#w: boats against the current

[writersblockedx]

Bachelors

Pairing - JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader Summary - Y/n is the kook JJ has been effortlessly in love with for years now. Only problem being: she didn't date pogues. Warnings - good bit of angst, alcohol use, implications of sex Words - 2.2K

Masterlist

JJ should have been used to it by now. The flashy dresses which hugged her figure like a glove; the way her eyelids would flutter at the sight of any half-decent man; the smile she wore which was ever so slick and sinister. JJ also should have known that any kook with no originality or personality (pretty much all of them) would have brought Y/n here, to the restaurant he worked at.

Some would call it a coincidence that JJ happened to be on shift that night, but the boy himself believed this was God looking to taunt him. Her giggles erupted through the rest of the candle-lit room. Kook couples and families all intertwined, forkfuls of food and a demand for the waiter's attention. Yet the only attention that JJ cared for was Y/n's - and she was giving  her all to the mediocre first date.

"And you know, the Grady White, it's a good boat, but it has nothing on the original." JJ overheard Y/n's date explain. He was some level-headed kook whose personality consisted of the white polo shirt he was currently wearing and boats apparently.

He slowed by their table, struggling to keep any sort of eye contact that wasn't a burning glare. "Can I get you guys anything else?" He questioned. "The bill?" Please say yes, JJ pleaded within his head. Whenever she didn't get another drink after the third course, the date had been a futile one.

But she flashed a smile and flicked her hair around as to face the blond, "Just another wine please." And like that, any hope faded from his pupils. He nodded, gave her date a stare before turning and rushing back to the kitchen.

She'd had two drinks after the third course. JJ knew what that meant: she was taking him home. He had talked to the girl enough as well as watched enough of these dates play out, and he was well aware of her tells. JJ knew when Y/n was interested in actually getting to know the date, when she definitely wasn't and when, like now, she was only interested in taking him home. And no matter how hard he tried, preyed and attempted to slither his way in, JJ was never one of her bachelors.

He was lucky to grab her before she slipped from the restaurant. His hand gently tugging at her arm, prompting her focus on him. "Hey," His voice was breathy, a whisper against the air between them. "You really going home with this idiot?" His head nodded to the door where, passed such, her date was awaiting their taxi.

A laugh escaped her lips, "What? You gonna stop me?" There emerged that smile, that sickening, sweet smile JJ was captivated by.

His hand never left from her arm. It lingered. "I just- he doesn't know what he's talking about." The blond had huffed. "That stuff about boats. I mean that's- it's obscene, you know that, Y/n."

"JJ, I'm not gonna reject him over his preference in boats." Her chuckle steadied as she suddenly became eager to join the man.

But the pogue tilted his head, never daring to let his touch leave her. "Maybe you should." His tone was serious. Only to be broken by the grin which was hanging at Y/n's lips.

"I'll see you later." And like that, she turned, taking steps away from him as his finger tips fell from her forearm.

As he had done a hundred times before, JJ watched the girl leave. He should have been collecting the bill of the other table, but he chose it better to loom for a moment, right until her shadow exited the restaurant completely and he was left wondering if Y/n would ever turn to a pogue and take them on a similar date.

By the next morning, there came no surprise to JJ when the girl wondered in. No longer dressed in her silky, expensive material but rather denim shorts and a t-shirt. The sort of thing she'd never wear to a date. The sort of thing she only wore around her friends, people like JJ for instance who was setting up for their lunch time rush.

"Later than I expected." He called as she drew closer to the boy. He had napkins shoved in both hands, rushing as he placed them down on the different tables.

There still lingered that smile at Y/n's lips. But her nightly experience had urged the enthusiasm to fade. "The guy wouldn't leave till he got my number." She informed, tailing behind him as she did many mornings after dates. "Had to give him a fake one." There came no reply from JJ and Y/n swore she had never seen someone so focused on napkins. "Here, let me-"

Her hands were reaching out to a grasp them, to help her friend, but her offer had been snatched away. JJ turned, a sour look dwindling in his pupils. "I've got it." He huffed before continuing on. "You ever think that maybe this isn't working for you?" He questioned, eyes centred on the tables he was decorating.

Y/n's brow raised, "What do you mean?"

"The dates." Said JJ, finally glancing to meet her dull expression. There came no smile anymore, just a reflection of apathy. "None of them seem to be turning into anything."

She thought on it for a moment but found herself shrugging, "Hm, I guess." JJ paused too as to face the girl. "But I've got the best system going. Possible bachelor walks in and I've already got JJ Maybank as my wingman for the night." She giggled at her words - something JJ hadn't accompanied her with.

"You ever think about dating someone who you've actually had more than one conversation with." He suggested, treading lightly into these uncharted waters.

"And where's the fun in that?" There laid a cheeky glint in her eye that JJ attempted (and failed) to ignore as he shook his head, walking back towards the front of house.

"I wouldn't have to listen to you complaining every week for one." He noted.

Absant-mindedly, Y/n swung an arm around JJ's shoulder. It was in that moment that the boy truly couldn't ignore the glint which settled in her gaze. "But I tip you so much." She argued.

His head tilted, "You mean you get your 'bachelors-" He added the air quotation marks to such, "to pay."

Y/n hummed, "Same difference."

"I honestly don't know why I help you." JJ uttered.

The girl leaned closer to him, "Because you love me." A paused followed before she continued, "And if you didn't, then who would I pretend is my toxic ex-boyfriend whenever a guy starts giving my the creeps."

Her arms slipped from him and she watched this expression mould carefully. All this time Y/n had been bombing on about dates, this and that, she had yet to come to note the sorrow look which was drowning JJ. The glimpse of such had made the smile dissipate from Y/n herself. "I can't do this forever, Y/n." The blond admitted.

"What do you mean?" Her words came with a chuckle as to try and lighten the suddenly thick atmosphere; it hadn't worked.

"I mean, my job isn't to play pretend boyfriend for you, or listen to how terrible or fantastic your date is going." He was seething and Y/n had never seen JJ so agitated. "My job is to wait tables, to clear plates and clean tables. I guess as a kook you don't understand that."

She shifted, a part of her aching just knowing this was how JJ felt, "JJ, I'm sorry, I didn't realise-"

"Of course you didn't." He interjected before giving her the chance to continue with his words. "All you talk to me about is this guy and that one. You know now I think on it, I can't remember the last time you actually gave a shit about what was going on in my life. I shouldn't even be surprised. You're a kook, what's it matter to you the shit that's going on in my pathetic pogue life."

The boy was about to turn, barely having it in him to look at that down-hearted expression the girl wore. But, before he was able to do so, Y/n reached out, her hand cupping his. "I'm sorry that maybe I'm bad at showing it, but I care so much for you JJ." He knew he was weak against her soft gaze. "I really do."

But as his gaze flickered between her and her hands, he couldn't bare it anymore. "Yeah, well maybe it's not that you're bad at showing it, maybe you just don't at all." And like that, he snatched his palm away, turned his back and rushed off so Y/n couldn't follow him.

She stood in the loneliness of the restaurant with thoughts flooding. Never had she stood in the spot she was now without someone at her side. Suddenly, Y/n came to realise how daunting that empty space was. It taunted her and she wanted nothing but than for JJ to return. But it seemed that, without even realising it, she had just drove the boy away.

It lasted a week. Y/n tossed and turned rather than sleeping. Her mind was a wandering mess and she couldn't even fill such with the futile dates she would usually arrange. So, rather, she had no choice but to fumble around her thoughts. Her mind went over and over the words JJ had spat at her that day. And she wondered if she would ever be able to make it up to him.

With JJ's words in mind, she strung together a plan. She contacted the restaurant, making sure he wasn't working that Saturday night and once such was confirmed, she organised the rest of her plan. As was her usual, Y/n was in her silky dresses, her hair perfected and her smile not daring to faulter. The only difference being that this night in particular, she wasn't waiting outside some kook house, or waiting for some flashy sports car to show up. Instead, she was in the cut, wandering up to JJ Maybanks looking like she didn't belong.

Her knuckles gripped the flowers in her hand as she huffed, climbing up to JJ's porch. With her free hand, she knocked against it, waiting patiently as heavy footsteps followed. The door swung open so abruptly it had almost made the girl jump. "Well, hello there, pretty lady." Sung Luke.

Y/n had only met JJ's dad a couple of times. Though, he was usually drunk or high when that had happened. But she'd heard stories. Some from JJ, some from other people on the island. Criminal, scum, dirty pogue. He lived up to the stories. "Erm, sorry, is JJ in?" She questioned, hoping she could keep conversation with Luke to a minimum.

He gave her the once over before his head turned back, "JJ! There's some rich lady at the door for you!" He yelled, loitering at the door before their came rumbles of sound from another part of the house.

"What? Dad I told you to send sales people away-" His words were aimless until he came from his room, his eyes settling on the girl who was standing in the doorway. "Y/n." He spoke her name like a breath of fresh air.

She offered a smile, "Hi."

JJ gave his dad a glance before taking his place, Luke wandering further into the house. "What are you doing here?" He inquired, staring between her dress, the flowers and her features.

"Showing you I care." She passed over the flowers and he took them with knitted brows.

"You bought be flowers?"

The girl could only shrug, "And there's a table booked at 7."

The boy wanted to be mad, but he couldn't. Not with the way she was looking at him. "What? Am I meant to be your date for the night?" There was humour in his tone.

"You'd have to forgive for that." She tested the waters with her words.

And when he took a step out onto the porch, she knew she had won against the odds. "And I here I was thinking you didn't date pogues." He said, coming to her side, offering his arm.

Y/n linked it with her own, "Only you." Her eyes glistened at him. Not like they did with the kooks she walked at the side of. Tonight, they were glistening in relief that the one boy she truly cared for finally saw such.

They hadn't even made it to the car when JJ had leaned over, brow raised, "You are gonna pay for it right?" A giggle escaped her lips. But she certainly owed it him.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank oneshot #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #outer banks #outer banks season 3 #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fic #x reader #imagine #fanfiction

[malikselfindulgence]

Could I request a romantic LMK fic/ficlet with RedSon and a female reader asking them for help foguring out demonic self care? Reader is kind of in the same boat as MK where they absolutely just thought they were human and now they’re discovering they’re not and they’re kind of struggling to get used to their new body, in this case grooming wise. I was thinking a bat demon reader struggling to brush their teeth without breaking the toothbrush with their fangs or getting the fur between their new wings brushed because it’s getting matted lol (it’s already hard to get your back it’s super hard when there’s two things in the way). It can be a bit suggestive but it doesn’t have to be.

RED SON X BAT DEMON!READER

A/N: AGHH thank you for the request!!! Literally had sm fun writing this it's such a cool idea >w<!! Also the way you worded the request makes it sound like YOU'RE a bat demon 🤨🤨 lol

Content: negative self-talk from reader at the start, kind of hurt/comfort, ending is suggestive!

Fic under the cut!

You know- you used to think demons were cool. You thought the monkey king's tail was cute, you thought about how convenient it probably was to have those claw-like feet, you thought DBK's horns looked cool [though you'd never say that to his face] and you still think Red Son's bull form is very pretty, fur and hooves and all.

Now, though? Not so much.

You weren't handling the change as well as you thought you would- being struck by the fact that you're not human, not even mortal, wasn't easy on anyone, but you didn't think you'd struggle with your new physical form this much.

While, yes, you looked cooler, you suppose- every new feature came with about a million more hurdles. You thought flying would be pretty neat? Wrong, you can barely stay balanced for over 10 seconds, and you got too air-sick to make use of it's travel anyways. You thought the new big ears were sick? How much do you like them out in public, when there's too many sounds attacking you from every angle, too loud and too overwhelming? And your sense of sight keeps deteriorating- you think you might need glasses now.

You hadn't left the house in a while- a long while, actually. Everything was just too much, and frankly, you were embarrassed being seen stumbling like an idiot in your new form, hunching into yourself at every noise and bright light. You hadn't been checking your phone either- you knew they had questions, you knew they were checking up on you, and it only made you feel more pathetic.

You were at home now, cursing your ancestors and stupid demon blood and stupid fucking bats, trying to wrangle your arm in position to brush out the fur on your back, but your stupid wings kept getting in the way, and you could barely even see in the stupid mirror, and-

You're not sure when you started crying, but you looked down to find teardrops landing on your sink. God, this was ridiculous. This was basic self-care, shouldn't you just figure it out? Demon instincts or whatever? You'd considered asking Red Son for help, and even though you know it's just your insecurities eating away at you, you can't help but be scared that he'd laugh at you-

'CRASH'

You pause, looking through your open bathroom- you think that was your front door. You think someone just busted open your front door. You think someone's currently in your house- you rush to grab a pair of sciccors from your cabinet, ears straining to pick up on the noise outside.

You hear footsteps, some angry mumbling, and your shackles slowly go down- was that...?

"I've called you thirty seven times! Thirty seven! Not that I got worried, but you're not responding to the dragon horse girl either, and I swear on the jade emperor's life if you don't-"

His rant comes to an abrupt stop once he sees you, cheeks still red with tear streaks, hair flat against your head, wings bent awkwardly to cover your sides from view. You smile nervously in an attempt to ease the tension, but it comes out strained.

"R-Red Son! Funny, ah, seeing you here- you could've rang the doorbell, or something-"

He scoffs at your words, walking closer- your wings wrap tighter around you, trying to shield yourself off- you don't want him seeing you like this.

"With how you've been rudely ignoring just about everyone, I wasn't even sure if you were alive, let alone willing to open the door." He hisses out, and although he tries to come off as mean, you can tell he felt on edge, his concern showing in the way his voice cracks at his words, his eyes boring through you. He's waiting for an explanation, but you're not sure you can give one.

"I'm sorry, it's just been- I didn't mean to ignore you as long as I did, really-" you stumble over your words, embarassed and guilty and scared, scared of how he'll react and what he'll say.

His eyes squint at you, his face softening as he takes you in- you look a mess, and as his gaze falls to the broken tooth-brush and tweezers by your sink, the way your fur is dull and matted down, he starts realising that you'd been struggling, and just what you'd been struggling with.

He sighs, slowly stepping closer, his eyes down-cast and worried. He settled his palm over your jaw, thumbing at your cheek to wipe away a tear. "You could've asked me for help, you know." He frowns, gesturing to your state, "There's....specific tools for this kind of thing. You can't just use your usual mortal appliances, they're too frail, and frankly repulsive. They're more likely to make it worse than anything."

You nod to acknowledge his words- you can't even pretend he was being dramatic and snobbish this time, he was right, your toothbrush being enough proof. You feel your frustration settle down into something quiter the longer he stays next to you.

Red Son suddenly pulls away, fire enveloping his form for a brief few seconds- you stand there, confused and wide eyed, as he returns with some form of bag in hand. You're not sure how he managed to get that so fast.

"Well then, up you go." He sets the bag down and shoos you towards the edge of the tub, urging you to sit down. You do so without hesitation, though you raise your brow at him and hum, a little dazed, "Huh?"

"I'll be grooming your fur, of course. As well as trimming your nails- they don't exactly look comfortable." He takes out a fancy looking hairbrush, better-looking tweezers than yours, as well as a few other things you don't recognise. You're still reeling from the fact that he's here, not making fun of you, and now he wants to take care of you?

"Wait," He pauses his movements to look up at you, hair crackling in the air above him, "You...you don't have to do this for me."

You're about to reassure him that you can take care of yourself [despite the fact that you rather evidently need his help] when his finger settles on your lips, shushing you entirely.

"I'm well aware I don't have to do anything, and I'm sure you're aware I wouldn't be caught dead doing something I didn't want to do."

He leans in to peck your forehead, a quiet show of affection to reassure you.

"Now stop with that self-deprecating talk and let me help you, alright?" You nod silently, your ears twitching lightly, and his lips tilt upward just the slightest bit.

Red Son instructs you to turn around so he can start with your wings and back- he handles them with care, especially around the tendons and legions where skin meets bone, the areas sensitive to his touch. His palms and fingerpads are rough, no doubt from all the handi-work he does, and they scratch pleasantly against your skin.

He washes out the areas you couldn't reach no matter how you positioned yourself with a wet rag and water from your tub, making sure they're clean before starting to brush your fur, "hold your left wing for me?"

You find yourself relaxing as time goes on, the rhythmic brushing and untangling soothing your nerves. You can hear Red Son's hair sizzle, his content breathing, the small murmurs he lets out every once in a while, and rather than overwhelm you it comforts you- you feel enveloped in his warmth.

"My mother used to do fur treatment baths for me, when I was little." Red Son starts quietly, his fingers prodding at certain spots on your wings, perhaps checking to see if something's out of place, or perhaps he's just fidgeting.

"I couldn't control my powers, back then, so my fur was always left charred and dry. It was a sensory nightmare for me, honestly. She hated trimming my hooves, though." He laughs a little, lost in a memory, "always said it was beneath her, but the servants could never quite get it right, so she had to until I was old enough to do it myself."

"Do you paint your hooves? Like, with nail-polish?" You wonder aloud, and you feel him smack the back of your head playfully. "Don't ask such ridiculous things."

"You're avoiding the question."

".....well, yes, o-on occasion."

You giggle at his reply- you'd already painted his nails over the course of your sleep-overs, and you were going to abuse the hell out of this new information.

"Speaking of hooves, could you turn around? I'll start trimming your claws, now."

You do as instructed, watching him pick up the tweezers. You hold your hands out on your thighs for him, watch as he eyes them with a thoughtful look. He picks up one of your hands, pressing it against his lips gently before settling it down again. You try to push down the flush rising up your face.

He rubs his thumb over your fingers, separating them so he can work better, the 'snip-snip' echoing through your ears, "I'll leave these behind for you, since sciccors aren't normally strong enough. You have to be careful not to go past this white line here, though, otherwise applying pressure to your claws will be painful"

You nod, a little speechless. It was easier when your back was facing him, but now you can see his face- the focused look in his eye, his pretty lips pursing in concentration, and you feel your chest warm at just how considerate and loving he's being. God, you should've just picked up the phone and called him so much sooner and saved yourself the trouble.

"Hey, Red?" You mumble with a smile, and he hums to show he's listening. "Thank you, for all of this. I love you."

He freezes, refusing to meet your eyes- you try to hold back a snicker, but you can't help yourself. You'd been dating for ages, and yet everytime you said that he got all flustered and shy like a schoolgirl. He grumbles, cheeks tinted pink, "Yeah, don't mention it."

Red Son rises to his full height, taking something you can't really see out of the bag before leaving it on the floor- you really need to look into getting a glasses prescription- grabbing your hand and pulling you upwards, towards your room. Your muscles feel lax and relaxed, and you yawn, realising just how taxing the day was.

"I think you should rest for now- we'll have to go to the market early morning before all the high-quality merch gets sold out." Red Son pushes you into your bed gently, settling down beside you, putting something over your ears. You feel all the overwhelming background noise drown out, leaving your mind fuzzy and....relaxed. You're not anxious anymore- you can't hear the earth buzzing constantly in your head anymore.

"They're noise cancelling headphones- loud sounds tend to...stress me out, sometimes. I have a spare back home, so no need to- mmmfh?!"

You rush forward to kiss Red Son- your wonderful, considerate, stupidly observant boyfriend, who you love so much you can feel it rush through your heart in waves- melding your lips against his. He starts kissing back once his surprise wears off, arms slowly wrapping around you to pull you closer. You feel refreshed, you feel happy and content and loved, and as you pull away you think he can see it in your gaze, because he smiles in relief.

You start peppering his face in kisses and messy smooches- all over his cheeks and jaw and nose, the corner of his lips, the endearing scar on his cheek, making loud kissing noises all the while. He tries to act annoyed, but the way he blushes and leans into you is telling enough.

"Glad to see you back to your old exasperating self."

You push him down onto the mattress, and although he's strong enough to flip you over again, he doesn't, simply laying there and letting you do as you please.

You kiss his jaw and trail down to his neck again, this time slower, paying close attention to the spot between his collarbone and shoulder, fangs just barely grazing the surface of his skin. You feel him gulp against you in anticipation, his eyes following your movements.

"Just let me thank you properly, okay?"

"W-well," his voice is shaky, your hands roaming over his body, claws now freshly-cut and scraping against his skin deliciously, "I suppose I can't say no to that."

#AFHCH I HOPE THIS IS OK #its a bit long #and ends kinda funny idk !! #youre both late to the demon market btw . he ends up bribing them anyways so its ok #ok now my tags #malik's requests #malik's writing #x reader #red son x reader #redson x reader #lmk x reader #lmk red son x reader #lmk redson x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #im so sleepy u guys #sorry 4 not rlly including the brushing teeth thing . red son does leave u a better toothbrush in the bag he brought :3 #shes so dear 2 meeeee

[anarchyincarnate]

A taste of the King

Am I making a self indulgent Fatui fanfic that is probably ooc? Yes. Am I ignoring the pride month event that I haven't finished along with my other drafts? Yes. I'm doing what I want-

Pairing; Pantalone x GN!AMAB!Reader

Reader's pronouns: ("You" pronoun mostly, male titles will be used)

C/W; mentions of burning and bodily harm, mentions of mistreatment by parental figure, slow burn, smut [Pantalone], gore.

Snezhnaya's weather was far from suitable to your taste. Wrapping yourself into a fatui agents long coat, you huffed as the clothing merely reached your waist, a given since you were much taller than them. The fatui and you were sailing to the land of everlasting winter, having been lucky to escape the brutal treatment you received in Inazuma. The agents came to an agreement after their treasure horder client came with Nobushi behind them, cradling and guarding what seemed to be a hurt young man.

