Starscream flew off, leaving him alone.

Why did he always have to be the one to reign those two in?

…

“Aw, c’mon! I’ll go easy on you if that’ll get you to slow down!”

“NO!!!”

“I’m not going to hurt ya!”

“That makes it worse!!!”

“Don’t be such a baby!”

“Frag you!!!”

Back and forth the two Seekers went, Skywarp going back between promising to be ‘gentle’ with his Commander to outright declaring that resistance was futile, and Starscream shot back with threats of murder and dismemberment. All of which didn’t deter Skywarp a bit.

Seeing that the other jet was gaining on him, the Decepticon SIC went as fast as he could to where he was certain he would blow out his thrusters, yet he had to veer over to the side when Skywarp appeared before him via teleportation. He dove upwards, yet found his route blocked by the purple and black Seeker cutting him off via a barrel roll. Starscream went in the opposite direction, yet found himself cut off there as well, Skywarp just barely colliding into him.

“Hey, watch it!!!” he hollered. “You could’ve clipped my vertical stabilizer!!!”

“Then stop flying off and I won’t have to get drastic!” Skywarp shot back, yet inside his alt-mode, he was grinning ear to ear. Or at least he would be if he had any. “Try all you want, I’m not letting up anytime soon!”

“Then you’re going to be doing this for a long time because I have no intention of stop-” Starscream was interrupted by the horrific sight of Skywarp’s body being engulfed with magenta before disappearing from sight.

Oh, Primus. Oh Primus, no! Transforming into his root mode, Starscream looked around, panicking as he found himself surrounded by clear, blue skies, the sun shining high and bright. The intensity of the solar rays blinded him momentarily when he turned in that direction to look for any trace of his pursuer, yet this proved to be a fatal mistake. From beneath, the Seeker was rammed, his subordinate having decided to stay out of his line of sight long enough, and by the time Starscream realized his error, it was too late.

“Aha!!!”Skywarp seized him by the waist and immediately went to work. His servos went in and scrambled along the area he had attacked before, Starscream immediately seizing up and trying to contain the chortles that threatened to spill out of his vocals.

“S-Stop it!!!” Starscream shouted, twisting as much as he could to dislodge himself from the other jet’s hold, yet it seemed that whenever he made a movement, Skywarp just focused on another part of his midsection, the continuous switching of locations making Starscream’s processor be torn between staying still or continuing to writhe around. It was all so confusing and torturous! He was at a loss at what to do! “Stop!!! I-I comma-ha-nd you!!!”

“Hmm...nah.” Skywarp responded, continuing to scramble over the bends and angles of Commander’s midsection.

“I-I’ll kill you!!! Do you hear!? I’ll kill-” Starscream’s voice, unfortunately, chose that time to not cooperate with him. “G-Gah! N-No-hohoho!!! STOP!!!”

“Ah, there you go!” Skywarp congratulated. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Get off!!!” Starscream practically shrieked, both from frustration (and panic), yet also from the sensations that were plaguing his cerebral chamber, sensors lit a fire with horrid tingles and shocks. He only wished that they were of pain. “I-I can’t-'' he then nearly fell out of Skywarp’s arms before he was, unfortunately, caught, the torment continuing. “I can’t stay alo-ha-ft!!!”

“No problem!” Skywarp said, shutting off his thrusters. The two Seekers then began to plummet downwards.

“What in Primus’ name are you doing?! We’ll cra-ah-sh!!!” Starscream hollered, all the while trying to contain himself as Skywarp’s servos still continued to torment him.

As the ground continued to come closer and closer, Starscream braced himself for impact, yet found that it never came, magenta filling his vision before everything around him froze. He wasn’t a stranger to this phenomenon, yet it still perplexed and bewildered him that such an impulsive oaf had such an ability bestowed on him. The times were far and in between, yet whenever it happened, Starscream had gone into the strange dimension between planes of existence with Skywarp when the Seeker teleported both of them. The world looked the same as it had before, yet everything was still and silent. No movement, no sound, nothing. Nothing but their own, as if they were the only things that existed in this small pocket universe.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended, both Seekers landing on the ground, yet far from at the velocity they were previously traveling at. The landing didn’t mean that Starscream was free, however, the lack of the need to look out below allowed Skywarp to fully focus now on the movements of his servos, which quickly went back to work.

“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!!!” Starscream commanded, yet he was quickly shut up as giggles threatened to pour out from his vocal processor. He then lifted up his arm in an attempt to, out of desperation, fire his null ray in the other Seeker’s direction, this proved to be yet another fatal error.

Once Skywarp shot his hand underneath to scrape at the cables and joint that linked Starscream’s shoulder and upper arm, he could hold it in no longer.

“Gah!!! Gah-hahahahaha!!!” Starscream released loud and slightly hoarse laughter from his vocals, using his other arm to push back against the other Seeker tickling at his underarm. “S-Stop!!! Stop it!! Sto-hahahaha-p!!!”

“Ha! Gotcha!” Skywarp shouted in triumph, spidering along the red area that rested above his white waist just below the arm joint, this forcing Starscream to retreat into himself and cease his attempts in getting the purple and black Seeker off him. “You’ve got no chance now! Surrender!”

“Hahaha, n-never!!!” Starscream shouted back, trying to turn the opposite way to keep Skywarp away from his side. “Ge-hehehe-t off!!! Get-ah!!!” Skywarp swiped a digit just underneath the area where Starscream’s chest protruded outwards, running the servo along the rim. “Don’t touch me there-AHH!!!”

Skywarp smirked. “Why? Does it tickle?~” he asked oh-so-sweetly. “So you admit you’re ticklish.”

“I admit nothing!!!” Starscream choked in between bouts of involuntary laughter. “I’m not tick-“ he tried to finish but was cut off by more chortles forcing themselves out.

“Then what do you call this? Just a WEE bit of sensitivity?” The purple and black Seeker asked. He stroked and pinched along the SIC’s upper chest region, dipping his hands in the small, square-shaped hollows that rested by his white shoulders, this causing said SIC to try and make another grab at his hands to stop the attack. Unfortunately, Skywarp used this opportunity to dive in under Starscream’s arms and begin scribbling at the joints and cables and whatever other components he could reach. Starscream howled with laughter the moment he felt the wildly moving digits, his arms hugging around himself and clamping themselves down.”Oh great, I’m stuck. Now, what are you gonna do?”

“Wh-Wha-hahaha-t?! You ge-hehe-t them out!!!”

“Can’t exactly do that with you holding my hands down, can I?” Skywarp asked, not letting up in the slightest. “Lift your arms up and I can get free.”

“N-No!!! You’re just gonna-hahaha!!! STOP!!!”

“Hmm...nope.”

Starscream was in, as the humans would say, stitches, his body torn between twisting around and curling up into a ball in a vain attempt to lessen the sensations plaguing him. He knew well that Skywarp would go for the same areas and perhaps others if he lifted up his arms, yet, as he found out, the seams of his underarms were deathly sensitive. It was the equivalent of either having Megatron rip off his limbs versus his fusion cannon blasting him right in the chest. Neither of them was exactly pleasant options. And he didn’t care if he would be called dramatic for making such a comparison! This was torture! He needed this to stop! He HAD to make it stop!

Yet he wouldn’t beg. Not to Skywarp of all mechs. That fool would never get the satisfaction of hearing him grovel for mercy!

And speaking of members of his trine, where in Primus’ name was Thundercracker?! Useless piece of scrap-

“All right, that’s enough!” a voice called out from high above, a blue jet zooming down and transforming, landing a short distance away from his fellow wingmate and Commander. “C’mon, Skywarp, you’re going to kill him.”

“Am not!” Skywarp protested. “I’m just trying to lighten Screamer’s mood here! And from what I’ve seen, my method’s working!

Starscream tried to protest, yet had taken to tightening his lips as much as he could, strained whines coming from in between gritted, grinding dentals. Still, he managed to make out some words (though it was NOT a plea!). “G-Get him off!!! GET HIM OFF!!!”

Thundercracker sighed, crossing his arms. “You heard him. Get off.”

“Aww, do I have to?” Skywarp whined.

“Unless you want a report regarding your insubordination, I’d suggest you do so.”

The purple and black Seeker huffed and begrudgingly stopped moving his hands, Starscream immediately seizing the chance to scramble away, standing up and dusting himself off. Skywarp began to rise as well, yet Starscream pointed one of his cannons in his direction, eyeing his every movement.

“He isn’t going to bother you anymore.” Thundercracker assured.

“I should blast you in the face JUST for what you put me through alone!!!” the Decepticon SIC snarled.

“Hey, I was just trying to get something out of you that wasn’t complaining!” Skywarp countered. “You think you’re the only one that wants to be here on guard duty?”

“I’d much rather be in the company of Megatron at the moment rather than you two!!!”

“Hey, c’mon, that’s enough.” Thundercracker began, trying to cool things down, yet his Commander wasn’t having it.

“I’ve done nothing wrong to even be here!!! I was made Second in Command by Megatron himself!!! And, like it or not, that means I have the full right to question and propose any sort of adjustment or improvement to whatever backward, ridiculous, and foolhardy mission he’s got in mind!!!” Starscream shouted, clenching his blue fists. “And if that’s not enough, he had to stick me with YOU TWO of all bots!!!”

“Hey, c’mon!” Skywarp shot back. “We’re the only ones that can fly besides those damn cone-heads! And Primus knows they won’t put up with your bullshit.”

“I’ve had it up to here with yours!!!” Starscream retorted. “I don’t know why I even continue to allow myself to work with you two!!!” he then pointed to Skywarp. “You are an immature, idiotic thug that has been graced with a power that you clearly do not deserve!!!” he then pointed to Thundercracker. “And you…” Starscream paused. “You...you...well...you didn’t get here fast enough!!! I was under attack by one of my own wingmates, and here you were, lollygagging and taking your sweet time!!!”

Thundercracker was somewhat taken aback. True, this was typical of Starscream, ranting and raving about all the unfairness of the world and how he was slighted by whomever he decided had insulted him, yet the blue Seeker felt a twinge of anger flare up in his spark. “I was TRYING to keep back to make sure you wouldn’t clip a wing or something. You were behaving quite...erratically.”

“That’s no excuse!!!” Starscream countered. “I am your superior, and thus, am your utmost concern!!!”

“I was-”

“No, I’m not done!!!” the other Seeker interrupted. “You know what? You’re just as useless as Skywarp here!!! Only you’ve got no discernable skills or anything spectacular in your arsenal. I lack Skywarp’s little ‘talent’, but I come packed with null rays that can disable and render any machine, Earth or Cybertronian, useless. But you? What, the typical blaster? And such an outdated model too!!! Perhaps even one of the cone-heads would be better suited to be here in comparison to-”

Starscream got out no more before he found himself tackled to the ground. Thundercracker was on top of him and, at a blinding speed, as if in response to the SIC’s remarks regarding his skill and prowess.

“What do you think you’re-” Starscream shouted, yet soon felt his shoulder cannons being removed from his arms. “H-Hey!!! Put those back!!!”

Thundercracker didn’t answer him, continuing his work until his Commander was relieved of his weapons. Then, the blue Seeker delivered a blow to Starscream’s face when the other Decepticon tried to rise. He was disoriented long enough for him to be seized from behind, Thundercracker having ducked his arms underneath Starscream’s own and lifted them up, holding them together with one hand clasping around his wrists, effectively keeping the SIC in place.

“Skywarp,” the blue Seeker began, voice low and emotionless, yet the other members of the trine knew well what such a tone meant when it came to Thundercracker. “He’s all yours.”

Skywarp beamed and made a motion of ‘cracking’ his knuckles (even if he had none). The grin on his face filled Starscream with the utmost dread and fear. “Y-You can’t do this!!!” he protested. “I’m your superior!!!”

“Yes,” Thundercracker responded. “A superior asshole.”

“A superior asshole that’s been getting on my and Cracker’s nerves,” Skywarp said, grinning. Thundercracker despised the nickname the other Seeker had given him, yet at the moment, what was at the forefront of his mind was his Commander’s “disciplinary” session. “And since we’re both done hearing you bitch and moan,” Skywarp raised his servos up, wiggling and making clawing motions with them. “We’re gonna hear you laugh it up instead!”

And then, he went in and continued where he had left off.

Starscream had no chance to brace himself, his focus torn between trying to get Thundercracker off of him and Skywarp’s advances. The purple and black Seeker dove down and traced his servo-tips all over the red and blue Seeker’s chassis, running along the curves and bends, dipping his digits in the vents situated on his chest, and down the midsection where his cockpit was located.

“N-No!!! No-hahahahaha!!! St-Sto-hahaha-p!!! Stop!!! I or-hoho-der you to STOP!!!”

“Not happening.” Skywarp responded, now skittering along the white waist.

“You-hoohoo dare defy an or-hoho-der from your Comma-hahaha-nder!?!”

“If said Commander is being a little bitch, then yes.”

“Th-This is ahahaha-assult on a supe-hehhehe-rior officer!!!”

“Fine then. Stop me.”

Starscream didn’t answer that, knowing well that, despite himself, he was effectively rendered helpless. Thundercracker wasn’t letting him go any time soon, and Skywarp was more than content to keep tickling the ever-living shit out of his Commander. He was completely at their mercy. But he would not surrender. He couldn’t! Not to them! They wouldn’t get one word out of him that was begging for mercy!

At least, that’s what he tried to keep in mind, all the while fighting against said pleas that were forming in his processor.

Skywarp continued to let his servos dance all over Starscream’s upper half, Thundercracker keeping him immobile. The other Seeker’s added weight made struggling difficult and sometimes near impossible, and the maddening sensations made his futile attempts to escape no better. Skywarp had gone for the SIC’s underarms, Starscream’s laughter raising in volume and his struggles increasing, yet Thundercracker held him firm. Skywarp spidered down Starscream’s sides and chest, even tackling the red sections that stood upward on his shoulders. The red and blue Seeker howled with laughter, Thundercracker keeping up his efforts to hold him tight. Despite his current predicament, Starscream could at least take comfort in that the three were clearly alone out here. The only downside to that was that it was Skywarp of all bots doing the torturing! That mech left no inch of his upper body untouched, making sure to give each and every portion of it equal attention. Odd that he would be so precise given how impatient and foolhardy he was.

Having decided that he had explored all he could in that area, the purple and black Seeker shifted his attention to Starscream’s hips, dragging servos along where it connected to his waist and squeezing the sides. The Decepticon SIC continued to release mad cackles from his vocal processor, Skywarp’s servos traveling down to his inner thighs, teasing the joints and cables he could reach. The purple and black Seeker went down the other jet’s legs and reached his knees, swiping servos behind the blocky sections that essentially served as ‘kneecaps’. He even dipped his digits in the vents that rested there.

Starscream was being driven mad, his frantic struggles weakening, though whether it was due to him losing strength or some part of him simply accepting his fate, he was unsure. Regardless, he was reaching his limit and frankly, beginning to lose his mind. “W-Wait!!!” the Seeker got out. “O-hoho-k!!! OK!!! You-hoohoo-’ve had your fun!!! Stop!!!”

“Not yet,” Skywarp said. “I’ve still got a little more of you to tend to.” he then turned to the blue Seeker. “Hold him tight. I gotta feeling this is going to send him over the edge.”

“What do you mean…” Starscream asked, yet trailed off when he saw Skywarp secure his ankles, the undersides of his peds and thrusters completely exposed. Oh no. Oh Primus, no! “W-Wait!!! WAIT!!!” Skywarp and Thundercracker were quite shocked at how loud their captive had gotten, both looking at him with wide, red optics.

Skywarp then smirked. “Oh my,” he glanced at one ped he had in his grasp. “This a particularly sensitive area?” as if to demonstrate, he ran one servo down the length of the side of it, Starscream trembling and straining to keep noises from exiting his throat. “Oh hot damn!” the purple and black Seeker looked to his comrade. “Look at this Cracker! Screamer here’s got sensitive tootsies!”

Tootsies? Was that a human word? Well, whatever. Thundercracker had to strengthen his hold on Starscream, the other Seeker growing even more erratic than before.

“Not there!!!” Starscream finally threw all pride and dignity aside and went to one of his desperate fail-safes: begging. “Please, not there!!! Anywhere but there!!!”

“Why?” Skywarp coyly asked. “Does it tiiiickle~?”

“All right fine!!! Fine, I admit it!!! I’m ticklish, ok!?! There, I said it!!!”

Skywarp stopped his teasing, yet still held Starscream’s ped in his hold. “And?”

“And…” the SIC couldn’t believe he was doing this. Megatron was one thing, but these two? He would NEVER live this down. “And…” he felt a servo place itself on the underside of the ped. “And I’m sorry!!! I’m sorry for everything I said!!! You’re not useless or idiots!!!” Starscream sighed, having gained both of the other jet’s attention. “It’s just...it’s just so frustrating.” He said, lessening his struggles. “Your position means nothing, and whatever contribution you have to give is treated little better than the ramblings of a fool. How nothing you could ever say matters…”

Starscream looked away from both of them for a second, his wingmates quite baffled and confused by what they just heard. True, complaining was one of the hallmarks of their Commander’s personality, yet it was quite a rarity to hear him display such raw honesty with them. It wasn’t a completely alien event, the two having heard these supposedly heartfelt (or in their case, sparkfelt) confessions before, but they were far and in between. Yet whenever they happened, despite their probable better judgment, they listened. And Starscream, even if he didn’t say it outright, acknowledged that they were indeed listening. These moments were always awkward and generally uncomfortable for all three of them, the mood not exactly being positive but oddly calm. And neither Skywarp nor Thundercracker could tell whether these were genuine or not. Their Commander was very much what the humans called a social chameleon. Oh sure, he had his distinguishing traits, yet it seemed that whenever he had to play a certain role (aside from a duplicitous usurper), he usually took it and made it his own. He could have solid strategies and plans, he could be deadly in combat and made use of his airborne advantage well, and when, rarely, Megatron’s plans aligned with his own, he would follow it to a tee. But whether all these were just an act to get what he wanted or a rare display of inner, truthful self (even if partway), neither of the Seekers knew. And in a way, Starscream would probably have it no other way.

Skywarp looked at his partner in crime, then to his victim. “You believe him, Cracker?”

Thundercracker was silent for a moment, Starscream looking up at him with wide, pleading optics. “I don’t know. You know Starscream.”

“Oh, you think so little of me, dear Thundercracker?” The SIC asked, seemingly hurt. “I merely let my own grievances with Megatron affect my sense of professionalism.”

“And?” Skywarp asked. “You sorry for being the King of the Assholes today?”

“King of the...what!?” Starscream began to protest, yet the sensation of Skywarp’s servo kept him in his place. “Yes!!! Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. I apologize. I apologize for everything that’s come from my vocal components.”

The purple and black Seeker looked and Thundercracker and nodded his head. “You know what? I believe him. How about you?” Thundercracker remained silent, yet when his hold was loosening, he noticed Skywarp look at him with a coy, calculating smile. “I think Cracker here forgives you too, Screamer.”

Starscream sighed in relief. “Yes, well...I suppose, as the humans say, to err is, well, human. But to forgive is divine.” He tried to get up, but still, found himself being held tight.

“Hold on there! Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.” Skywarp said. “I said I forgive you.” He then placed a servo on the underside of Starscream’s ped and dragged it down, noticing how his Commander’s face tensed up. “I didn’t say anything about letting you go. And neither did Cracker.”

Starscream’s red optics widened in terror, his fate had not been changed. “But...but you said that you forgave me!!! You have to release me!!!”

“And we will,” Thundercracker spoke up. “But, it would be bad form to leave Skywarp’s job unfinished, right?”

“Was that an actual joke from you?” Skywarp asked, genuinely surprised. It was just as, perhaps even rarer than Starscream’s “honest” moments, yet once in a while, the blue Seeker showed he was capable of humor, albeit mostly dry, but still, humor. “And yeah. I’ve only got one more place to cover. So I’d suggest you buck up and take the rest of it like a mech!”

Shit, Starscream thought, a part of him surprised that he had used a human curse. Still, the sentence had been delivered. He was doomed. “N-No, wait!!! You don’t understand!!! I can’t take it there!!! It’s too much!!! You’ll drive me crazy!!!

“Hmm...those are all rather bold claims. But you shouldn’t have told me that.” Skywarp said, eager to start his tickling torment up again. “Because now I’m going to have to see it for myself!”

And thus, Skywarp wasted no time in getting started, Starscream having no chance to maintain any semblance of self-control the moment he felt a servo quickly swipe itself back and forth on his ped. The reaction was immediate, Starscream having no chance to try and even contain himself. Skywarp traced down the entire length of the ped, the red and blue Seeker released loud and slightly hoarse laughter from his vocals, he desperately trying to twist his way out of Thundercracker’s grip.

“Skwarp!!!” Starscream hollered. “Ple-heeheehee-se!!! STOP!!!”

“Oh no, Mr. General Dickweed!” the Seeker answered back. “Forgiveness or no, you’ve been in dire need of an attitude adjustment all day today!”