Currently, your hand is being bandaged by an agent, gently wrapping the cloth against your palms, a great contrast to the way they wield their sacrificial knives.

A mage had carefully cool your skin using her magic, taking note of any change in expression you make due to it.

The others who were situated in the camp were guarding outside of your door, not letting anyone enter without permission.

Soon enough, you reached the icy lands of Snezhnaya. A slinger held your hand as you unstably got out of the boat. There were three Harbingers gathered at the port, making you clench the slingers hand in fear.

You knew what they are capable of, having seen what the 11th and 8th could do. To your suprise, they didn't harm you, instead the eldest looking walked forward slowly towards you. He stand around eye level to you, and scowled when he looked down towards your bruised and hurt body.

Because you were scared, you didn't notice the one whose face was obscured by his helmet had placed his coat atop your fragile body. In his hands were the agents coat, handing it back to the man who gave it to you.

His coat was much larger than the agents, making your involuntary shiver stop. You quickly held the garment close, relishing in the warmth it gave you. The lady helped you walk, making you remove your hand from the slinger.

Capitano bid the agents goodbye, as he and Pierro walked out of the port with Columbina and you in tow. She knew about your hesitation, so she hummed a tune, one that you recognize as the one she sung at Signora's funeral.

They lead you towards the palace, it's large and gorgeous architecture impressed you. Those who were guarding quickly bowed, and you might've missed the faint gasp emitting from them if it wasn't for your heightened hearing.

Years of trauma made you more aware of your surroundings after all. They opened the gigantic white door, letting you see what awaits you.

Six figures all respectively turned towards you, making your blood run cold from their stares. A lady sat upon the large ice throne, her eyes seemed to have softened in your presence.

A person you recognize as Childe nearly tackled you into a hug, sobbing and shaking as you try to calm him down. You patted his back, slightly wincing in pain because of the arrow mark near your heart.

Under the Tsaritsa's order, Dottore lead you to his lab, having his clone clear up some of the clutter. You noticed the jarred glass eyes, pieces of a human strapped onto a table, it's head being carved open, exposing it's brain.

"Were you studying the human body, Dottore?" You try to make conversation with him to ease your mind.

"Yes. I'm curious as to how the mind processes emotional distress, and I needed my curiosity satiated." He answered calmly, different from his younger [manga] self. He ushered you onto a clean table as he sat down onto a chair beside it. A clone of his brought some medical supplies, and he gestured you to shed your clothes.

You nod, and pulled your black turtleneck above your head, tossing the torn and tattered shirt into a small basket.

There were many lacerations across your skin, most notably your arms. A large mark similar to an arrow injury was present near where your heart should be. Burns litter your upper back, seemingly from a firework explosion.

"Holy Tsaritsa, what on Teyvat did they do to you?" He muttered under his breath, quickly fixing up your injuries.

"Kujou Sara shot me, aiming for my heart. Deflecting the Anemo archon's Vortex was difficult, hence the lacerations on my body. As for my back, it was from an incident in Liyue." You said, seemingly calm reliving those memories.

For the first time in his life, Dottore was stunned. You deflected an Archon's attack and survived. Getting shot with arrow, you didn't flinch like it was just another day.

"I'm used to violence against me. It's nothing new." You mumbled, rotating your wrist to make sure it was still usable.

Pierro who came to check on you was silent as he took everything what you said in. He relayed this information to the Tsaritsa during a harbinger meeting later that day.

It was now law and enforced that You'll be guarded and cared for 24/7. As the Divine who received such treatment by its "followers", it is now mandatory to be on one's best behaviour should they want to be punished.

In a way, it was peaceful. You were fed nutritional and high quality meals, many forms of Entertainment were given to you, and all of the affection you could ever want. Perhaps it wasn't that bad...

It's almost concerning the amount of gifts you received from Pantalone, gawking at most of the items pricetags, that if you translate to your old world's currency, it'll be worth billions.

Childe was like an overeager housecat, not that you're complaining. He brought joy to your boring life, telling you about Teucer's adventures, his stories, and so much more.

Columbina and Sandrone were the ones who tailored your new outfit. You were gifted with a new black dress shirt, a cool gray vest, and a thick fluffy coat like the one they own.

Whenever you feel trapped emotionally, Pulcinella was always there to comfort and talk with you, and it made your heart melt that he's willing to be the parent figure you never had growing up.

Capitano taught you how to effectively strike your opponent, much to Pierro's dismay. You two can go for hours sparring with eachother. Childe feeling jealous lmao-

Pierro who would play games with you, specifically chess as a past time of sorts. You usually stop by his office to help his stressed out self by indulging him in his favourite game over tea.

Sometimes, You bring snacks to Arlechinno's orphanage. The kids love you, and would often beg her to bring you there and spend time with them.

Now, the relationship between you and Dottore was to put it lightly, odd. Perhaps, it was morbid curiosity that exchanging science literature with eachother became common for you two. You were a doctor in your old world, so you took liberty in explaining your findings to him.

It was a rare occasion that you and Pantalone were alone together, with you helping the Tsaritsa manage her nation and spending time with the other harbingers, you rarely had time for yourself.

Hearing a knock on your bedroom door, you opened it to see Pantalone, holding a bouquet of Viparyas flowers.

"Strange, how did you get these? They're only found in the Dahri ruins or Vanarana in Sumeru. It's nearly impossible to obtain." You were perplexed, holding one between your fingers as he placed the rest onto your table.

"I researched on what you may be interested in, And it seemed that Flora was something you enjoy. Have you cultivate some before?" He asked, placing his coat onto the hanger, eyes gazing at your handsome face.

"I have as a science experiment. It was merely child's play." You say, placing the flower onto a small container of water.

"I wonder, why is it that you decided to gift me Viparyas flowers? It isn't usually what you would gift me." He hummed at your question.

"It's simple really, I'm planning to court you." He replied after an awkward silence.

Ah, so that's the reason. "The romantic type aren't you?" You giggled, pressing your arms onto the table, caging him between the hard wood and your body.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms onto your neck, "And what it I am?"

"Not that I'm complaining," and with that you sealed your lips with his. You raised an eyebrow in suprise when he kissed you back eagerly, softly moaning against your lips.

He pulled you in, wanting to stay as close to you as he possibly can. You slowly slid your tongue into his mouth, tasting every inch of it while he grinded his body against yours.

You pulled away after some time, letting the man breathe, while your hands busied themselves with taking off his clothes.

He reached down to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You pulled off his pants, and lowered yourself to your knees. Blowing hot air towards his cock, you watch in amusement as the organ come to life.

Inch by inch, you let the organ enter your oral cavity, and skillfully lick and suck every part of him until the hilt. Letting out a plethora of moans, he didn't waste any praise for you.

You felt his cock twitch, yet you wanted to tease him, so you removed your mouth from him, making him whine.

"I was so close- Your honor, i-"

"Patience, Regrator. I wouldn't want you to come undone so easily." You muttered, tracing circles against his thigh. Using two fingers covered in his precum, you put one finger into him, making him moan out.

You added the other finger in, and he keened in pleasure. The padded tips brush against his prostate sent his toes curling, it was too much!

Sighing out in disappointment, you looked over to the glazed expression he had in his eyes and large globs of cum staining the floor.

"Tch." You clicked your tongue, making Pantalone gasp as you slapped his dick. "What did I say?"

"S-Sorry Sir! I couldn't help-" Another slap, this time to his ass.

"Hah, Disobedience would you get nowhere with me. Turn around." He did, albeit with shaky knees. He arched his back, raising his ass up. You knead the soft flesh for a few seconds before slapping them again.

He couldn't find the words to complain when you suddenly shoved every inch of you inside him. Your dick was curled upwards, making it hit his prostate dead on.

"Ah- fuck! So b-big.." he replied, voice raised a pitch when you brutally jackhammer into him, not caring about who will hear, while your hand firmly grasped his dick, rendering him unable to cum.

He could feel his resolve shaking with every creak of the table, eyes beginning to see white as hot tears of pleasure run down his pretty face.

You were abusing his prostate, sucking in a breath every time he would clench on you. And, having mercy when your release came, you let go of his dick and came inside him.

After a cleaning session, you two decided to cuddle, not realising Arlechinno heard everything and is now clutching her bottom half in shame...

#genshin impact cult au #sub genshin #sagau smut #sub pantalone #genshin sagau #fatui x reader #fatui x male reader

[rosewaterandivy]

Everyone But You - a Life as We Know It au

Ch. 2 - I've Got That Lefty Curse

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Summary: hey, you know what a funeral is decidedly not for? gettin' your dick wet. | OR eddie munson's no good, very bad lay. Pairing: e.m. x f!oc w.c.: 4.9K warnings: NSFW / MDNI, immersive second person narration w/ a name and background but no physical description mentioned, grief, character death, funeral, jason carver mention, badly repressed emotions, poor emotional regulation skills, bathroom antics inspired by the moves of Paris Geller and that one scene from Catch & Release tagging: @powderblueblood for coming up with Eddie's nickname for the rover 😘

The garage door trundles open as Eddie twirls the keys in a flourish. You squint behind your sunglasses, bringing your phone closer to avoid the sun’s glare as you triple-check the directions to CPS.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Eddie grouses as the car comes into view. It’s big, some kind of SUV, a Range Rover apparently, if his grumbling is to go by, one that is impeccably clean.

“What’s the problem?” You walk toward the car as it chirps to unlock, “Keys,” You point to his outstretched hand, “Driver,” You point to him and finally gesture to the car, “Vehicle.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Right, sure. Lemme drive this car that’s worth more than my life, that’ll go real swell!” He choruses in false cheer before his face falls, “Yeah, no. Think fast,” He lobs the keys toward you which you step to avoid, and the pair of you watch as they rattle to the floor.

“Well shit, Sherlock, y’know you’re supposed to catch things as they’re thrown at you.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and raise a brow, “I don’t drive.”

“Riiiight,” Eddie says, scooping down to collect the keys. “Of course you don’t, your majesty. Wouldn’t want to sully ourselves with something so pedestrian.” He yanks the driver’s side door open and hauls himself inside.

Settled in the passenger seat, you buckle your seatbelt and pair your phone to the bluetooth in the car. Eddie adjusts the seat and mirror before deciding on a Sirius station for the fifteen minute journey to downtown.

“For the record,” He says, pulling out onto the residential street, “I have a driver’s license, not a boating one. This thing is a goddamn behemoth.”

The car lurches forward as he navigates toward the stop sign at the end of the block, the seatbelt seizes against your chest, jerking you backward into the seat.

“Munson, sort your shit out! There’s going to be an actual baby whose well-being we’re responsible for in here, you know.”

He kisses his teeth and huffs in exasperation, “Sorryyy, I can’t figure out the damn clutch on the S.S. Fuck The Planet, princess. Jesus H. Christ.” 

You make a mental note to have the insurance policy switched over and update the title on the cars as well. Swiping over to the notes app, you tap out a reminder and add a trip to the grocery store for good measure. The list is titled: HOW TO SURVIVE IN HAWKINS and has such gems as: whole foods - where?, research moving co.’s NYC, check out brownstone, contact attorney & set up will, utilities & electric??, and baby books!!!

While you prepped for the impending arrival of Zoë and a prolonged stay in the Midwest, Eddie prattled through the house like Jacob Marley’s ghost shuffling from one vacant room to the next. He’d sent something off to his agent and editor via email about pushing the deadline back for his current novel, and had thrown his duffle in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, the one furthest from Chrissy and Jason’s room, naturally.

You’d settled in a room close to the nursery and across the way from Eddie. The guest bath was conveniently at the end of the hall just before the staircase. Neither of you bothered unpacking after Max left, just threw your bags upstairs and scrambled to the garage to pick up Zoë as soon as possible.

The ride smooths out, eventually, Eddie seeming to get a hang of the clutch or whatever it was, and soon enough you’re being escorted back to the caseworker’s office at CPS. 

She instructs you to sign the form with your intention of temporary custody just until the court can set a date with the judge to award full custody. Until that time, a caseworker would be checking up on Zoë and your care of her, the findings of which would be presented to the judge at a later date.

“And if you’ll sign here as well, Mr. Munson.” 

Eddie scribbles off his disaster of a signature just as Zoe is brought in.

“Oh,” You sigh, relieved as you rise from the chair. “There she is.” You adjust the strap of your tote on your shoulder and leave the room, gently taking her from a woman with a nod of thanks. Keeping your voice soft and low, you greet Zoë. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi sweet girl!”

It’s rare that Eddie ever hears you like this, voice pitched just so as not to hint at any sadness you may be grappling with currently. And Zoë, she looks so pink and cute— footsie pajamas decorated in little hearts. 

“Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” You brush back her downy blonde hair just as she begins to fuss, blue eyes falling to Eddie, who is rendered speechless in the office. He sniffs to clear any welling tears and quietly thanks the caseworker before joining you in the waiting room.

“I know, I know,” You soothe, rocking her back and forth, watching as Eddie steps beside you. 

Zoë continues her soft cries, not nearing meltdown territory yet, but rather expressing her confusion or discomfort. Eddie’s hand cards through her wisps of blonde hair as you turn and say, “Hey, look. Hey, look – it’s Uncle Eddie!” Which seems to placate her somewhat, as chubby arm reaches toward him.

Lifting her from your hip, you continue to narrate: “Wanna go see him? Good, he’s right here.” And place her squarely against his chest, his hands coming to grip her sides as she tucks herself against him, little fingers gripping the worn fabric of his shirt.

You watch as he holds his goddaughter, her soft cries falling away to nothing as she nuzzles into his neck. “Okay,” You breathe, “We should really get her home.”

The car seat, however, proves difficult. Eddie has grimaced and groused his way through various belt to lock combinations, determining all of them to be useless.

“Who designed this thing, a fuckin’ Space X engineer?”

Leaning against the car with Zoë, you decide fifteen minutes is more than enough time for Eddie to dick around with the car seat. “Shove over Elon, this is getting ridiculous.” 

Seamlessly, you set Zoë in the car seat and buckle her in. “See?” You ask, a taunting lilt to your voice, “Was that so difficult?”

“Well, that’s because I eliminated all other possibilities, so obviously you—”

“Shut it, Munson. And drive.”

You’re nearly back to Loch Nora when a cop lights up behind the rover. “Really, today? C’mon man!” Eddie pulls off to the side of the road, going for his wallet before stopping short. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit? What do you mean oh shit?!” You whisper frantically, “This isn’t really on ‘oh shit’ type of moment, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“God, would you shut up for, like, two seconds so I can think?!”

“Please, let’s not pretend you think.”

An intentional elbow jabs into his ribs with enough force for him to hiss. He’s about to snarl something not fit for tiny ears back at you when two raps on the window shocks you both into silence.

Eddie reluctantly rolls down the window with a pained smile. 

“Morning officer, what seems to be the problem?”

There’s a pause before a bellowing laugh. “Munson!? Well, of all the gin joints in all the world—”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, “Uh, right. Hi there, Hop.” He clears his throat, “How are… things.”

“Bout to ask you the same thing, kid.” He pockets his aviator glasses and leans against the door, propping one arm to rest on the roof. “D’you know you rolled through that light down on Main before turning onto Pinebow?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, must’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll say,” The officer peers into the car, gaze falling on you. “Morning ma’am. Mind getting me the registration from the glove box?”

“I, uh,” You supply, uselessly. Eddie leans over to do it himself before you can ask what a registration would even look like. Your eyes dart back to Zoë still sleeping soundly. 

“I need to level with you Hop,” Eddie says, handing the paper over to him. “This is not my car, this is not my beautiful wife, and my license is expired.”

“It is!?” You ask, furious. How could he be so irresponsible? There is a child riding in the backseat! Before you can rip him a new asshole, the officer chuckles.

“Can’t say I’m surprised Ed. Shame about the wife bit though.” He reads the registration and passes it back to Eddie. “But considering the circumstances … I’ll let this one slide.”

“The circumstances?” You prompt, wondering how the hell a traffic cop would know about Chrissy and Jason’s accident.

“My condolences,” He says with a frown and furrowed brow, as if the very idea of their absence unsettles him. “It’s a small town, I’m sure everyone’ll know by day’s end.”

Hop puts his glasses back on and steps back from the vehicle. He nods to you with a small smile, before his eyes narrow on Eddie. “You need to get this taken care of, Munson.” Slapping the roof of the car, he turns on his heel and walks back to the cruiser, “See you Friday!”

Eddie waves him off and pulls back onto the road. Offering positively zero explanations as to why this man you’d never met before today would be showing up to the house later this week.

“Munson, why does that cop think he's coming by the house later?”

“Hmm, oh, Hop? He’s not just a cop, he’s the Sheriff.” 

As if that made it any better.

“Do I want to know why you’re friendly with the boys in blue, er, khaki? Thought you were the commander and chief of ACAB.”

“That,” He says, punching the button to open the garage as the house comes back into view, “Is a story for another time. But for now, just chalk it up to the fact that Hawkins is a verrrry small town, princess.”

By Friday, your bags still remain unpacked by the door to the guest room. It would be so easy to call a car, book a flight and just leave, like it had never happened in the first place.

You’re pretty sure that’s what Munson is expecting you to do. He doesn’t trust you, nor you him. How can you? It’s not like you were ever friends. And it’s not like you’ve seen him in that way since—

A soft knock from the door has you turning to find him holding Zoë in the crook of his arm. She’s smiling and sleepy, fresh from her bath. One that had left you positively drenched, prompting a hasty retreat to find a change of clothes.

“They’re, uh, driving up now.” Eddie mumbles, and though he hasn’t said it, hasn’t complained one bit, you can see how exhausted he is. Essentially dead on your feet from your first night with Zoë. 

She’d cried and wailed all night, or so it felt, and you were sure you’d wake up to a noise complaint or violation of the HOA’s quiet hours or some such shit. Eddie had volunteered to stay with her that night, elected to sleep on the couch in the nursery because he’s “slept on worse.”

He’s said it as if he didn’t already have dark circles under his eyes, as if they hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours, and you want to refute it, to say you can keep the baby monitor on you instead, but the look in Eddie’s eyes tells you this isn’t just about staying the night with Zoë. 

It’s that he wants to make sure Chrissy’s daughter is safe, to protect her daughter in the way he wasn’t able to protect his best friend last night.

“Could you just sleep in—” You tilt your head toward Chrissy and Jason’s room, it’s closer to the nursery anyway. But you don’t get to finish your thought before he’s swept in to the room and settled Zoë in her crib for the night. The conversation effectively over.

“Right,” You say, peeling off the door frame to leave, “Forget I asked.”

But that was last night, and you’d be remiss to say that you’d made it much longer on your own. The room was far too quiet, the sheets too stiff, and you couldn’t find your sound machine to save your life.

It’s two o’clock when you stumble into the nursery, nearly tripping over Eddie’s prone leg because he’s too tall for the small couch, but he doesn’t wake. You make yourself comfortable on the plush white rug, the one Chrissy had sworn felt like a cloud and rest your head on the pillow you’d snuck in from the guest room.

Maybe it’s the white noise machine looped to Zoë’s crib, or maybe it’s the proximity of being close to her that brings a sense of calm that’s enough to lull you into sleep. And maybe, it’s the soft snores and snuffles that fall from the tangle of limbs precariously close to slipping off of the couch.

Regardless, you and Eddie had somewhat survived your first day as guardians. Had struggled through feedings and diaper changes, nap time, and seemingly endless loads of laundry. You’d read Chrissy’s parenting books and ordered more to be delivered tomorrow. Eddie had returned victorious from a Target run and you’d each set about slapping sticky notes and scribbling furiously on a huge tear away calendar— you’d even assigned colors: you were purple, Eddie was neon green, Zoë was pink, naturally.

Max, Eddie’s friend and the estate attorney, had apparently rallied the troops for a family dinner for that evening. You and Eddie were to do nothing, under strict instructions from someone named Nancy to relax and focus on Zoë. You could hear the front door opening as people made their way inside for dinner. 

Gently, Eddie passes Zoë off to you and helps you wrap the sling around your torso. After watching several tutorials on YouTube, you felt confident that everyone would feel more comfortable this way. Plus, your arms were killing you— who knew carrying a baby around could be so tiring?

Once downstairs, introductions are made. Eddie names off everyone in attendance as they stare at you like a new exhibit at the MoMa, or maybe the zoo is more accurate. Immediately, you can see that you don’t belong. Everyone is dressed down casually in jeans and t-shirts, their shoes kicked off by the door.

Whereas you, on the other hand, announce your presence with the click-clack of your heels on the floorboards. Swan into rooms with impeccable posture and sport dresses never more than a season old, unless they’re archival vintage, of course. A bold lip and manicured nails, not a hair out of place.

To the assembled people of Hawkins, you sure cut the figure of a Stepford wife.

“Hi,” A voice pipes up from the man to your right, “I’m Ste—”

A metallic clang sounds out, muffling whatever he had to say. Quickly followed by an exasperated, “Oh, goddamit!”

You smile at him, “The pleasure is all mine. Dean, you said it was?” 

“I, uh,” He stammers out, unable to land his gaze anywhere on your person.

“Right,” You say primly, hearing more cursing from the kitchen, “If you’ll excuse me.”

And, of course, the source of the cacophony is none other than Munson himself. He’s got the hood fan going on the stovetop, and there’s smoke pluming from the oven. Company has been here all of ten minutes and he’s already going to burn the house down.

You grab the sheet pan he’s using to dissipate the smoke from the alarms on the ceiling and narrowly avoid smacking him upside the head.

“I never took you for an arsonist, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.”

He coughs into his shoulder, his hand waving through the air uselessly. But before you can tell him to shove over and let you handle things, people stream into the kitchen. Eddie is shuffled from the stove by a kind woman named Joyce, only to be pulled away by an older man, his uncle Wayne, while Hopper takes over in the kitchen.

Windows are opened by Max and Lucas, allowing the smoke to dissipate. And eventually, Joyce offers to take Zoë and put her to bed after her dinner of mashed peas and carrots. Begrudgingly you let her, dropping a kiss to her downy blonde curls before she’s whisked away.

Dinner is nice as is the company, even if conversation is a bit stilted and awkward given the circumstances. You don’t say much and no one expects you to, but every so often Wayne will catch you gaze and offer a small smile. It’s easy to appreciate his silence, to see it as a comfort because god knows his nephew is normally anything but.

You’re on your second glass of wine for the evening, listening to Robin as she details the various hijinks of what she refers to as the Scoops Troop. But she keeps mentioning someone named Steve and you have half a mind to ask her who that could possibly be. Dean, for all his lack of being mentioned in these stories, laughs along good-naturedly.

It’s when you yawn for the second time in five minutes, that Eddie suggests: “Hey, you should go up and get some sleep.”

You scowl, confused and pleasantly buzzed but stand up all the same. “Fine, but no promises, Munson.”

It had been decided that you’d give the eulogy for the service today. Eddie sits with Zoë in his lap – she's dozing off and you’re thankful – and when Eddie stares up at you, you can feel your heart in your throat. Initially, it seemed that Eddie would deliver the eulogy, this was, after all, his hometown and this church was full of people he’d known most of his life.

But when he’d come to you two nights ago after Zoë had finally fallen asleep, shaking like a leaf with crescent hollows beneath his eyes that the moon would envy, and he’d said in a voice so broken and empty: “I just can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

And so you didn’t.

Halfway through, while the crowd is chuckling sadly, politely, at your anecdotes about Chrissy and Jason. Things are going well until Zoë begins to hiccup and throws a tantrum. Ellie, Chrissy’s mom, scoops her up into her arms easily and carries her out of the church. Over her shoulder, Zoë’s arms stretch out toward the front of the church, her face crumpled as she cries for her mommy and daddy.

Me too baby girl, me too.

You force yourself to look back at Eddie, and his eyes meet yours. It's a moment of understanding that goes straight to your gut and steals the breath from your lungs; Chrissy wasn’t ever coming back.

The wake is held at the house, a tasteful catered affair courtesy of Jason’s parents. Everyone thought it best for Zoë to be in a familiar setting to try and stick to her routine. People mill about downstairs stopping every so often to shake your hand and offer their condolences, thoughts and prayers, or claim that their hearts are with you during this difficult time.

It’s all you can do not to scream as you hold Zoë like a life raft. So, instead of snapping something at someone’s handsy uncle who has had you cornered for the last five minutes or so, you talk to Chrissy in your head.

What were you thinking Chris? This wasn’t the plan at all, in fact, you’ve jumped the gun by about sixty-odd years y’know. If you care to recall, we said we’d outlive our husbands and buy a place on the Cape. Descend into spinsterhood in style, and then haunt the shit out of that property, as is our right.

Ellie checks in on you with a soft touch to the arm, ushering pervy uncle toward the hors d’oeuvres. Small miracles. You can feel the tears gathering on your lashes, and you know that your tolerance for these platitudes is quickly dwindling. You haven’t seen Eddie since he fed and changed Zoë an hour or so ago.

He’s been distant since that night, the one where you’d refused him and drawn your line in the sand.

Catching sight of Robin, you tell her that Zoë is going for her nap and she promises to make your excuses. She latches on to that guy she seems permanently attached to, (Dean, you wanna say?) and they begin to spread the word in an attempt to clear everyone out.

You take the stairs slowly, not wanting to shift the dozing girl in your arms too much, as you step onto the second floor landing. Turning into the nursery, you set her down on the changing table and rid her of her funeral dress.

No little girl should ever have one, much less be given the opportunity to wear it.

Back in her comfy pjs, you sit on the rocking chair and kick off your heels. Zoë nuzzles against your neck as you hum softly. Sooner than you’d anticipated, the rhythmic rocking to and fro has eased her into sleep. Rising as gently as you’re able, you lay her down in the crib, turn on her sound machine, and step out of the room with baby monitor in hand.

Downstairs, you can hear rumblings of conversation overridden by a male voice: “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!�� 

Chuckling, you duck into the guest bathroom before any of the hangers on can spot you as they take their leave. Back hitting the door, you allow yourself a moment or two to breathe. Surrounded by people all day on what has arguably been the worst day of your life to date. Smoothing down the skirt of your dress, you pull the shower curtain aside and step into the basin of the bathtub. Once settled, you draw the curtain closed again and let your head rest against the tile wall.

“Why did you leave me alone like this, Chrissy?” You say, voice ricocheting off the bathroom tiles. “You know I can’t handle anything without you.”

Not two minutes later, and someone comes barreling in. Huh, guess you never did lock that door. 

Before you can alert them of your presence, a high-pitched giggle sounds out followed by the scuffling of feet. The door is shut, and the lock is thrown as the giggle turns into a high, breathy gasp. They sound closer now, if the wet sounds of tongues battling for dominance is anything to go by.

Rearing back, you sink into the corner of the tub and will it all to go away. The noxious, ringing laughter continues unabated only punctuated by the sounds of a belt buckle clinking against the sink, a zipper being pulled down.

If you were so inclined (which you are decidedly not), you could simply turn your head to the left and feast your eyes on the shadow sexual escapades of one—

“Oh, Eddie.”

For fuck’s sake! As if this day could get any worse.

But, oh wait, it does.

“Sock it to me!” 

Biting the heel of your hand to quell the rising laughter, your eyes blow wide at her litany of ‘sock it to me’s’ – it’s as if that’s the only thing her poorly wired brain will allow her to say mid-coitus. Eddie’s laughter, understandable given the circumstances, devolves into an attempt to shush his conquest from what has got to be the most unimaginative dirty talk you’ve had the misfortune to be privy to.

When she finally reaches her peak (“Yeah! That’s so good!”), you’ve already mentally catalogued the ways in which you could have a) killed yourself in the interim, b) killed Eddie, and c) killed this poor woman, in all likelihood saving her from a life of mediocre sex at funerals.

“Thanks.”

Well, at least she’s polite.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Eddie sounds embarrassed, voice tight and you can imagine he’s doing that thing where he drums his fingers against his thigh, impatiently waiting for this all to be over. His lips are probably tucked between his teeth while she washes her hands, eyes anywhere but on her.

There’s the sound of the door being unlocked and the throw away line of “Call me,” and with that, she’s gone.

The sink runs again, Eddie muttering to himself under his breath, and for the briefest of seconds when you dramatically pull the shower curtain open, you could’ve sworn you saw something akin to regret (or was it disgust?) as he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck!” 

He jumps back, startled at your Houdini-esque appearance. All too calmly, you step out from the bathtub, gaze fixed on him all the while. You pluck the joint from his fingers and stow it in your pocket. 

And you haven’t launched into him yet, so maybe this isn’t the verbal crucifixion that Eddie thinks it’ll be. There’s a curl to his lips that says he’s going to be a problem, that he’s going to make a joke out of this, as if he hadn’t buried his best friend earlier today and then gone and screwed a cater waiter in the bathroom of her house during the wake.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my Lady Disdain,” He drawls, arms loosely crossed against his chest, “Are you yet living?”

It is only in deference to Zoë that you don’t go scorched earth on his ass right then and there. There’s a soft squawk from your other pocket where the baby monitor is as she likely rolls over in her sleep.

“I am only going to say this once, Munson, so you better get it through that abomination you call a skull.”

Briefly, someone attempts to enter the bathroom, the door nudging open only to be forcefully shut as you, in an impressive feat of balance, slam one Manolo Blahnik clad heel against the door and shove it closed.

“Occupied!”

You wait a beat or two, leg slotted against the door to be sure that whomever was on the opposite side did not attempt further entry. 

If only your yoga instructor could see you now.

Releasing your hold on the door, you flip the lock and take measured steps back to Eddie who is now crowded back against the pedestal sink.

“Did ya have some fun? Get you rocks off? Add another notch to the bedpost?” You seethe, and he knows better than to interrupt when you’re like this. “What a fitting way to send off Chrissy, huh? By defiling her home because you lack something called self-restraint.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“What, is that not accurate Munson? Because from where I was sitting, it sounded like you couldn’t wait bust your nut into the next woman who batted her lashes at you, who maybe, juuuust maybe,” You take one step closer, a mere breath away from him. “Suffers form an undiagnosed brain injury and lowers herself to slum it with the likes of you.”

“Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” He sneers, “All those years of therapy seem to be doin’ wonders for your self-esteem. Because you’re too high and mighty to count yourself one of the crowd, right?”

“You have no right—”

“I have no right? Are you kidding me? I'm not the one who shuts down at the first opportunity, who would rather run away than stay here and deal with this!"

"It's not like I’ve left! I'm here, aren't I?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" He demands. "We are not just playing house here! And you can’t pretend that we’re not partners in this. If you’re so scared, why didn't you say anything?”

You storm toward the door, unlocking it as you turn the knob to leave. To get away from him and his pitying looks, his judgment.

"Because I don't need you!"

Eddie’s hand covers yours, “Maybe I need you!" He snaps, almost shouting. "Maybe I need you to work with me instead of against me. Maybe I need you to stop doubting yourself, because there's already so much to worry about and I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I need you to stop being so damn independent and self-absorbed. Maybe I need you to realize that you're not the only person here who lost a best friend."

The heartbreak on his face is so painfully clear that you can feel it in your chest; you can't believe you didn't noticed it before.

The door creaks open.

"Hey, are you guys – oh, sorry."

You turn from Eddie to see Robin on the stairs, hesitating. You clear your throat and blink away any tears, as you step through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," You say, turning toward her and smoothing down your dress.

"Okaaaay." She looks doubtful. "Everyone’s cleared out, leftovers are in the fridge. I checked on Zo and she’s still zonked out."

You nod, “Thanks, for everything.”

“Happy to help.”

You wait until her footsteps fade away, and the front door shuts. Gritting your teeth, you watch as Eddie steps away from you and avoids making eye contact, your jaw clenched tightly enough to hurt.

There's something empty and aching at the base of your throat, and no matter how much you swallow, it won't go away.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fafic #eddie munson x oc #stranger things fanfic #modern!eddie #fic: eby

[spooky-sponge]

JJBA x Pokémon (DIO)

when worlds collide, ie. my current favourite medias

If you want to know more about the reason for each pokemon choice see under the cut (minor spoilers for JJBA parts 1-3 ahead). I have more ideas for this to tie into the jjba lore

- Marowak: spirit of dead mother, dio’s first pokemon was cubone which was the only one he brought w/ him to the joestar mansion

- Yamask: came about after the ordeal w/ the pillar man mask. Represents dio’s loss of humanity. Evolves into Cofagrigus after final battle w/ Jonathan (form is that of DIO’s coffin)

- Glalie: demonstration of Dio’s ice powers and prowess in using them to fight hamon users (hence mega evolution). Balances against fire type for Jonathan. Hints towards future “time freeze” power

- Swoobat: dual vampire (bat) and heart motif. A gift from Vanilla Ice ?

- Hydreigon: oooh boy this is where it hits. Deino (first evo) was originally owned by Jonathan (dinosaur = archaeology), evolved to Zweilous in first fight. During the boat scene, Dio decapitates Zweilous mid-evolution, and then brings it back with its third head as his own Pokemon. This represents Dio stealing Jonathan’s body like in the anime. Has the star mark, the crusaders have never seen it in its final evo form until part 3

#jojo bizarre adventure #jjba fanart #jjba #jjba art #dio brando #pokemon #pokémon art #fanart #art #my art #drawing #small artist #commisions open #digital art

[luminitewrites]

Nova

Rating: T Word Count: ~5,700 Warnings: Brief memories of/current trauma from being swallowed alive, brief contemplation of death and what lies beyond

So after seeing the absolutely stunning art that @themeeplord posted of Naff's leviathan!Eclipse and fisher!Y/N, there's no way I could pass up writing a small something for it. I might have made Eclipse a tad bigger in this drabble purely for size difference purposes, but Meep's depiction of them is the inspiration for this piece. (I hope you don't mind the tag, Meep! ;w;) This drabble is based off of @naffeclipse's In Deep Dreams Between the Waves (so very highly recommend!!) and set sometime after it, so there will be allusions to spoilers herein.