“I sa-hahaha-id I was so-hohoho-rry!!!”

“And you lied to us about being ticklish. Shame on you!” Skywarp teased, continuing to scribble around on the underside of his Commander’s ped.

Starscream was in absolute hysterics, trying with all his remaining power to break free and escape his torment, yet it seemed that his fate was sealed. He was going to have to stay here and endure the continuous, soft, agonizingly light yet maddening sensations Skywarp’s servos created. Eventually, his struggles ceased, no longer having the energy to fight back. Or maybe, somewhere in his processor, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle and simply relented to those that currently had power over him. Skywarp then ceased tickling the peds, yet Starscream had no time to rest. Despite his hopes, pleas, and prayers (he hadn’t really considered himself a religious bot, yet he was singing praises to Primus at that moment in his head), Skywarp had discovered his Commander’s Achilles Heel. Literally.

“PRIMUS, STOP!!!” the SIC shrieked, living up to his name. Out of all the spots that could’ve been at the mercy (or lack thereof) of Skywarp’s servos, he knew well that one would be enough to make him go crazy. “YOU’RE KI-HIHIHIHI-LLING ME!!! I’M DY-HIHIHIHI-ING!!!”

Skywarp scoffed, yet he found this whole thing hilarious, his servos dancing along the lining of and inside Starscream’s thrusters. “Oh please. If anything, this is a spa treatment compared to what you usually get hit with from Megatron.”

“I’D RA-HAHAHAHA-THER TAKE THAT!!! OH PLEASE!!! PLE-HEEHEEHEE-ASE!!! I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE!!!”

Thundercracker glanced down at his captive, taking a look at the Seeker’s ever-present smile he had plastered on his features, yet also of how hot he was beginning to feel how warm he was becoming. His internal systems had steadily been heating up from all the exertion of energy, yet the fact Thundercracker could now feel the heat himself signaled to him that Starscream was truly reaching his breaking point.

“Ok, I think that’s enough.”

Skywarp looked up. “Aw, why?”

“Is your processor malfunctioning? Feel how warm he is!” Hmm, now that he thought about it, Starscream DID feel like he was heating up the further along he went. Still...did he have to? “Skywarp!”

“Ok, ok! Fine!” the purple and black Seeker groaned.

Begrudgingly, he ceased the movement of his servos and raised his hands away from Starscream, who was still caught in the throughs of laughter. Yet after a few moments, said laughter began to soften and decrease, the Seeker resting in Thundercracker’s arms mainly because he couldn’t do much else. Despite there being no need to take in oxygen, Starscream was quite appreciative of its abundance, his vents taking it in and filtering out the heat that had been building up.

“Oh, and here you actually had me...going,” Skywarp said, gesturing to Starscream. “See? He’s fine!” The word ‘concerned’ was about to exit from his lips, yet the Seeker kept them back. Like the Pit he was going to say that. Starscream then glared in Skywarp’s direction. “See? Totally fine. He’s already back to his bitchy self.”

“You…” Starscream huffed, sounding as if he were short of breath despite not needing to breathe. “You think you’re VERY clever, don’t you?”

Skywarp shrugged. “On occasion, I like to think so.”

Starscream only narrowed his optics. “The moment I get my strength back up, your termination will be slow and painful.”

Despite this threat, the Seeker wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. “Yeah right. I stopped believing you after the...what was it, the millionth-and-first time you said that?”

“Well...who’s to say I don’t mean it the millionth-and-second time?” Starscream questioned, beginning to reach for his null rays, yet ultimately, had tired himself out too much to even move from where he was. As the human said, screw it.

“Are you all right?”

The Decepticon SIC looked up at Thundercracker. “Oh, so NOW you care about my wellbeing?”

“I stopped him, didn’t I?” The blue Seeker asked, pointing to Skywarp.

“And you’re also the one that restrained and let him torture me.”

“...touche.” he then began to rise. “Come on. On your feet.” he slowly hoisted his Commander up. “You’re still cooling down, so it’d probably be good to wait for a klik or two before you take to the air.”

Starscream didn’t argue with that, yet he went over to retrieve his arm cannons. Skywarp soon found the Commander’s eyes looking straight at him. Yet still, his cannons didn’t fire, though whether because he was too tired to do anything or he actually didn’t have it in him (at least at the moment), to shoot Skywarp was unknown. Yet the result was the same.

“So...now what?” the purple and black Seeker asked.

“What do you mean, now what?” Thundercracker asked. “We go back to our posts! Slag, we shouldn’t even be out here anyway!”

Starscream dusted himself off, trying to straighten out his appearance. “As soon as this is over, I’m punishing both of you.”

Skywarp mockingly gasped. “Aw, why?”

“Why?! You know slagging good why!!!” Starscream responded. “And by the time I’m done with you, a session with Megatron himself will sound exceptionally pleasant in comparison!!!”

“Oooh, that’s pretty big talk, Screamer.” Skywarp chuckled. “And just how are you going to do it?”

Starscream didn’t exactly care for how close the other Seeker was. “I...I’ll find a way. I’ll find several.”

“Of course, you do realize you’re not the only one with an advantage, you know?” And before Starscream could ask, he felt a poke in his side, the red and blue Seeker recoiling from the touch. “Y’know, I can’t help but wonder how the guys would react to this when I tell them.”

Both Starscream and Thundercracker were taken aback by what Skywarp had just said. “Why would you tell anybody?” Starscream asked.

“Because it’s adorably precious and funny.” The Seeker answered.

“You had better not!!!” Starscream ordered. “Or I’ll make your punishment even worse than Thundercracker’s!!! I’ll…” he then went over and fell at Skywarp’s feet. “Please don’t tell anyone. Please. I’m begging you.”

“Relax, he’s not going to tell,” Thundercracker assured his Commander. “Right, Skywarp?”

Skywarp folded his arms. “Only if Screamer takes back his punishment threats.”

Starscream relented. “Ok, yes. Fine. No discipline. Ok?”

The Seeker smiled. “And since you’re feeling so cooperative, I’ve been meaning to ask you some...stuff.”

Starscream did NOT like the sound of that. “What kind of...stuff??”

“Well, c’mon.” Before he knew it, the Air Commander found his trine-mate’s arm slung around his shoulder as if he were a long-time friend. “We can discuss it on the way back to the space bridge.”

Starscream groaned, not liking where this was going at all.

Thundercracker only looked on, still trying to swallow everything that had happened. Suffice to say, he found himself feeling rather...odd about it. And he could tell Starscream held this sentiment as well. Truly, it sounded unreal: he had just held down their superior while his wingmate tickled him into near insanity. Had he not seen it himself, let alone participated in it, he wouldn’t have believed it. Frankly, he was beginning to feel quite embarrassed about how he had sunk so low to be involved in something so childish, but…

“Oh, come on! It wasn’t that bad!” The blue Seeker heard Skywarp say. “You were smiling the whole time!”

“Yes, against my will!!!!” Starscream retorted, folding his arms and, for lack of a better word, pouting.

“But don’t you feel just a little bit better?”

Starscream’s red optics widened. “No! It-“ had he been human, he would’ve been red as a tomato. Odd how the meatbag’s skin changed at just the slightest amount of extreme emotion. “Hmph!!! Well...I’m not talking to you right now!!! Or in the next few Earth hours. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or-“ he was interrupted by a poke, unprepared to contain the giggle that slipped out. “Do that again, and I WILL blast you this time.” He threatened.

“That makes a millionth-and-three.” Skywarp answered, unfazed.

Thundercracker continued to watch the two Seekers argue and banter with each other, noticing that, even if he would swear to Primus Himself that it wasn’t the case, since his tickling session, Starscream seemed...less irritable?

“Well, maybe that’ll be the lucky number. What’s that human saying again? Third time’s the charm?”

“I don’t think they have plus a million in there though.” Skywarp chuckled, Starscream huffing.

“Shut up.”

Thundercracker could only speculate. One could never tell with Starscream. But from watching him, he had a vague idea of what was going in his processor. And that he’d keep it a secret from everyone.

#transformers #transformers generation one #transformers g1 #starscream #thundercracker #skywarp #seeker trine #g1 seekers #seekers #sensitive #tickle #tickle fic #fanfiction #fanfic

[deancaskiss]

Tinsel and Tourists - Chapter Ten

Word Count: 1,811 (another long chapter, I’m sorry)

Dean’s POV

Link to ao3 / Link to masterpost

“For God’s sake, Dean. Snap out of it, lover boy. We’ve got a real case here that’s far more complicated than a salt-n-burn. Could you quit staring at your phone with heart-eyes for five freaking seconds so we can actually do our jobs,” Sam said, crossing his arms and snapping his computer open with a poignant look thrown Dean’s way.

“You’re the one who set me up with him in the first place,” Dean shot back. “You’ve been deliberately pushing us together, and just when I’m about to kiss him, you had to interrupt.”

“Dead body showed up and we needed to check it out. Pretty damn important if you ask me,” Sam said.

“You couldn’t have waited one extra minute? You clearly saw I was milliseconds away from finally kissing him-”

Sam loudly slammed a book down onto the table, effectively cutting Dean off. “Five times, Dean. Five times tonight so far you’ve given me crap for interrupting. I’m sick of hearing about it. Go out there and find Cas and kiss him right now or shut the hell up and get to work, unless you want whatever this is to take Cas and kill him, too.”

Damn. That was a sobering thought. If any monster even so much as looked at Cas, Dean swore he was going to lose it. He couldn’t stop his mind from screaming mine; a protective streak burning inside his gut and wrapping up into his chest.

Placing his phone back down on the table, Dean opened his own laptop and sighed. “How do we even begin to start narrowing down what this thing is? Is there any connection between Callie and Oliver?”

Sam pushed both of the files across the table towards Dean. “Other than the fact they were roughly around the same age, 28 and 29, that’s all I’ve got. Callie worked at the local theater. Oliver was a second grade teacher. They live in different neighborhoods and run in completely different social circles. Oliver is well known in town and is one of the most popular teachers at the elementary school. Callie was quieter. Both of them have helped out with work around the town in different ways- Oliver volunteers at the local animal shelter and Callie helped out at the elderly home. As far as I can tell, both of them are pictures of model citizens, just in different ways.”

Flipping open the files, Dean scanned the contents as he listened to Sam rattle off the big details. “So either they’re both hiding something and that’s why they were targeted, or they both really were squeaky clean and that’s why they were taken.”

“This whole town is filled with good people, Dean. That doesn’t exactly narrow it down for who could potentially be taken next. And we can’t exactly protect an entire town,” Sam said. “Something about it still feels sacrificial.”

Dean sighed, dropping his head down to the table before muttering, “We’ve talked about this, though. No signs of a God in town. No happy success stories or flourishing town.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, and all Dean could hear was the clacking of Sam’s keys as he typed. He let his eyes close, mind wandering back to Cas and their date tomorrow night. God, he was so freaking whipped it was unbelievable. How was he even supposed to tell Cas he’d never been ice skating in his entire life? He was going to look like a complete idiot falling on his ass on the ice tomorrow. And yet, despite the impending humiliation, Dean’s heart was hammering against his chest just at the mere thought of seeing Cas again.

He replayed the almost-kiss over again for probably the hundredth time that night, and he felt himself flush. Cas’ lips… God, even just the briefest brush had been enough to have Dean breathless. He’d been half tempted to walk out of the motel and find Cas when Sam suggested it, merely because he could barely get his brain to focus on anything except kissing Cas and how damn good those chapped lips would feel sliding against his own.

When his phone buzzed on the table, breaking his wandering thoughts, Dean all but hurled himself to pick it up, hoping it was another text from Cas. When he saw Bobby’s name, he scoffed and dropped the phone back down again; trying desperately to tamper down the disappointment that it wasn’t Cas.

“You’re like a lovesick teenager,” Sam muttered from the other side of the table.

“Shut up, no I’m not,” Dean snapped back instantly.

“Sure you’re not. That wasn’t a predictable reaction to thinking your crush has texted you only to find out it wasn’t him,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

“Go screw yourself. I don’t have a crush. I’m not twelve.”

Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You’re so transparent you might as well be translucent, Dean.”

Pushing his chair back, Dean stood up. “I’m done having this conversation.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get a beer from the fridge because I’m way too sober to be dealing with your crap right now,” Dean muttered, storming off to the small fridge in the room.

Just as Dean got the cap off the beer, a thought flittered into his head. “You keep saying it feels sacrificial, right?”

Sam looked up from his laptop as Dean approached, taking the beer that Dean held out to him as a peace offering. “Yeah, but as you keep pointing out, there’s no signs of a God.”

“Right, but what if the sacrifices aren’t being done by a God, but being done to appease a God? Something that was protecting and serving the Gods. Almost a middle man between the Gods and the people.”

Sam thought about it for a second before nodding. “We are days away from the winter solstice. And all the patterning shows the sacrifices leading right up to that time frame. And you said it when we left the scene, the way her body was cut up, it was precise; extremely ritualistic.”

“No blood left in her, either. And no obvious signs of vamps draining people around here. A blood offering?”

Sam hummed, before he started typing with renewed interest. “You might be onto something. I’ve got a couple theories. Why don’t you put a call out to Bobby to see if he knows anything, and I’ll hit the lore.”

“Got it,” Dean said, grabbing his phone and taking his beer with him as he stepped outside to call Bobby. After explaining everything that was happening with the case and the details they’d picked up so far, Bobby promised he’d do some research of his own and call if he found anything useful.

By the time he’d finished his call with Bobby, Dean had finished his beer and he was pleasantly warm inside despite the cold wind.

In the morning, he’d blame it on the alcohol, which was a weak excuse when he’d only had the one beer. And yet, after he hung up with Bobby, his finger moved to hover over Cas’ contact. And before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed call.

The second the dialing tone rang in his ear, Dean panicked and went to hang up, but Cas answered on the second ring.

“Dean?”

Dean’s heart instantly kicked up in his chest, and he felt the air in his lungs stutter at just hearing Cas’ voice through the phone.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said.

“Did something happen? Is there- has there been another death?”

Dean shook his head, kicking a small bank of snow as he began to walk around the motel. “No. No, I just- I uh, I missed you.”

Shit. As soon as the words came out, Dean winced. What was wrong with him? He really was a lovesick teenager. One date and a botched first kiss and Dean was so smitten he could barely go five seconds without thinking about Cas. Just hearing Cas’ voice made Dean yearn, and the words had slipped out without his control. And yet, he meant them. Even the case was barely keeping his attention right now. He’d already began an internal countdown to their date tomorrow night, which was pathetic and desperate and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

“I’ve kept my phone with me all night since you texted me,” Cas said quietly, before he laughed softly.

Oh God. Was Cas waiting by the phone for him? Jesus. Why was that so cute that it made Dean’s chest ache?

“My witty humor just so good that you were waiting for more?” Dean said, automatically switching to teasing.

“Something like that,” Cas replied, and Dean could almost feel his smile through the phone.

“I um- I have absolutely no idea how to ice skate, by the way,” Dean admitted, reaching up to snap an icicle off the roof just to keep his hands busy.

“You’ve never ice skated before?” Cas asked, shock bouncing down the phone.

“Nope, never.”

“I’ll teach you,” Cas said earnestly.

“Only if you promise not to let me fall on my ass,” Dean said with a laugh.

“I promise I won’t take my hands off of you,” Cas replied instantly, before the weight of his words seemed to settle in the air. Dean swallowed thickly, his stomach twisting on itself at the thought of Cas’ hands lingering on him.

“And what if I can’t keep my hands to myself?” Dean said, words raw and yet filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

“Is that a promise, Dean?” Cas asked, voice slipping an octave lower; sending a thrill down Dean’s spine.

“God, yes,” Dean found himself saying, words ripped from his throat as he was overcome with the urge to grab Cas right now and kiss him. “Swear to God, if you don’t bring mistletoe-”

Cas laughed and the sound made Dean’s chest feel tight. “As long as you don’t leave me standing underneath it alone again.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dean said. Just as he was about to say something else, his phone buzzed in his hand and a text from Sam flickered across the screen. Time to get back to work. “Listen, Cas, I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“7 o’clock, Dean. Don’t you dare be late,” Cas said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean replied, before handing up; heart racing from the call and his hands sweaty just from flirting with Cas again.

As he made his way back to the room, his eyes flickered to an oak tree near the motel; a clump of mistletoe hanging from one of the branches. Reaching up, Dean snagged a few pieces, smiling to himself as he slipped them into his pocket. Just a little bit of extra insurance to make sure he got that kiss with Cas tomorrow.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #christmas #long post

[1-lightofjustice]

Justice for Awashima Seri

One of my latest posts made me want to re-watch K Project Return of Kings, especially Scepter 4 segment. And damn, there are so many things that happened to Awashima and frankly she didn’t deserve it. I’m not talking about GoRa’s overly disgusting fanservice attempts on Seri, although that’s indeed something that must be protested. I’m talking about how she was kept in dark by her two megane colleagues (mainly Munakata) even though she’s Second in Command of Scepter 4 and someone who has been working besides them for years. After I finished rewatching..... wow it’s worse than I remembered. My heart truly breaks for Seri, and I’m super glad that in the end she got her happy ending (by punching Munakata’s face). Like first, we know how worried she was about Munakata’s state, and after Reisaru’s fight in episode 8, Seri was so worried about Fushimi’s wellbeing and his bedding. Then at the very beginning of her role in episode 9, we have this :

For almost anyone besides Seri, maybe they will not think too much about the fact that they can’t understand what the hell are on Munakata and Fushimi’s heads, after all they’re not the easiest people to understand. But for Seri, it’s quite a new unpleasant territory for her. There’s a reason why she’s the Second in Command after Munakata, why she can easily command the rebel Fushimi without many protests from the said rebel, and why she can work alongside cryptic geniuses like Munakata and Fushimi. From R:B novel, we know that she’s an all-round achiever, but one of her main virtue is she’s goddamn observant. She more or less can understand Munakata’s unique mindset, and she mostly can see right through Fushimi’s bullshit. She more often can hit ‘100 point mark’ regarding the enigmatic Munakata and the ‘absolute tsundere’ Fushimi than any other human being except each other. Like on Munakata’s case, we have this :

Yoshino continued. “An ordinary man would have an interest in nude females, I think, but this is the Captain we’re talking about… How is it for him, what do you think?” She looked up at Awashima.

Awashima’s lips curved into a stiff smile as she took her time to think.

Then she drew a breath and, “I haven’t given that subject a thought until now. But well, if I had to answer…” She shook her head. “This is what I think: in the Captain’s case, it’s entirely possible that never once in his life he has so much as opened that kind of magazines or, alternatively, stores an entire thousand book collection of obscene materials in his room, and I won’t be surprised in the least in either case. Would this suffice as an answer?” Munakata Reishi’s right hand woman and Lieutenant, Awashima Seri, said with an even more strained smile.

 Case Files of Blue Chapter 1 (and looking at how eager Munakata asked Hidaka to show his collection, suffice to say that Awashima is absolutely correct about her answer).

Awashima: But, well, for the Captain it’s probably of equal value. Fushimi: Of equal value? What is? Awashima: Protecting this country’s peace and fulfilling his promise to a kindergartener.

Optician Drama CD

And on Fushimi’s case :

“…It might not be a misunderstanding, you know. What if I were in cahoots with Homura?” he retorted, lips pursed.

For a moment, Awashima’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing to slits as she humphed letting a slight smirk tug on her lips. “Suppose there really is a traitor who’s trembling while covered in cold sweat; I’d say at the very least it’s safe to assume he’s not switching sides because he likes it. It’s time for your report. The materials are ready, I hope?”

The King and The Traitor 

“It’s hard to call realistic, I have to agree with you on that. And on the off chance that it indeed is a strain’s doing, there is hardly any ground to claim harm sustained from the act. It’s the rainy season, after all. So I do find the idea of wasting time and manpower on investigating this possibility unreasonable, especially considering that we hardly have any to spare, but… if it’s an order from my superior officer, I will look into it though?”

It was said curtly and emotionlessly, but Awashima let out a little chuckle, hearing Fushimi’s answer. “Then look into it for me. Since like me, my competent and capable subordinate, too, seems to be concerned with this matter.”

Endless Rain

Also in anime, she noticed Yata’s worry for Mikoto and informed him about Mikoto’s condition to calm him. After breaking Sarumi’s fight, instead of asking apology, she demanded Fushimi to show her the result of his investigation, knowing full well that Fushimi already did some digging before he confronted Yata. She made the remark about only a King can attract another King. Heck, she already deduced that the reason why Munakata kept Zenjou-san on Scepter 4 is to kill Munakata one day, even though Munakata understandably never told anyone about it. During ROK, I kinda got feeling like Munakata and Fushimi were purposely ‘ghosting’ her, but looking at how observant she is, it’s quite understandable why Munakata and Fushimi kept Awashima in the dark to preserve their secret mission (still jerk move for them though). 

I think that’s one of the reason why Fushimi gave the hint about his secret mission only to Yata. Not only Yata is his best friend, but he also can count on Yata’s insensitiveness, having been the victim first-hand in the past. Like, Fushimi who is surprisingly responsible and dutiful for his job maybe thought “it’s fine to give Misaki a hint, it’s not like he can pick it up anyway”, so he can feel ‘less guilty’ for endangering the secrecy of his mission. Not that he’s wrong though, I mean Yata you’re a good guy but I have to say you really have a fine thick-head for not noticing and still saying that Fushimi betrayed the Blues, Fushimi jumped from sinking ship after Fushimi uttered such a vague sentence and after knowing that Fushimi secretly asked your brother to quit Jungle. Thank God Munakata gave him clear explanation later. Instead for Awashima, she only got this :

In that brief moment of silence, Fushimi let Awashima knew 3 things :

1. He joined Green clan and willing to attack his ‘former’ clansmen for them.

2. Not only joined Green clan, but he’s now one of J-ranker of Jungle. You know, the true Green clansmen, the one they have to be most cautious like Sukuna and Yukari.

3. He allied with one of Green clansman who participated on Anna’s kidnapping and former Scepter 4′s prisoner.

And he didn’t give Awashima and Kusanagi anything except complete silence and green-laced knife-throwing. Mission accomplished! The monkey succeeds on fooling the strong-willed and observant Lieutenant of Scepter 4. Just like the phrase “To fool your enemy, fool your friends”, there’s no way Awashima can perceive that except as complete betrayal. Haha.

(Truly, Fushimi was so good at executing his job. Too good, actually).

Then, after that shocking revelation that can shake someone’s mentality, she still had duty to report it toward her superior. Look at her reaction after Munakata said things about biting the giver’s hand.

(OMG watching that scene after knowing about Fushimi and Munakata’s secret mission made me truly itch to punch a certain King’s beautiful sparkly face).

She blamed herself for failing to look after Fushimi. I read some posts about Fushimi’s betrayal speculation before ROK episode 11 was aired, those who predicted that Fushimi joined Green for real, almost all expected Yata to stop Fushimi and made him go back to Scepter 4 (or Homra). While I understand the potential Sarumi heartbreaking angst and their another flashy fighting scene, I can’t help but think, can Yata do it? Not that I doubt strong bond between them, but Yata and Fushimi are equal in power. Okay, Yata is stronger in raw power, but Fushimi proved himself can accommodate his power effectively to match Yata. We know from their fight in Ashinaka Gakuen that Fushimi’s dual-color status can pass Yata’s defense, just like an attack can pass the defense from the same aura. Then Fushimi got his Green Aura. I didn’t say that Yata surely would lose to Fushimi on that situation, but it’s understandable if he lost and no one will blame him. But Seri? She’s canonly stronger than Fushimi, she’s usually can keep Fushimi on check in Scepter 4 and Seri is his direct superior after Munakata. I think if indeed Fushimi joined Green clan, the ones that have a chance to win battling him are Seri, Kusanagi, Kuro, and Kings. I can see Awashima blamed herself for failing to stop Fushimi and wanted to compensate for that failure by bringing Fushimi back to Scepter 4.

So, as if that burden is not heavy enough, Munakata brought Zenjou to his side and Awashima, who already worried about Munakata’s safety for a whole season and more, got an honor to watch on front seat as this happened :

Her King had a sword pointed toward his neck, but Awashima wasn’t fast enough to even touch her saber. Munakata’s Second in Command, who just realized that preventing her King’s Damocles Down is her responsibility, was shown the fact that she was not fast enough in comparison with Zenjou. Just, let’s imagine some time between episode 9 and 11 Seri looked at her saber, lamented at the fact that she failed to stop Fushimi and she was not fast enough to fulfil her most hurtful responsibility. Imagine Seri tried to get a hold of herself, readied herself to point her sword toward her closest comrades. 

Of course her torment didn’t end there. The Quack Prime Minister fired Munakata from his duty, removed him from Scepter 4. And Munakata, wordlessly, without giving any words or announcements toward his clansmen...  

(SERIOUSLY GIVE HER A BREAK! MUNAKATAAAAA!!!!)

I feel like that scene is the peak of Munakata’s “ghosting” toward Awashima. Not to mention, her (and Scepter 4) next order is :

(Help! My poor clueless ducklings are trapped while their genius jerk megane superiors are carelessly walking toward suicide plans!).

Honorary mention for the rest of poor lost ducklings :

(Yes, Munakata, you can’t just leave without any words toward your clansmen. Especially when you literally walked toward your death).

(BTW the meaning of “one unthinkable thing happening after another” is Fushimi’s betrayal followed by Munakata’s resignation. Little appreciation that they thought Fushimi’s betrayal is “unthinkable thing” even though the fact that Fushimi’s status as Homra’s “traitor” is widely known in Scepter 4).

 (Zenjou-san and the rest of Scepter 4 are not amused by your secret plan shenanigans, Munakata and Fushimi. Zenjou thought that those jerks truly ruin meganes’ reputation. Unbeknown to him, Enomoto thought the same).

Well, we know what happened after this. Seri and the rest of Special Squad got their first clue about what the heck is happened from a freaking TV, they rushed toward their King, the show was shifted to Silvers and Reds and NO SCEPTER 4 REUNION OR SETTLEMENT EVEN THOUGHT GORA CRAFTED SUCH A BIG AND COMPLEX CONFLICT IN SCEPTER 4.

Well, at least Seri got to punch Munakata in the face, even though in my opinion she truly deserved more after all the shits she had been through.

#k project #awashima seri #Munakata Reisi #fushimi saruhiko #scepter 4 #scepter 4 alphabet squad #the way Munakata detached himself from his clan #kinda mirrored how Mikoto detached himself from Homra before his death #Kings... #On Munakata's credit #he didn't let his clansmen terrorized an entire school as his clan's hostages #Still what he did is quite shitty in my opinion #Also Fushimi who move along with that suicide plan #knowing Fushimi maybe he thought that no one will mind if he died on the mission #and Munakata maybe thought that as long as Scepter 4 still has Seri they can survive without him #Seri-chan please knock their heads together HARD #for supposed geniuses they're so DUMB #k meta #meta

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-Ire, “Fallen Star.”

Here it is, the end of an arc. I hope you guys like it and thank you so much for humoring my little detour. I needed this :)

The sun rose turning the sky to a bright tangerine orange. Golden rays of sun filtered across the open desert landscape, highlighting ten silhouettes against the horizon. Ten men and ten horses trekking their way across the surface of an alien planet leaving only footprints in their wake across the open landscape.

Adam lifted his head to the open sky and took a long deep breath. The scent of the alien planet in early morning was snuffed out at a moment when he received a strong whiff of cigarette smoke and coughed, looking over at Deputy Thompson, who had lit up and was taking his second long drag.

“Those will kill you you know.”

“So will continuous self doubt.”

“Point taken.”

The Deputy blew a ring of smoke into the air, “Besides, gets me relaxed before we go out to do something stupid.” he glanced towards the front of the group where the sheriff had taken point, riding on the back of his glossy black horse now coated in a thin layer of orange dust, “Ain’t that right sheriff.”

The man turned slightly in his saddle, “The only one bringing the dumb here is you Thompson.” He turned around on his horse and fell back slightly to speak with them, “Besides if it wasn’t for McBride and his group, we would all be at home drinking cold beer and spending time with our wives, but instead he’s dragged us out of bed to go chasing after him, and I intend to make him regret that.”

He turned to look at Ramirez and Adam, “Now, you boys probably didn’t hear this, so I am going to give you the rundown. Last month we caught one of McBride’s boys out past the border of Caster and Collville, and with a little bit of… persuasion, he graciously told us a few things. Turns out McBride and his men are planning on robbing a train coming from one of the outlying colonies and in towards the capital. He plans on doing it halfway through its journey between Hander and Chelsey where there are the least amount of people and the least amount of eyes.”

Ramirez snorted, “A train job, seriously? Isn’t that a bit cliche?”

The Sheriff frowned at him, “I don’t think McBride was really considering the literary appeal of white might and might not be cliche, when he determined that there is a LOT of expensive stuff being brought in on that train.”

Adam tilted his head slightly, “Like what?”

“The crops grown here on this colony are a cardinal ingredient in many pharmaceuticals all across the galaxy both human and alien. Drug companies and hospitals alike pay top dollar for our crops to be refined and bottled right here. It only grows in very specific conditions in very specific towns on the western rim. It is harvested and refined on the rim, and then put on the train to the capital where it is tested and then sealed for shipping.” If McBride gets his hands on those bottles, he can sell them on the black market at top dollar, where they will be used for refinement in a whole myriad of illicit drugs, including but not limited to human derived hormonal drugs, which support not only the black market, but also slave trafficking rings.”

Adam and Ramirez both blinked in surprise, “Really, we had…. No idea.”

“The government doesn’t like to talk about how important some of the colonies are to the workings of the inner ring, but we supply a lot of natural resources and raw products that can be both dangerous and expensive once they get out. This is not to mention that the train just so happened to fall on the very auspicious day when they are moving a group of rich city investors on that same train…. Came to take stock of their investments on the rim, and are now being shipped back to the capitol. Our job is to make it to the train before McBride does, or, barring that we don’t make it in time, we need to at least stop them and stop the train before those crates go missing.”

“How many days away are we”

“We have about two or three days, so its best we pick up the pace.”

After that their voices were silenced, and only the sound of thundering hooves could be heard over the hard packed earth.

***

Adam was shaken awake on the third day, bleary eyed and confused, rubbing sleep from his eyes and rubbing his hands along the light stubble dusting his cheeks and chin. Ramirez knelt over him, “Rise and shine sleepy head, today is the train job, you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Adam groaned and rubbed his head wobbling to his feet as the other men around him began to rouse, The air was filled with the smell of smoke from last nights dwindling campfire, now just ashes in the dirt before them.

A few of the men kicked dirt over the still smouldering remains while Adam and Ramirez worked to pack up camp, hoisting saddles onto the back of horses.

“You alright?’ Ramirez asked as he stood next to Adam, the two of them pulling their saddles onto their respective horses.

Adam nodded and shook himself  little, “Yeah, just a…. Weird dream is all.”

“What was it about.”

He shrugged, “Can’t really remember much, but right before I woke up, it was like I was looking down at myself sleeping, from above, I swear I saw you walking across camp to wake me up, but…. That might just be me misremembering.”

“OR you had some sort of out of body experience.”

He snorted, “Yeah sure.”

“Remember anything else?”

“Blue fire and maybe some mountains, but that is about it.” He tightened the girth strap on his horse and patted Maroz on her soft velvet snout. The horse gummed at his hand with her upper lip, and he smiled slightly, patting her on the neck, “That’s a good girl.” 

With the other men ready, the group of them saddled up and began their ride out into the desert.

The Sheriff kept there pace as fast as he could without tiring out the horses, knowing that they might need to chase.

“Not to question the wisdom of this sheriff, but how are we going to catch up with a train. I mean it may look and sound like an old time train, but we both know it isn’t, the thing can probably go at around 200 mph.” 

The sheriff turned to look back at him, “That’s true, but due to the nature of the location, they have to slow the train coming through the valley, there are some pretty tight turns and curves that would be dangerous at such high speeds, not to mention that it is a common crossing rout for cattle, and the train needs to be slow in the area to keep from turning someone's livestock into pink mist. A collision that big and going that fast could also potentially derail a train. Its never happened, but the engineers say it can so thy like to keep it safe.”

“How slow?”

“Very slow, I would say about thirty mph through the hot zone, and that is….”

“About as fast as a horse can run.” Adam sighed, 

“Precisely, now let's speed it up, the train is coming and we still have a ways to go.”

As the day wore on, Adam’s heart began to race, and he could feel it thudding away in his chest pressing out against the vest he wore like it was going to crash through his ribcage. Ramirez rode along beside him, a surprisingly fast learner when it came to horses and riding them.

Off in the distance, Adam caught the blast of a train whistle.”

“Speed up boys!”

Adam kicked gently against the Horse’s sides and snapped the reins, and below him Maroz bokre into a light gallop bouncing him up and down wit her thundering gate. With all ten of them riding at that speed, they sounded like rolling thunder.

Light flashed over the badge on his chest.

The whistle came again, and the roaring of the train grew louder as they poured over the ground, between rocks and around shrubs.

The plateau around them began to slope downwards, and as they came over the rise, the land below them morphed into sharp focus, a vast tract of land snaking between high plateaus, and a silver rail that ran like a glittering snake between them. And along that silver line came a roaring black goliath missing only the blaack puff of burning coal and smoke to set it aside from the trains of old.

And just behind it, ran at least a dozen black dots, slowly gaining.

“GET ON THAT TRAIN!” The sheriff shouted over the roaring, and the entire group of them broke down hill at a full gallop. Adam leaned low over his horse’s neck, feeling her body move and roar beneath him. His ears rung with the sound of the approaching train and the clatter of hives over packed earth.

The train was approaching now, fast, and he was coming up just on the left, pulling his horse into a shallow parabola that brought his run just parallel . The sounds was deafening now, though he thought he could hear the call of men’s voices. The horses legs rolled like a blur beneath him, and Maroz huffed and puffed and and snorted with exertion. He was close now, and the glittering rails of the track rolled by just to his right.

His heart throbbed in his chest.

Just ahead of him, the sheriff kicked his boots from the stirrups and threw himself sideways onto the train, grasping on with a grip of iron.

Other men began to do the same.

He heard a gunshot.

With a swift motion, he kicked his feet from the stirrups and braced his boots against the saddle. Maroz remained steady below him, and with a final prayer and a deep breath, he launched himself sideways reaching and grasping for anything he could hold to. 

He caught one of the hand rails beside a compartment door and was jerked away from Maroz as her gait slowed.

His feet whipped behind him in the wind before he scrambled o gain purchase, the leather of his gloves helping maintain his grip as he hauled himself upwards and onto the side of the train just between compartments.

A voice, from over the sound of the roaring, and he looked back to see Ramirez and his horse sprinting after.

The horse’s back was lathered and wet, its eyes wild as it pushed itself forward.

Ramirez clung on with gritted teeth.

Adam reached out a hand, “JUMP!”

And like the good marine Ramirez was, no fear and no questions, he kicked his way frew and threw himself awkwardly sideways.

He would have landed below the train had Adam not caught him by the wrist and hauled him inward, where he scrambled onto a precarious handhold.

“GET INSIDE.” Adam shouted, “I’m going to head back to the cargo car.”

Ramirez nodded, swinging around Adam and onto the hitch that held the cars together. Adam hauled himself upward and onto the top of the speeding train. Wind whipped at the brim of his hat, and te bandana around his neck.

He jogged along the top of the train, his boots thundering against the meta.

At the end of the train a man appeared, one of McBride’s men, and Adam had just enough time to duck to the side as a bullet hissed past him.

He turned and fired off one shot. It went a bit wide, but caught the man by the brim of the hat, blowing it completely off. It got caught up in a gust of wind that pulled it down and under the train.Adam fired another shot just as the man was preparing to fire again.

The bullet caught the man in the upper chest, and before Adam could really take in what had happened, the man fell, pitching backwards off the train and hitting the ground hard in a cloud of dust only to vanish as the train whipped past.

Adam stood, stunned for a second. He’d never shot someone before, at least no one human, but the sound of gunfire broke him from his reverie, and he dived down as the bullets flew past him, crawling across the open top of the train with  clawing hands. Another head appeared over the edge, and he fired off a wild shot with one hand hoping to t least deter the man for a moment.

His bullet did more than that, and before he knew it another body had fallen to the dust below the train.

Footsteps on the train behind him, and he rolled around in panic only to see the Sheriff running past him, “GET TO THAT CARGO CAR!”

Adam leapt to his feet, racing forward alongside the sheriff, wobbling slightly as the train rolled forward.

The Sheriff held a shotgun in one hand, and it only took the first two of McBride’s men to figure out what that meant.

Adam raced alon after him until a hail of bullets stopped them in their tracks.

They dropped down before one of the cargo cars and found Deputy Thompson with his back pressed against the wall, “THEY’RE TRYING TO DISCONNECT THE CARGO CARS!” he shouted over the sound of the wind.

“If they do that we’re fucked!”

The sheriff turned and looked at Adam, “You go up top,Thompson and I will go distract them from the inside. If you can get your hands on McBride, do it, and keep them from detaching that car.”

Adam nodded and jumped up to catch onto the edge of the car as the two other men prepared themselves to breach the door. Adam had just pulled his feat up when he heard the slame of the door being pushed open and the rapidfire of gunshots. He used the noise as cover to run along the top of the car as th men were distracted.

He could hear voices and more gunfire as the fight concentrated inside that cargo car.

He had just com upon the edge when he looked down, Finding McBride and one other man desperately working to get the clamp undone.

Adam didn't’ waste time.

A sharp gunshot was the only warning McBride and his man had before the second man pitched backwards and fell over the connecting metal clamp.. McBride looked up only to find a gun aimed at his face.

McBride went to pull his weapon but there was a sharp click as Adam fired…. But there was no gunshot.

McBride was still in the process of lifting his weapon as Adam made a last second decision, leaping downwards towards McBride.

The man’s eyes widened, and he jerked to the side. There was a gunshot, but the bullet went wide. A hot flash of searing pain cut along the underside of his ribcage before he slammed into McBride, pitching them both back through the opening and into the cargo car.

They were a mass of tangled rolling limbs as they scrambled to gain the upper hand. McBride grabbed him by the font of the vest with one hand and punched him repeatedly with the other until he was seeing stars. With one last ditch effort he kicked the man in the chest sending him pitching backwards towards the door. McBride landed on the floor with the clatter, and the two of them leaped to their feet.

Adam ran forward throwing a sharp jab at the man’s face which caught him along the cheek. McBride came in close slapping him against a pile of crates, and they ended up clawing at each other, grappling for the other man’s throat like two vicious dogs going for the kill.

Adam Kneed McBride in the stomach sending him staggering back before coming in with a low uppercut to the face.

He reeled backwards hand to his nose.blood already streaming down his face.

Adam looked around desperately for an upper hand, and, surprisingly, found one. A long steel rod stacked up against the wall, likely for use in some kind of construction, and left as scrap.

It grabbed it.

McBride laughed, “What are you going to do with that, hit me over the head with it?”

It was a bit of an enclosed space, but there was still enough room, and Adam spun it in one hand like the shaft of a Drev spear, and crouched low in a ready position point forward, using a stance that he thought was the inferno, before realizing that, somehow he had gotten the foot placing wrong.

That was strange, why had it felt so natural.

Like he had done it before.

He shifted his stance and grinned at McBride motioning him forward, “Why not come see.”

The look on McBride’s face was one of apprehension at first, glancing between Adam and his improvised weapon.

At some point, his pride overtook him, and he came charging forward, likely trying to get inside Adam’s guard before he could strike.

A pity that Adam was trained with the spear, a pity for McBride at least, because instead of swinging the shaft at him from above, he struck forward like a snake, trusting with an overhand grip, that sid the rod don the length of his arm and protruded from just under his triceps.

McBride doubled over, holding to his sternum with a look of agony.

WIth another sharp crack, Adam came down with the reverse end of the spear wheeling it around in a blur and sending the man crashing to the ground, unmoing. He staggered back to his feet bleeding from his lip, and from his nose, and from a cut above his eye. He was seeing stars, but he still had enough energy to hogtie McBride and grab his loaded weapon from the floor before heading into the car.

There was one man left, and with the pressing of cold steel to his temple, the man stopped and raised his hands.

“Might want to put the gun down, partner.” Adam hissed, some measure of sarcasm entering his voice.

The man’s weapon clattered to the ground.

The Sheriff and Thompson stepped from behind cover.

“You get McBride?”

“Yeah I got him, trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey.”

“What happened to your face.”

Adam frowned, and the two other men laughed.

“Thomspon, you take care of McBride, Vir and I are going to check the rest of the train and clean up whatever mess has been left.”

The other man nodded, and Adam fell into step with the Sheriff as they moved up through the inside of the train. All they found at first were scared passengers cowering in their seats, but finally, they met up with a man trying to make his way through one of the doors and into the next car.

Adam and the sheriff aimed their weapons, “Stop right there, your boss has been captured, and it might be best for you to surrender now.”

The man raised his hands wide and scared.

“Come slowly.”

Adam saw what the man was thinking seconds before it happened, and raised his weapon to late as the man went bolting through the door.

He and the sheriff broke into a run chasing after the man and down the length of the train.

They made it to the last car, when the man stopped in the middle, Adam looked up his gun raised to see what had stopped him. Ramirez was coming through the opposite door, whistling tunelessly. His eyes fell on Adam first, “I was wondering when you were going to…. His voice fell away as he saw the man between them.

A clear calculation had gone through the bandit’s head and he raised his gun towards his only hope of exit, and fired.

Ramirez jerked once eyes wide and then….fell backwards as if in slow motion.

Adam screamed, and the two of them raised their weapons at the same time, unable to fire for fear of hitting Ramirez a second time.

The man brushed past him thundering through the door. Adam leapt forward, catching Ramirez just before he hit the ground urging the sheriff forward, “Get that Bastard.”