Enjoy!

~~~

The siren call of the ocean lulls your boat as much as it does you. Out here in the vast expanse of endless water where sea merges with ocean, the gentle stirring of the morning sun has yet to reach full wakefulness, casting the sky in a beautiful watercolor of lush indigos and mellow purples. The breeze caressing your face tells you it will be a hot day, but for now, it’s a welcomed brush against your skin.

You’ve opted for a less-bundled-up attire since you know what and who awaits you shortly. The loose t-shirt flutters at your back, and your light shorts and bare feet bask in the open, salty air. Curling your toes in excitement, you cannot help the enchanted smile that has yet to leave your face. You’ve been looking forward to today as the rough weather in recent weeks has kept you from seeing your friend. Well, it probably wouldn’t have completely kept you at bay were it not for said friend being very insistent about you staying home to wait out the hurricane. Something about being safe and warm and taking care of your health. Complete bogus, if anyone were to ask you.

But, of course, Eclipse always has other ideas about what’s best for you, and after much bartering in your dreams and getting nowhere, you’d caved to his utterly ridiculous demands. The oversized mer has a habit of being just as obstinate as you. You’d once thought you could outmatch his stubbornness, but turns out, it’s hard to say no when his big eyes turn soft and pleading, like you’re breaking his heart by even considering stepping foot outside during a nasty storm. Never mind that it’d been because you’d wanted to see him. He’d been adamant that the visits in your dreams could sate your loneliness in the meantime.

Needless to say, you’ve been chomping at the bit to get out. The hurricane had been circling your little island like a harrowing shadow for over a week, but it finally began tapering off yesterday, and by nightfall, Eclipse gave you his reluctant approval to come out the following day.

He probably didn’t mean that as an excuse for you to sacrifice sleep and slip out before the break of dawn, but he almost certainly knew that without you needing to say anything suggestive of it last night. The memory of his narrowed gaze and disapproving pout still makes you chuckle even now, and you can only imagine that same expression on his face when he sees you out here.

You’ve already dropped anchor and settled at the edge of your boat with your legs dangling over it and your arms propped atop the railing. The breeze ruffles your hair as it pleases, and it tickles your ears while you hum to yourself a gentle tune. It’s a unique one that transcends time and the waves themselves, flowing from within your chest and playing a soothing chord that first tugs softly and then a little firmer.

When your voice starts to rouse and the first few notes whisper past your lips, an answering echo from far, far below sounds beneath your feet and travels across the ocean floor.

Instantaneous is the grin tugging at your cheeks, and you beam at the way the wind suddenly billows in a different direction and sends your trusty flag flapping like a resounding applause. Your Rustbucket II bobs up and down as the water begins to turn choppy, creating a thrill of a ride as you eagerly peer down into the inky blue.

As bubbles form below, you dismiss what most sailors would consider an omen and instead lean over the railing as much as you can while sitting. Your legs swish happily, your skin prickling when a shiver courses through you. To your surprise, however, the bubbles stop after a few suspenseful seconds. A flash of a large shadow is all you catch sight of, but your friend doesn’t surface as you’d expected. Confused, you wait a moment more and then pull your legs under you and stand up so that you can lean over the railing as far as you can without falling in.

“Eclipse?” you call out. Your head tilts to the side while you listen.

Nothing but ocean responds.

A frown replaces your smile, and you wonder if something has temporarily distracted the mer, and he’s swimming off to go chase a giant squid or something similar. Before you can settle back down and wait for him to return, a colossal burst thunders behind you without warning and rocks your boat. Gasping, you have all but a moment to spin on your heel as Eclipse breaches in a swift motion that sends a terrific cascade of water directly down onto your boat and consequently you.

In mere seconds, you are entirely drenched in seawater and sputtering.

Soaked hair draped over and blinding you, you sigh loudly and brush it out of your face. Far, far above, your friend gazes down with a textbook version of glee. As soon as he sees your expression, a harmonious warble not unlike a laugh rumbles from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you say in faux exasperation while wringing the water out of your hair. “Not like you haven’t done this before.”

The mer lowers in the water until his head is level with you, ray-like frills flicking, and your bond tells you exactly what he’s thinking, as if he were saying the words aloud.

And yet, you still fall for it every time.

You roll your eyes, and Eclipse chitters his delight.

“I guess it’s not like I wasn’t going to get wet anyways,” you huff in defeat.

Deciding it’s a lost cause to drain the water from your dripping clothes, you trudge over to him instead, making sure to step carefully through the large puddles. Yellow overlaid by impenetrable black oversees your maneuvering to be certain you reach the other side safely. Once you’re within reach, Eclipse leans in a little more, allowing you to rest your small hand against his large head and press a kiss between his eyes despite the little trick he pulled on you.

You watch the sharp yellow disappear as he basks in your affection and croons an unmistakably happy song. It’s enough to warrant the return of your smile.

“Good morning, big guy,” you say against his wet scales. “Missed you.”

The sentiment is returned tenfold through your bond, staggering in its sincerity, and Eclipse’s love threatens to reduce you to a puddle. The companionship with the leviathan has altered you in ways you could have never dreamed of, making you forever grateful for the day you discovered and helped him when he was but a little fish. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world because a life without Eclipse is one you can’t fathom. He means everything to you.

As your thoughts shift, Eclipse hears them just as if you’d spoken, and a low sound purrs from his throat. He nuzzles you with utmost gentleness, and you press as close to him as you can.

Yeah, you missed this. Shared dreams are one thing, but having him here with you in the flesh is incomparable. It’s your lifeblood.

When you pull back, the leviathan peers at you again. His expression is so compassionate that it sets your heart soaring like you are a fish in the sea swimming alongside him. The excursions you’ve had with him in the deep blue aren’t too far from that feeling, and it’s set in the very plans you have for later today. You intend to spend as much time as you can with the mer, and that means taking a hearty swim with his current guiding you along.

However, whatever soft moment you’re sharing now is wholly ruined when Eclipse chooses then to open his mouth and drag his serpentine tongue all the way up your front.

You yelp at the unexpected lick, and very swiftly, you are drenched in more than just water.

“Eclipse!” you cry in dismay.

Orange and red frills flutter in contentment. There is no remorse on the other’s face.

“Now I’m covered in gross saliva!” you further protest to express just how disgruntled you are. You shake your hands, and two wet globs fling off.

Eclipse churrs and clicks unhelpfully. It’s a bit similar to the squeaks of a dolphin, and after a fruitless attempt to wipe your face as best as you can, you glower up at your talkative friend. 

He seems to be cycling through a whole host of expressions today because the one staring you down is now unquestionably smug. 

You snort at the little—large—devil.

“Just what was that for anyways?”

The mer considers for a moment and then tilts his head to the side a little, eyelids falling low like he’s miming sleep. Then, a massive hand lifts out of the water to gently poke a long claw at you, followed by a throaty grumble that shakes your boat.

Ah. So that’s what this is about, huh. Should’ve known skipping out on sleep would come back to bite, or rather, lick you. You can’t say you didn’t see this coming. 

“I promise I got enough sleep all through that nasty hurricane,” you counter adamantly. Eclipse looks far from convinced, so you continue on. “Even still, I have a cabin I can always dip inside for a quick nap if need be. Or you can float on your back and snooze with me on top like we usually do. We have the whole day to ourselves, big guy. And besides, I thought you missed me.”

Eclipse releases another series of noises at that, which are just plain mournful, and the flood of insistent reassurance and concern makes you huff and smile.

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing. I think I’m allowed to since I’m currently covered in…” You sniff and then grimace. “Overwhelming fish breath and questionable fluids.”

More snaps and clicks, but none of them are truly offended. Eclipse matches your fake glare easily, and when you playfully stick out your tongue, his mouth curls with a croon, and he slithers his own tongue back out again.

You hastily retreat, hands lifting.

“Woah, there! Okay, message received. Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me, I’ll turn this boat around.”

Your friend blows out a warm gust of air that just heightens the sticky feeling all over your body, and your arms drop as the mer retracts his appendage with rampant amusement. Clearly, your threat was too transparent to be taken with any modicum of seriousness. Not that you expected Eclipse to believe it for a second anyways. He knows just how much you’ve been aching to see him, and even without the words to verbalize it, he’s showing how much he’s missed you too. You haven’t missed the little display of the fins and frills around his head upon his arrival. They’ve been fluttering since you first spoke, a subtle indicator of your friend’s elated state.

Maybe it’s in a sign of good faith or repentance, but Eclipse gingerly rests a large hand palm-up on your boat right next to you. An offer. You consider the translucent webbing between the smooth surface of his digits like it houses a tremendously difficult question you don’t already know the answer to. A few moments you spend hemming and hawing in exaggeration, and to his credit, Eclipse waits patiently—hopefully—for you to hop on, the ocean churning noticeably from the swishing of his powerful tail.

You give a plaintive sigh.

“I suppose I can acquiesce this one request,” you say, snickering at the uncontrollable, excited thumping against the side of your boat from Eclipse’s fins.

He eagerly curls and uncurls his fingers as you step around the sprawled drape of the scarlet frills that adorn his wrist, planting your hands first on his palm and then crawling across until you’re seated in the middle. You’ve learned from experience that it’s best to remain off your feet when being lifted if you want to retain your balance. Eclipse will never let you fall and would almost certainly help you to remain standing if you wobbled, but sitting down for the little ride grants you a bit more stability. 

With the utmost care, the mer hoists you out of your boat and over to him. He nuzzles you once more with a soft coo, and then he lowers into the water until only his head and the hand you rest upon aren’t submerged.

You smile up at him.

“Thanks, big guy, but I’m already wet, so I might as well wash this off.”

Eclipse churrs and sinks a little deeper so that the water just laps over his palm. You pat him in appreciation, and he curiously watches as you begin to cup the ocean in your hands and rinse your face and then scrub at your body.

It doesn’t take long to get to a somewhat reasonably clean state again, though you doubt anything in Eclipse’s saliva would be truly harmful to you. The pungent smell, however, might be downright criminal, and that’s saying something because you’ve been around fish for years. But at the end of the day, it’s worth it because it’s still part of your friend, and you wouldn’t change anything about him.

Once the sticky substance has washed away, you lean back on your hands, and Eclipse’s large fingers press protectively at your back. His contentment is visible in the shine of glowing yellow and the peaceful glaze of his languid movements. He floats in place next to your boat with the waves barely disturbing him. The magnitude of his size strikes you yet again despite how much time you’ve spent at his side all these years. Maybe the separation brought on by the storm afflicted your memory of his stature, but you don’t mind the awe that fills you at the leviathan or how small you suddenly feel in his grasp.

You’ve never been safer in the claws of a mer, and that will never fail to warm your heart.

Eclipse trills at the emotions shared through your bond, and with a melted expression, he draws you closer. You are gently deposited atop his chest, and once you’re sure of your footing, you approach his beaming maw. The mer meets you halfway, and when your arms embrace him as much as they can, he releases a slow breath that chases away any chill from the water.

Together, you stay like that in the quiet stillness of dawn, the first cracks of light just kissing the horizon. The world is waking up once more, and you have been given the best greeting of all. After days of restlessness and anxiety and longing, your mind is finally at ease. It’s a serenity that touches your soul, mirroring the same peace from your friend.

Sometimes, a shadow of a terrible memory graces your consciousness, and phantoms of ghastly yellow and purple snap at you. Those awful, living nightmares have grown less obtrusive as the months have passed, fading ever steadily with the more time you spend on the waves with Eclipse. You know you are safe now. There are some things that take more than reassurance to overcome, however, set off by triggers that you’re still learning to pinpoint, but with time and exposure to the sea that is a second home to you, the initial flinching and brief bursts of fright will diminish.

Eclipse’s presence has been grounding all the while. He’s stuck with you through every crest and trough, understanding your inner turmoil better than any explanation you could try to come up with. He’s felt your fear and pain and determined that it’s now his to bear as well if it means it will bring you comfort and recovery sooner. The memories are no less horrible for him too, and you occasionally catch a glimpse of his remembrance of prying apart serrated jaws and reaching for your frantic form.

It’s a shared burden between the two of you. You will see it through together.

 A shiver that can’t be blamed on the breeze travels through your body.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, Eclipse curls his webbed hand even more so around your comparatively smaller frame, like he’s letting you know that he won’t ever let anything take you away from him again. A quiet purr vibrates from his chest, and he nudges you with his cheek until you look up at him again. His scales are creased with worry, but you pet one of his claws to reassure him.

“I’m alright, big guy. I’ve got you here, don’t I?”

Better words couldn’t have been chosen as your leviathan chitters in agreement. The sound soothes the worries of your mind, chased by the fearsome predator who has become your protector. You enjoy the intimate moment with him and the heart-skipping way he stares at you leaning into his grasp.

But that’s all abruptly broken by a thunderous growl that shakes through your feet.

In an instant, Eclipse looks mightily embarrassed, and you flash a grin.

“Someone’s hungry,” you tease, tapping your foot to indicate the petulant thrum that had come from his stomach further down.

The mer shakes water off his frills like a dog, sniffing the air and frowning before his pupils constrict, and his head snaps downward and off to the side at the water. It would seem he’s already locked on to a potential prey. You wonder if he’s about to tear off in the direction of said prey, but Eclipse tips his head back over at you, frills twitching with anticipation. He then taps the tip of a finger at your stomach in question.

You do your best to keep your smile from twisting.

“Not quite a fan of eating raw fish, thanks. This one’s all you, buddy.”

Eclipse emits a distinct whine at your refusal, rays drooping.

“I’ll eat later, promise. It’s still early for breakfast anyways. But I guess I could always just take a chomp out of you if you want me to eat fish so bad, huh?”

Three rapid clacks of sharp teeth are your answer, Eclipse pretending to snap them at you instead like maybe he’ll take a nibble out of you, and you giggle at the fake threat. He squints at you, supposedly very intimidating, you’re sure. His fins flap against the surface of his water much like his tail, and the loud whoosh of air from his gills sounds like a heavy sigh.

“Adorable,” you remark, and Eclipse puffs, his ray-like frills expanding like an orange peacock. “Yes, yes, you’re very big and scary. Now go catch your breakfast, you oversized guppy.”

An aggrieved grumble from the mer shakes through your body, and Eclipse sinks into the deep, pausing long enough to make sure you’re treading water easily enough on your own once you’re submerged.

You give him a little wave, legs swishing beneath you, and a flash of warmth stirs in your chest in response from him.

The giant mer disappears from sight rather quickly, likely sensing the direction his prey has swam off to. He won’t be gone long. You’re confident in his hunting abilities, and the only times it takes awhile are when he’s feeling playful and turning it into a game.

Without the support of your friend to keep you afloat, you paddle over to your boat to conserve your energy. A quick climb up your ladder, and you’re aboard once more and perusing the still water-logged floor with a shake of your head. Your mild disapproval is countered by a sense of indignation within your core from the mer far below.

Not my fault.

Even when he’s focused on hunting, he’s always got to get his two cents in. You snort and step across the slick surface into your cabin. 

While food isn’t exactly on your mind right now, you do find something special in sharing a meal together, so you decide to rummage through your kitchenette for a small snack. There are some granola bars you’ve stashed in a cabinet exactly for this reason, so after snagging one, tearing off the wrapper, and disposing the trash in the bin so you won’t have to worry about it later, you shuffle back outside.

The sun is still in its infancy, but the thin streams of light are already casting a new layer of warmth. The streaks of burnt orange remind you of your beloved mer, rippling across the darkly painted sky. Minutes trickle by with nothing but nature for miles, allowing your thoughts to meander. As you take in its beauty, you’re reminded of its resilience and how it will continue to exist long after you’ve passed. The sun will continue to rise and set; the waves will continue to crash and roll and traverse the world. It makes you wonder, head tipping up to admire the stars, what it will be like one day when your and Eclipse’s time comes to an end. There is assurance in that you will go together, bound so intrinsically as mer and human. Such an occurrence is far down in the future, barely conceivable when you have so much life left to live with Eclipse, but as you stand under the starlight’s ever watchful gaze, you muse quietly.

Will you trade a life on the water for an eternity in the stars? Will the galaxies become your new waves, the constellations your new islands? What will it be like to explore the great expanse that rivals even your tremendous ocean?

Your vision shuts to the ethereal light, and you feel the answer in your soul that returns from the leviathan himself.

Harmony. It will be harmony, entwined with you and him forever singing that sweet song that ties you in scarlet thread.

Smile warmer than the sleepy sun, you’re not at all surprised when you hear a splash and open your eyes to see your close friend next to your boat again, waiting patiently for you to emerge from being lost in thought. His tender love is palpable, resonating from deep within your chest and guiding you over to him. As you near, you notice the edge of a tail fin poking out of his maw, and a snicker escapes you.

“Breakfast was successful, I take it?”

Eclipse hums and then in a perfectly unnecessary act opens his mouth to show you just how big of a catch he got. His rows of teeth have expertly speared the swordfish, and while impressive, you know why he’s showing off.

You hold up a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, still not happening.” You wave your granola bar under Eclipse’s dissatisfied scrutiny when he seals his maw shut in suspicion. “I found something else to munch on instead. Extra nutritious. You want some?”

Eclipse hisses like you personally offended him, and you bite back a laugh as you break off a piece of your snack and toss it in your mouth. Last time you tried to feed him some of your “nasty human food,” he wheezed and spat out the microscopic morsel and then proceeded to drag his claws against his tongue like you’d terrorized his tastebuds. He’s so goofily dramatic when it comes to most of your meals and snacks that don’t involve seafood, and he plays it up extra just for you because you adore his theatrics. You know as much because you’d asked him once why he’d reacted that way, and he’d answered with a photographic memory of your face flushed from laughter and your arms clutching your stomach from a time not too long prior.

Needless to say, your cheeks had immediately turned hot yet again, that time for a different reason, and you’d tried and failed to brush off Eclipse’s endeared cooing at your fluster.

He’s such a rascal. Wily prankster of a mer. You more than cherish him.

Taking another bite of your snack, you lean against the railing while Eclipse begins to chew on his meal. You know that one fish won’t be enough to feed a mer his size, but it’ll at least be enough to stave off his hunger for a little bit. The warmth in your core tells you Eclipse isn’t eager to leave your side for longer than necessary. He’s just as intent on companionship as you are.

Swallowing the mouthful of granola, you say, “I brought my pan flute with me again. Maybe we can give your song another shot later today?”

A tremendous purr rumbles across the waves. At the same time, the contentment behind your sternum spikes, and you sigh happily.

“I think I’ve got the first part down,” you add. “It’s what follows after that I’m struggling with, so it’s a good thing I’ve got such a talented conductor to help me.”

Eclipse’s delight transforms to a small grumble with an undertone of disapproval. His tail whacks the water behind him, and the giant mer gives you a disbelieving, reprimanding look.

Talented yourself.

Not expecting that, you smile sheepishly and chuckle a little.

“Thanks. I don’t mean to make it sound like I’m downplaying my abilities. Although your song isn’t exactly made for human lungs, you know.”

Dark pupils roll.

Siren song, comes the dry rebuttal. Natural. Weak human lungs.

You blow a raspberry.

“I’ll have you know I’ve got rather strong lungs for a human! And I can hold air for a long while too, which is why I’m even able to keep up with those drawn-out notes of yours.”

By this point, Eclipse has finished swallowing the fish he caught, and the bumpy texture of his burgundy tongue flicks dangerously across his teeth. The air charges with his intrigued hum, and you can sense your mistake the second you catch the mischief in his stare. Orange and crimson fins flutter, and a colossal maw nears until it hovers inches in front of you.

You’re already taking a cautious step back when the thought flashes in your head, one that is not your own.

Let’s test it then, the susurrous taunt curls around your mind, snaking like a low voice against the shell of your ear, and the blur of an arm is too fast for you to dodge.

“Eclipse!” you shriek with a laugh as the leviathan gently but gleefully snatches you up from your boat and brings you back into the water.

Your meager granola bar is lost to the waves and fish, but it barely catches your notice as the smug mer yet again deposits you on his chest, sinking onto his back with almost-feline elegance. The frills surrounding his face fan out like a blood-orange sunflower as they float in the water. Eclipse’s lower arms begin to lightly pedal across the waves, circling but not straying you and him too far from your boat. With his other hands, he keeps them cupped around you, preventing you from slipping off or getting away.

You know what he wants, can read his intent in the quiver of anticipation rebounding from your core that sings with the desire to dive. But the large mer is waiting for your approval first, not wanting to take you under without checking in regardless of his former tease. The considerate patience chases away the tepid air and flushes your heart with something even hotter.

Your smile is small and appreciative.

“Of course, I don’t mind taking a swim with you. I’ve gotta prove my little human lungs can outlast yours, right?” You pat against his chest. “Show me what you’ve got, big guy.”

Sharp teeth glisten wetly, Eclipse giving a hearty chortle at your challenge. His translucent fins catch the sunlight just as it skips across the indigo waves and reaches you, creating speckles of white gold atop every crest. Eclipse waits for you to take a few deep breaths in preparation, your lungs filling with air until you give him a nod. With a sweet smile, the mer begins to tip backward, sinking headfirst underwater with his hand cupping you all the while as you take the plunge together.

The water is bitterly cold the moment it touches your skin, and you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut at first as the ocean swallows you whole. But you’ve nothing to worry about in the grasp of your friend who keeps you clutched to a warm chest, the beating of his heart strong under your form even with layers of muscle between you and it. The steady thrum is like a lullaby setting your mind at ease, and soon, the flash of nervousness at diving dissipates like it was never there to begin with. 

A soft whisper of your name, wrapped in endless patience, coaxes you with a singular want. You feel a second arm slipping behind you, the first slipping lower, which is followed by a large palm spreading at your back and prickling at the strands of your floating hair, covering your entire frame with its size. In careful slowness, you dare to peek through just a crack despite the salty sting of the ocean. You want to see, just for a moment, and the second you do, you are so delighted you took the risk.

The brightness of the sun does not yet penetrate the surface of the deep, but it casts enough light to turn the ocean into an underwater paradise basked in violet hues.

Upside down, you and Eclipse float in the beautiful display of color that transitions from light to dark, the expanse above your head an incredibly rich sapphire. With every swish of his tail and flap of his frills, Eclipse creates a plume of bubbles that catch the thin light in this flipped world. Your legs curl tightly around his slick frame as much as possible, and a bountiful rumble erupts from your friend. He embraces you until there is no room left to spare, and your arms do their best to wrap around him as much as possible.

Golden eyes shine like pure light in the dim purple glow that is incrementally turning lavender while the sun climbs. Eclipse purrs greatly so that you can hear it even underwater. His heart pounds next to yours, a duet not unlike the song that the mer has sung for you since life was still so new to you and him. Age has not withered the exceptionality of it, but it has made you yearn for it all the more. You doubt you will ever stop longing to be close to Eclipse, and you can feel in your chest that he is much the same for you.

Suspended in place in the arms of your closest friend, you find breathing becomes meaningless. The separation that had kept you trapped on your small island and away from him is no more. Finally, you are together again, reunited under a fading starlit sky and within the pleasant rocking of a calm ocean. Home, at last. 

Once your lungs begin to ache, your eyes slip shut, and your smile grows when Eclipse presses his to yours. You happily nuzzle him right back, content to just hold each other like this in the morning quiet where nothing and no one disturbs you. The graze of his frills tickles your cheeks while he keeps you close. You stroke the ones you can reach at the sides of his head, and your movement is mirrored by the light carding of a claw through your hair and along the base of your scalp. The intimacy of it threatens to bring tears behind your eyelids, but any and all drops are carried away by the ocean when your eyelashes flutter with your cautious squint.

Eclipse rubs his scaly cheek against yours for a quick, last nuzzle. Though you’d prefer to remain suspended upside-down like this beneath the waves with him, your friend has your preservation on the front of his mind, and he sweeps his tail in a powerful stroke that rights you and him and brings you back to the suncatcher waves.

A prism of droplets sprays across the surface when you’re brought back up to blessed air that your lungs greedily take back in. After a hasty brush of your hand, you blink away the remnants of saltwater. Your lips twitch.

“I think I definitely outlasted you this time, big guy,” you playfully boast.

Scarlet fins flutter in amusement. Eclipse snorts.

If you say so, sea star.

You hum and tap a finger indecisively, rubbing one of his sharper points against your thumb.

“Well, I might be persuaded otherwise. I guess we won’t know unless we try again, will we?” Your smile flirts on the edge of a grin, but what Eclipse returns with next is enough to stun you.

If that is what you wish. Wherever you want to go, the ghost of an answer dances along your consciousness, I will follow.

His amber gaze is flooded with a softness that makes your heart quicken while you’re choked by nothing related to the air you breathe.

It’s funny, you think, how the universe works. To think that you would find your lifelong partner, someone who fits with you like a puzzle piece, out among the waves. Like you were made for each other, regardless of species or place or form. 

Here in the embrace of your soulmate, you’ve found everything you need. 

Eclipse warbles in surprise when you lean up and press a kiss to his forehead. There, you linger, shutting your gaze to the caress of his silky frills and the salty tang of his home filling your nose. The arms holding you wrap tighter, a third and fourth finding purchase around any part of you that isn’t covered like he can’t touch enough of you.

Your drenched hair runs rivulets down your cheeks, hiding the evidence of your pure happiness that wells inside you and sneaks past wet eyelashes. A faint sound stirs from the leviathan, dipping into a low tune that makes you bury your face in his precious rays and quietly sing along with him his siren call.