He knelt on the hard metal floor of the train carriage, holding Ramirez in his arms. The look of shock had still not passed from the other man’s face, and Adam’s hands shook, “Ramirez…… R-ramirez.” His voice quivered a bit as he desperately looked for the bullet wound, sure he was going to see a spot of blood begin leaking across the other man's chest at any moment.”

Ramirez blinked in shock.

“Ramirez! I….Angel, stay with me dammit. Where were you hit!”

Ramirez blinked again reaching up with a shaking hand and began patting at his chest and body brows knit in confusion, “I…. I thought.”

Both of their heads turned, very slowly as they caught sight of a glittering bit of gold lying on the ground before them.

A dented, golden star.

Adam sighed in exasperation relief.

“No friggin way.”

Ramirez stared at the star on the floor, “Huh, ill be damned.” He looked up at Adam, “You know if I had known a nearth death experience would be what it took for you to hold me like this, I might have tried to die sooner.”

Adam harumphed and dropped ramirez unceremoniously to the ground with a thud, “Drama queen.”

Ramirez grunted, “I thought we were having a moment, you using my first name and all.”

“The only moment we are going to have is the moment I put my boot up your ass.”

“Kinky.” Ramirez said, reaching down and picking up the deputy star from the floor inspecting it with some measure of pride. Up ahead the train was beginning to grind to a slow halt.

The Sheriff returned a moment later, dragging the man who had made the ill fated attempt to Kill Ramirez.

He seemed only marginally surprised to see Ramirez on his feet, and laughed when he saw the star, “Well I'll be…. First time I’ve ever seen that happen.”

He looked between the two of them.

“Good work boys, some damn good work.”

***

The capital city stank of horses and mud, but the two men were smiling as the sheriff saw them off at the train station, “We owe you boys a debt of gratitude. Risking your lives like that, and helping us take down McBride and his cronies. This county will be forever grateful.”

The two of them looked down at the gold stars on the front of their vests, and slowly reached up sadly unpinning them from the front of their shirts and holding them out to the sheriff.

The man shook his head, “Keep em. And I’d be glad to work with you again if you ever decide to return. You’ve earned my respect and more.”

The train whistle bored, and the two of them were forced to step inside waving to the sheriff and the other deputies as the train began to roll forward slowly with a soft chug, chug, chug.

Ramirez and Adam left town surprisingly forlorn to watch their friends, and their horses go.

But they had a stack of pictures both print and on their implants. 

The one picture that they both held, was a sepia photo of a group of men standing before the sheriff’s office, all with glittering badges, accept fo the trust up group of men kneeling at their feet. At the Center stood Adam and Ramirez Adam With his hand on McBride’s shoulder like a prise hunt, and Ramirez with his dented golden star.

[incarnateirony]

So here we are, The Great Supernatural Rewatch, 01.01 Pilot. If unfamiliar with this rewatch, please check my Objectives and Bracketing post [x], and then my Methodology Notes [x]; Also, reminder that I’m not the only person doing this, though each in their own ways. My Objectives and Methodology are my own. 

I’m trying to get a little ahead of the official Jan 3 start date, since I know I will... inevitably fall behind, and this episode was ripe for the initial pick-through for the inevitability of a thousand call backs.

That said, with level  1. SYNCHRONIC: As it reads, unto itself, as best divorced from future knowledge of the story, it’s difficult to do much actual “meta” as much as review and commentary since literally it’s all character and story introductions. There’s some to be had, but beyond things like lighting, the Level 1 viewing tier is not going to lend towards much beyond basic archetypes, and a lot of mythology breakdown. This post will be heaving Level 2 weighted as a result. Most tier-1 posting is going to be an early build of key words, phrases and signs to assemble throughout the season watching (and tap back on later for tier 2 by tagging.)

Also a few unannounced side projects; I’m about to start a “Combat Counter” and “Marksmanship Counter”, to see how Sam and Dean handle both in physical battles/scraps over time compared to each other, and who has the better overall aim in the long term.

Some things saved in this post will seem random and arbitrary, but are potential flags I intend to keep, mostly for later level 2, DIACHRONIC study.

Now to get to the meat:

STUDY: REWATCH/REVIEW STAGE

Allow me to lead with: this episode even unto itself is a fine spectacle of just how much the genre shifted over time. I am a huge fan of David Nutter’s directing; many would know him from, say, Game of Thrones. He didn’t stay long--just Pilot and Wendigo--before moving on. But some of his touches stayed with the show for a few years. The entire ambiance is a giant testiment to survival-horror, a grimness to it, even if the CW itself could never truly capitalize on it. The mood and ambiance was successfully played on. The entire episode is rife with cloudy lighting beaming between bars and through windows, bold silhouette shots, and more that gives an air of mystery even after some characters are established. Dynamic shots are plenty.

Your early reading here isn’t going to tell you much you don’t already know, but is for filing, review, and even reminder/refresher purposes. As the season unfolds, there’s going to be more to interconnect, obviously. If you would like to read more observations on actual parallels, scroll to the DIACHRONIC STUDY header. If I’ve taken a screenshot, even in Synchronic, it’s because it’s a flag I do expect to come back up in diachronic study later and need to catalogue for future parallels and address.

So, imagining it’s 2005, we’re watching Supernatural for the first time. We’re in a very different world, Both in the show, and in the real world. A standard, haunting discord rattles the minds of the audience as a tree moves like a hand towards the window of a suburban home.

We see a classic, nuclear family in this standard home, saying their charming goodnights to an infant. But within moments, we’re told in every classic way that everything is wrong. The infant’s mobile turns on its own accord; the clock stops.

It’s 8:12pm when the world goes haywire. The decorative moon in the room flickers, growing dim. The mother wakes to the sound of a distressed infant on the baby monitor. She rises from bed in her gown.

This is a point I’m left to negotiate cursed knowledge: to all visual cues, the mother’s attire appears to be white. The audience perceived it as white. But we know it, and Jess’ gown later, was actually pink; the film stock failed to capture it. Both short term and much louder in the long term, these two colors can deliver two very different meanings. But for us, a viewer consuming a digital medium with no knowledge beyond what they published, I’m left to decide that the text seems to determine her in a white gown.

The wife sees a stark silhouette, asking if the child was hungry, assuming it was her husband that quieted her. She turns away, tapping on a flickering light over an old marriage portrait that one can only assume was a previous family generation. She descends the stairs.

Here she finds her husband is sleeping. Panic takes her, bringing her to the room. Quickly, chaos erupts. As does she, once seen bleeding down onto the hand of the father from above the crib. We see her, sunken eyes, already dying, screaming without a sound. Silent. Unable to make a noise.

The camera details the desperation of the father rushing his infant to his older child. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back. Now Dean, GO.”

I’m unclear what John thinks he’s going to achieve running back in for Mary as fire takes the home. But soon, he finds young Dean, 4, outside, holding an infant, “I've got you Sammy.” John erupts out of the house as the windows begin to blow, sweeping in to carry Dean, who carries Sam.

As the fire department arrives, the first cords of a song we would later come to recognize as Americana haunt through otherwise chilling music that climbs actively to punch out through our first cold open.

The Winchesters are our first cold open.

We find ourselves in modern day with the rick of a rock cord, and a young woman in a white nurse outfit adjusting her earings while framed by an image of John and Mary--the mother and father--in a picture frame. Though she calls for Sam, we see nothing of Dean--not even a picture. The image on the counter tells of a life Sam(my) was too young to even know, but perhaps is in his blonde-haired woman who teases him about halloween while standing in front of a mirror.

Sam is clearly in his young prime, celebrating his LSAT with a 174 score much to his chagrin with friends dressed up in all styles of wardrobe. Behind Sam a neon black cat sign may just jinx his future in warm but dull lighting; ghostly drapes hide behind Jess in a blue, sharper light.

Sam’s friends perceive he must be the Golden Boy of the family. Jess is proud of him. “What would I do without you?” “Crash and burn.”

Night onsets. Dim lighting feels dusty despite the otherwise hopeful environment. Heavy creaking, groaning, footsteps; Sam rises on instinct, spying an open door and catching haunting noises--sounds. An intruder. And one fateful fight. The choreography spares little.

In actual combat, the intruder--quickly identified as Dean--comes out on top. (Combat ticker: Sam vs Dean: Dean 1) Easy there, tiger. As Dean haunts, revealing his roguish personality quickly, he’s then gotten the better of (this is not going to be considered a combat ticker, it’s not actual combat, but aftermath).

Sam challenges why Dean broke in, but Dean knew Sam would have never picked up without him. They’re interrupted from their silhouetting by the light flicking on, and Dean further displays his roguish charm, enjoying her smurfs, not dreaming of her getting dressed; but soon, it’s down to business--Dean says it’s private family matters. Sam, a unit in the doorframe with Jess, says it can be said in front of her. Until the fateful line: “Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.” The camera zooms on Sam’s set jaw to tell the audience how much weight is in that line as the audio itself drags a raw cord of suspense.

The dizzying stairs are a descent into a world Sam seems to have left behind, with the audience viewing from below. Quickly, we’re introduced to ideas: the Poltergeist in Amherst, the Devil’s Gate in Clifton, “always missing and always fine.” Sam’s bitterness is thick: rather than telling him not to be afraid of the dark, “dad gave me a .45″, though Dean challenges what he should have done. They soon stand in a cage of sharply lit bars, arguing if this was what their mother would have wanted--to be raised like warriors.

Dean challenges if Sam would want a normal apple pie life; Sam slaps back: not normal, safe. “And that’s why you ran away.”--But John told him to stay gone. Regardless, Dean doesn’t want to do it alone. Sam asks what he was hunting, and why Dean wasn’t there; Dean was working a voodoo thing in New Orleans.

Dean reveals Jericho, California--10 men over to years on the same 5 mile stretch of road.

The “Ran it through A Goldwave” is a funny side comment but I’m not gonna get into why beyond LOL “through a goldwave”, that’s-- whatever. But we hear, in EVP, “I can never go home.”

The average viewer, at this point, isn’t going to be deeply instructing the story parallels--and in the scheme of it, Sam’s fear of going home barely scratches the meta surface. We do know John has been missing for three weeks. And find out Sam has a Monday deadline for his entry to lawschool, “whole future on a plate.” Jess worries over disappearing with his family, reminding of the deadline, but he promises to be back in time.

A sharp cut to JERICHO, CALIFORNIA. The driver shares similar concerns to Sam, “if I miss it, dad’s gonna have my ass,” he tells his girlfriend on the phone. A woman in white appears down the road as the car clock fries at 10:17, asking to be taken home. “Take me home?” “She lives at the end of breckenridge road.” “A girl like you shouldn’t really be alone out here.” She hikes her skirt. “I’m with you. Do you think I’m pretty? Will you come home with me?” hell yeah.

They arrive at a dillapidated home. “I can never go home.” No one even lives here. He steps out, turns around, and she’s gone. An eerie handprint appears on the window.

He decides to leave, clearly feeling the offsettling vibes, but isn’t alone. She steams with animosity in the backseat.

He looks into his mirror.

And wipes out.

After a violent death, we cut back to our boys and another exposition: credit card scams (jesus, could sam have yelled it any louder?), breakfast in a gas station bag, you gotta update your casette tape collection--why? because for one, they’re casette tapes. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica--it’s the greatest hits of mullet rock. “House rules Sammy, Driver picks the music, rider shuts his cakehole.” “Sammy is a chubby 12 year old.” “What, can’t hear you.”

ENTER, JERICHO

Internal impala shots galore will end up being a major vibe of our next few years. A spunky guitar theme plays that we will eventually come to know.  Dean pulls out a cigar box full of fake badges ranging from FBI to Bureau of Tobacco from the glove box, quickly showing us how deep this path goes for them already.

The cops review the mystery: no fingerprints, spotless; we find out that the victim was dating the cop’s daughter, who was posting missing flyers downtown. The boys introduce themselves as federal agents, are challenged for being too young, and Dean sasses his way through, “that’s very kind of you.” -- while gathering basic intel, we quickly find Dean’s tongue getting ahead of him, calling their lack of ability to find a connection beyond them all being male victims, calling it crack police work. The brothers’ dual personas exit the crime scene with a cuff upside the head from Sam to Dean, a bickering match, and Dean leaving a Mulder and Scully crack on the cops.

They quickly find Amy, the girlfriend, and lie to claim that were Troy’s relatives and had heard about her, and move to a diner to talk about events.

No major unusual things to warrant events; Sam compliments her necklace. She jokes that Troy got it for her to freak out her parents for “devil stuff”, but Sam quickly educates her on the pentagram meaning the opposite, a symbol of protection.

But there are weird rumors in town--people talk. In-sync, “what do they talk about”; a local legend. She tells them of a girl murdered on centennial where anyone who picks her up disapears forever. The brothers quickly move on to a library with a clunky monitor, fully dating us; not just the lack of good cell phones and wifi, but the equipment and the appearance of the search engine alone. Right, we’re watching this in 2005. 

The brothers slapfight again, but Sam shows that even away from the life he never lost his prowess. He asks, “Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” and searches for suicide. 1981, 24 years prior. “Our babies were gone and Constance couldn’t bear it.”

 So they go to see where Constance took the swan dive.

The brothers begin to fight.

SAM Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—

DEAN turns around.

DEAN Monday. Right. The interview.

SAM Yeah.

DEAN Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?

SAM Maybe. Why not?

DEAN Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?

SAM steps closer.

SAM No, and she's not ever going to know.

DEAN Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.

DEAN turns around and keeps walking. SAM follows.

SAM And who's that?

DEAN You're one of us.

SAM hurries to get in front of DEAN.

SAM No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.

DEAN You have a responsibility to—

SAM To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.

DEAN grabs SAM by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge. A long pause.

DEAN Don't talk about her like that.

They’re interrupted as Constance appears, diving off the cliff, and immediately taking control of the Impala.

“Dude, who’s driving your car?” Dean holds up his keys.

They flee, over the bridge, and share another movement. One more fake card later, they find themselves in John’s room, room 10, in a motel. Sam remarks that the place is covered in Salt, and Cat’s Eye Shells. The entire room is covered in case work and lore. 

I’ll break down the lore of these in a later mythos reblog, though the Asmodeus one really catches my eye for reasons outside of this episode.

Sam finds a photo-- a distinctly different family than the one on his college dresser. There, it’s John and Mary as an ideal image that framed Jessica. Here, it’s the life he walked away from. But while Dean heads out, he’s spotted by police, and their old coded dialect pops out, “Five Oh, take off.” Federal marshalls confront him: They’re looking for his partner (cue Wincest fans trying to make meta that’s about to be shot down one scene later, in the distance), fake US Marshalls, fake credit cards, is there anything about you that’s Real. My boobs.

Just putting a flag in the name Sheriff Pierce, we’ll figure out if that’s ever valid to anything later. But he tells Dean of the trouble he’s in with a room full of missing people and devil worship, for Dean to snap back he was 3 when they went missing. But they knew he had more than one partner. An older man. John’s journal is thrown out (Wincest meta dies a terrible death beyond previous scene)

Again, I’ll translate the FUTHARK in a follow up post, this is already taking a lot of time as it is.

Meanwhile, Sam is investigating the leads they and John both found. Previously spoken intents to burn her has him ask about her being buried at an old plot by Breckenridge at their old place.

SAM And why did you move?

JOSEPH I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died.

SAM stops walking. JOSEPH stops too.

SAM Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?

JOSEPH No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.

SAM So you had a happy marriage?

JOSEPH hesitates.

Putting a flag in this for later.

But Sam decides to call the man out.

SAM A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?

JOSEPH just looks.

SAM It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really.

SAM starts back toward JOSEPH.

SAM Um, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women.

SAM stops in front of JOSEPH.

SAM You understand. But all share the same story.

JOSEPH Boy, I don't care much for nonsense.

JOSEPH walks away. SAM follows.

SAM See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them.

JOSEPH stops.

SAM And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.

JOSEPH turns around.

SAM Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.

JOSEPH You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!

SAM You tell me.

JOSEPH I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!

Sam is flushed out, and makes a fake 911 call to break Dean out, pointing out that the husband had been unfaithful. More dramatic silhouette shots really capture the early spirit of the piece, with Dean using a phone booth in lieu of other options. Hell, Dean was able to find a phone booth, let that take you back. They determine that John left Jericho, and establish his ex-marine habits with the coordinates, 35-111 that Dean had lied through to the cop. But while on the phone, the woman in white appears in front of Sam on the road, non-crashing. 

She controls the car again, and forces him to drive to a broken home, repeating, “I can never go home.” Sam recognizes: “You’re scared to go home.” And that’s when the creepy ghost rapey vibes start, mounting him, demanding he hold her, she’s cold. “You can’t kill me, I’m not unfaithful.” He argues. You will be. Just hold me.

As she goes to rip out his heart, she flickers with the beat of his.

Dean breaks into the scene, unloading 12 shots into the ghost with iron bullets to disrupt her manifestation, giving Sam time to sit up and say, “I’m taking you home.”, where he drives through the house. Dean helps Sam out of the car, only to be telekinetically pinned by a dresser to be disabled.

The lights flicker again. Children manifest, water runs down the stairs, looking eerily like the light could be the Winchester’s old home

Here, she falls when reunited with her children. Sam clarifies--she could never go home, she was too afraid to face her kids (while not viable for the synchronic study, for my own sanity I’m going to note this season, Home will be all but mandatory to touch back here.) Dean says Sam found her weak spot.

They drive down the road with a blown headlight, Sam using an old map and ruler to locate the coordinates. But it’s realized Sam isn’t going with Dean to blackwater ridge, colorado 600 miles away. His interview was in ten hours. Dean declares, “I’ll take you home.”

There’s banter over meeting up later, and being a good team, but Sam goes inside and calls for Jess. “You home?” He finds a plate full of cookies with a note “missed you, love you” and relaxes in bed with the distant sound of a running shower.

And of course.

And so it began.

SYNCHRONIC STUDY: IN-EPISODE PARALLELS

In a first episode, there’s only so much to address. While we may question how much the Woman in White being in White may have been intentional with Jess and Mary, who wore pink (a diachronic full text body note later), in the initial review, it’s worth mentioning for the reasons in part 1 I’ve decided to air towards white in the final text product. Resultingly, the tie between Constance->Mary->Jess seems tangible. But it isn’t really so simple.

“Home.” Home is a huge keyword.

"I can never go home."  within the episode unto itself, Sam is struggling to well, get back home. And frankly, returning home is the key of it. (hears distant uppity Wincest stans) The difference here is, this isn't a direct parallel, of course, as much as a general ambient mood that will haunt is forward through the show, even if current viewers just watching episode 1 don't recognize it yet. Sam going home kills Jess, essentially; or at least witnesses her death. At the same time, Sam fears returning to the hunter life, or more doesn't think he can because John told him not to come back. But now that Jess is dead, well, Sam can never go home to the life he was building. He has no choice but TO go back to the other home--the hunter life. Even if he’s certain it’s not what Mary would have wanted for them.

DIACHRONIC STUDY: IN-SEASON PARALLELS, LOOKING FORWARD

There’s no way I’ll have them all in mind, these are just what are flagging me along the way.

1.09 Home As the “Home” rewatch is not that far away, I’m going to save this as a placeholder with general notes about “Mary apologizing to Sam,” even if frankly, she should have to Dean too. But even if, at the time, the exact details of the deal may or may not have been established or hashed out by the authors--we’re not picking at arguing if the authors intended it or not here. Here, Mary apologizes for her deal. Here, Mary apologizes--for drowning her children. For magnetizing this poltergeist to this place that she demands let her sons go, where she forces the spook to let go of Sam. She couldn’t really go home in the truest sense until that passed. (I’ll have deeper chain-link connections on this looking-forward once actually at the episode.

DIACHRONIC STUDY: IN-ERA PARALLELS, LOOKING FORWARD

They’re here, but not pinging me at 1 AM beyond vagueblogging about Lucifer showing up as Jess to haunt Sam and the inevitable time travel episodes about Mary, so placeholder for later updates.

DIACHRONIC STUDY: BEYOND-ERA PARALLELS, LOOKING FORWARD

Obviously compare to above-dropped screenshots.

11.04: Mistakes were made.

Listen, Dean’s grimace seat has been in discussion lately, don’t blame me for thinking of Joseph’s mistakes right after the season as Dean-mirror Pastor Joseph. Funny how Sam’s get shown and Dean’s don’t.

11.23/12.01: Mary’s return in the (white or pink, I’m rolling with white as-above) gown, and all extending details.

12.22: Mary's dreamspace.

12.23: Dean, Castiel's death, Sam removing Dean

15.01: Woman In White, We've got work to do

I feel like the Woman in White is the most interesting of these that hasn’t been as talked to death as, say, the 12.23 elements with the Destiel parallel. After all, the Woman in White largely focused on Sam. It was his fear of home. It was him being faithful to Jess (and being unfaithful can be more than sex, really; after all, he made a promise to come back.) But in season 15, it’s Dean that the ghost of the jilted lover approaches, shortly after Dean nearly killed Jack in his pain. Was Dean the weeping woman? Or was Castiel? Who held the animosity in the back seat?

Or is this a shared path? As Dean puts the Equalizer away under the Cigar Box, he has his own haunting issues in the mirror.

Those will be addressed more deeply when we get to that episode in like half a year. But for now, I’m just putting a pin in it. With a side scribble of “Cas got his Secrets/Mary, Sam got his serial killer and clowns and Dean got... the woman in white with Belphegor.”

15.02: Road Closed

15.03: If one insists Mary and Jess’ dress are pink, Rowena’s dress upon wedding and unbirthing to death (and queendom)

15.04: I still think about Jess (shortly before Eileen’s return.)

15.13: If one insists Mary and Jess’ dress are pink, atop the eventually-addressed meaning of lighting (death and transformation) vs the Empress symbolism (fertility, rebirth), Castiel in pink light.

15.15: If one insists Mary and Jess’ dress are pink. Amara’s trenchcoat.

15.20: Beyond the obvious quotes, and the (IMO failed) attempt at nostalgia, there’s honestly very little callback to the original episode. 

That’s it on first glance, I’m sure more will rattle out as we go forward. Well, mostly. Keys to the Legacy from Mint Condition is flagging me alongside control mechanisms like Castiel losing control of his vessel. But those are thoughts to put pins in for now and develop later.

COMBAT COUNTER:

DEAN VICTORIES: 1 (sam vs Dean)

MARKSMANSHIP COUNTER:

DEAN SHOTS: 12 shots, 12 hits.

(hits for any individual will be considered accurate even if targets teleport/flicker out as long as it should have hit the body)

The mythology pasted all around John’s Room is worth a second trip, but off the top of my head I see the Bell Witch and Asmodeus from the Lesser Key of Solomon (near the motel door).

I’ll reblog later to add commentary on that.

#polol #supernatural #spn #01.01 #pilot #the great rewatch project #parallels #review #analysis #cinematography #sound #haunting #woman in white #home #broken home #closed #heart #pierce #clock #jess #mary #handprint #mirror #library #research #bridge #impala #keys #control #fbi

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 229

Tony had stared death in the face many times. Usually willingly so. ...mostly willingly so, these past few years. The feeling that came with it should have been intimately familiar and not as terrifying- this time it was different. Maybe because all those times he’d put his life on the line, it was by choice. 

This was not his choice. And maybe it was terrifying now because this time it came in the form of Steve Rogers bearing down on him. One of the last things he’d ever really expected out of this wild life he’d been cultivating lately. 

But really the worst part was being aware that she was less than twenty feet away- and she was going to see it- she was going to see Cap ram that shield straight down through his neck- 

Was that really how it was going to end?

Is that where it had all been leading? Were they both so far gone that he was going to be murdered by someone that he respected- someone that he cared for- someone that used to be his friend- 

Maybe it was his own fault. The past few minutes he hadn’t had enough brain power to know whether or not he would have killed Barnes, either. All he’d known was-... well it wasn’t really knowing anything. It had been running on pure adrenaline. Pure anger. Raw pain. Would he have killed Barnes? It wasn’t really a question he could have answered anymore. Because now-

Tony realized within a few thin seconds that he thought Steve would really do it- because instinct drove his arms up in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. His normally noisy brain, always in overdrive thinking a million little things, went deadly silent in its mad scramble to try and comprehend any of this. There were only two thoughts then. 

I don’t want to die.

And, maybe more importantly-

I don’t want her to see me die like this. 

He’d bore the crown for king of unintended consequences perhaps all his life. This was one in another long line. Could all of this have been avoided? Perhaps. Maybe. But… he was so used to taking the blame for everything- would he do it, even now? Maybe he shouldn’t have lashed out. But pain, and grief, and betrayal were strong killing tools that fogged an otherwise stable mind. 

In the end it didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough time, as Steve raised his shield, hefted back, and started that downward swing. There just simply wasn’t enough time to think anything about anything. Just that… Tony didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die here. And he didn’t want to die like this. And above all else…

He didn’t want to leave her behind, didn’t want her to be alone to deal with everything this would bring. The world- the universe was not safe yet and- ...he didn’t want to die- for many reasons- but sitting on top of them all was that… simply… 

He loved her. 

What more reason was there to want to stay alive? 

Tony didn’t want to die- He didn’t want to die- He didn’t want Steve to kill him- 

His racing thoughts came to an immediate halt, as always- for her. 

“Stop!!” 

In the very next instant the entire room was flooded in a bright light. One he knew very well. Hers. And in that moment… he knew he was safe. He knew he was not going to die. -because of her. 

But as Steve stiffened and completely locked up, Tony eased his arms back a fraction to try and see past that bright glow, and where the idea of safety had eased his panicked mind, looking at her then made him sweat with fresh anxiety. 

She was lit up like a firework- eyes enveloped in a sunset shine, skin glimmering. His helmet was broken and gone now, but he imagined FRIDAY’s warnings were going off a million miles a minute. All protocols set in place for when she went too far- when she was just on the edge of exploding- 

This was further than that. He’d never seen her like this. Her arms moved, outstretched for a second and then she brought them inward, cupping over her chest in… in a sight a little too familiar. Almost like she was making a heart shape- ...one she’d made at him dozens, if not hundreds of times by now. An intimate, adorable gesture that normally had him melting in place but now… 

Now in between her palms another burst of light seemed to take shape. She was foreign to him now. He’d never seen her like this, never heard her like this and never felt her like this. In all the ways they’d blended together, the ways he knew her best- ...this was different. Her power weighted the room in a heavy blanket- and then seemed to consume Rogers whole. 

He not only stopped but seemed… lifeless. Just for a few seconds and then- 

“Step back.” She commanded and Cap obeyed. Stiffly. Strangely. 

But Tony was at least a little glad when Steve got to his feet and that heft lifted off of him. He wasn’t sure what to do. Or what he should do- if anything. If he even could. 

She moved then, and it wasn’t really walking. It was like a calm sort of glide. Like she owned the universe and everyone in it- and she knew it. More powerful than he’d ever seen her, maybe more powerful than she even knew she was. It was… frightening. Even when she’d saved him, potentially from near death… in doing so, what was happening to her?

Using herself like a wall, she stopped between the two of them, and Tony didn’t much like the sight of her back, not able to see her face. Not able to see her. Watching uselessly, staring up at the two of them as his palms braced the ground beneath him as he tried to help himself up. 

“I don’t ever wanna see you again.” Her voice was a little more hers then. Not as booming, not as commanding. Just… her. Her desire after this fiasco. “I don’t want you near my family ever again.” But there at the tail end of laying down the law, her voice rumbled in that strange, powerful way again. Then he saw her lift her hand, and while she was otherwise blocking his view, he knew exactly what she was doing. 

Especially as she continued, and the outline of a glow burst around her again, “You keep that. Hold on to it. And think about it. Every day.” Tony didn’t need to see what she was doing, and while he couldn’t comprehend it- like most things about her that drove him mad- he felt it then. An inky ooze that flooded the room. Something terrible. It suffocated him for a second and he found it hard to catch his breath. His mind spun in a dizzying ache. 

She was giving something back to Cap. Something she thought he’d earned. Something she thought he’d deserved. And while there were no words that could capture what it was… 

Tony knew. As that feeling bottomed out, it was something he realized he knew maybe even a little too well. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge that all of this- all of it- what had brought them here, what had started and nearly fatally ended all of it- 

...was guilt. A guilt so crushing it threatened to kill. 

Yeah. 

Tony knew that feeling. 

The power around her died in the next few seconds, and Tony found himself exhaling. Maybe even foolishly. Because the next thing Steve did was reach his hand up in a lightning whip of a strike, and her fear consumed him so deeply- a noise he’d never heard from her escaped into the open air. It all happened so quickly. He couldn’t even get up in time. 

He wanted to- Something was happening that was devastating her and he couldn’t even do anything to stop it. To help her. To protect her- and it didn’t matter. He understood in the next moment- as her suit peeled off her skin in some sort of cascade failure, and as Steve’s arm jerked down, he saw the dying light of the Heart Reactor crushed into darkness. 

It made sense- His brain told him it made sense- especially as he pushed her over- Tony weakly reaching up to put his hands at her shoulders to keep her from tumbling further as she landed just beside him- and then Steve just turned in the next instant and began walking away. Picked up his pal Barnes- what all the trouble in the world was worth to Steve- and kept going.

It made sense that he’d do that. Tony’s suit was junked. There was no way he’d make it out of here. And Steve couldn’t risk that she’d go after them too- so it made sense that he’d destroy her suit as a last effort to keep them from following but- 

The quiver of her pain lit a fire in his heart. It didn’t matter whose fault any of this was anymore- and he had a pretty good idea whose it was. 

Barnes had murdered his parents. Rogers had known about it. And now he’d hurt her- 

“That shield doesn’t belong to you!” Tony spat the words as quickly as they would come. “You don’t deserve it!” If that shield was any symbol, any modicum of the picture of truth or justice or fairness- Steve Rogers no longer deserved to be the bearer of it. For many reasons. So many reasons, but- most poignantly perhaps, “-my father made that shield!” 

Howard Stark. Who for all of his life had pushed Tony into Steve Rogers’ shadow- who never shut up about Captain America- who never let Tony live any of it down-

Howard Stark’s greatest creation- and yet that gift to earth had betrayed him so deeply. 

...what would dear ol’ dad think about that? 

The sight of Barnes beating down his father flashed vividly in his mind and he was punished for his quick internal sass, gritting his teeth, and shutting his eyes tight as a sizzle of pain infected his heart- 

He had hoped it would be gone in the next instant, at the sight of Rogers dropping the shield to the ground- but it didn’t fade. Tony wanted to tell himself that he would be okay- that he would get through this- like he did everything else, but those were not the thoughts that came. Instead something terrible preyed upon him. Pushed on him. Weighed on him. 

When he’d started panting he had no idea, his heart was squeezing painfully- he thought he might be having a heart attack- 

But it was her. 

She was wheezing- gasping for air, strange, weak, wet noises escaping her on every other draw of breath. It was clear what was happening, and he knew then he had absolutely no way of stopping it. Perhaps that was the scariest part. He wasn’t sure if he had enough in him to stop this- ...not even stop it, at this point she was too far gone to even have a hope of stopping- but even to help her- 

“Honey-” His voice caught in his throat as he found it harder and harder to breathe. But it wasn’t her own hurt infecting him then, he knew. Because the next second she was wailing. Something deep and guttural. Her hands were pressing at her chest, her head tucked down in shame as tears poured down the sides of her face. Shivering. Pained. 

She couldn’t control herself, another tinge of light sparking around her. She was losing it- and that played a large part in his own inability to help where she was accidentally crushing him but- ...seeing her like this… 

Seeing her fall apart- because of Rogers- 

They were trapped in Siberia. His suit was damaged beyond repair. Her suit was gone. He was hurt pretty bad, she was hurt worse and getting worse by the second- 

They might die out there. 

The reality of that scared him. If he couldn’t help her get it together, if he couldn’t think of something- maybe his suit was just not broken enough to get an SOS out to Happy or- anyone nearby- maybe her ear cuffs had enough power in them still to do the same but- 

If not- what then? 

Had Steve really just sentenced them to die out there in the freezing wilderness? 

Tony was babbling something at her- honestly, he couldn’t even hear himself over her. The painful noises leaking out of her, and her pain- god- such an awful, heavy, stabbing pain piercing through every pore in his body- he just kept trying. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he tried. Eventually it wasn’t words. He couldn’t get them out.

His arms came around her, he pressed his forehead to hers, and he just… he held her. The two of them shivering against each other. And after what felt like an eternity she… she just… stopped. So suddenly it frightened him. Her crying, her aching, it just stopped. And in its place was an eerie emptiness- ...that and a glow. On and off. Shuddering around her. Like she was… signaling something. Or maybe it was a countdown to her actual explosion.

“Honey?” He put a hand to her face, pushed some hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes but there was… there was nothing there. “Honey- hey-” 

She looked so fragile then. So small. Beaten, bloodied, bruised- And so terribly empty. She wasn’t even shivering anymore. She wasn’t anything.

That was the most terrifying thing of all. That she’d gone somewhere so deep he had no way of reaching her. And that warning flash emanating from her wasn’t slowing- His mouth opened, a desperate clutch of noise- no idea what to even say, no idea what would save her but- 

“Stark.” 

It really wasn’t the best time or place to be caught at their lowest point. And he was pretty surprised to see Prince- ...rather, King T’Challa standing there, in that Black Panther suit of his, minus the helmet. What he was doing there…? Best guess, probably trying to finish up. Like the rest of them. Must have gotten their infodump faster than Tony had realized.

Probably a good thing he hadn’t gotten involved in the family fighting. 

“Can the two of you move?” It didn’t take a genius to see the medical condition the two of them were in was probably not great. And there was a modicum of shame to be had here, looking like they were- fighting like they had been- or rather, who they had been fighting with. It also didn’t go without notice that T’Challa seemed completely unfazed by her on-and-off light show.

But there was no time to think about that now. “I’m fine.” Broken ribs and internal bleeding aside. “Take her. She’s- ...worse.” He could worry about himself and his pride later. If T’Challa was here that meant he had a means of getting out of there, too. And Tony would take what help he could get right now. If only for her. 

T’Challa neared, lowered a little, and offered his hand to her and she just… sat there. Thousand yard stare. Nobody was home. No one was in there. And when he realized she wasn’t going to do much of anything, T’Challa instead took her arm around his shoulder and tried to get her to her feet. 

Thank god she stood- otherwise they’d have to carry her out. 

It left Tony on his own to get up, but as long as she made it out that was fine. He was tired, and losing more by the second. It was why he made it quick, pushing himself painfully to his feet, staggering behind the two of them.  They went ahead of him and as he lagged behind him he came to a stop near the shield. Staring him in the face. For a moment he contemplated simply leaving it out there. Who cared, anymore? But- ...but… instead he lowered, and clutched it in a tight grip as he lifted it from the snow and continued his dazed trek.

Had it all been worth the outcome? 

Probably not. 

Outside he felt worse- some parts due to his quickly failing body, though mostly just watching her shuffle out like a zombie. Thankfully, as predicted, there was a small jet waiting in the snow. The Quinjet was nowhere to be found. Obviously. Rogers and Barnes had gone wherever they’d gone. And Tony hoped he wouldn’t have to see either of them for a very long time. 

But when Tony realized T’Challa already seemed to have a passenger inside that small cockpit, he bit back a pained grin. “Four’s a crowd, huh?” He wasn’t going to fit. 

T’Challa had taken possession of Zemo. It made sense, and honestly, Tony was glad the man hadn’t gotten away. After all the trouble he’d caused- the last hour notwithstanding. T’Challa deserved first crack at him. 

Turning, the two of them looked at each other solemnly before T’Challa offered, “I have called for backup. They should be here within the hour.” But as T’Challa said this, he seemed concerned. He was also doing spatial math. And it wasn’t added up in a way he liked.

“Take her. Please.” It was hard to say this. To let this happen. But if T’Challa was about to ask him who went first, the answer was obvious. He didn’t know T’Challa all that well. He seemed like a decent guy. Honor-driven. And… from what he understood, she and him got along well. She seemed to trust him. So Tony would have to take that for all it was worth. And… let him take her. She needed to get out of there. Now. “You take mine and I’ll take yours- until your backup gets here.”

Really. Really what Tony was begging for here was for T’Challa to trust him.

He could wait. And he would force himself to stay conscious and on top of Zemo. As long as she was safe. 

“And where would you like me to take her?” The question seemed like some sort of cryptic test. 

There were a lot of ways Tony wanted to answer this. Anywhere but here being on top of the list. Somewhere safe a close second. Or, maybe, wherever you’re going. But… he was somber as he made another plea, “Somewhere she can get help.” And in asking this, he was really saying- I trust you. 

He would have to. He had very little options left. She’d gone completely catatonic. And right now, much as it hurt to admit it to himself, he wasn’t sure he was in the best state to be of service to her.

T’Challa considered this for a single solitary second, slow as it seemed. But finally he delivered his judgment. “I will. I owe her that debt.” 

This puzzled Tony, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but, “For what?” 

“Her kindness.” 

They didn’t know each other at all but in that one moment, as both men looked at each other, they understood one another. She was the greatest woman in the world- in the universe. She was loving, she gave all of herself to everything worth her time, she did everything for everyone, she was brave, and valiant, caring- and- yes- kind. Of this, Tony was wholly, completely sure. More sure of that than anything else in his life. 

She deserved to be repaid for all of that. For her service to everyone. 

It was good that other people were finally catching on. 

                                                             --- 

There was a light in your eyes. An extremely bright one. And a noise- 

Every part of you tried to resist. Resist what was happening. You hadn’t been cold in some time. You hadn’t really been anything. And that was nice. ...but you’d been alone. 

Really alone. Alone and… somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Sights you couldn’t quite put into words- or memories, for that matter. Just… all feeling. And not a lot of it was good. But… it was better than anything else. 

The screaming had stopped, hadn’t it? The crying had stopped. Everything had stopped. You had stopped. And you had no desire to start up again. Floating… somewhere. Alone but… somewhere quiet. And… just alone. Alone was fine. It was fine if it meant… if it meant nothing. 

And it all had meant nothing right? At least alone nothing could- 

“Where am I?” Your voice was groggy and unwilling as it left your throat. Finally you focused. On that light and- the young girl who stepped out from behind it. With long dark hair in braids. Wearing a lab coat. And- “What’s going on?” 

Your entire body sagged under its own weight. Stress wracked your brain. Panic was not too far behind. 

“Ah. Good. Welcome back.” Her words were accented. It was hard to place- ...wait. No. You knew an accent like that. She lifted a tablet and started writing. “Physically I have done all I can. She will be fine. So… please take her home now.” 

This wasn’t Siberia. This wasn’t anything recognizable. But maybe that was better. Because thinking of that bitter cold made you shiver and flinch under the heavy weight of those memories- you didn’t want to think about it. You’d been fine but now- 

“Honey-” It was easy to zero in on Tony’s voice. On his presence. Something you’d been unaware of until just that exact second. Weakly, wearily you lifted your head to try and locate him. Somewhere in that room- but- 

Someone else said your name. Someone else you remembered. And instead of searching desperately for Tony you saw T’Challa step closer. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know- I’m-” The words started to come out in a rush. Heat drenched you. Your heart was hammering. Why? 

T’Challa looked… displeased. He was close. A little too close for comfort. Maybe it was just you. “Just take a moment.” He wanted you to slow down but- 

His hand lifted- He was close and he was reaching for you- He was so close- too close- 

Your body jerked off the table, into a smaller one, objects scattering onto the floor- legs uneasy and unstable, barely able to keep yourself up, especially as you went into overdrive, clutching at your chest. Steve’s anger- the look in his eyes- 

“Don’t-” God- please- don’t- “Don’t touch me-” You’d backed yourself up into the nearest wall. All three people in the room looked at each other nervously. “Don’t touch me- just, please-” You couldn’t stop saying it. Why? What was wrong with you? Steve wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. Wherever here was- Steve was not here. You just kept saying it over and over and over again until it made sense. But it didn’t. He wasn’t here- he was gone- he’d left and- 

He was staring at you. Bearing down on you. Putting pressure on you. Cracking your ribcage open and just yanking- -god… hadn’t you already suffered through this enough?

You wanted to go. Be anywhere but here. Wherever here was. You just wanted- you just needed- 

“I cannot fix that, I’m afraid.” “Shuri-” 

“Honey- hey… just look at me. Focus here… focus on me...” Tony had gotten close. You recognized him before you actually saw him. He was right there. And his hand was warm as he reached up. Testing you- but it wasn’t much of a test. You made contact. Desperate contact, seeking him out. Crumbling into him. Because he was safe. 

There was really only one thing to say, wasn’t there? 

So you said it. Again and again and again and again… 

I’m sorry. 

                                                            ---

Wakanda was a secret nation with a king that had had the good grace to try and help you. With technology that was far beyond you. They never let anyone into their borders yet T’Challa had wanted to help you and you couldn’t even remember leaving- 

Let alone saying thank you. 

You probably hadn’t. Because all you’d wanted to do was go home. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you could stop existing. And when Tony took you back to that fucking awful tower with awful memories- that’s what you did. Even though you didn’t want to be there, that was your home and you had nowhere else to go. 

The Avengers Tower. Maybe you should have gone to the Avengers Compound. 

It didn’t matter. He’d put you down for bed and- ...and… 

Every so often he’d check on you. Ask you if you needed anything. If you wanted anything. What he could do. 

You were being selfish. God- he’d just learned his parents had been murdered- the Avengers were dead- people were in jail that you’d promised to help- the UN was probably calling nonstop- Rhodey was paralyzed and- 

And… 

Every day he came and asked what you needed. What you wanted. What he could do. 