You don’t end up ever really responding to his avowal, but you think Eclipse understands you all too well. Locked together like this, you greet the morning as a reunited pair while the memories of a troubled past float away on the seafoam to break on a distant shore.

#*waves* hi Naff! hi Meep! #eclipse x reader #in deep dreams between the waves au #in deep dreams between the waves fanfic #fnaf sb #writing tag #mermay au #mer!eclipse #so I wrote 90% of this on the day Meep posted that breathtakingly gorgeous art #and then life got absolutely nuts for me for like 3 weeks straight #so I didn't have time to write at all until today asklkgjld #also here's a very random fun fact: #the whole time I was writing this #the Land Before Time II soundtrack kept playing in my head #anyone know that one scene from when the two T. rexes reunite with their baby and press their heads together like a happy family? #that scene and the music that plays during it is all I could think of while writing this because Meep's art just reminded me of it so much #I hadn't even heard it since I was a child but writing this just reawakened a core memory of mine #and that was my favorite movie as a kid so of course I had to write this drabble while listening to the music <3 #sorry for rambling in the tags about something completely unrelated lol #hope everyone is having a good day/night!

[throwaway-yandere]

"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.

unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.

Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”

—---

“Get in.”

“B-But what if!–”

“Just get in, Thoma.”

Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–

What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?

The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down. 

As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.

"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.

Dainsleif refrained from sighing.

The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties. 

A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.

That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.

“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”

The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.

“But My Lady has–”

“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.” 

Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety. 

“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”

“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”

Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence. 

“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”

The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.

Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.

“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.

Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.

“... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.

Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.

“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”

Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”

“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”

“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”

Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”

“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”

Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.

“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder. 

“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”

Dainsleif diverted his gaze. 

“Home?”

This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–

and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM. 

A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow. 

Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area. 

The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice. 

A “home” to get back to... 

“I… no longer have a home.”

He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.

For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.

Dainsleif sighed. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”

—-------------

“Found you."

The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma. 

“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”

Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.

3 hours more, huh?

Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.

Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.

“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”

…

Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.

“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.

Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death. 

So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…

“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”

At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.

Dainsleif cut him off immediately. 

“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.” 

Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.

“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”

“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”

“Where are they now?”

Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.

(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband. 

If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.

(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–

No. That’s an awful line of thinking.

(Y/n) loved him. 

… Surely, they did? 

"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”

“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”

(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.

That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.

But they’re not.

Dainsleif refused to believe it.

If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now. 

“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”

“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.

Dainsleif shook his head.

“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”

“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma. 

“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”

Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.

“HAAAH?!?”

Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.

“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.

They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire. 

Dain found that amusing.

The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.

He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.

Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.

"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"

Arlecchino snarled.

"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."

…

Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”

It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest. 

“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.

Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.

“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”

Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”

“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”

…

…

…

“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”

Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”

“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”

—-------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”

—-------------

“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”

“Thank you.”

“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.

As if he doesn't want that to happen.

“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.

Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly. 

"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."

Thoma cleared his throat.

"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"

Arlecchino rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."

Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.

"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."

Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it. 

…

…

After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."

"Good."

No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.

"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth. 

“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”

Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.

“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”

—------------------------------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”

“1…”

“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”

—------------------------------------

“Halfdan.”

“Dain.”

“Please let me do this.”

Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.

His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.

And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.

“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you." 

“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.

The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves. 

Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.

An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.

Dainsleif gritted his teeth. 

If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.

Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.

Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.

"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"

“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”

“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”

"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"

"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."

"I take it you don't have a clue."

"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."

That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.

"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."

"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."

“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.

Halfdan fired first.

Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours". 

Three warning shots followed. 

"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.

Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.

Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes... 

It’d be too easy to kill him.

There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case. 

But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.

“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.

"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."

Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–

And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.

“NGAH–!”

Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek. 

He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.

Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.

“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”

Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.

He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.

Until a thought occurred to him.

“I.. Want to carry their memories.”

“... W-What?”

“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”

He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse. 

Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.

His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.

Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.

He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.

Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.

‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’

But he did not feel sorry.

Dainsleif loaded his gun.

2 bullets.

That should be more than enough.

‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’

—------------------

As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid. 

Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.

The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals. 

If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.

"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."

Thoma raised an eyebrow.

What does that mean?

“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Cyno nodded.

“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”

Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.

If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.

“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”

“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”

“... Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”

“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”

Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.

"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?" 

Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well. 

"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact. 

"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."

“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”

The Adjudicator went silent.

He scoffed.

“Damnit.”

Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed. 

He unlocked the door.

“Fine, you’re free to leave.”

Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.

It’s as easy as that…? 

He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?

It can't be over just like that.

Wasn't he after Ayaka?

What's going on?

Why did he give up that fast?

All the effort he went through… Just for that?

That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?

Thoma combed his hair up.

Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?

Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.

As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.

“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”

Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.

“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.

“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”

Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.

—--------

Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.

He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.

"Eli…” 

Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?

“Dain…?”

He’s lost in his thoughts. 

Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.

Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.

“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.

"Huh?"

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill. 

It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"

As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.

But finding them?

That should be easier.

"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."

“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”

Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.

“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”

He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.

Dainsleif laughed. 

The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.

Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.

His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void. 

Dainsleif lost it.

“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”

Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.

He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.

Dainsleif let the handle go.

“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”

Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.

The ex-hitman stopped.

His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.” 

Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough. 

He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…

Maybe this time…

The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.

Dainsleif trembled.

He doesn't know how to cry.

So he cried clumsily.

“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.” 

—----------------

“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”

—----------------

[Eight Years Ago]

“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”

Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant. 

And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.

Dainsleif laughed.

It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them. 

He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–

Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.

1) They like to write.

2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.

So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking. 

Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special. 

And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).

Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.

“I enjoy the wine here.”

“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”

He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them. 

“Well-off friends?”

Dainsleif already knows the answer. 

"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.” 

They pinched their forehead.

“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”

Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.

“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”

“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”

But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.

His occupation…

Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.

When, he wonders. 

When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?

This job was starting to get stale…

If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.

(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.

Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.

He's on a date– he should be more attentive.

Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.

“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”

“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”

“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”

“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”

Dainsleif laughed.

“You’re very easy to listen to.”

They frowned. 

“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”

“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”

A waiter passed by.

“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said. 

(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."

"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."

"Aight– wait, what?"

Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–

Splash.

"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"

Dainsleif blinked.

"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"

"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."

"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"

Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans. 

"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."

They tried not to visibly react to that statement. 

Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him? 

What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him? 

"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.

His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).

"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.

"Please wait."

"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."

"Oh…"

They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.

"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”

Dainsleif didn't say a word.

He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.

This stain… It looked like…

They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed. 

… Blood.

“Dain?”

They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.

“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”

Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.

This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:

It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.

He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe,

(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.

—-----------------------------

[PRESENT]

Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.” 

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out. 

It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable. 

"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice. 

Dain struggled to keep himself standing. 

"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."

Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”

The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.

Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.

“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.

“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. “Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.” 

Aether closed his eyes.

There's no way he can reason with him.

This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.

“Fine.”

The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.

“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”

Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.

“Do what needs to be done.”

Aether administered the drug.

—-----------

Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.

This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?

Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck. 

“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”

Dainsleif stopped struggling.

He looked up, dazed.

Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.

Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette. 

“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.

“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”

Dainsleif coughed.

“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”

The abyss smiled back.

“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”

They rolled their eyes.

“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”

Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies. 

Dainsleif cringed. 

“But you do have canc–”

“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”

“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."

He heard nothing. 

That’s not true. None of their words add up.

They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.

Didn’t they?

… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?

“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”

Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right? 

They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?

They clapped.

Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face. 

It was (Y/n)'s.

It was his beloved’s.

The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.

"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."

Dainsleif chuckled softly.

Adorable. What a kind gesture.

"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."

They snorted.

"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”

They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.

For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.

Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.

He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.

Haha… Hahahaha….

They had always been dead to him for years now.

Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.

(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.

Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.

“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”

So is he.

Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.

(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free. 

“Farewell.”

As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.

“Tch!”

With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground. 

(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.

Even so, something about his stare seemed off.

It's as if he wanted to drag them down.

It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.

(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.

In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.

They pointed it at him.

Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.

As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:

“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”

(Y/n) fired.

BANG!!!

…

…

…

They shot him.

They shot Dainsleif. 

And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.

But they blinked.

Lord– all (Y/n) did was blink.

"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."

Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them. 

There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection. 

No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?

Their stomach burned.

And they can almost hear his smile. 

"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"

If he can't have them alive, well…

Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.

No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.

Dain kissed them.

He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.

Dainsleif grinned.

"I love you."

They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.

Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…

Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.

The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…

(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.

In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun. 

Their only option was to wither away.

Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?

His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.

Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.

The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.

Dainsleif was right.

They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Even in death, he will not leave them be. 

They sobbed.

No…

But they were so close…

In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.

They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:

"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"

#ansy-writes #yandere dainsleif #yandere dainsleif x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #x reader #tw: yandere #tw: suicidal thoughts #yandere male #tag: hitman dain

[bcbdrums]

I saw the Reddit drama. Please explain why Drakgo is a more interesting ship than KimRon.

first, thanks for the ask! second, whoaaaaaaa i wouldn't presume to label one ship more interesting than another. some people will find ships interesting, others won't.

i'll give a diff example. in my other current hyperfixation, soul eater, my friend adores Ship A while i'm all about Ship B. her ship IS interesting to me! i think those chars are the most shippable in the show, they're basically canon w/o PDA, and they are deeply complex both as individual chars and as a couple.

they're just... not the ones i'm hyperfixated on. doesn't make them uninteresting.

what makes a person's brain and heart grab onto one ship and not another? who can say.

a lack of personal interest in a ship does not make it objectively uninteresting, or worse... and a ship having way more attention than another in fandom doesn't objectively make that ship more interesting, or better.

CAN a person make canonical objective arguments for or against ships? certainly.

let's just grab characters from KP to use as example. Bonnie and Brick. canonically a couple for more than one episode! we do not get a lot of canon info onscreen for them, so most of the interest in them would have to come from fan creations. compare to Kim and Ron, who have infinitely more screentime together, infinitely more individual character development than Bonnie and Brick both as individuals and as a couple...

one could argue that Kim/Ron is more interesting than Brick/Bonnie. there's more to grab from the canon at least. but if a person wants to draw/write/talk at length about Brick/Bonnie? why not!

no reason to be hating on any ship. if it's not your ship, then just...don't engage?? especially if you're against said ship.

now me, personally, i find Drakgo more interesting than Kim/Ron. (altho recent convo with @creatorping got my Kim/Ron juices flowing again). Drakgo just appeal to me more as characters, with their gritty backgrounds, a lot more unknowns to explore, the challenge of two villains developing a mutual trusting relationship so they can have a happily ever after... that just grabs my mind and heart more than the perfect girl and her adorkable boyfriend. it doesn't mean Kim and Ron aren't interesting, cuz ohhhhh they are! mostly post-canon for me because...who ARE they, after high school?? who is Kim other than the student who saves the world? what's she gonna do with her life? and what is Ron gonna do? he absolutely can't go to the same college as her, and she can't ditch a good opportunity to go to a community college with him... my hang-up has always been that Kim wasn't given enough individual development onscreen to do anything interesting with her post-canon. but aforementioned convo with Ping changed my mind, heheh. 😏

in any case, the point... one ship isn't more or less interesting. one ship isn't better or worse than another. it's us, the viewer, who either will or won't be interested.

so as i've always said.... ship and let ship. don't like? don't interact. don't hate on someone else's ships or headcanons or POVs... (reddit...)

and, that's not the same thing as discourse. discussing characters, discussing points of view, interpretations... sharing various headcanons... with willing parties who want to enter into that conversation! THAT is a major part of fandom! but it's all in how one goes about it. and! should people come to disagree about interpretations of characters, also fine!

i think the issue arises when people start to act like... my interpretation is correct OR, my interpretation is the only valid one. when people get up on that horse, that's where the problems arise... it can be tough if you feel like you're the only person WITH a certain POV, but... again, if the folks you're chatting with aren't into it, then find other people. i'm in that boat with some soul eater headcanons, but, that's okay. i don't need to convince everyone else in the fandom in order rto enjoy my thoughts. i'll still talk about them, but, not with the idea of telling anyone my view is the only view. that's the antithesis of what fandom is about. i'll talk about them because i enjoy talking about them, to like-minded folk, and on my own blog which is what a blog is for.

and, idk why it shows up so often in the KP fandom, especially the Drakgo side, that people can't simply say "hey i have this headcanon!" and someone respond with "oh that's neat!" and just. happily co-exist. everyone creating their things, sharing their things. and people will like what they like, as they always have, in every fandom. and if they don't like someone's idea, that's fine too!

but it's not worth fighting about?? it never is! it's just not that important. it's fandom. it's fun. it's our escape. if one feels SO strongly against a concept, or ship, or whatever.... then you don't interact with it. you don't make it your mission to disprove the other person. you don't actively seek out opportunities to hate on a point of view you dislike. that's not how fandom is supposed to be. find your people, and chill with them.

let's all be positive in the various fandom spaces.

i hadn't intended that to be such a rant, but...well, there you have it. sorry it probably was not what you wanted to hear, but yeah. thanks again for the ask!!

#kim possible #drakgo #kim x ron #kimron #soul eater #drakken #shego #drakken x shego #ron stoppable #ask answer #bumping this up in queue for REASONS lol

[smallestapplin]

Can I touch them?

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This is based off a conversation me and Zed from @onestepbackwards had about @r0-boat beemas au.

🔞18+Only! Mdni! Proshippers DNI!🔞

Cw : wing play. Reader is GN

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Being in the hive was a dream come true, yet despite how loving and accepting your mates are, you had one question.