And… 

You couldn’t get up. You just… you just couldn’t… You were tired. You were exhausted. Some weird mix of empty and too full of all the terrible things at the same time. The world was waiting for you to get the fuck up- and… 

You just… 

“Please eat something. ...please…” 

So for Tony you would. Because he was suffering and it was your fault and you didn’t want this, didn’t want to put him through this- but nothing seemed to work. You drifted like that in a daze. Heavy and sad- more than sad- so much more than just that word and- 

“Rhodey is coming back to the Compound. He’s gonna rest up and… I’m gonna help him through his physical therapy. I made-” Tony was talking to you and you weren’t really listening. He’d been talking for a long time, too. Selfish selfish selfish… “-Happy will be here- if you need anything you can call me- and if you want to come…” 

“Is Rhodey okay?” It was maybe the first thing you’d said in a long time- it was hard to tell how much time had passed, exactly. You had no way of knowing. But it must have been a very long time because it stopped Tony dead. Shocked him even, just a little. 

...he’d probably come into the bedroom to talk to you every day- now that you thought about it and you’d just… ignored him. Every day for who knew how long until just now. 

Had it gotten that bad? Why? Why was this the thing that had ruined you… 

“He’ll be okay. He needs to do a lot of work but. He’s tough. You know him. He doesn’t give up on anything.” Carefully he reached out, putting a hand atop your leg over the covers. As your head lolled to the side, weak under your own strain and weight, the two of you looked at each other through the dimness. 

You realized then, really realized, you hadn’t seen him in a while. He’d been there the whole time but you hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t… hadn’t anything. 

He was so pained. So devastated. Haunted and just… just sad for you. With what little strength you had left, finally you sat up, leaning back against the headboard. Your body protested it greatly. You felt disgusting. ...you were disgusting. And- 

Reaching up, you pressed your hands to your eyes. Taking stock of everything. Finally coming to. “Does T’Challa think I’m an asshole?” Tears started escaping your eyes, you weren’t really sure why. Weakly you forced a sniffling laugh out. As if that question really mattered right now. 

Tony moved to sit next to you, putting an arm around you. The sound of his own nervous laughter eased you. Just a little. “No. Well- I didn’t ask but. That’s not the impression I got. You’re good at making friends in high places. I think he was mostly just worried.” 

“I don’t think I said thank you.” For whatever it was he’d done. There had to be a reason you’d ended up there. 

“You didn’t. But it’s alright. I did enough thanking for the both of us. It’s not like he’s waiting on a card or fruit basket or anything.” 

“Are you sure?” This came out watery, worse than the rest of it and you hid your face in the side of his neck. Crying. Still. Or maybe again. Who even knew anymore. 

His hand was gentle in its slow sweep up the length of your spine. “Yes, honey. I mean, he does want to talk to you but he’s fine waiting.” Slowly he guided you just a little bit back so that he could hold your face in his palms. Carefully. Sweetly. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

He said this. And he meant it. In the way that he always did. And it… it broke your heart. That he was trying so hard. That he was looking after you after- ...after all that terribleness. 

Your hands reached up to hide your face again as you started bawling. Where you’d been content to drift in emptiness, to not face this… it was there now. The dam had broken. Ugly and awful. 

He pulled you to him again and you clutched to him like a child, crying on his shoulder. Asking him something you had no right to- “Are you sure?” Asking him to comfort you. Still. Again. Always. 

Even when he was hurting too. 

Tony held you tight. Tight. In a way that grounded you. Made you feel secure. Safe. His head laid atop yours. And that close, his voice rumbled against you, low and warm as he promised you, “Yes. Everything will be okay.” 

“I’m sorry I’m like this- I’m sorry-” Apologizing. Because… he probably needed help too. Needed comforting. And yet there you were-

He held you just a little tighter then. “It’s alright. It’s okay.” “I’m sorry about your parents...” Tony fell quiet before answering this, but eventually he did. “I know. Me, too.” The two of you soaked in each other’s somberness. Just… there together. “I’m sorry. You need help too- need me- and I’m not doing anything- I’m sorry-” It was more hyperventilated blubbering noises now than anything. But he understood. “I know you are. I believe you. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.” These could have all just been platitudes but you believed every single one of them with all your heart. Only because they were coming from him.

Where there wasn’t enough space for breath or words to get out, you made sure to let him know- I love you.

And he paused, breathed out slowly, and then, “I love you, too. More than anything.”

He’d must have done this a million times- because you were broken- yet you kept finding new ways to get hurt and he always cleaned up the mess. He must have promised you a million times that everything would be okay. 

...and even when it wasn’t, it was eventually, right? 

So you believed him. Because you wanted to. And because he wanted you to believe him, too. 

But even that was overwhelming. Which was why it was nice that he just sat there with you. And let you get it all out. It. All the awfulness. Everything you didn’t want to face. ...at least with him there… it wasn’t as bad. 

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Spoilers #Civil War spoilers #we're all having a bad time over here

[kibybun]

I think about barbaric tribe chief Bakugou alot, he and his mem take over darling 's small village, they kill everyone and take all the food, but darling catches his eyes so he keeps her to himself, she fights him and doesn't accept him so he often gets rough with her, she even stabs him at a certain time and he punishes the hell out of her.... Something like that, idk lol

This... I like this idea lots. It just plays out so well, I hope you like it!

Barbaric Tribe Chief Bakugo x Reader

Tw: Yandere, murder, non-con/rape, nsfw

Enjoy!

🧡Chief Bakugo, The most feared and merciless man known across all the land. Only those in his tride know what he looks like due to him killing whoever comes into his path.

🧡You were the exception.

🧡Your small village was just starting to make a name for itself due to the abundance of crops the small area was able to produce. It started bringing in merchants that brought money that bought supplies to expand and advance the architecture.

🧡You were one of the people that proposed the idea of monopolizing the abundance of crops and building up the town more. You were quite proud of all your small town had accomplished, until it caught the attention of a certain tribe.

🧡Bakugo only wanted to attack your village for the food. If he managed to take most of it that would feed his tribe for about a month. He would be foolish not to go and take it.

🧡His tribe moved in the darkness, loving the element of surprise. They took joy from watching the chaos, death, and pain take place.

🧡When they reach your village everyone was softly sleeping. Bakugo had the honor of starting the chaos while part of his tribe collects their goal. Bakugo starts the small flame on the dry house that spred.

🧡Screams came from the houses with people trapped inside while others begin to panic and run like panicked rodents.

🧡The rest of his tride takes the opportunity to grab the people darting around an have their way with them. Plain killing, slow torture, brutal raping, all in the harsh glow of the fire raging on.

🧡You tried to think rationally while trying to avoid capture. You had few ties to people in the village and they weren't the strongest so you had nothing tying here. You could easily run away and live but you need something to help sustain you.

🧡Creeping through the shadows, you made it to the crops. You were disappointed to see the remaining crops trampled but glad some were left.

🧡You tried your best to collect as much as you could but you were harshly interrupted by the harsh pulling of your hair.

🧡You were found.

🧡Spikey blonde hair, strong arms, deep red eyes, bare chest decorated with battle scars and blood of your fellow villagers. Handsome, yes but you couldn't be caught in this siren song of a man.

🧡You thrash and curse him, desperate to escape while he let's out a deep chuckle at your pitiful attempt. It was cute how you tried so hard... you were quite good looking too...

🧡He throws you over his shoulder with ease, not caring for your threats. He liked how fierce you are and your looks were definitely a deciding factor. He looked forward to seeing how you would fight him.

🧡Bakugo carries you to his tribe, gaining very confused looks along the way. He responds with a very aggressive "What the hell are you looking at!?" before tieing your hands and feet too and setting off.

🧡Along the way your talking grew tiresome so he tied your mouth shut with a piece of cloth. It helped silence your anger as Bakugo fondled and smacks your rear.

🧡Everyone was jealous that Bakugo took a plaything with him. They all had sadistic fantasies they had the simply couldn't be acted out within the short time they were allowed to, so why did he get to take you?

🧡His firsthand man walks beside him, hands reaching out with lust. He thought being second in command gave him the right to touch Bakugo's captive.

🧡In a swift movement his head was exploded by the hand of Bakugo.

🧡Everyone froze, terrified and confused. Bakugo looked at his followers and told them if they dare lay a finger on you they'd suffer.

🧡You were terrified and pleased. Not only did you have protection against all these barbarians, you could potentially have the opportunity to bend things to your will with the fear this man already invoked. Downside he could have his way with you and no one would stop him.

🧡By the time you arrive at their base you had severe rope burn on your legs, arms, and mouth. When Bakugo threw you onto his bed and took off your restraints all you could do was slowly move. The pain of the air hitting your raw skin paralyzed you.

🧡You barely noticed how Bakugo watched to, scanned your every move before simply walking off.

🧡You growl in annoyance and yell at him for thinking he could just leave you. Not only did he kill everyone you knew and kidnapped you he was about to leave you while you were in pain. If you were a hostage atleast it a nice experience!

🧡He smirks and creeps towards you like a predator to prey. He asks who exactly do you think you are. You stayed silent as you sent him death glares.

🧡You are his. Simple as that.

🧡He inspects your injuries with great interest before walking over to the far side of the room. Within a few minutes he's back at your side with a rag and a medicinal smelling goop.

🧡He puts the rag in your mouth and starts to care for the burns. It was smart to that rag in your mouth because if not the whole tribe would've heard you howl in pain. He wasn't the most gentle and the goop stung.

🧡By the end of it you had tears running down your face whether you wanted them or not.

🧡Bakugo takes the rag from your mouth and wipes his hands off before sitting next to you. He pets your hair in a way that bordered mocking and sweet as he wiped you tears. He said no pet of his should show weakness.

🧡You scoff and try to scoot away from him but before you could get far your he pushes your head down into the bed. Oh, how the soft whimpers you made excited him.

🧡He growls into your ear about how you are his and he will do whatever he wants with you.

🧡You lay there once he leaves, trying your hardest to make a successful plan of escape.

🧡You managed to fall asleep somehow but what shocked you more was how Bakugo woke you up. It was shocking gentle with the offering of food.

🧡Due to your arms being injured and not wanting to eat Bakugo takes it upon himself to force feed you. While he's doing this he explains how annoying you are for making him feed you. You retort with asking for someone else to feed you.

🧡He didn't like that.

🧡He quickly shoves the rest of the food into your mouth, nearly choking you, before threatening the lives of his tribe and then yours. He was very against anyone interacting with you.

🧡Later that night he traps you with his bear arms. Comforting, yes but you didn't want to be held by him. You squirm, careful not to hurt yourself, but he only pulls you closer and tighter.

🧡As a last resort you bite down hard on his shoulder, only to get a low and rumbling laugh from him. You couldn't understand why he was laughing, you could taste his blood!

🧡You suddenly feel his hot breath on your neck, asking if that was supposed to hurt, before you feel his teeth sink into the crook of you neck.

🧡You bite your lip to hide the pain. If he could take it so could you.

🧡Unhappy with that reaction Bakugo continues to bite your neck and shoulders, harder with every bite.

🧡You somehow manage to keep all noises to yourself. You were proud and delirious considering the pain was now starting to turn into pleasure. It was short lived though since you passed out from the exhaustion and possibly blood loss.

🧡When you wake up you were all bandaged with food waiting for you beside the the bed. Cute but you weren't falling for a sadistic kidnapper.

🧡Thus, a cycle was born.

🧡For the most part you spend most of the day within his room, occasionally walking around the base with Bakugo at your side. He's gone most mornings and afternoons but is sure to bring you the respective meals. He always eats with you for dinner. The most interesting parts of you day happen when he's cuddling you, besides the killing of someone who accidentally brushed against you.

🧡At night Bakugo always starts something or returns whatever you do to him, like the biting. Most everything he does involves physical pain that fades into pleasure but by then you pass out.

🧡You were over this.

🧡That night you had managed to sneak a dagger into the room without him knowing.

🧡Once he got close enough you tried to stab him but he caught you hand. He chuckles with a dangerous glint in his eyes as he tells you this is the reason he likes you.

🧡He shoves you down and shreds your clothes, leaving you exposed and angry. You were quickly gagged with the remains of your clothes as he began gently trailing the dagger across your skin.

🧡He calls you a slut and a dirty little brat that didn't deserve his dick in you. He also begins to cut a tiny bit deeper, gently breaking the skin and leaving droplets of blood in its wake.

🧡Oh how you hated how much you enjoyed this.

🧡Skin pressed against skin, names carved into you, hot breath trailing up your thighs, pleasure and pain mixed in perfect harmony.

🧡Climax after climax and you were on the verge of passing out when you hear him threaten not being as nice next time.

🧡You suddenly lost interest in escaping.

Kiby~💚

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #bnha #my hero academia #bnha au #tw #trigger warning #triggering stuff #yandere #yandere x reader

[bibliocratic]

dark!AU, alternative S5 - Elias wins

There are content warnings in the tags, or here on A03 in more detail. Let me know if any further need to be added. 

Upon the Sighted throne, Martin’s presence infringes upon Elias’ knowing. From the clusters of eyes that sprout from the ornate seat like berry plants, he watches Martin approach slowly. The man has taught himself not to react to the multitude of pupils that flicker and swivel in his direction, and he stops a suitable distance from the throne itself. Elias is not ready to grant him the honour of his attention, and Martin knows he will have to wait as long as Elias wants him to.

There are no days here, nor time to measure his tempered impatience. Martin waits, as Elias indulgently observes the horror of the world he has reckoned into being, visiting pockets of terror to glut himself on the visions of the wretched there.

“I trust you have a good reason for demanding my attention, Martin.”

A shiver along the stalks of his many eyes is the only warning the other man gets as Elias sinks back into himself and gazes upon his visitor with his human sight. Martin schools his body still, aborting the shaking that has started up in his legs from how long he has stood.

“He’s been up there for too long,” Martin says. His voice is intentionally flat, stripped of demands, all its edges sanded off to quiet. He can be quite biddable when he tries to be, this wayward servant of the Eye. “Let him down so he can rest, just for a while.”

Elias studies his tamed prisoner carefully. His posture bowed deferential. Servitude has always been a good look on him for all he chafed and strained at his yoke in the beginning, and he will confess he has enjoyed turning his hand personally to this particular task. It took longer to break him in, longer than it took his treasured Archive, but he learned eventually.

He considers refusing him again, to feel the disappointment crumple in him no matter how much Martin tries to disguise its passing on his face. Elias does so delight in hearing him beg.

“And where are your manners?” he asks instead. Idly, studying his fingernails.

“Please.”

“What was that sorry?” he responds, indulgent and toying. He watches a muscle jump in Martin’s jaw.

He sometimes hopes for the defiance of yesteryear, the frustrating spark of refusal that Elias had spend so long trying to snuff out.

“Please, Elias,” Martin says in his flat, defeated voice. “Let him down.”

“And I suppose you’d beg for some time with him? To fuss and dote and play house?”

Martin doesn’t answer.

Elias sighs as if he is granting a great boon, a tax upon his time and energies. He snaps his fingers, the sound sharper in the hollow throne room, pointing at his feet like he’s summoning a dog to heel.

“You know how to ask.”

It’s a small pity, a frivolous, mildly rankling loss, that such humiliation doesn’t summon a flush to Martin’s cheeks any longer. It was quite a sight, in the early days of Elias’ rule, the man’s pathetic desperation to see his beloved warring with the dregs of his shame.

Martin walks forward to the foot of the throne and goes to his knees without a word.

Elias reaches down to comb his hair from his face, fixing some of the longer strands back. Martin used to flinch, his shoulders high, his mind flickering bonfire bright with all the things he feared Elias might do to him. He tenses now, his gaze directly ahead, and Elias knows that whatever he might choose to do, Martin wouldn’t stop him.

“What will you give me?” Elias murmurs. “To make it worth my while?”

“Whatever you want,” Martin replies. The words learned by rote, a dutiful call-and-response.

“That’s right,” Elias hums pleased. “Whatever I want.”

He moves his hand to Martin’s throat, his fingers splayed in a loose grasp, and uses this grip to raise Martin’s head up, force him to make eye contact.

Martin bites down a gasp as Elias slips easily into his head.

Elias buries him. Has him on his back like he’s coffin-bound, trying to open his eyes only to find them fused shut with the weight of the soil above, the burden of the earth around him like a second skin. Martin sucks in panicked inhales, and he swallows dirt in crumbling chunks, and he gags and coughs to expel it but the greedy earth slides further down his throat. Martin might have learned that it’s better when he doesn’t struggle, but his thrashing body doesn’t know that. Elias waits until he’s twitching with airlessness before the pressure eases, and he is suddenly able to pant thin huffs of air, the oxygen deprivation making him woozy and spiked with delirium, and Elias knows just when to retract this respite and let the earth choke him again. This goes on for some time. Sometimes, feeling fanciful, adherent to fickle whims, he allows Martin to see a poky patch of light, permits him to worm and writhe, his skin rubbed raw with the friction, his muscles burning and his impacted nails ruined, moving inch by inch exhausted and degraded to potential freedom before the earth gulps him back down again, shrieking and screaming in muffled terror.

Elias allows his torment to continue until Martin’s convinced he’ll die here, that no one will save him, that he’ll be abandoned in the dark and the crush. It takes a long time; Martin is ever such a hopeful soul.

His pitiful mewling fear makes for such delicious entertainment, a gourmet delicacy for the Eye.

Elias withdraws, feeling full and sated, his attention already drifting away. His eyes observe the trembling wretch at his feet, gasping and coughing, as his addled mind comes back to itself, recalls that there is more than the clutch and the cold.

“What do we say?” Elias asks.

Martin’s too drained, too shattered to hate him. Attempting to rise to his knees from where his body dropped against the hard marble of the floor.

“Thank you,” he croaks out.

Elias is feeling merciful today. A magnanimous ruler of his nightmare kingdom.

“I’ve let him down.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Go.”

Martin does not need telling twice.

-

Elias leaves them alone, as much as they ever are at least.

Cut down from his moorings at the centre of the Panopticon that marks the focal point of the Eye’s gaze, the eyes that scar Jon’s body flex and roll back into his skin. Martin lifts him and carries him the short distance to their sparse quarters as he returns to himself, his endless recitation of horrors quietening into a burble, like the drying up of a river. Martin settles him on the bed, gets a damp cloth to wipe away the sweat that’s sprung onto his face.

“Hey,” he says encouragingly. His voice is dry from screaming. “Hey, you with me?”

Jon looks up. Blinks slowly. Frowns. His mouth moves without sound. This goes on for some time, and Martin had known it would.

Eventually the tight line of his body relaxes. His frown loosening into a wincing confusion.

“Martin?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Martin says, and he can’t keep the relief back. “It’s me.”

Jon’s hand flops around on the bedcovers, searching before Martin grasps it. After so long in the dirt, the warmth of skin shocks him. The grip faint before rousing to anchor their palms together.

Jon squints at him.

“Your hair’s longer.”

“You’ve been up there a while. Every time I asked he said no.”

Jon’s hand reaches up to cradle Martin’s face.

“What did he do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Martin…”

“Please. Jon, please. Don’t.”

Jon stores his questions back into silence. He strokes away the faint tear marks he finds under Martin’s eyes, the only evidence of the price paid for these moments together.

“I’d kill him, if I could,” Jon says. Martin nods and replies ‘I know’ as if that were at all possible. If we kill him. If we escape.

They’ve tried. Elias would have disposed of him without a second thought when they first came here, if Jon hadn’t pleaded for his deliverance. But Martin’s continued existence is no kindness, nor a testament to Elias’ benevolence; rather, he is a perfectly made shackle, a stick to beat an unwilling Archivist with. The last time they tried to escape, Elias made Jon watch Martin’s punishment, a hand-crafted nightmare borrowed from the Desolation. All his eyes forced open, feeding on Martin’s agony even as he begged Elias to stop. Jon had stopped talking about escape after that. In a small section of Martin’s mind that he hopes Elias has overlooked, Martin thinks of nothing but.

There isn’t a lot to say to each other. Jon shivers and quakes with the aftershocks of Seeing, the last vestiges of his humanity brutalized into the service of the Eye. Martin’s mouth tastes of dirt, and his skin crawls where he is hemmed in, but he makes himself push through that discomfort, to lie down next to Jon and hold his body against his own like mooring two sea-shattered pieces of driftwood.

Martin kisses his temple. His cheek. Makes his words whisper against skin, as if they are lover’s recollections should Elias be watching.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember when I was working with Peter? And you offered me something, and I didn’t take it?”

Jon stiffens. His hand in Martin’s clenches, any hope he might have felt poisoned with such reasonable terror.

“If I made you the same offer,” Martin continues into the hollow of his throat. “Knowing what would happen to you now. What would you say?”

“The same choice?”

“Exactly the same.”

Jon’s grip is bruising.

“You think there’s a way?”

“I know there is. I found something.”

Jon turns over so they are face to face.

“What about you?” comes the whisper.

If Martin succeeds, there will be no forgiveness. If Elias loses his Archive, there will be rage, pitiless and unending, the unendurable that he will be made to endure and an endless world within which to suffer it.

“Like you offered,” Martin promises. “Together.”