Their wings seem sturdy yet fragile, could you touch them?

Their cellophane like wings always shine so brightly, casting beautiful colors when the light hits them just right.

Or how they flutter and buzz happily.

Your attention is always drawn to them, how they shine is always mesmerizing. None of the bee hybrids have noticed yet, only seeing their sweet royal and getting excited.

Currently you were walking with one of your drone mates, Jackie. The man was happily explaining the schedule of the day to you.

But your eyes couldn’t look away from his wings. Jackie was always a bit antsy or gets nervous easily, his wings would give it away, as when he gets nervous his wings twitch.

You walk behind him, eyeing the beautiful colors they make, when you decide what to do.

You speed up your steps a little, just to get right behind him as you carefully place a hand on his back, fingers gently caressing the base of his wings.

His reaction was instant, freezing, body quaking as he lets out an awfully loud whine. Clipboard hitting the ground with a clatter, as Jackie doubles over, kneeling on the ground, panting.

You nearly panic, fretting over the poor drone.

“Oh no! Jackie, sweetie are you okay!? Let’s get you up, can you stand?”

When you see his face though, your mouth snaps shut.

The bee hybrid’s face is completely flushed, eyes glossy and glazed with drool sliding down his chin. Your eyes trail lower, widening at the sight of the bulge pressing against his pants.

“Jackie?” You move you hand lower, trying to place it on his lower back to help him.

“W-wait-!! Mmph! Fuuu-!”

You jerk your hand back, looking at the downed drone with worry.

He’s heaving, breath coming out an harsh wheezes mingled with soft whines. His wings twitch sporadically as his body falls limp to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!”

You know what you’ve done, but you feel bad for making the poor thing drop like this.

Jackie, however, is loving every second! He had no idea his wings were so sensitive like that! And having you, his sweet royal touch them with such care, he wants more, he craves it.

He doesn’t even know if he can stand, or if he could face you with his likely messy face.

“M’fine! I-it’s…haah…just not feeling well, yeah!”

You pick up his clipboard, trying to hide your obvious staring. Licking your lips at seeing his poor green pants, with a large dark spot where his cock is straining against.

You look around the hallway, seeing that it’s just the two of you, though you’re not sure for how long.

Grabbing his arm, you softly shushing the whimpering drone.

“I got you, let’s get you to someplace you can rest.”

You barely manage to get the shaking man up, before the sound of footsteps echo.

A couple of other, worried looking drones appear, quickly taking Jackie from you and back to the rooms.

“Wait I should-“

“We are so sorry, Royal! But you’re running late, and the kings sent us as they were worried.”

“But Jackie-“

“He will be fine. Please, we are sorry, but come with us.”

Unbeknownst to you though, word got around quickly. All the drones, guards, and workers were beside themselves.

None of them ever thought their wings could be so sensitive! Though, most were jealous Jackie got to experience it from you first.

It took him all day to recover, mind reeling from your soft, warm touches on his delicate wings.

By the time you reached the kings, half the hive knew of what transpired.

However you sit with the kings, after Ingo’s worried scolding of course, the two stand beside you leaning down to point at what needs to be done today, and how to prepare yourself.

But you aren’t focused, not on the rules anyway.

Eyes flickering to the sets of wings, how Ingo’s wings move with him, much like his hands when he talks.

Or how Emmet’s wings give a small flap, buzzing softly in his excitement.

Loving how their glassy wings shimmer in the light.

After what happened with Jackie, you desperately want to touch their wings too! Wondering how they would react, are all their wings as sensitive? Or was it just Jackie?

“Dear?”

You look up to Ingo, meeting his concerned gaze.

“Are you alright?”

Emmet perks up at his brother’s words, leaning down to you.

“Can’t have our sweet royal unwell. Nope!”

They coo over your bashful face, not noticing your hand coming up, not until it was too late.

Emmet tenses, shuddering as you touch his wings. His eyes go wide, his breathing turning shaky feeling you gently rub his wings.

“I’m sorry! It’s just your wings are so pretty, I couldn’t look away.”

Emmet’s face blushing a bright green, his wings trembling at your gentle caresses.

He bites his lip, eyes fluttering back as he leans into you.

“D-darling that’s so-MM! O-oohhh I’m- gonna, fuuuuck!”

Emmet cries, hips humping into the air as a wet spot forms on his white pants. You’re just as surprised as you were with Jackie, but you can’t help but chuckle at the trembling king.

Emmet collapses to the ground, barely holding himself up with the table. He leans against you, pressing his shaky wings more into your hand.

“More! More! Please, again again, I need it!”

His smile quivers with a shriek, drool dripping down his chin. His cocks twitching at your laughter.

“I never thought you’d beg so prettily like this. Such a well behaved king.”

His nails drag across the table as his maw hangs open. His spit hanging and coating his chin and coat, but he doesn’t care! He just needs more, he needs it! Wants it!

A softer whimper catches your attention, making you look over to your other king, who’s pouting.

Ingo has his hands crossed in front of him, hiding his throbbing cocks from your view. His face bright green, and silver eyes refusing to meet yours. Hard from all his thoughts if you doing that to him! He wants your attention, your touch, it’s not fair!

“My royal…please?”

The older king flares his wings out a little, silently asking for you to touch him too. You smirk at his shy he so about it.

Emmet whimpers as your hand slows, nearly shocking you with how he throws himself back at him.

“No! No! M’sooo close! Please I want it, milk me!”

Both their antennae’s twitch, smelling the air and smelling just how aroused you are from seeing them fall apart like this.

You pat Emmet’s head, trying to sooth him before you focus on Ingo.

“Use your words, honeybee. What do you want.”

His face darkens, whimpering at your order.

“Please, please touch me. I want you to touch me too! I want you too…I-I’ll be good! I promise!”

You raise a hand, gesturing for him to sit by your legs, which he’s quick to do, nearly tripping as he does so. His back facing you while he sits at your feet, wings up and out for you to hold.

“Such good pets for me!”

You coo at your trembling lovers.

Ingo waits with baited breath for your touch, jumping once your hand slides from the base of his glossy wing down to the end, and back up again.

He can’t stop the squeal that rips from his throat, his back arching as he cries out from your touch.

You can’t help but smirk at having both of these large bee hybrids at your feet, both squirming and creaming their pants.

You’ve never has them this loud.

“Oh! Haaa! Royal! S-so good, so goodsogoodsogood-!” Ingo squeals, eyes squeezed shut. Body twisting and squirming.

Quickly growing addicted to the feeling.

“M-m‘sensitiiiive! Cumming! I’m cummiiiing!!” Emmet wails, painting his pants once again with his cum.

You tugging and caressing his wings is too much!

They want more! For this to never end!

And by the end of it all, the entire hive wants you to make them cum over and over again from their wings alone.

#smut #spicy #🔞🔞🔞 #beemas.thirst #beemas au #pokemon smut #pokemon ingo smut #pokemon ingo x reader smut #pokemon emmet smut #pokemon emmet x reader smut #pokemon submas x reader smut #pokemon submas smut #submas.thirst #mdni #proshippers dni

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 3

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FM! Reader (but not in this part)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here) | Part 4

Summary: One year after running from your feelings for Chris Redfield, an oddly familiar face emerges from the shadows.

Contents: Small spoilers for RE6, mentions of vomitting from seasickness, canon typical violence/swearing, Jake banter, canon typical puzzle bullshit, LORE. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: Jake is literally one of the best characters in RE6 it is CRIMINAL that he's not in more fics. Be the change you want to see in the world. The plot is plotting in this part and I got a little carried away with descriptions but we're rolling with it. Also many thanks for 100+ likes on this series already. Enjoy!

w/c: 7.1k

1 Year Later:

Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

That’s all you can think of under the black hood. The last thing you need right now is to puke on yourself. You should be thinking of ways to escape your current predicament, but your stomach lurching with the irregular rise and fall of the boat you’re handcuffed to, the indiscernible shouting of your kidnappers, the sweat all over your body from the unbearable heat and seasickness, and the sickeningly strong scent of fish and salty air is making that near impossible.

How the hell do I keep getting caught up in this shit? Don’t fucking puke. Breathe in through the mouth, out through the nose.

You’d had terrible seasickness since Albert kept you on that tanker for so long until Africa happened. After the second time trying to escape him and being mildly successful, he wanted to make damn sure that it didn’t happen again. Therefore: boat timeout. A boat prison meant it would be more difficult to escape. More resources needed, more planning required for a chance at walking on dry land. The chronic seasickness was an unintended side effect you’re sure, but it only gave another weakness for Albert to leverage against you. ‘The sickness will cease if you listen to me dearheart,’ didn’t sound like a compelling argument on its own to inject Uroboros in your veins, but presented as a solution to vomiting constantly because of the ocean’s movement for four years, it was pretty damn tempting some days. If you didn’t already know that virus was a death sentence, you might have given it a shot.

You’d even insisted that any transportation involving sea travel be explicitly prohibited while you were consulting/in protective custody with the B.S.A.A. Travel by air and car were far more convenient anyway, or at least that’s what Chris assured you. The man witnessed you puking your guts out the day he rescued you from that tanker. Of course he’d back up your request.

I wonder if he knows I’m gone yet. Deep breaths. Don’t puke.

It’s likely, considering it’s been some hours. Even though you’re considered part of B.S.A.A Europe now, you’re still willing to bet that Chris still got important updates about you considering your history. Higher-ups wouldn’t think twice about their favorite soldier wanting updates about the widow of Albert Wesker.

You know better.

His interest is much more personal than that.

As much as you would like to entertain a relationship, you can’t bring yourself to finding out what the aftermath of Chris’ professional life would be if you did. You felt guilty about leaving so quickly and not even telling him, but you figured if you had told him before you left, he might have convinced you to stay. You’d sent him a text wishing him well when you got to your new apartment an ocean away, which is better than nothing you suppose.

You hope he’d get a kick out of the security footage at least. You managed to aggressively elbow one of your kidnappers in the jaw and make them stagger back before you were overwhelmed, restrained and thrown in the back seat of a car. Surprisingly, there weren’t any physical consequences to that besides a mildly sore elbow. Whoever wanted to take you wants you all in one piece, which can either be really good or really bad. It’s the world’s most shitty game of roulette; is it a job offer to work for a terrorist organization? Or is it one of Albert’s disgruntled business partners wanting to use you as a test subject for revenge? Both were unpleasant in their own ways.

With all the circumstances surrounding your transfer to the Germany B.S.A.A. lab, everything was going surprisingly well. Too well. You should have known it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing good ever does in your life. Chris had tried to reach out a few times wanting to talk, but you always dodged his calls blaming the time difference, your workload, or the near-constant stream of outbreaks that always required your professional attention. You didn’t mind. Keeping busy meant less time to think about Chris’ wounded expression the last time you saw him. The attempts at contact eventually slowed in frequency and you only saw him in the occasional group video call regarding major outbreaks. The North American branch rarely had a reason to visit your particular station with it only being a lab and having nothing to do with the B.S.A.A.’s military operations. A small blessing in your eyes.

Germany was a far away dream at this point. There’s light piercing through the fabric of your hood, so you know it’s the next day. It was night when you were taken. You didn’t get a good look at your kidnappers, but you heard them speaking some sort of Asiatic-related language before they bagged you, as well as throughout your journey to wherever ‘here’ is. All you know for sure is that you were in a car for a long time, a plane for an even longer amount of time (that you somehow slept through most of), and this boat for what feels like an eternity.

Mercifully, your hear shouts from the shore and the movement of the boat changes from a straight choppy line to a diagonal jerky tug and pull. They’re docking the boat. You hear an announcement from an old-sounding speaker in that same unfamiliar language close by, followed by an ear grating buzzer. The words from the speaker echo around the space, giving you the impression of a rocky and unforgiveable terrain.

You still feel wobbly when you’re practically dragged from the boat by your handcuffed wrists, but you manage to walk in what you think is a straight line towards wherever your destination is. The hollow echo of walking on wood underneath your feet turns into the gravely sound of small pebbles, then morphs into solid concrete. The overwhelming fish smell also grows weaker the farther you walk inland, although you can still barely smell it if you focus on your kidnappers. They’re talking boisterously and laughing. You can hear them on either side of you, in front of you, and behind you. The desire to rip off your hood, bodycheck the goons next to you, and run off into God-knows-where was strong, but it was also a rash, stupid decision.

Don’t lash out immediately, know the enemy first.

You’d always been told to comply with kidnappers until the B.S.A.A. could get to you, but on the other hand you’re just too proud to blindly do everything they tell you. You always operate on the assumption they won’t find you in time. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. So, you do what’s become natural at this point: observe and take mental notes.

After a few more paces and a comment from the leader in front of you that the other three belly laugh at, you hear a metallic click, then the metal on metal symphony of a large factory sized door slowly opening a few yards in front of you. There’s a moment of silence between your kidnappers. Then, the ringleader in front of you tugs on your cuffs so hard that you nearly stumble to the ground, but you manage to barely keep your balance. He says words where he sounds like he’s smiling. A joke like before? But the other three aren’t laughing this time. The one on your back right says something quietly, and the ringleader holding your cuffs barks something back angrily.

Then it hits you: these guys are nervous. They haven’t been here before. They’re hesitating to go into the unknown entrance in front of you. These guys are probably a hired third party. The man holding your cuffs shouts something else, startling you and breaking your train of thought. He pulls the cuffs forward as he walks and you’re forced to follow. You hear three pairs of hesitant footsteps behind you.

It only takes a few seconds for you to realize why three of the four men got cold feet at the door. It’s dark in here. The sunlight that was able to pierce through the dark fabric of the hood lessens in intensity the further you’re dragged into the room. As the sounds of the ocean outside get further and further away and you’re questioning what kind of building could possibly be this large.

There’s nervous dissent among the three kidnappers behind you when the big metal door starts closing, but another angry remark from the leader shuts them up. You’re led further and further into the room. You hear yours and your kidnapper’s footsteps echoing around the cavernous room, but the sound gradually reverberates less and less the closer you’re led to bright lights on the other end of the room. The darkness under your hood lessens and grows surprisingly brighter until you’re forced to stop. The ringleader in front of you clears his throat, and pushes you forward slightly. He speaks like a game show host presenting the grand prize, the forced showmanship feeling out of place in the empty environment. A higher pitched, lilting male voice responds over a speaker overhead. Unimpressed. The ringleader tries to keep up the act, but is quickly shut down again.

You hear the higher pitched voice bark out something that sounds like an order, you hear a huff from the leader next to you, then the black hood is ripped off your head. Your eyes are immediately assaulted with bright, military grade lights pointing in your direction. You try to blink away the blindness, but even after getting used to not being in almost complete darkness, you can only make out the silhouette of a wiry man and a bulkier man with some kind of rifle standing next to him in an observation chamber above you. You see the wiry man nod his head in approval. He leans forward and you hear a polite, lightly accented higher pitched voice over the speaker.

“Welcome Doctor. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t recognize the voice, so you elect keep your expression neutral. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” You reply flatly, clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

“I do apologize for your long journey. But some things just can’t be helped. These kind gentlemen will show you to your accommodations.”

At first, you think he’s referring to your kidnappers, but then you see two soldiers walk out from the darkness in front of you. They’re dressed in black, military style gear and wear something similar to a gas mask on their faces. They’re also holding electric batons. You look around. Your kidnappers are dressed in street clothes and appear close to middle age. Maybe you should have taken your chances with them outside. As the soldiers walk out of the shadows, the lead kidnapper holding you by your cuffs, the oldest by the looks of him, gestures to the wiry man above you all and starts almost shouting in a firm tone while alternating between rubbing his fingertips together and an ‘okay’ symbol. Payment.

The wiry man’s silhouette presses a button on the console in front of him in the booth, and more lights come on to your left. Crates. Lots of them. You don’t know what’s inside from this distance, but judging by the smile on the lead kidnapper’s face the payment is more than satisfactory. The previous nervous tension among the four men is completely eradicated. The nervous one that spoke before tosses a small set of keys to one of the soldiers, the lead kidnapper pushes you forward towards the other soldier, and all four of the men head over to the crates to check out their bounty.

You see the soldier with the key place it in one of the pockets on the front of his uniform and walk back towards the darkness, while the other places you in front of him with a firm hand on your shoulder and walks you forward. You’re in complete darkness for a few paces before you’re blinded again by a pair of industrial elevator doors opening and shadows walking towards you.

You realize the two escorting you are guards at best, not soldiers. The squad in front of you is armed with much more deadly weapons; you recognize pistols and semi-automatic TMP’s as the group marches past you back into the warehouse-type room with your original kidnappers. You don’t have long to wonder why they’re marching back into the room. Just as the doors to the elevator are closing, you hear the confused shouts of your kidnappers get cut short by rapid gunfire.

No witnesses. That’s never good.

You’re not in the elevator for long. The doors open to reveal a long hallway with more industrial style architecture. The guard in front of you starts walking forward and the guard behind you lightly pushes you to follow. His presence behind you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

As you’re ushered forward, it feels like you’re walking through a cross between an old factory and one of the old Umbrella labs. Some things appear to be 40 years old or more, and other things, such as the doors, have been updated to be futuristic sliding electric doors with keypads for additional security. The wheels are turning in your head on what this place of operations could possibly be, but you don’t have enough information to make any solid conclusions yet.

The guard in front of you scans a key card on the panel next to the door, it beeps, then the door gracefully slides open to reveal another hallway similar to the last one, but completely renovated; bright white and futuristic. The architect clearly took inspiration from the old Umbrella labs.

About halfway down the new hallway, you realize you don’t feel the presence of the guard behind you anymore. You look over your shoulder and stop in your tracks when you see the guard unconscious on the ground a few feet away.

Huh. How’d that happen?

When you stop walking, the guard in front of you turns around, probably to get you to keep moving to whatever cell these people have prepared for you. But as soon as the guard turns around, you see a gray blur drop from the ceiling out of the corner of your eye. The gray blur, a ginger headed man, punches the guard, which makes the guard stumble but he regains his footing quickly. They exchange a few attempts at hitting each other; the guard tries to swing the electric baton but the mystery man dodges the attempted strike. The mystery man gets a few good punches in and successfully disarms the guard, but the guard is able to catch the man’s wrist, the guard then uses his forearm as leverage to pin the man to the wall. It looks the guard is trying to cut off the mystery man’s air circulation, but the man has enough strength and fighting know-how to not get knocked out.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do. You don’t recognize the new man. The only thing you know is that he’s a skilled fighter, and the other guard isn’t going down easy. You also know you can’t escape by yourself, and the B.S.A.A. doesn’t know where you are.

Help the stranger it is.

You run over to the unconscious guard and grab his electric baton and grip it the best you can with your hands bound together. The mystery man is still pinned to the wall by the guard and is trying to wiggle free.

You sprint down the hall, wind up the prod, and smack the guard on the side of the head. The guard doesn’t go down like you hoped, but the shock of you hitting him with the baton gives the mystery man enough time to grab the guard with both hands and ram him into the wall, knocking him out cold.

“You good?” You ask, somewhat out of breath.

The man stretches his neck and arms, nodding his head. “Never better. Thanks for that.”

Now that the man isn’t brawling with the guards, you get a better look at him.

A nagging sense of familiarity emerges in the back of your mind. You’re positive you haven’t met this man before. You couldn’t have. You would have remembered the large diagonal scar on the left side of his face that stretches from the junction of his cheek and nose all the way down to his jaw, or the buzzed ginger hair. Those features aren’t exactly forgettable, yet some detail that you can’t put your finger on in the moment keeps tugging at your memory.

You shake off the feeling. You can sort that out later, but right now you have more binding things to focus on. You hold out your wrists, still bound in the cuffs.

“No problem. Mind returning the favor? The key’s in his chest pocket.” You point your chin to the guard that you shocked.

“Sure thing.”

Jake saunters over to the guard, rolls the unconscious body over to unzip the front pocket to grab the key, then walks back over to you to start undoing the locks on your cuffs. Jake’s eyes flicker between the lock and your face as he does so.

“So… you’re the hot shot scientist.”

It’s more of a statement than a question. You narrow your eyes. Jake easily unlocks the first cuff and begins to work on the second one.

“That depends… who’s asking?”

“Name’s Jake.”

Knowing his name doesn’t help you place this man’s face. You stay silent and wait for Jake to keep going and give you a last name or the company he works for, but instead he unlocks the second cuff and tosses them away, looking at you expectantly with an easy smirk.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Not before you tell me why you’re here.” When in doubt, be on the side of caution. Just because this man helped you, doesn’t mean he’s on your side. You rub your wrists, trying to get rid of the sting of the cuffs being on your wrists for so long.

“Just a little… preventative maintenance for a friend. You got a name?”

You purse your lips, trying to get a read on what Jake means by ‘preventative maintenance.’ He took out the guards, so unless he’s going for a long con, he doesn’t work for the people who took you. Most mercenaries wouldn’t rescue someone on a job unless it’s in their contract, although any good murder for hire would know what their target looked like before accepting the job. You’re willing to bet his intentions are most likely in line with your own. You relax your shoulders.

“Just call me Doc. And yeah, I’m the virologist.”

The cavalier attitude Jake is exuding shifts slightly and for a moment you think he’s connected the dots on who you are, but instead Jake’s attitude morphs into optimistic determination.

“You know the periodic table?”

You stand there, confused and trying to figure out why he’s thinking about something so out of left field, but coming up with nothing. You answer honestly. “Uh… yes?”

A satisfied smirk stretches across his face. “Good. I could use your help. C’mon.”

Jake strides over to a specific section of wall and presses an unassuming panel on it. A keypad pops out and Jake starts to type on it while you stay in your spot processing what just happened.

“Excuse you, I don’t remember volunteering my expertise!”

“What’s the hold up Doc?” Jake finishes inputting the number sequence and you hear a hiss, something metal releasing, the panel of wall that you now realize is a hidden door sliding back a couple inches, then the wall panel sliding to the left to reveal an industrial staircase winding downward. Jake turns back to you, a cavalier expression on his face. “You got something planned already with sleeping beauty over there? Or are you coming with me?”

Jake gestures to the guard you electrocuted on the floor. You look at the guard, then the other one further down the hall, then back to Jake. “Lucky for you, my plans just got canceled. Let’s go.”

It only takes a few minutes to figure out that Jake knows his way around this place. The staircase leads to another series of dingy hallways that Jake saunters through with confidence. Either he’d already figured out these sections weren’t closely guarded, or he’d taken measures to make sure he wouldn’t have to worry about surveillance. Either way, you’re relieved to be in the presence of someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t trying to hold you hostage.

“So… you didn’t say who you work for.”

Jake thinks about his answer, then shrugs and keeps walking. “I consider myself an independent contractor. But right now, I’m on the B.S.A.A.’s payroll.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as B.S.A.A.” You know for a fact that the B.S.A.A. recruits almost exclusively from armies around the world. Army life causes soldiers to have a certain disposition. A certain disciplined way of carrying oneself resulting from years of drills and training. Jake’s body language felt much too relaxed for that lifestyle.

“I’m consulting.”

You give the man a half smile hearing that. The way Jake said that made it sound like he wasn’t exactly happy about it, but accepted the job nonetheless. Something you could easily relate to. “What a coincidence, so am I.”

“For viruses? You some kind of expert on bioweapons?”

You shrug and keep following Jake. “I’ve got a good amount of practical experience.” It’s a true but vague statement. Jake doesn’t need to know the details of why you know so much. Any mention of your past with Umbrella or Wesker never ends well with strangers.

Jake looks over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t give me that humble bullshit.”

You scoff and smile. Definitely not army. “Okay. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who knew more. Better? What do you need to know?”

“Give me a rundown of the G-Virus.”

You don't answer for a long moment, stunned. “The G? These guys went through the trouble to get me here for that?” Your tone is incredulous.

“What?” Jake doesn’t sound confused at your reaction. Only curious.

“It’s just… unstable and obsolete compared to other bioweapons. It’s not exactly competitive against strains nowadays where infected can tell the difference between enemy and ally.”

“Obsolete huh? What’s your theory on why they have it all the way out here then?”

“They’re… low on funding and have limited options? Or they didn’t care what they’re buying.”

You pause, realizing Jake can fill in some missing information for you. “And who are ‘they’ and what is ‘here?’ I didn’t get a good look at anything on my way in.”

Jake chuckles and shakes his head. “You must piss off a lot of people.”

You roll your eyes at Jake’s comment and keep following him. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“Not judging, I respect it. I’m on a fair share of shit lists myself.”

“If you don’t know the answers, you can just be honest about it.”

“Alright alright. Technically, we’re in Japan, but it’s more of a small as shit island in the Pacific. I was told this was a former Umbrella research outpost.”

You scrunch your brows in confusion. “I didn’t know they had labs this far out from the mainland.”

“Neither did I, but ya learn something new every day.”

Eventually, the dingy hallways and platforms lead to another mechanical door that reveals another white hallway not unlike the ones you remember from Umbrella’s previous headquarters in Raccoon City. You don’t have much time to reminisce as you follow Jake to a door at the end of the hall.

The room you enter is somewhat dated. The equipment here looks like it came straight out of the 90’s, but with some modern updates in a few choice sections. Jake ignores all of that in favor of leading you to the other side of the room where a mechanical door and a keypad are waiting. The door is notably one of the only things in the room that’s been updated.

“Mind taking a crack at this Doc?”

Jake hands you a note with an Umbrella header on it:

Pierre if you’re reading this, I’ve changed the password to the specimen room. I know it impedes business to change it so frequently, but the boss insists on the highest level of security due to the nature of the special project. The new password is your namesake element on the periodic table. Just type in the atomic number and weight in that order. Don’t mess it up again. That damn alarm will lock everything down and Aimi nearly blew a gasket the last time I had to get the security key to disable it again.

“You brought me here for this? Seriously?” You look at Jake like a disappointed mother. Do schools not teach the manmade elements in chemistry anymore? In your mind, you think that Jake went a little overboard bringing someone with a PHD to solve a periodic table puzzle. Jake doesn’t react to your question. He just keeps up the cavalier attitude.

“So you can solve it.”

“You know Google exists, right?” You reply, deadpan.

“No service in the middle of the ocean. Are you going to help me out or not?”

You scoff at the comment, then hand the note back to him and stride to one of the bookshelves. “Yes. It’s Curium.” You thumb through the spines trying to find a chemistry book of some kind.

“But his name’s Pierre. You sure?”

You find a ratty chemistry book with university library stickers all over the spine. Bingo. You pull it out and flip through the back pages, finally finding what you were looking for: a periodic table.

“Pierre Curie and Marie Curie discovered the element. That’s the answer. Type in 96247.”

You snap the book shut and you hear Jake typing in the code on the door. Now that Jake’s errand is almost done, it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge. Or the ocean in this case.

“After you run your maintenance we need to find a radio, or a ride out of here. I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere longer than I need to be.”

“I’m no travel agent, but I think that can be arranged.”

You turn to join him, but a logo on some papers scattered around on the desk by the bookshelf catches your eye; a Tricell logo. Your eyebrows scrunch together. Albert partnered with Tricell for the Uroboros project and the company has been defunct since Africa happened four years prior. Why is that logo here of all places?

You hear a beep behind you and a mechanical door sliding open with a soft hiss as you pour over the documents. They’re copies of internal documents relating to the development of the Africa strain of Plaga parasites with yellow highlights all over them. A large label that reads ‘G – U’ stuck on a keycard is blocking one of the notes so you move it to the side. More concerningly, the only things you see highlighted are locations of labs and sites of infection with handwritten margin notes in Kanji that you don’t understand.

“Hey uh, Doc?” Jake is calling you from inside the room that was unlocked.

“Hm?” You respond, still half-focusing on the Tricell documents.

“I don’t think these guys had limited options.”

A sense of dread starts to form in the back of your mind when Jake says that. You speed walk over to the now accessible room. It’s a large, white room with rows of what look like display cases. You see Jake looking through the glass and into display on the other side of it. You walk up next to him to look for yourself and your heart drops to your stomach when you see what he’s talking about.

On the other side of the glass, you see a complete family of Plaga parasite strains. As you walk down the aisle, you see the original strain from Spain, all the way to the newest strain that popped up in Edonia a couple years back. Although to your relief, you see that the Amber strain which allows the infected to have both strength and free will isn’t displayed.

You glance at the aisle behind the Plaga parasite display. You immediately recognize the familiar T-Virus series. It’s concerning how thorough the collection is. Even without reading the placards underneath each sample, you recognize the strain that caused the outbreak at the Spencer Mansion, the T-Abyss virus from a few years ago, a few different failed strands from the Marcus-Birkin projects, among dozens more. You feel your heart skip a beat when you see the T-VERONICA placard, but you relax when you see that the sample holder is empty.

“Doc? Talk to me what’re you thinking?”

Even with the display cases missing a few of the more powerful specimens, it was still the most comprehensive collection of viruses and parasites in a single place that you’d seen in your career.

“They nearly have the whole damn catalogue in here.” Your tone is grim. Samples as comprehensive as this can only spell something bad on the horizon, but you’re not too sure what.

“I don’t understand what their play is here.” You state, still walking along the T-Strain aisle and examining each sample. Your footsteps echo around the room from the grate flooring. Based on the setup, each one appears to be a live sample.

“I think I do. They’re trying to be a one stop shop for bioweapons and this is the showroom.” Jake spits in disgust.

At first glance, Jake’s observation appears correct. But upon closer examination, that conclusion doesn’t quite fit. You slowly walk along the aisle and look at Jake through the glass in the aisle opposite. He’s examining the strains in the G-Sample section, looking back and forth from the samples in front of him and his phone.

“I want to agree with you, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Jake stops and looks at you confused. “Why?”

“They don’t have nearly enough inventory. These are samples. An unusually comprehensive collection of samples, but there’s only one of each.”

Jake shrugs. “Maybe it’s somewhere else.”

Again, a logical conclusion that doesn’t quite fit. “Outside of this facility? Possible. Here? There would have to be at least a few dozen rooms like this to store everything properly.”

You stop walking.

“And logistically, it just doesn’t make sense. We’re practically in the middle of nowhere. Why would a business owner put their showroom in one of the most difficult to reach places on the planet? You would think they’d want to make it easy for the buyer to review product, as well as convenient for the owner to ship out that product. Someone wanting to be a one-stop-shop would be on the mainland.“

You pause, an icy feeling washing over you. The bag on your head during your transport here and the execution of your kidnappers suddenly makes a lot more sense. 

“These people don’t want to be found.”

Jake’s eyes flick from his phone to your face. “So they’re working on something big. A new G-virus?”

You shift on your feet shaking your head while looking over the G-Virus samples. “Yes to the big project, no to the G. Whatever it is, it’s not down here.”

“You sure about that? This one’s missing.” Jake holds his phone up to the glass so you can see on the other side of the G-Sample row. Jake’s correct this time: this specific strain isn’t displayed. You tilt your head in confusion.

“That’s not a strand I recognize.” At first glance, you know it's an unusual strand of G-Virus. G-Viruses are normally green in color, but this one is a sickly pink.

Jake grunts, shaking his head and pocketing the phone. “It’s never that simple. Is it? An all-inclusive virus buffet and one of the only one that's missing is the one I need.”

Jake pulls out a pistol you didn’t know he had, checks the clip to make sure it’s fully loaded, then holds it down by his side as he strides out of the room.

“Where you headed?” You call after him.

“Main lab upstairs. I’ll come get ya after I’ve got the G-sample.” He answers over his shoulder.

“Absolutely not!” You reply in disbelief and Jake stops walking, sighing in annoyance. He can’t seriously think he can take on the army upstairs with just a pistol. You try to talk some sense into him.

“We need to find a radio and get the B.S.A.A. here. These people will kill you no questions asked if they see you. Plus, that handgun of yours isn’t going to cut it against their hardware.”

Jake shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned. “I’ve had worse odds.”

“That doesn’t make lone wolfing this any less stupid! There’s a base in Tokyo, we just need to find a way to contact them-”

You stop talking abruptly when you catch a glimpse of a dangerously familiar sample. The one that changed the course of your life for the worse. The one that your dead husband tried and failed to infect the planet with. The name UROBOROS is proudly displayed at the end of the G-Virus aisle in the back, nearly drowned out by the sheer number of G-Virus samples.

You hear Jake saying something to the effect of ‘I’ll be back before they even know I’m there’ but you’re not registering what he’s saying. Your vision has tunneled to only focus on that devil sample. All it takes is one slip up by a careless scientist to infect this whole place. You think back to the keycard in the other room by the Tricell papers; ‘G – U.’ G-Virus to Uroboros. This time can be different. You have the power and knowledge to stop this.

“Hey? Earth to Doc? You still with me over there?”

“That needs to be destroyed.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you stare at the Uroboros sample. You keep your eyes on the sample for a few steps, then brush past Jake to rush into the other room to find supplies; some kind of glass beaker, metal garbage can, something to contain the damned thing when you burn it to ash.

As you begin nearly tearing the lab apart in your barely controlled frenzy, Jake steps back into the sample room to look at what has you so distressed.

“Uroboros? That’s the uh… it’s not a G-Virus is it?”

You open a cabinet and find a large glass beaker. You grab it and set it on the counter and keep looking for more supplies.

“Yes! Now less talking and more helping. There’s Bunsen burners here, so there has to be some matches-”

“Can't this wait? Is it really any worse than the other ones?”

You aggressively close some drawers as you turn back to Jake with a serious glare.

“Albert Wesker. Heard of him?” Your voice is low and controlled.

Jake’s face melts into a barely hidden look of disdain. “Yeah, I have.”

“He tried to use it to cleanse the world, as he put it. He spent years injecting innocent people with that and he was the only one who didn’t turn into a flesh-eating worm thing.”

You open more drawers and find a cleaning cabinet with a half full container of rubbing alcohol. You grab it, along with a pair of cleaning gloves, and set them next to the beaker. You start soaking random bits of scrap paper with the liquid and stuff it into the beaker.

“Not only that, he tried to launch that shit into the atmosphere with a deranged smile on his face. It nearly ended the world once and that’s not something I, or anyone, needs to deal with again.”

You put another splash of rubbing alcohol into the beaker for good measure then forcefully put the bottle on the table causing it to spill some of the liquid on the table. It doesn’t slow you down. You quickly put on the cleaning gloves and dig through the drawers around the lab looking for a lighter or matches. Smoking isn’t rare in Japan so one of those items must be here somewhere.

“So Wesker had special blood?” If you were paying closer attention to the way Jake said that, you would have easily picked up that he knew more than he was letting on. But you don’t. You’re too busy trying to get rid of a dormant threat sitting in the other room. You answer without thinking while opening more drawers by the bookshelf.

“Genetically, he was one in a trillion. But even with that, he still had to take doses of the virus periodically to keep it stable. All the more reason to nip this in the bud before it becomes a problem again.”

“You know a lot about this.” A statement of fact, not a question.

“Yeah, I do!” You exclaim dramatically as you slam a cabinet shut when there, once again, aren’t any matches. You’re so frustrated that Jake is asking so many questions and won’t just help you.

“You knew him.” Another statement of fact, not a question. His eyes are dissecting your every move now. The look vaguely reminds you of Albert and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Albert used to look at you like that when he wanted to know if you were lying or gauging your reaction to something he told you. You shake off the feeling. The Uroboros discovery is making you paranoid.                                                                                            

You sigh and shift on your feet, leaning back against the cabinet with your eyes on the ceiling. The scent of rubbing alcohol is strong in the silent room. You shift your eyes to Jake’s after a long moment. His expression is nearly unreadable, but there’s an underlying edge in his posture now. He knows. Not everything, but he’s catching on to why you’re so passionate about this. There’s no use lying about it.

“I knew him…well, okay? At least I thought I did before all the crazy. But right now we have more important things to do than rehash my history.”

You force yourself to tear away from Jake’s calculating gaze and resume your search.

“I nee-… we need matches. Can you just help me look please?”

You don’t hear a response behind you, and you think that Jake is going to keep asking you questions. But after you open a few more drawers you hear a rustle of fabric and a metallic tink.

“Use this.”

Your head whips over to Jake and a wave of relief washes over you. Then annoyance.

He’s holding a lighter.

He had that the whole damn time you were tearing through the lab looking for matches.

You decide it’s best to hold off on scolding him until after you get rid of the Uroboros sample. Instead, you take the lighter with a gruff thank you. You grab your supplies along with the ‘G - U’ keycard and head back into the sample room.

You enter the room with newfound determination. You couldn’t stop Uroboros on your own all those years ago, but this time it’s different. You’re stopping a disaster before it has a chance to start. You place your supplies on the floor next to the case, preparing to immediately plop the Uroboros sample into the beaker. In your peripheral vision, you notice Jake leaning against the doorframe, watching your every move.

You scan the card.

Instead of the glass sliding down into the base like you expected, it stops a quarter of the way down when a deafening alarm sounds overhead and Jake is forced off of the mechanical door when it reels shut. Before you can even call out to him, gas starts pouring into the room from the grates on the floor.

All senses of self-preservation leave you in this moment. Thousands of years of survival instinct telling you to run and claw at the door and scream for help is ignored because, once again, your thoughts are only consumed by the existence of the Uroboros sample. Possessed by only one thought: you can’t fail to stop this again. You couldn’t justify something as trivial as your own survival if it meant there was a sliver of a chance of something like Africa happening again.

You force yourself to focus, even though it’s getting so much more difficult with your mind starting to cloud from the gas. You hold your breath to prolong consciousness. There’s enough space between the glass and the edge of the case that you can squeeze your arm in and grab the damned sample. You can hear Jake banging on the door shouting your name, but his voice sounds so far away as you force the sample from its display rod and gracelessly sink to your knees.

Your hand feels unwieldy and heavy as you drop the sample into the glass beaker. Even more so as you try and fail to roll the lighter wheel fast enough to make a flame. You rip off a cleaning glove to get a better grip and you keep trying. You have to. This needs to work. You can’t fail again. You won’t fail again.

You pause to finally take a breath and force yourself not to cough from the downright bone numbing gas that’s still filling the room. Your vision is starting to blacken at the edges and your body slumps so much that you’re resting on your stomach, so you make a conscious effort to tighten your grip as hard as you can on the lighter and roll the wheel. A small flame erupts from the lighter. With a shaking hand you thrust it into the beaker and the alcohol-soaked kindling erupts into flame. You barely notice the sting of the flames against your hand when you retract it.

Everything feels heavy. You finally let your body resign to the gas and let your head rest on the ground. With each shallow breath, the darkness at the edge of your vision grows more and more prominent. You don’t hear Jake anymore, but you do hear indiscernible voices on the other side of the wall getting farther and farther away and loud pops. Gunfire? Or Jake banging on the door?

The last thing you remember seeing before the darkness overtakes your vision are blackened remains in a glass beaker and a pair of unfamiliar, polished shoes slowly walking towards you.

__________________________________

Thanks for reading!

Tag List: @killerwendigo

a/n 2: I really hate doing filler/transition chapters as a principle, but I promise that it's very necessary for what's coming. Chris x Reader is going to be on the backburner for a couple parts but I assure you he's coming back and it will feel rewarding when he does.

#resident evil fanfiction #jake muller #resident evil 6 #resident evil 6 spoilers #chris redfield x reader #not in this chapter though because PLOT #fanfiction #slow burn #no beta we die like men #The Wife the Lover and the Bastard Son

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Eliot Spencer with long hair and in a sleeveless top, tied to an upright chair with his hands bound behind it and his neck held to the back of the chair with a thick leather band. He has blood and bruises visible on his face. In the background, beyond him, is Alexandra Bligh walking towards him and talking, and in the foreground is a close up of someone drawing a bright red liquid from a vial into a syringe. Black bars above and below the sketch is the text 'COMPOUND 002 -- 15 % w/v' and 'DOSE # 1 12/26/22 -- 17.04', respectively. End ID]

-

Day 15: Experimentation

Bligh makes a deal with some high ups in the FBI or CIA, gets released in order to oversee and run experiments into more effective methods for torture and interrogation using untraceable chemicals. Each experiment is recorded visually as well as notes taken.

Ficlet below the cut - part 2 of the three-parter started on Day 8

-

Parker hated the velvet softness of the night. Almost as much as she hated the glimmering stars that broke the darkness like thousands of unattainable diamonds.

How dare the evening be so peaceful and calm and beautiful when Eliot was in so much pain?

Or probably in pain.

He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. He had promised not to leave her and he wouldn't break a promise.

But they knew by now who had him and why, and it was impossible that Eliot was enjoying anything less than torment.

Because that was the point.

That was why they took him.

Using Hardison’s hacking access, they had managed to find out who took Eliot after almost two weeks of searching, and what they found was horrifying.

Alexandra Bligh, released before ever really getting to jail, had been extremely active.  Expenses that took some digging to find revealed rental payments for a building on a private island off the east coast, the hiring of a complete security team and of several scientists from within various government institutes, and purchase orders of chemical ingredients for some of the most brutal enhanced interrogation drugs currently in existence.

The funding had come from within government, through several layers of secrecy, but ultimately under the ordinance of a former member of the CIA. Someone who Vance - after being made to understand that Eliot was in severe danger - revealed had worked with Eliot on some classified operations under his command.

The funds had been transferred under the name of an operation that had very little digital trace, beyond the purpose, whose lengthy wording boiled down to: design new chemical means for breaking people, and the person in charge: Alexandra Bligh.

Hardison had researched the components while his and Breanna’s programs worked to search for Eliot, and privately told Parker what he thought they would do.

Like red haze mixed with toxins designed variously to trigger pain receptors, alter the threshold for pain and other unpleasant stimuli, and cause something called central sensitization, which Parker didn’t understand but it sounded bad.

Hardison’s simplified summary sounded worse. All the memory and sensation heightening effects of red haze, but now with added very real and very strong pain.

They were using Eliot Spencer as the test subject to develop more brutal, untraceable, methods of enhanced interrogation.

And all that on an island almost inaccessible by any stealthy means.

Now Parker was standing with Breanna on a dock in the darkness, waiting for Dr Not-Dead-Paul to bring around the boat they’d need to get to the island. They'd called him in to help in the recovery mission, in part because they needed someone trustworthy who could fight, and in part because they didn't know what state they'd find Eliot in. Having a medic who Eliot knew on hand could prove very useful.

It was Paul who suggested Harry and Sophie remain behind. Having been told what they believed Eliot had been kidnapped for, he cautioned against having too many people around at the point of rescue. Only the three of them needed for the rescue itself - Breanna to stay in the boat or just beside the building, using the proximity to get into their servers and then guide Parker and Paul to where Eliot was, and the thief and temporary hitter would then break him out and escape.

“What if you need more muscle to get out and Eliot can’t fight?” Breanna asked nervously, watching the headlights of the boat as it approached, “Shouldn’t we call in another hitter? Bligh looks like she hired a hell of a lotta security...”

“No time,” Parker watched beyond the boat into the darkness that hid Eliot somewhere inside it, “And Eliot will be able to fight.”

“He’s been tortured for weeks…”

“He’s been shot, stabbed, beaten, drugged, poisoned, and hit by cars, trucks and carnival rides, and still been able to fight. He’ll be fine.”

"Parker's right," Paul said, and Parker thought he sounded sad, "Eliot can handle being tortured. And, usually before, he’s had to fight his way out alone. No team to back him up."

"But he does this time," Parker smiled at Breanna and hoped it looked reassuring, "Eliot's going to be fine."

He had to be fine.

Like Paul said, Eliot had been through torture before, and probably for much longer than this. He’d been injured physically and tormented mentally more than enough times for this to be almost meaningless.

In theory.

But theory didn’t stop her being on edge and upset and angry at the beautiful night.

-

#ailesswhumptober2023 #Day 15: Experimentation #leverage redemption #eliot spencer #cw torture #Parker #Paul orozco #Breanna Casey #masks whump art

[ravensliterature]

Poisoned Arrow Pt. II

A/N: I have gotten a couple of requests to make a request to Poisoned Arrow so I decided to do so. 

Part 1

pairing: Thranduil x Reader

warnings: Nothing really

w/c: 2841

Prompt: Laketown has been destroyed by Smaug. What will the ramifications be? Your father (Thorin) is being overcome by dragon sickness and it appears a war is starting on your doorstep

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

Legolas had to see his parents kiss. Gross. Thranduil didn't care if you both got caught; he was just happy you were alive. You felt the poison and its effects leave your body quickly thanks to the elven healers Thranduil learned from. Everyone seemed to relax, knowing the orcs were currently gone and you were going to live. This moment was short-lived when a roar was heard from the sky.

Thranduil's eyes darted toward the sound, and his expression changed drastically as he ran from your side toward the entranceway. Legolas followed him without hesitation to see what was making the noise from above. A dark shadow covered the sun, and you heard the people of Laketown scream and the bells of the town began to ring. Your eyes widened as your heart pounded loudly in your chest; this couldn't be happening. Legolas looked on in horror while your husband had a face of dread. Smaug.

"Legolas, escort the dwarves and humans to a boat. Now!" Thranduil demanded before leaving with a swift nod toward his son who stood frozen. You tried to get up, but you fell back onto your bed and let out a groan at the pain radiating through your body from the lingering effects. There wasn't much time left, so you closed your eyes tight and prayed that everything would go smoothly for everyone. Thranduil picked you up bridal style, recognizing your inability to fully stand yet.

"Everyone, to the boat!" Legolas shouted, escorting the human children who were clinging to him. Fili, Kili, Oin, and Bofur followed swiftly after. Finally, you and Thranduil entered the boat before drifting off down the river in the hopes of escaping. The fire covered the town as the dragon took his anger out on the village. All you could do was pray for everyone else. For Thorin. For Bilbo. For the rest of the company.

You held onto Thranduil tightly with a grip like iron as you watched the city burn before turning your attention to Thranduil again. He was pale and shaky, with worry etched into his features, but his expression was set firm. The boat drifted further down the river, and you saw a screech from the sky. Smaug was falling into the town, and Bard could be seen on the bell tower with his bow. An arrow struck the dragon in the chest, causing it to stumble and fall forward toward the water. You watched helplessly as Smaug crashed into Lake Town. The ship rocked violently, sending your boat further down the river in a wave. Thranduil grasped onto you tightly while everyone else grabbed onto the boat.

It was early morning when the fishing boat you all fled to safety on reached the shore. Everyone was exhausted and in need of food. When you finally made it safely onto land, you were met with a town without a home as they surrounded you all. Bard's girls were reunited with him, and at this moment, you were able to walk normally again.

"Nin meleth, I need to see my father. I need to make sure he is alright," you said to your husband. He placed a hand on your cheek softly and gave you a sad look.

"I know, my love. I know you will not be able to rest until you finish this journey," he said, looking straight into your eyes. He pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. He knew better than to get in your way, especially when it comes to family. You pulled away and looked around, seeing nothing else but ruins, people, bodies, and ash.

"This isn't good..." you mumbled softly at the same time Legolas began walking toward your side. "Mirkwood has been notified of the state of Laketown and will be sending aid for these people," he explained. He looked over at you and gave you a nod.

"Good job, my son, we are very proud," Thranduil said, smiling brightly at Legolas.

"Thanks, Father," Legolas replied. You watched the exchange between the two of them and smiled. It warmed your heart to see such close ties between the two of them. Legolas moved over to you as you turned around and placed your arm around his shoulder. You smiled lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder. "I will see you when this is all over, my son," you whispered. He squeezed your arm gently.

"Of course, mother. We will meet soon," Legolas replied, leaning his head against yours.

You and Legolas broke apart as he left to help with any healing that he could, leaving you and Thranduil to your discussion once more.

"So, my dear wife... I think we should talk about something rather important right now," Thranduil said, placing a hand under your chin and raising your face to look him in the eye.

"What do you mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly. He sighed softly and placed a gentle peck on your lips. His hand found its way into your hair and tangled your fingers together.

"You are still recovering from the injury, and you will be able to walk fine, but be careful," he answered, resting his forehead against yours. "I need you in one piece," he murmured, kissing your temple. You nodded in response and wrapped an arm around him. He slowly backed away from you and turned back around. The King was to return to ensure aid was brought to the people of Laketown.

You made your way over to Fili, Kili, Oin, and Bofur who were waiting. After making sure you had everything you needed, you began your climb up the mountain to the entrance of Erebor, where you grew up.

As you approached the gates of Erebor, you realized how much larger it looked compared to how you remembered. The stone towers looked tall and strong, though they were crumbling from age. But there was still something familiar to it. Like an old friend that you haven't seen in years but missed dearly. Your reminiscing was cut short when you realized the entranceway was destroyed by Smaug's leave. Were they all dead? Was your father alive? You all had the same thought as your casual walking pace turned into a sprint as you all entered the ancient kingdom.

"Hello!" Bofur yelled into the echoing halls, searching for anyone. No response came, and it only served to worry you and the others further. "Bifur!? Anybody!?" Bofur called, hoping someone might hear him. You glanced at Bofur worriedly as you all continued to walk. You decided that you all would continue to trek the halls until you found everyone. Alive or dead.

"Wait! Wait!" a voice rang through the mountain as you all walked down the stairs further into Erebor. You recognized that voice. "It's Bilbo!" Kili exclaimed. You smiled widely as you all ran towards him. You stopped running abruptly when you got to the hobbit.

"Stop! Stop!" Bilbo yelled. You all froze in fear, wondering what was wrong. He looked terrified, and his eyes were wide with panic. "You need to leave. We all need to leave," he breathed, trying to compose himself. You frowned in confusion as everyone stared at the hobbit. Why would he want to leave? Then it hit you... your father.

"We only just got here?" Bofur said in disbelief. You all stared at Bilbo in shock for a few moments, but you knew. You already knew. The dragon sickness was already in effect. "I have tried talking to him, but he won't listen. Thorin has been down there for days. He doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He's not been himself."

Without notice, Fili sprints down the stairs, catching the attention of everyone as you decide to follow suit.

You could feel the fear creeping inside of you as you all followed Fili through the maze of hallways, and you got closer to the room glowing with gold. You felt your heart stop when you saw Thorin in royal garb in a sea of gold coins. The sickness was too powerful, and it was already affecting his mind.

"Gold. Gold beyond measure," your father muttered as he stared at the coins before him. Your breath caught in your throat, and your knees buckled as you struggled to remain upright. You feared this the moment you set on this journey. You thought he was strong enough to resist it. Hoped that he was. "Beyond sorrow and grief. Behold the great treasure of Thror. Welcome, my daughter and sister's sons, to the Kingdom of Erebor!"