Carefully, he moves his hand to cover Jon’s eyes, a gentle blindfold. Without breaking eye contact, he takes Jon’s fingers, and brings them up so they run a line across Martin’s throat.

“Do you understand me?” Martin asks.

His limbs tremble more often than not nowadays, but Jon mimics Martin’s gestures – his hand held flat over his own sight, before tracing a shivering line across Martin’s neck.

“Yes,” Jon whispers.

“Even if it hurts? Even if it doesn’t work?”

“Yes,” Jon repeats. His eyes wet, the light in them calmer and clearer than Martin has seen in a long time. “Together.” He buries his face into Martin’s chest, bringing his arms around form them into one tangled mass. “I love you. I love you and I wish I could have given you better than this.”

“I love you,” Martin replies. “Just a bit longer, yeah? Just a bit longer.”

Jon leans in and presses their lips together. And Martin knows when the time comes Jon will look at him as kindly, with such compassion as Martin releases him from the Eye, and the thought almost rocks him to tears.

“Just a bit longer,” Jon confirms, and Martin folds into the embrace and prays they can both last till then.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #cw dark #cw captivity #cw humiliation #cw mindfuckery #cw non con touching #cw suicidal ideation #cw claustrophia #cw torture #it's not as grim as the tags make out but I wanted to be sure #ask to tag

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Dick and Jason are Robins at the same time

(titans ‘verse. au after 1.06)

(tagging @superohclair and @cautiousamber!)

-

1.

dick has to admit that it’s not the worst arrangement: jason continues to be robin in gotham, and dick travels across the country with his little family while running from a homicidal cult, wearing the costume every now and then when he has no choice but to fight. this way batman is covered, dick still has access to some advanced gear and weaponry now that he needs it, and internet sleuths are kept on their toes when robin shows up in different ends of the country on the same day.

so what if reading news coverage of batman and robin in gotham feels like being punched in the chest, or hearing jason’s stories about learning new things from bruce everyday makes dick want to scream into a pillow? he is fine with this.

he. is. fine--

(kory knows he’s fraying at the edges. she watches, and she says nothing.)

2.

the fight to help rachel and defeat trigon is long and hard, and involves painstakingly unravelling kory’s memories. they manage to find her spaceship, and it becomes their base for a good long while. they stay there long enough that dick loses some of the tension that’s had him on edge for... well. the better part of the last five years, to be honest.

dick begins training rachel and gar in earnest. kory is able to coax some memories of tamaranean cuisine and culture out, and dick is reminded more and more of the team that he lost everyday. despite his best efforts he’s invested now. he cooks and dances with kory (good thing he’s so flexible because the tamaranean version of a waltz is like a particularly sadistic game of twister), teaches rachel algebra and does yoga with gar. he even manages to forget about bruce for a bit.

jason shows up quite often when he figures out where they’re based, and after some initial tension, he becomes an unofficial member of their team (though at this stage dick is still reluctant to use that word). dick and jason patrol in the nearby city some nights, then go for ice cream later. dick’s even starting to see the strategic (and frankly comedic) potential of two robins on the same patrol. 

time and familiarity softens how dick perceives jason: less reckless asshole and more bright young kid full of curiosity and a need to prove himself. he continues to tend towards gratuitous violence, but dick learns his triggers and helps jason recognise them as well. he soaks up the info on alien cultures and battles on kory’s ship faster than dick himself could hope to, and there is a terrible sort of tenderness to how he talks to the people he saves while on patrol. terrible, dick thinks, because he doesn’t know if he comes across like that now at all: soft and empathetic instead of aloof and shaking, too caught up in his own neuroses.

here’s the thing, the crux of it, the faultline that’s always threatening to break dick apart: he’s so afraid that he’s taken robin, his legacy, the ideals and persona that he modelled as a tribute to his parents, and made it into something so dark and broken that only batman could pass it on. jason showing up as his replacement one day only seemed to affirm that fear. but now, swinging through the skies with this kid who’s taken robin as an opportunity to learn and grow and be better, dick’s reminded of the best of his early days in the costume. 

for the first time in what feels like forever, dick feels good about putting on the robin costume again.

3.

(are you asking if dick tried to call home? of course he did. he chickens out and cuts the call to bruce after only a few rings, and feels a sad sort of vindication in noticing how bruce never attempts to call him back.

alfred picks up his call on the second ring, and dick feels like the smallest person in the world when he hears the genuine warmth, joy and relief in alfred’s voice as he greets him. there’s no excuse for dick refusing to talk to the man that practically raised him after his parents died and he knows it. 

they talk for an hours while skirting around anything to do with bruce, which is an impressive feat all in itself. they finally talk about jason, and there’s a wistful sort of fondness in alfred’s voice as he says, “you’ve been a good influence on master jason.”

dick laughs. “he’s been a good influence on me.” it’s the first time he’s said it loud, but it feels true.

“you mustn’t underestimate the ways in which you change people, master dick,” alfred says. “you have been a light in our lives for so long.”

dick’s jaw clenches. all his memories of batman smudge together in never-ending shadow; when he thinks of bruce, he can only remember that remote expression on his face, that expression dick can project all his disgust and loathing and disappointment onto. maybe people should start considering how they influence me, dick wants to say. sometimes i can’t recognise who i’m seeing in the mirror every day and other times i hate him so much i want to--

“i miss you, alf,” he says instead, softly.

“my dear boy,” alfred starts, but he sounds choked. it’s ok. dick understands.)

4.

things get worse, quickly. their enemies find and destroy their spaceship base, and they’re not nearly ready to take on trigon yet. they’re on the run again, alternating between motel rooms and empty warehouses. 

the cult finally catches up to them; they are kidnapped and tortured for days in an abandoned asylum. they eventually escape, the building and the organisation in flames behind them, but the scars from the experience are deep: rachel is anxious and tearful almost all the time, gar’s usual cheer is replaced by a quiet, simmering self-loathing, kory refuses to talk about her experience but flinches at every touch, and dick... he feels like he’s been flayed, his mind and body laid raw and bleeding until nothing recognisable, nothing human is left. he can’t think, he can barely feel. half the time it feels like he’s observing what’s happening to him like it’s happening to somebody else entirely.

they’re a mess. he can’t do this, not when he feels like--like this. he resists calling anybody for help, but one night he breaks down and calls donna. he doesn’t remember what he says on the call, but wakes up the next morning, eyes raw, tear tracks on his face, and a text from donna that says: i’ll be there in a day. stay put, bw,

“wow you’re a mess,” jason says from a corner of the room. any other time, dick would be on his feet, demanding to know how jason found them. now though, he’s feeling out of his body again, and so he says, “i kind of am, aren’t i?” and watches the words float, parting the air above him.

jason sighs.

being with donna helps get his head on straight, even though at first her appearance threatened to bring back even more traumatic memories. she’s a soothing, sobering presence not just for him, but for the others as well. they continue to motel-hop as they prepare for their big final battle against trigon.

jason continues to find them, somehow. (dick wouldn’t put installing a tracker on one of them beyond him, but he’s much too tired to feel angry about that.) he chats with dick and sometimes they bond by watching a movie together or swinging from buildings in the chill, crisp night air, jason’s cackling laugh echoing in dick’s ears. 

jason always leaves as quickly as he appears, but dick is grateful for his presence.

5.

they defeat trigon, and there’s a party. even hank and dawn show up. jason is conspicuous in his absence.

after several unanswered texts and calls, dick bites the bullet and calls alfred. “hey alf,” he says when the man picks up, “is jason there?”

there’s a long pause at the other end of the line. then: “did master bruce not tell you?” his voice sounds uncharacteristically hoarse.

dick’s stomach starts to sink. he steps away from the others and into a quiet room. “tell me what?”

“master jason...” alfred sighs. “he--he was killed by the joker two months ago. the funeral was last week.”

dick stumbles back to sit on the bed. the phone threatens to fall from his numb fingers even while his heart thunders against his ribs. “that’s impossible,” he manages. “i saw him five days ago. we saw--” there’s a hysterical laugh building in his chest, howling like a thunderstorm, “fuck we saw moulin rogue together. he told me how much he fucking loves musicals, i--”

alfred’s voice is suddenly distant and tinny. dick looks down to see his phone on the floor. he’s suddenly very, very aware of the dryness of his palms, the hot flush at the tips of his ears, the tears that are starting to slide down his cheeks, the way his lungs are burning with shock and grief and rage--

“hey, dickie,” jason says, smiling at him. “glad you finally caught up.”

-

( send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons! )

#this got completely out of control #yikes #titans #my fic #dick grayson #jason todd #a byronic cupcake #a tragic jalebi #cw mental illness #ptsd #please let me know if i should tag/warn for anything #sillierthanasillylaugh

[fuwafuwagem]

Client file: CHISAKI, Kai

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Chisaki Kai | Overhaul & Reader Additional Tags: Amputee Overhaul, Tartarus, don't ask me what readers job is, they are a PROFESSIONAL!

Session 2 here!

Your supervisor had advised you to be wary of the villain as you headed out, and you’d simply rolled your eyes. Being vigilant around villains was part of the job. You’d almost asked if he really had so little faith in your skills but had instead opted for silence. No point in picking senseless fights. It was less a moment of being undermined after all, and more a request to be particularly cautious.

Overhaul had been a very dangerous man.

You’d thoroughly looked over the file on Kai Chisaki on your way to Tartarus. It was quite an extensive read. From his takeover of the Shie Hassaikai, his grotesque abuse and experimentation of an unconsenting minor, his drug distribution network, and countless deaths at his hand, Chisaki had no doubt been a true villain.

The operative word being had.

The situation had changed significantly somehow between Chisaki’s battle with the heroes and his eventual arrest, and that change was the reason you were now at Tartarus.

Various security protocols were initiated throughout your long walk to his cell. You silently endured each, as you had many times before. The officer led you through the halls of the maximum-security prison until your destination was reached and simply advised you to call for him when you were done.

Kai Chisaki sat opposite you behind a glass screen. His shoulders were slouched forward, and he only offered you the briefest eye contact as you took a seat at the small desk you’d been provided with, laying out your file and the notes you’d taken on your client.

“Mr Chisaki. It’s good to finally meet you,” you said politely. “I’ve read all about you, so it’s good to finally be able to see you in person.”

Chisaki shifted slightly in his seat but did not make any response. You’d seen him in photographs. As the young head of the Shie Hassaikai, he had always looked to be a proud man, but he had lost that pride along with many other things; some were more obvious losses than others.

“I’m sure you’ve been told why I’m here,” you continued, unphased by his apparent disinterest. “I’m here to assess you. Basically, I believe you are eligible to be moved to a lower-security facility. Somewhere like that would allow you more freedom.”

Chisaki’s head still hung low, but his eyes rolled up to meet yours. “Why?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why would Chisaki be eligible, after all the heinous things he had done, to the luxuries of any place other than Tartarus?

“Because you are no longer considered dangerous.”

Chisaki’s head finally lifted and his glaring eyes narrowed.

“Because–” you began, but you were swiftly interrupted.

“Because I lost my quirk along with my arms?” he hissed, raising the stumps so that you could get a good view of the damage that had been done to him. “I was, for all intents and purposes, neutered.”

You didn’t flinch at the venom in his tone. “That’s right,” you said simply, again with a polite smile and inclination of your head. “I believe that you would be much better suited in a different sort of correctional facility.” You arranged the papers in front of you and continued. “Depending on how these sessions go, I will be able to recommend your transfer. A transfer would mean you’d be given a custodial sentence and a chance at rehabilitation. How do you feel about that, Mr Chisaki?”

You heard a harsh snort of air expel from Chisaki’s nose, and his expression darkened. He didn’t speak though, and you took that as a signal that he was willing to listen. What you really wanted, however, was communication.

“I want to begin my assessment by discussing the events which brought you here.” You wet your lips with your tongue. The file had been an unpleasant read, even to a professional like you. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, keeping your client’s best interests at heart. You didn’t really mind if he died in Tartarus, but your job needed you to remain a neutral party, and so you would do your best by him. “You’ve experienced a great deal of loss. Both your arms and your quirk were forcibly taken from you in quick succession. That would be a traumatising experience for most people. Have you been receiving therapy?”

Chisaki grimaced, then sighed. “They tried. I wasn���t interested.”

Your brow furrowed slightly at his confession. There was no doubt that Chisaki had gone through acute trauma. When the police had initially found him, he had been in a severe state of shock, his body trembling violently. You wondered where he found the strength to come back from something like that.

“The loss of your quirk must have been quite a shock to you, but it’s that very loss that has opened up this opportunity. If you are transferred to a lower security prison, you may also be entitled to receive prosthetic limbs.”

That announcement seemed to stoke some fire in Chisaki. “Prosthetics?”

You nodded. “They’ll be simple. Nothing that can have the potential to be modified into a weapon, but it will mean you have some means to hold items; cutlery, books, that sort of thing. Prosthetics aren’t permitted while you’re incarcerated here in Tartarus, so there is a silver lining if you’re open to viewing it as one.”

Chisaki’s back straightened as he rolled back his shoulders, finally choosing to face you more directly. “What exactly do you want from me?” he asked.

You smiled. “Just a conversation. Some of it might be painful to talk about, but I want to understand you more so I can make my assessment. I truly believe that Tartarus is not somewhere you belong, but I need you to confirm it for me.”

Chisaki sucked in a long breath before his lips parted again. “Fine.”

You glanced at the file in front of you. There was something that needed to be addressed; more than his quirk, more than his run-in with the League of Villains, more than his cruelty and manipulation. “Let’s begin with your relationship with the leader of the Shie Hassaikai.”

You saw Chisaki’s body grow tense. “Pops …” he whispered, and as the word quietly rolled from his lips, the pain in his eyes deepened.

“Mhm, that’s right. He was a father figure to you, right?” you asked, though the answer was already clear from what you had read about Chisaki.

He nodded. “He took me in, raised me, tried to teach me his values.” His mouth curled down at the corners. “He wanted the yakuza to have honour, not to become like villains. But the yakuza have sunk so low. People used to respect us, but we became nothing but lapdogs for those more powerful than us. Quirks threw everything into chaos.” His gaze hardened as the creases in his brow deepened. “The world stopped progressing. The advancements of science and technology came to a standstill, and even now, everything revolves around quirks. People’s futures, their careers, are practically decided the moment their quirk manifests. Quirks have made our society sick, and that sickness continues to spread.” He stopped and drew in air through his clenched teeth. “Pops wanted to protect the yakuza name, but he wouldn’t make the sacrifices needed to restore us to our true glory.”

You lifted your chin and met his frigid gaze. “But you would, and you did. Starting with your takeover of the Shie Hassaikai.”

The stumps of his arms moved as if he had tried to cross his arms defensively. You almost felt sorry for him as his mouth warped into a thin line of a man frustrated with himself.

“If I’d known …” he began, but his voice caught in his throat.

“The doctors haven’t been able to do anything for him,” you said, a sympathetic tone leaking into your words. “He’s currently in a hospice, but there’s no hope that he’ll recover. He’s being kept comfortable, though, if that is reassuring at all.”

“I planned to restore him once I’d achieved my goals,” Chisaki said. “He wouldn’t let me do what needed to be done. I would have fixed him once the cure began to spread. It would have only been a matter of time. He would have returned to being the head of the Shie Hassaikai in a world where the yakuza were once again revered.” The golden gleam of his eyes shimmered slightly, damp with unshed tears. “I wanted him to be proud. I wanted to show him how grateful I was for everything he’d done for me. But now …” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Now my quirk is gone, and I can never bring him back. I wanted to thank him, but I killed him. I killed him, and I have to live with that.” His head drooped once again. “I wanted to give the world a cure. I was so close, but the sickness was too strong for even me.”

“Do you regret what you did?” you asked.

Chisaki stood, making you jump slightly, but you quickly settled. He was behind a thick wall of glass. He approached it, and pressed his forehead against the barrier, his eyes boring into yours, holding your gaze like a hostage.

“That is a pointless question. What good is regret? What’s done is done. Pops is in a hospice, I’m in this cell. No amount of regret will change that. We’re all right where our choices led us.” His eyelids dropped, releasing you from the hold of those glittering irises. “I failed. I’ve come to terms with that fact. This is the consequence of the actions I took. I won’t say I regret what I did, but I am … sorry. To those I hurt.”

You watched him as he returned to his seat. You didn’t feel like there was any deceit in his words. Only sorrow. His losses had changed him. He was a man who had suffered great pain, both physically and emotionally, and that pain had left scars; in some places, the wounds were still wide open and raw.

Kai Chisaki, who had once insisted on being called Overhaul, did not belong in Tartarus. Of that, you were becoming more certain.

“Thank you for your openness, Mr Chisaki.” You rose from your seat, motioning to the guard that you were ready to leave. “I will be returning. We are scheduled to have two more meetings, but I believe that we have made a positive start.”

Chisaki’s jaw stiffened, but he nodded. “I guess, thanks,” he muttered. “Not many people would be so willing to help me. It’s not like I have a lot of friends.”

“I’m just doing my job,” you insisted, but gave him a reassuring smile. “Until our next meeting, Mr Chisaki, take care.”

You were led away from Chisaki’s cell by the same guard who had led you in. The same security protocols were followed, as well as some additional ones, and it took you a full twenty minutes to get out of the prison. The air you breathed once you were outside was the freshest you felt you’d inhaled in your life. Tartarus was never a fun place to visit, but you’d still be back soon enough.

Chisaki would be waiting.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #overhaul #kai chisaki #mha overhaul #mha #bnha #reader

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Fury, Oh Fury - Part 2

Rating || M (Strong language) Characters || Ben Miller, William Miller. Word Count || 5.1k Taglist || (Starting out tagging some mutuals and people I remember from the previous taglist)  @firefeatherx​ @mylifeliterally​ @mandoplease​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @skylyknightly​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @beatriz-silva-00​ @veuliee​ @veuliee2​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @dindisneydjarin​ @lilacyennefer​ @dignityneeded​ @agirllovespancakes​​ @xjustmenobodyelse​​ @oscarflysaac @jaime1110​​ @goldenhour-goldenboy​​ @pascalz​​ @briskywalker​​ @herestherealproblem​​ @givemethatgold​​

Author’s Note || No matter how hard I try to keep this project on a backburner, it keeps kicking and screaming to be told. I had most of part 3 written before I put this fic on hiatus, and I’m hoping to have it written before the end of the year. I just need to get through this week and then schools have two weeks off for the holidays. I’m hoping to carve out some time for writing, then.

District Two’s training academy hides behind the façade of a retired school house.

Upon its decommissioning almost thirty years ago, district leadership descended upon the ramshackle building—and thus began its transformation. Training for the Hunger Games is not condoned by the Capitol. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them. While the exterior of the campus remains dilapidated and unassuming, playing every bit the part of a forgotten relic of a bygone era, its interior has its own story to tell.

Old equipment was cleared out. Tables in the lunchroom replaced with rows of sparring rings. The courtyard converted into a range for archery, javelins, throwing knives, and various ranged weaponry. The sagging, cracked walls refurbished and belied with the latest survival equipment and handheld weapons.

Children who display a prowess for fighting—and more importantly, a potential for victory in the Hunger Games—are selected to attend this academy. Training begins at age eleven, and continues until age seventeen, when one is selected to volunteer at the next reaping. These future tributes are up before dawn and smuggled into the academy before the first shift of Peacekeepers hit the streets, and are not let out until late—most days not until after the sun sets.

But the most notable feature of District Two’s training academy is not its staggering array of swords, daggers, maces, spears, every kind of armament under the sun. It’s not the skill with which District Two’s future tributes can wield these weapons. It’s not the way these future tributes can fire an arrow with devastating accuracy by age fourteen. It’s not the cleanliness of what appears to be a retired, collapsing school. No. It’s none of these things.

The standout feature of the academy is the first thing most people see upon entering the building. In the antechamber of the academy are three words emblazoned on the back wall, above the district’s crest.

Honor. Duty. Victory.

And this is the academy’s most notable feature. Painted and upkept with more care than several entire districts see.

It started out—in the early days of the academy—as an unofficial mantra of those who passed through. As time passed, and the academy produced more and more victors, these attributes were prescribed to every tribute.

Honor. Even being selected train, even if it did not guarantee participation in the Games, was considered the highest form of flattery a child in District Two could receive. Second only to being permitted the option to volunteer.

Duty. Once selected as a future volunteer for the Games, it was a job treated with upmost care and respect.

Victory.

Well. That part seems self-explanatory.

--

Future tributes from District Two weren’t exempt from training. Not even on reaping day.

Yes, the day was shortened to make sure everyone was present for the event, but the morning was still packed full of running, exercising, sparring, and survival lessons.

Ben had seen plenty of footage from the outer districts of how this day was observed there. It was a quiet, somber affair—the reaped tributes treated already as corpses at a wake. Families and friends shut themselves in, closed their doors and their blinds, held each other, and prayed that, however their loved one died, it was as swift and painless as the Capitol would allow.

But this was the Hunger Games. A hope for such things is, at best, a feeble one.

In District Two, the air buzzes with energy. Something pure and raw and not quite human. Of course, the knowledge of who will be any given year’s volunteers is kept under lock and key, so bets are placed, wagers made, on who they think will go into the arena based on appearances alone. Those who are selected to offer up their lives try to keep from puffing their chests a little too much, those who did not make the cut hide their disappointment behind polite smiles and kind words.

When the tributes are shipped off their families open their doors to friends and neighbors, who offer up gifts and well wishes. Parties are held for every event possible: the tribute parade, interviews, the start of the Games, and then then it simply did not stop until a victor was crowned or, in the worst case, the tributes were killed.

Then, and only then, did families shut their doors and their blinds, the shame of their tributes failing to bring home another victory outweighing their grief for the loss of a child.

At least that was what they said.

--

Of course, District Two cannot have an eighteen-year-old volunteer step forward at every reaping. To allow that would be to bring down the might of the Capitol if they ever caught on. District Two has worked hard to earn the favor of the president. They’re not about to risk, especially not something as high profile as the Hunger Games.

Some years, a fourteen or fifteen-year-old is selected, some years no one is selected, and the odds dictate who will be traveling to the Capitol that year.

After all, it’s may the odds be ever in your favor, right?

To find out that a district had taken the odds into their own hands, become masters of their own fate. If word of that got out about that… well. It certainly would not be a civil affair.

It was certainly an interesting thing to be said of a nation built upon that exact principle. The Capitol founded itself on this exact principle—built themselves from the ground up because they dared to carve their own path, even if that meant stepping on others. Who was to say they didn’t rig the reapings, anyway?

So for District Two to return the favor would be a horrific slap in the face.

If they ever got caught.

--

“NICE JOB, MILLER! If you go any slower through the next obstacle course maybe I can retire with my pension by the time you’re through!” Ben’s trainer, Alistair, screams in his face.

Ben keeps silent, his face blank and indifferent, his eyes straight ahead. He’s not looking at Alistair. He’s looking through him. Who knew tuning out Will’s lectures about training would prepare him so well for taking his trainer’s abuse?

“Go through it again!” Alistair snarls, and Ben peels back to the start of the obstacle course, hearing him scream “FASTER! I will stick my foot down your throat ‘til your shit’s on my shoe if you don’t hustle, Miller!”

Ben throws himself onto the rope net. He climbs.

Ben catches the rest of his team when he reaches the top of the rope wall. Alistair has them all doing pushups until he finishes the obstacle course, and Ben throws himself down the other side of the wall, gritting his teeth. He makes it through the course faster this time, and Alistair lets the others up. He trots them to the next course.

After the obstacle courses, it’s close quarters combat training with the squad of sixteens. Ben is convinced they’ve set it up this way just to show them how it feels to lose—to use that motivation to throw themselves into a fight willing to do whatever it takes to win. This is the Hunger Games, after all, it’s all about how ruthless you can be.

Ben looks forward to sparring drills the most. From the moment he set foot in the academy two years ago, he’d proved himself fast, faster than most others, even those much older than him. The trainers had capitalized on that. Now, at age fourteen, he can mop the floor with any squad except the eighteens.

Ben makes friends with another boy in his group named Ramsey. They share a brand of indifferent camaraderie usually reserved for teammates that only get along in the field. Ben’s had to swallow so much pride over the past six months alone following Will’s victory that he’s surprised he hasn’t choked to death. Ramsey’s strength is with a strange sort of sword-spear hybrid the trainers call a yklwa.

In close quarters combat, he’s a whirlwind, the weapon a mere extension of his hand. He takes down whoever steps into his path while hardly breaking a sweat. God helps whoever tries to run from him with the yklwa in his hand.

Ramsey says he’s named his yklwa Carmen. After a recruit in the fifteens he’s hoping to get together with.                                                

--

Will takes up woodworking after his Games. His home in the Victor’s Village is covered in them. He starts small—bowls and cutting boards at first are rough to the touch. As he hones in on this newfound hobby, his hand grows steady, smooth, until he’s crafting shelves with intricate details carved into the side panels, whittling animals with striking detail that seem to stand guard in their respective rooms. A particularly haunting interpretation of the cougar mutts he faced in the arena adorn the shelf above his fireplace.

It’s not until after he returns from his victory tour that Ben asks Will to train him. It’s over dinner, one of the evenings their father works late. Will brings home stew and a loaf of bread filled with seeds from the market that they eat on the floor before the roaring hearth. They tear off chunks of the bread and dunk them into the rich, savory broth.

“Why?” Will asks simply. He doesn’t look at Ben. He looks straight ahead at the fire, the dancing flames casting dozens of patterns of shadow and light across his face each second.

Ben pulls his legs up towards his chest, Will’s lack of enthusiasm making him regret bringing it up in the first place. “’Cause…” he says, unsure how to say it without provoking his brother to anger. “The headmaster at the academy keeps tellin’ me that if I keep it up, I’ll be able to volunteer in a few years. I want… to be ready.”

“You don’t get enough training there?”

Ben folds his arms on top of his knees and hides his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow. “If you teach me, I’ll be even better—I’ll be able to win,” he mumbles into his sleeve.

Will’s eyes drift away from the fire, a muscle in his jaw feathering as his mouth tightens into a thin line. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Okay,” he says at last.

Ben, sensing the hesitation, backpedals, “You don’t have to.”

“No. I want to.” Will gathers up the remains of their meal and carries them into the kitchen. “If they’re going to ask you to volunteer like you think they will—I want to make sure you’re ready. I want you to come home.”

Ben doesn’t follow him into the kitchen, the weight settling in his chest too heavy to move. He just wants to be as good as Will was, he thinks. He wants to bring pride to District Two like Will did.

When he looks through the doorway into the kitchen, Will stares out the window, at something only he can see.

The next week, Will starts carving weapons.

--

The sword is merely an extension of Will’s arm when he knocks Ben on his ass for the fifth time and levels the dull point of the blade with his throat.

They’ve cleared out one of the (many) spare rooms of Will’s home and repurposed it as a sparring ring. Ben and his father were extended an offer by Will to live with him in the home. Due to the nature of their father’s work, he elected to remain in their house inside the district. Ben bounces between the two, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t prefer Will’s house to their father’s.

Ben’s tailbone groans as he slides over the carpet away from Will’s sword. He’s fashioned it almost exactly after his weapon from the arena, every detail down to the carvings on the hilt crafted with extreme accuracy from memory.

“You’re stuck in the moment,” Will advises, flipping the sword around and pressing the tip into the ground between and slightly in front of his feet. He leans into it, the wood barely creaking against his weight. “You gotta anticipate, Benny.”

Ben groans, “It’s hard to anticipate when I’m too focused on not getting my hand cut off.”

He’s forgone a weapon during this session, choosing to focus instead on how to disarm an opponent. If he faces another tribute with a weapon, if he can get it out of their hands, he will earn the upper hand and put the odds in his favor.

Maybe it’s a trait that came from the arena, but Will seems so much more in his element here. He’s relaxed, lines no longer weathering his crushingly young face. His movements smooth, steady, his reactions unlike anything Ben had ever seen before.

How can he hope to go up against anything like that in the arena?

“Come on,” Will’s voice softens when he extends his hand. “Let’s try again.”

--

Ben keeps his focus on his own rhythmic, controlled breathing, sucking air into his lungs and letting it out in a smooth, measured pattern as his feet pound into the concrete of the track. He ignores the soreness in his legs, the tightness in his chest, his thighs begging him to stop and his lungs pleading for more. He ignores the others in his squad running in stride with him, focusing only on keeping the pace. He tunes out the pain, the people around him, and the world around him.

It’s just him and the road.

“Hey, Ben,” Ramsey’s raspy voice huffs next to him.

Ben stays silent, his blue eyes fixed downwards at the patch of the track he would job over five seconds from now. He breathes a slightly deeper breath than before, his concentration irked by Ramsey’s attempt to get his attention.

“Ben!” Ramsey snaps.

Ben closes his eyes, actively putting all of his effort into focusing on the task at hand. He centers his mind on the impact of his shoes against the concrete and his own deep breathing that makes a whooshing sound in his ears. He might fall behind or run out of breath, and if Alistair catches them talking, they’re in for all sorts of hell.

“I’m talking to you, dickhead!” Ramsey hisses, pausing between breaths.

Ben remains nonresponsive. Whatever it was, it could wait until—

A flash of pain sears across Ben’s backside, Ramsey’s hand smacking against his ass as hard as he can manage. Ben fumbles on a step with a yap of shock and hurt. He sucks down a massive amount of air and losing all semblance of pace he had with the others, only to receive a grunt of “Move!” and a shove forward from the boy behind him. Ben sprints ahead to get back into place, his face hot with embarrassment as he clenches his teeth and tries to regulate his breathing.

“Jackass!” he snarls at Ramsay, who cocks a playful grin and breathes through his mouth.

“You know better than to neglect me,” Ramsey pants, keeping up the pace. “I refuse to be ignored.”

“You’ve got a dick punch headed you way for that,” Ben croaks, his ass still aching as he tries to keep running the last half-kilometer.

“Whatever,” Ramsey replies with the vaguest shake of his head. “Anyway, did you do the homework last night?”

Homework is a rather loose term, but they were occasionally tasked with assignments to complete at home. These assignments ranged from practicing an advanced hand to hand combat maneuver, building a snare designed to catch a rabbit, or successfully waterproofing matches. The particular assignment Ramsey referred to had to do with reading about how to identify poisonous plants.

“Kinda late to be asking about that now, don’t you think?” Ben pants.

“That’s why you’re my friend,” Ramsey explains, “When my girlfriend keeps me out too late to do work, you bail me out.”

Ben grunts and cuts a glare at Ramsey that would have burned holes through almost anyone else.

“I know you’re jealous that she gets all my attention, Benny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Besides, we can’t all be dating some carefree, rich daughter of the mayor that loves to spend all your money.”

Before Ben can respond, a harsh voice calls, “Kick it in! Last hundred meters!”

Ramsey and Ben begin to suck in deep gulps of air along with the rest of their team, holding all of the oxygen they can and sprinting down the last section of track in a final burst of speed. They lean forward and tear down the concrete, ignoring the lightheadedness and the dull throbbing of their leg muscles as they pump their arms and struggle to stay in formation, the soles of their shoes pounding against the surface of the track.

The burning in Ben’s chest and stomach intensifies, the tightness of his body worsening as the end comes into sight.

“You better get across the finish line before I say times up or I’m gonna shove my foot up each and every one of your asses!” the voice roars.

Ben, Ramsey, and the rest of the squad picks up the pace, stomping their feet into the concrete and rushing across the finish line as a group, the last one just barely crossing before the voice cries, “Time’s up!”

The squad trots to a stop, and begins stretching against the wall of the indoor track, lined up single file in order to get out of the way of anyone else using the track.

“So, listen,” Ramsey whispers. “Back on topic: what was the homework from last night?”

“I thought you needed to copy it,” mutters Ben.

“Well, yeah. But I have to know what it is, first!”

“It was just reading,” sighs Ben. “Identifying poisonous versus edible plants.”

“Do you think they’re going to quiz us on it?”

Ben shrugged, indifferent.

“Quiz you on what, Miller?” a harsh voice behind them asked.

Ben and Ramsey cringe and do an about-face, knowing what they would see when they turned around.

Even though Ben had reached an impressive physical height for fourteen, Alistair still holds a few inches over him. He and Ramsey stand tall, staring straight forward as Alistair comes up to them with an acid frown on his face.

“Listen up!” Alistair roars. “Miller here thinks that just because his big brother’s a victor of the Games, that entitles him to a free ride around here! And Ramsey here is so in love with Miller that he can’t keep his hands off his ass! Both of them have disrespected you and me! They had the chance to do this because you aren’t motivating them enough! Therefore, I am going to punish all of you for what one of them has done! The rest of you will run while these two spar in the ring. If Miller wins, He’ll watch the rest of you do a switch run for a half an hour! If Ramsey wins, he’ll watch while the rest of you do a switch run for half an hour! Understand? Go!”

Ben and Ramsey both receive murderous glares from the eight remaining members of their squad as they take off down the track, once more in formation.

“Do I personally have to shin-kick the both of you to get you moving?” Alistair barks.

Ben and Ramsey walk past Alistair, staring at the ground, across the track and into the center field, in which was a platform boxing ring with holographic boundary lines on all four sides. Protective gear and gloves rest against the sides of the platform. Ben and Ramsey unzip the jackets of their track suits, underneath which they both wear plain white tee shirts, and slip a pair of gloves over their hands and headgear over their ears.

“Let’s go!” Alistair barks. “Your fellow cadets are paying for every second you waste!”

“Damn it, Ramsey,” whispers Ben. “I knew this would happen.”

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Ramsey asks incredulously as they walk up the stairs. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Ben snaps as they pass through the holographic boundary lines, traveling to the center of the ring and facing each other. “We’re in this situation because you refuse to be ignored!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t ignore me all the time, I might say something you need to hear,” Ramsey responds icily.

“Like what?”

“Like, maybe if you pull that stick out of your ass, you might learn to have some fun, instead of just being an asshole most of the time,” Ramsey shrugs, putting up his fists.

“Well, according to you, Ramsey, everyone’s got a stick up their ass, so maybe you’re the one with the problem,” Ben comes back coolly.

“Oh, for fucks sake…” Ramsey growls, taking a swing at Ben’s head.

Ben bends backwards, avoiding the punch, then steps forward and jabs at Ramsey’s side. He lets out a gasp of shock, then nails Ben in his cheek with another quick swing.

Ben stumbles backwards, a dull stinging igniting in his face, though his headgear had absorbed most of it.

“Do you always have to be so goddamn responsible all the time?!” Ramsey snarls. “You always have to be right and you always have to have everything follow your rules!”

Ramsey steps towards Ben to deliver another blow, only to have Ben sidestep around and slug him in the stomach once again. Ramsey clenches his stomach, looking up as Ben knocks him in the forehead with a hard right hook.

Ramsey flies backwards, falling on his ass, stunned.

“You’re not responsible at all! How do you expect to live up to anything that your family wants for you if all you do is fuck off?!” Ben barks.

Ramsey looks up at Ben, getting to his feet. Ben stands at the ready, his fists up to protect his face. Ramsey swiftly strikes at Ben’s face, a hit that is blocked but still distracts him enough for Ramsey to drive his other fist into his stomach. The wind flies out of Ben’s lungs as Ramsey delivers an uppercut to his bottom jaw, whiplashing his neck and throwing him back.

“I don’t worry about it!” Ramsey spits. “You could stand to do the same. You worry about things that aren’t in your control. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one preoccupied with my family here!”

Ben grits his teeth through the intense stinging in his jaw and neck, his anger fueling his rise to his feet. He leaps forward and strikes one, two, three times at Ramsey’s head, punching into a block each time but not caring. He steps back just in time to avoid another shot at his face from Ramsey, then back forward to hit the other boy in his upper chest.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!” Ben yells, punching again and again at Ramsey’s defenses, driving him further back. “You don’t know what I’ve been through and you don’t know what I’ve got to deal with.”

Ramsey grumbles and shoves upward into Ben’s elbows, pushing his arms up and pulling his left fist back. Before Ben can bring up a block again, Ramsey’s fist smashes into Ben’s jaw, twisting his head to the side as Ramsey’s right fist punches into Ben’s shoulder.

The dull throbbing pain in his face and the taste of blood in his mouth make the fall backwards almost unnoticeable, until the reverse polarity field at the boundaries of the ring throw him back into the center. Ben stumbles forward and landed on his knees.

“You’ve got to deal with living up to someone, Ben. I know how it feels,” Ramsey sympathizes, not attacking. “But you can’t torture yourself over things you can’t change and how you think someone would judge what you’re doing. You’re not and you can’t be just like Will!”

Ben glares up at Ramsey, lashing out with his leg and sweeping Ramsey’s legs out from under him. Ramsey falls onto his back with a rough thud and Ben leaps across the floor on all fours as Ramsey tries to get up. He puts Ramsey into a chokehold, compressing his neck in the crook of his arm, causing Ramsey to gasp out in panic.

“Well what choice do I have?!” Ben hisses into Ramsey’s ear.

Ramsey gags, and then taps the floor.

Ben releases his friend and stands to his feet as Ramsey collapses to the floor of the ring, coughing. Ben breathes hard, looking down at him, and extends a hand. Ramsey takes Ben’s hand and he helps him, still breathing raggedly. As Ramsey massages his neck and looks at Ben with a mix of pity and disappointment, Ben noticed Alistair standing at the edge of the ring. He disengages the polarity field and steps into the ring silently, the holographic borders flickering off.

Ramsey doesn’t wait for Alistair to say anything. He gives a sloppy, two-fingered salute, then takes off running down the stairs of the ring to join the rest of the squad.

Ben wishes he could feel more pride at his victory when Alistair turns to him.

“Best get going, son,” says Alistair, quieter than usual. “Reaping is in a few hours.”

Ben just nods numbly and exits the ring.

--

The last time Ben found himself standing in a roped off section of the square was eleven months ago, holding his breath as Will was declared the victor of the Fifty-fourth Hunger Games.

Now he stands in a clump of other fourteen-year-old boys, the space tight and claustrophobic as they await the start of the reaping. It’s one thing for a district as large as Two to cram as many people as they can in the square; it’s another to do so in the height of summer. Sweat rolls down the back of Ben’s neck and into the collar of his button-up shirt.

He’s been out here longer than many of the district’s children. He arrived early with Will, who has earned a spot on the stage with Two’s other victors. His chair is front and center, almost directly between the two massive glass balls containing thousands of paper slips and to the right of the mayor’s chair.

Ben’s name is in there three times this year. The thought is a small comfort, even though the odds are entirely in his favor. His heart throws itself around his ribcage, his throat tight. He catches Will’s eye over the heads of the teenagers standing closer to the front of the crowd, and he gives Ben a short, assuring nod.

They’re not going to pick you, Will had said while getting ready that morning when he noticed the way Ben’s hands trembled for a grip on his comb. And if they do, someone will step up.

He’s right. District Two’s favored boy to volunteer this year is an eighteen-year-old named Bromius who doesn’t know how to back down from a fight.

Though he stands directly in the middle of the crowd, Ben is sure he can feel the prying eyes of spectators around him. Him, the younger brother of a victor. It’s only natural for them to wonder if he will follow in the footsteps of Will and volunteer for the Games. He’s sure more than a few wagers are being placed in his favor today.

To Ben’s right, the crowd shifts, and Ramsey shoulders his way to Ben’s side. “Hey,” he says. “How are you doing?”

Ben reigns in the urge to grimace when another bead of sweat drips down his back. “As okay as I can be.” No matter being though this twice before, no matter how much he expects having to step forward and step on that stage one day, he can’t seem to quiet the anxiety that roils in his stomach. He still watches Will, but his attention has been drawn by another victor seated behind him, a pretty girl who won seven years ago, if Ben remembers correctly. They’re both smiling. Ben’s just glad Will can still smile. A handful of Two’s victors have come home, but he’d never seen them smile again.

Ramsey claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not going to volunteer for another two years at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked you to go in when you turn sixteen.”

Why is everyone so insistent that he’s going to be fine?

The thought is chased from Ben’s mind when feedback from the microphone on stage squeals through the speakers. The mayor waits for the sound to ebb before launching into the same speech he gives every year. By now, he has it memorized. Some of the boys around him quote the speech along with the mayor with dramatic voices and giggle to themselves.

As always, they are reminded of the origin of the Hunger Games, reminded of—no matter how much they may be in favor with the Capitol—they will ultimately be at their mercy by sending in their children to their prospective deaths. The only difference this year is that Will’s name has been added when the mayor reads off the list of past victors. He feels a small swell of pride at that.

District Two’s escort is introduced. Terra Evervale, a woman who’s allowed the fact that she has worked with so many victors get to her head, makes a brief statement about how much she’s looking forward to introducing the district’s next victor to the spoils of the Capitol.

Ben keeps his eyes locked on Will, who has made sparing eye contact with him through the procession. With so many cameras on him, he needs to appear alert and engaged. Now he watches Terra as she announces that this year, they will begin with the boys, and crosses the stage to one of the glass balls.

She plunges her hand deep into the ball, rummages around for a few seconds to build the anticipation. By the time she removes the single slip of paper, almost everyone in the square is holding their breath. Ben feels his fists clench, his vision blurring around the edges.

Will watches, his expression cool as Terra crosses back to the microphone. When she breaks the seal and pulls the edges of the paper apart, he has the perfect vantage point to read the name before she announces who the male tribute will be.

Will’s blue eyes go wide, his mouth falling open slightly; Ben can see his breath catch. He finds Ben in the crowd, as if he could call out a warning.

Ben reads Will’s expression, and knows with terrifying clarity whose name is on the paper.

“Benjamin Miller!”

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #william miller #william ironhead miller #ben miller #benny miller #reposting bc it didn't post to the tag #and then again bc i forgot to add the appropriate italics #anyway #pls reblog if you enjoyed it #bc i require copious amounts of validation to keep working on these fics