Your father raised a ruby, throwing it to Fili as he caught it. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes as you looked at your father. Kili sensed your pain as he grabbed your elbow in an attempt to drag you away from the sight. "Let's find everyone else," he whispered. You let yourself be pulled away from the scene and back up the stairs with the others.

Everyone was alive, but your joy was short-lived as Thorin put you all to work in search of the Arkenstone. The valued treasure above all. While everyone was searching, you tried to find a moment to break away. You couldn't be a part of this. You made your way to a balcony on Erebor overlooking the burned town. All that death for a stone and the decline of your father. It wasn't worth it. You reclaimed your home but at the cost of this? Finally, the tears you had built up began to fall. Your tears were interrupted when you saw an army of elves walk upon Erebor. Leading them was your husband? What was going on? Were they here because of you? As you stood there trying desperately to control your emotions, your attention is drawn to the man you love. As you continue to stare you see a man riding on a horse riding further than the rest up to the gate. As he got closer into view, you saw a familiar lock of black hair. Bard? As you peered over the edge, a raven flew above your head. You assumed it was likely Thorin telling your aunt they had reclaimed the mountain.

You weren't the only one who saw him as you saw your father walk down below to greet your guest. He appeared at the door talking with Bard through a hole allowing them to see each other's faces.

"I'm listening," Thorin said looking over at Bard with furrowed brows. Bard took in a deep sigh. "On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honor your pledge. A share of the treasure so they can rebuild their lives."

Bard suggested. Thorin remained silent. "Please," Bard pleaded. Thorin sighed deeply before saying, "I will not trade with any man while an armed host lies before my door."

You could hear Bard scoff in frustration, "That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms." You were happy Thranduil was aiding the people, but he wouldn't attack you, all right? Would he?

"Your threats do not sway me," Thorin replied.

You could hear Bard curse under his breath, "What of your conscious? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help and helped save your daughter's life. And in return, you brought upon them only ruin and death."

Thorin shook his head in disbelief. "Why do the men of Laketown only come to our aid when for the promise of rich reward."

"A bargain was struck!"

"Begone! Let our arrows fly!" Thorin roared.

Your gaze snapped up in horror. Arrows. They meant war.

You could hear Bard shouting out insults and promises of bloodshed as he ran off in the direction of the human camp with the elves following him. You watched in silence and shock as Thorin walked away from the door fuming. "He is gone..." You murmured to yourself as just peered over the patio scared to return to the rest. You wanted to believe that your father is still in there. That he hopefully won't start an all-out war. You continued to stare wondering what would happen next until you heard footsteps coming down the pathway of the patio. You followed the noise to see Bilbo hooking himself to the wall, yanking on the wall, and testing its strength.

"Bilbo? What are you doing?" you asked, stepping forward worriedly. "Are you alright?"

He nodded his head sadly "The dragon sickness has taken hold of your father. I am saving him." After his declaration, Bilbo held out a glittering jewel-like none you'd ever seen.

You gasped softly, "The Arkenstone." You moved toward Bilbo, examining it with curiosity, noticing the gems on its inner surface seemed to glow slightly brighter than the rest. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it. I planned to give it to your husband and Bard," Bilbo said.

"I'm coming with you."

"No," Bilbo stated firmly, and you frowned, confused. "Do you know how Thorin will react knowing his daughter betrayed him in this state? He'll kill you!" Bilbo warned.

"I have no intention of dying today," you said determined to go with him. "He would never hurt me."

"How do you know?" Bilbo questioned. You ignored the question as you stepped closer to the balcony and then pointed down, gesturing for him to climb down. Once at the bottom, you used his rope to climb down as well. You quickly climbed down to the ground and stood beside Bilbo. Both of you looked around to see if anyone saw you guys scale down the wall. When the coast appeared clear, you ran towards the human camp.

"Y/N..." Thranduil gasped as he stood up for his chair in the tent as you were escorted by Gandalf and Bard with Bilbo in tow. "Oh thank Valar you're safe," he said grabbing you tightly into a warm hug. You wrapped your arms tightly around him, burying your face into his chest. "I am safe, my love," you mumbled in relief. You pulled back from the embrace and looked into his blue orbs and smiled. His eyes shone, and his skin glowed as you both gazed at each other lovingly.

"What brings you both here?" Bard asked raising an eyebrow.

"We came to give you this," Bilbo said pulling the Arkenstone from his pocket. Thranduil's jaw nearly dropped as he watched the hobbit place the jewel on the table with Gandalf and Bard doing the same. There was silence. Everyone was staring at the jewel in shock as Bilbo spoke up, breaking the silence. "We both took it as our 14th share of the treasure."

"Why would you do this? The hobbit especially doesn't owe us any loyalty," Bard questioned.

"We are not doing it for you. I have grown very fond of them and Y/N and I will save them all if I can," Bilbo explained.

Gandalf looked at Bilbo, surprised by his words and nodded slowly, "If that is what you wish. But I hope your plan works," he told the hobbit.

"Me too," you mumbled. "Thank you for bringing us here, Master Baggins." You said smiling gratefully up at him. He grinned in response before leaving the room with Bard and Gandalf leaving you and your husband alone. You felt something brush against your cheek. Glancing down, Thranduil leaned down kissing you gently. "It is good to see you again, my love. I'm sorry it has come to this."

"So am I," you sighed as you stared at the beautiful jewel that lay on the table. "But why have you come? I thought you were only aiding the humans with food and supplies?" You inquired. "Food and supplies will not rebuild their homes, my dear. They need resources and your father made a promise. My army was only to act as a warning. I didn't think dragon sickness would take him this quickly."

"What are we going to do?" you asked.

"Tomorrow, I need you to stay here. If the sickness has truly claimed him, he will hurt you."

"No. Me being there will stop him from hurting you all."

He smiled sadly before leaning down once again placing another soft kiss on your lips. "Let us worry about this tomorrow. Tonight is mine to enjoy with my wife." With that, he kissed you tenderly once more. You allowed your eyes to close, allowing yourself the opportunity to relax for the first time since you arrived. You soon became lost in his touch and his scent. It reminded you of the times he would hold you and make you feel special and loved. It also reminded you how much you wanted to feel those things again. You pulled apart after a while and placed a small chaste kiss on his lips. "Will you stay with me tonight? Let us worry about tomorrow later."

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

Submit a request here

Part 1

#thranduil x reader #thranduil #thrandaddy #lord of the rings #the hobbit #thranduil x wife #thranduil x you #thranduil x oc #thranduil x y/n #battle of the five armies #mirkwood #thranduil fluff #elves #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #reader #hobbit

[wildelydawn]

Trick or treat! 🎃🧡🎃🧡

Hello friend!! Thank you stopping in 🐢 for you, I have a small post canon/post reconciliation fic that I’m not brave enough to hit publish on, but I feel like you might enjoy the silliness of Chay taking Kim out on his first paddleboat ride. :)

-

“Kim! Do it for me, please?”

The vendor taps his foot impatiently. 

Fuck. Why do I love him so much?

Kim steps onto the boat again, and the same uneven movement scares him, but he swings his other foot over, and then he’s standing on a tiny ass paddleboat.

“Sit down!” The vendor commands. He unravels the rope that’s holding them to the pier and sets them off. 

It’s obvious, but this is nothing like the sailing or cruises Kim has done. For starters, Chay is the one directing the boat with the paddles even before Kim is fully settled.  In this moment, Kim’s brain reminds him that Chay doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet.

“W-wait! Chay! Let me get settled first!”

“We have to move, they want to bring the next boat over!”

…

“Slow down Chay!”

“Okay, okay!!” Chay stops paddling like a mad man and lets them skim the water, the tension slowing them down. “Hey, Kim, take a picture of me?”

“What if I drop my phone?” This seems perfectly likely to happen with the way they’re bobbing against the current. 

“Just one photo, pleeaaaaseee?”

Kim quickly takes out his phone. He’s trembling because doing so makes the boat rock, and he’s not so sure he can put it away after this. “Smile.”

Chay smiles and holds up a fingerheart. He looks devastatingly beautiful against the sunset. Kim lowers his phone, watching Chay watch the waves, watching Chay look perfectly relaxed in an unstable paddleboat in the middle of this lake.

Kim wants to kiss him and complete the moment, but it’s impossible in this fucking boat-

Chay turns and pulls Kim in for a quick kiss, causing the boat to rock again. Kim instantly grips the sides. Chay laughs. 

“I love you,” Kim stammers. “But please please do not do that again.”

“What are you gonna do, stop me?” Chay kisses him again. 

“We’re going to capsize!”

“You’re so dramatic!” 

Kim, in true dramatic fashion, reaches down and splashes water right onto Chay, and then instantly regrets it when Chay grasps onto the paddles and gives him a devilish grin. 

“Chay, wait!”

They start propelling towards the horizon again, faster and faster, until Kim is crying out and Chay is hysterical, yelling at Kim to hold on, that this is just the beginning.

-

Send me a trick or treat about one of my WIPS! 🎃

#KimChay #ask #answered #ask game #shubaka #Another one that Shou inspired #Shou #also sorry for anyone who hasn’t gotten a response yet I’m sifting through the sad/bad stuff for the good stuff analdkskak #myfics #my fics #Dawn’s Ficlets #KimPorchay

[blorbocedes]

hi nicologist blorbie, i like nico but i find his media personality kinda... too polished? like george russell but with more personality. like he's doing a performance but maybe it's just his overly therapized self-awareness. ur thoughts?

hshdjdj hello anon... welcome to the pantheon of the same complaint nico has faced his whole life 😫😭 from 2013-2016, to all the way back in Williams he was called ranging from "doesn't have a sense of humour/too German" to "too stoic/wooden/PR focused" the George Russell before George Russell. let's break down your question

the 2016 media narrative was actually "Lewis Hamilton parties every week vs Nico Rosberg has given up all pleasures to life to eat oatmeal and train" and their press con pictures were Nico being 😶. couple that when he was put against the other German on the grid, the naturally charismatic and joking seb vet, nico absolutely came across as a stick up his ass.

now, obviously, as you have called me a nicologist I'm going to have a biased take. let's talk about media personalities -- everyone has them. even the most animated of blorbos, daniel playing up being funny, lewis with his peace and love, even fernando refusing to explain what el plan is everytime 😈 (this is a man who owns being a menace)

some people refuse to play into theirs as much, like max, and accordingly the media characterises him as blunt/straightforward/harsh. the media is nicer to you when you work with them, which is why Daniel is such a media darling and the face of DTS, despite not being a top 5 race contender.

nico has always been aware of how he's perceived. there's a will buxton article about it that's pretty fascinating. even before entering f1, he knew he'd be World Champion's Son and his media personality while he was a driver reflected that; diplomatic, uncontroversial, says the right and boring thing (and yes, even lying about it 🤭 my darling care has the receipts). my fav nico moments are when he'd break off it a bit — the iconic "if Lewis wants to change something then he can drive cleanly himself" agdjjd while jenson went O_O [obv media personality =/= how they actually are]

present day nico, as an f1 commentator, I'm very curious what your idea of polished media personality is. cause to me, that means someone who is milquetoast, wouldn't rock the boat, impersonal and says the 'right' thing. nico is the guy who said Ferrari's current strategy team is worse than an F2/F3 team live on air 😭 (as he should), the guy who asked lando point blank what the difference is between p3 and p4 (who didn't know 😭 bless his heart), who said yeah why should max go into a corner thinking lewis is gonna miss the apex

peak rosberg shit stirring hehe

I actually don't even agree with nico always, like for instance when he said merc should've prioritised lewis over george in dutch (?) gp. like don't make me defend george but he was right on his call for softs and prioritising His race, but that's whatever

not a huge fan of the term overly therapized~ cause a lot of Nico insults is "this man needs to go to therapy" and when they find out he HAS they're like "this man has had Too Much therapy" like 😭😭😭 he cannae win...... I do call him the most therapized man of all time, but that's gentle ribbing. when people say it anonymously w/o any way for me to extrapolate intent I'm a bit hm 🤥

cause like if he was saying things like emotional labour and 'speaking my truth' that claim would have more weight... but you know who Would say things like that? [redacted] 🔫

coming back to your question. every f1 driver is doing a performance with their public persona, some are better some are worse. Nico is no longer in f1 as a driver and doesn't need to be careful and measured anymore, and To Me is one of the few fun personalities in f1 as a commentator. you can totally disagree cause it's a matter of personal preference.

Post retirement Nico, having a YouTube channel for Years and playing into the memes (his ig comments are a nightmare of the same equal machinery joke) is perhaps more aware than most how people see him. he also doesn't need to care as much, he can laugh at himself -- at his own expense. he even posted what is essentially a taking L's compilation

if his polished persona is coming across as a cringe girldad who is way too excited about electric cars then by god he's the greatest male manipulator out there

obv if you find him too curated/inauthentic that's your prerogative, but I I would ask; have you actually watched the guy or are you going off public consciousness/someone else's interpretation. i wish he was as conniving and calculating now as people gave him credit for, unfort this is a dude who geeks out over finding a charging station in Italy.

love him, hate him, you can't deny he's fun

#why is this answer so long 😭 sob #nico rosberg #added a bunch of links so we can all watch and have fun :3 #you can totally think he's fake/inauthentic/too polished this is just my take that you asked for #blorbocedes ask

[gunilslaugh]

Aaaaaaaa i love ur writings so much and pls stay healthy n hydrated!!!!!

Can i request a Gaon x Female reader?

Like having a date w him jn the beach or something u like!!

Thank you so much!!! You stay healthy and hydrated too!

Kwak Jiseok

Summary: Having a beach date with Jiseok.

WC:732

Warning:grammar

photo not mine credits to owner.

The weather was nice and warm, not too hot. The sun was the only thing adorning the sky and a gentle breeze blew in the air. Jiseok and you both agreed that it was a perfect day to go to the beach. There wasn’t all that much time left for the summer season, so it would be a shame to waste the opportunity to have a fun beach date. 

Once you arrived at the beach Jiseok and you scouted out your spot then proceeded to settle your belongings there. 

“Let’s hit the water!” Jiseok exclaims excitedly, getting ready to run towards the shoreline. 

“Wait!” you called, catching him by the wrist and pulling him back in your direction. “You need to put on sunscreen first silly,” you said, shaking the sunscreen bottle that was in your other hand. 

“Apply it for me,” Jiseok said in a childlike manner. You shook your head, yet his act still brought a smile to your face. Uncapping the sunscreen you began to apply it over Jiseok’s skin. “There,” you announced, leaving one final swipe down the bridge of his nose.

“Your turn,” Jiseok states, taking the bottle from your hand. “Guess what shape this is,” he tests you. Jiseok was currently behind you, covering your back with sunscreen. 

“Ok,” you answered, readjusting slightly, thinking it was somehow going to help you.

“I’m starting now,” Jiseok tells you. You concentrated on the feeling of his finger making its way across your back, trying to decipher the shape. “Well?” He pipped. You weren’t quite sure.

“Do it one more time,” you tell him. Once more Jiseok traces the shape onto your back. 

“Is it a heart?” You guessed. 

“Yep, a heart because I love you,” Jiseok leans forward, chest pressing against your back as he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“That was cheesy,” you scoffed. 

“It was cute,” he defended. “Now come on, let’s go get in the water,” he says, pulling you up by your arms. The two of you headed over to the water, taking a couple steps into it, standing ankle deep. 

“It’s not actually too cold,” you spoke a bit surprised. 

“Then you should get in deeper,” Jiseok said mischievously, shoving you into the cool water.

“Yeah Kwak Jiseok!” you shouted, wiping the salty water away from your face. Jiseok laughs at you. “I guess I should’ve expected that from you,” you grumbled standing it. As an act of revenge you kicked the watering, sending it splashing onto Jiseok. 

“Aye!” Jiseok cries. He reaches into the water, splashing you back. 

“You started it. Plus you’re looking a little too dry,” you splashed him again with more water.

“This means war,” he states, splashing you harder. The sound of splashing water mixes with yours and Jiseok’s laughter as you take turns splashing each other.

After tiring yourselves out in the water you strolled back over to your spot and dug into some of the snacks you brought with you. 

“We should build a sandcastle,” you suggested, playing with the sand in front of you, letting the grains slip through your fingers. 

“An epic sandcastle,” Jiseok said eagerly. Then the both of you got to work with the construction process. 

“It’s a good thing we aren’t in the construction business,” you chuckled while looking at your lopsided castle. 

“Maybe we should have made a sandman,” Jiseok said.

“Sandman?” You asked confused. 

“You know, like a snowman, but with sand,” he explained. 

“Yeah we probably would have boated better with that,” you agreed.

The sun was now sinking into the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful orange-ish red. You and Jiseok admired the sunset together. Once the sun was replaced by the moon you guys packed up your stuff and tried your best to clean off all of the sand. 

“Today was fun,” you said, hand in hand with Jiseok, walking back to your car. 

“Yeah it was a nice end to summer,” Jiseok says. 

“It’s not the end of summer yet,” you corrected him.

“It’s probably our last beach date for the year though,” he stated. 

“Got me there, but we could come during winter. Not to play in the water obviously, but I don’t know beaches in winter sounds like a nice concept,” you disclosed. 

“If you want to come during winter, then we’ll come during winter,” Jiseok declared, pulling you into his side. 

#xdinary heroes #xdh #xdh imagines #xdh x reader #xdinary heroes imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xh gaon #xh jiseok #jiseok x reader #kwak jiseok

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 18 - zuko x fem!reader

Don't speak, I know just what you're thinking

part 17 | masterlist | part 19

a/n: and yn is finally reunited with her friends!!! as much as im sure you all enjoyed yn being constantly sad and depressed in prison i am so glad that i get to write her w the gaang again as well as suki in a more normal situation. those girlies are bonded for life

wc: 9.2k lmao OOPS

warning(s): some angst regarding zuko ofc but pretty tame; minor injuries, fighting, canon stuff from the boiling rock ep

chapter title comes from don't speak by no doubt!

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

After a restless night, Y/N was looking forward to meeting with Sokka and Suki again and formulating their plan for escape. Instead, she was met with the sight of not only Zuko, but Zuko in his very own set of prison rags. 

“We, uh—” he glanced down at his outfit, “—we ran into some issues last night.”

“Didn’t take you long to mess up, did it?” she commented as she grabbed a mop from one of the buckets at the corner of the room. “I’m not surprised.” 

“Y/N—” Zuko started, but she shook her head. 

“Save it.” She gestured across the way with the stick of her mop where Suki stood, inconspicuously speaking with Sokka who was still in his guard disguise. Not even bothering to look at Zuko, she started on her way. 

“Hey,” she said, offering nods of greeting to both Sokka and Suki. They returned them, and after ensuring that no actual guards were around to hear them, she turned back to them. “Are you guys okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Suki said, and she smiled at Sokka. “A lot better knowing that you’re here.” 

Y/N smiled inwardly at the faint blush on his cheeks as he spoke up. “We’re good too. Zuko ended up getting caught last night, but they still don’t know about me. But I’ve had a lot of time to polish my idea since I last saw you, and I can make it work in our favor. I think I’ve got a pretty solid plan, guys.” 

“Please, spill,” Y/N said. “I am more than ready to get out of here.” 

“Same,” Suki muttered. 

Sokka looked behind him one last time to ensure that no guards were nearby, and then he ushered them into the corner next to the stairs for maximum privacy. Y/N and Suki set their mops against the wall and the four of them squatted down, Sokka lowering his voice. 

“So, you know how when a firebender misbehaves or uses their bending, they get sent to the coolers?” They all nodded, and Sokka pushed up the visor of his helmet. “Well, I checked them out again — the whole point of them is to keep firebenders contained, which means they’re completely insulated and sealed to keep the cold in. And to keep the cold in, it also has to keep the heat out, right?” 

Suki frowned. “Just get to the point, Sokka.” 

“We’ve clearly been apart for too long,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You have no appreciation for my dramatics anymore.” 

Suki rolled her eyes but couldn’t stifle her smile. “Whatever.” 

He smiled as well as he continued. “Because of its insulation, it’s a perfect boat to get through the boiling water!”

Zuko’s eyes widened. “The cooler as a boat? Are you sure?” 

“I’m telling you,” Sokka said, “it’ll work.” 

Y/N frowned. “What about the guards? They have watchtowers around the perimeter—they’d spot us in a second.” 

Sokka shook his head. “I walked it this morning. There’s a blind spot between two of the guard towers—we can launch the cooler there. The current will take us right through, and as long as we stay quiet, no one will notice a thing. Not until we’re long gone.”

“That sounds great,” Suki said. “But how are you gonna get the cooler out? None of us will be able to help you, and surely you can’t do all that work alone.” 

Sokka opened his mouth to respond, but a different, unfamiliar voice rang out instead. 

“Yeah. How are you going to get the cooler out?” 

Y/N immediately grabbed her mop out of instinct—not that it would do much help if a guard had caught them plotting an escape—but when they all looked up, it was just another prisoner. He hopped down from the railing and landed next to them, ignoring their bewildered expressions. So much for privacy. 

“What?” Sokka immediately started panicking as he tugged at his collar. “We— we didn’t say that!”

Zuko nodded. “Yeah. You heard wrong.” 

His face remained impassive. “I heard you hatching an escape plan. I want in.” 

“There’s nothing to get in on,” Zuko said.

“We’re just having a normal conversation,” Y/N said, her grip on the handle of her mop tightening. “Nothing you need to be involved in.” 

“Yeah,” Sokka spoke up, “the only thing we’re hatching is… an egg.” 

Suki gave him a disappointed look, Zuko groaned, and Y/N just sighed. Sokka was a genius, but he really needed to work on his improv. 

The prisoner shrugged. “Either I come with you, or the warden hears about this egg.” 

The four of them looked at each other, speaking with each other just through minute changes in their expressions, until they finally settled on what they knew they had to do. 

Suki broke away first, relenting with a sigh. “I guess we have no choice.” 

“Fine,” Sokka said, looking at the prisoner, “you’re in. But you follow our lead on everything, or you’re out just as quickly.” 

“As long as you get me off this rock, I don’t care what my part is,” he said. 

Sokka nodded. “Okay. Back to getting the cooler out. Obviously, Suki’s right, and I can’t do it alone, especially from the outside. But,” he looked at Zuko, “we can get someone to unscrew it from the inside.”

It took Zuko a second to understand, but then he nodded. “I can do that.” 

“Good.” Sokka took a wrench out from his back pocket and handed it to Zuko, and he tucked it into his tunic. 

“You’re gonna have to use your firebending,” Suki said. “We see it happen all the time— a guard baits a prisoner into a fight, they use their bending, and they get locked in the cooler for a week for something that isn’t even their fault. If you’re seen blasting at Sokka, you’ll definitely get thrown in.”

Sokka shook his head. “As much as I’d love to fight Zuko, I shouldn’t be seen causing a scene with him again. We were already caught together last night—if that happens again, someone up top might get suspicious.” 

“Zuko and I can fight,” Y/N spoke up. “I know how to dodge his attacks.” And to be honest… she wanted to throw a couple punches at him. She was still angry she had to work with him to get out of here. 

Zuko frowned. “No way. I’m not fighting you for this, and I’m not gonna burn you.”

She snorted. “You had no qualms about doing it before.”

Zuko winced at the barb, and she couldn’t help but feel a sick sort of gratification. He should feel bad about what he did to her. She wasn’t just going to let him off the hook because they needed to work together for a day. 

“Don’t worry, princess. You two don’t have to fight,” the prisoner spoke up, and he looked at Zuko with a smile. “I can get you inside.” 

-

Getting Zuko in trouble turned out to be the easiest thing they’d done during their time here. He and the prisoner—Chit Sang, he finally told them—staged a fight, and the second Zuko sent a blast of firebending, Sokka called for backup and he got taken away. Y/N had to admit—it was nice seeing Zuko get shoved around, even if it was just pretend. 

They were sent back to their cells a few minutes later for “security reasons”, and since then, Y/N had just been playing the waiting game. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the blue beads in her hands as she rolled them between her fingers. Thankfully they hadn’t been confiscated after she became a prisoner here, but it had only taken a week for her to remove them from her braids and secure them in the safety of her cell. The last thing Y/N needed was for an even bigger target to be placed on her back, and so she made the difficult decision to take them out. 

But now—tonight—they were escaping. She was going to get her life back. No more hiding who she was. 

Y/N had just finished braiding the beads back into her hair when her cell door opened, and she smiled when the guard flipped up his visor and revealed his blue eyes. 

“Sokka,” she breathed, darting up to her feet, “is everything okay?” 

He nodded. “Everything’s going according to plan. I got Suki and Chit Sang out of their cells a few minutes ago—I’m on the way to get Zuko out of the cooler.” Sokka paused. “Do you want to come with me? 

“No.” 

“Y/N—”

“No, Sokka.” She shook her head. “I told you I would work with him just enough to get out of here. I don’t need to come with you.” 

He stared at her for a moment before relenting with a sigh. “Okay. You know your way down to the shore?” 

“Yeah. I’ll meet them there.” 

“Good. Don’t get caught.” 

Y/N smiled. “Take your own advice.” 

Sokka chuckled as he pulled her in for a hug, stepping away after a good long moment. “I’ll see you on the other side?” 

She nodded. “You know it.” 

-

“Oh, thank Kyoshi you made it.” 

Suki ran over and tackled her into a gopher bear hug the second Y/N emerged from around the building, instantly knocking the air out of her. 

She laughed breathlessly and patted her on the back, extracting herself from Suki’s arms so they could walk back over to where Chit Sang was waiting. “Of course I made it—you think I’m gonna let something go wrong this close to our escape?” 

“I have total faith in you,” Suki said. “It just took you a little longer to get here, and I immediately thought the worst.” 

“It’s true,” Chit Sang spoke up. “She wouldn’t stop pacing.” 

“Well, I’m here now,” Y/N said, “and Sokka’s on the way to get the cooler. Hopefully he’ll be here soon.” 

It was then that she spotted two other people sitting on the rocks near them, a man and a woman. 

“Um,” she said, “who are they?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Chit Sang gestured at them with his head. “That’s my girl and my buddy. They’re coming with us.”  

“What?” Y/N looked at him incredulously. “The deal was that you got to come—this plan’s already risky enough with only the five of us. You don’t get to bring in your own people when you’re only here as a liability.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “This liability is fully willing to tell the warden about your plan. So either they escape with us, or we all get thrown back in the slammer.” 

Y/N glared at him, fire simmering just beneath the surface, only quelled when Suki spoke up. 

“I told him that,” she sighed, “but it should be okay. More people getting out of this place, the better, right?” 

“Fine,” Y/N said, and she looked over at the two, “but you don’t do anything to mess this up, or I’ll throw you into the lake myself—okay?” 

They both nodded, and she felt the slightest bit of gratification at their widened eyes. 

Y/N sighed herself and sat down on a rock next to Suki. Now, all they could really do was wait. 

And wait they did. It was another harrowing, anxious ten minutes until they heard noises—when Y/N looked behind them, they were greeted with the sight of Sokka and Zuko rolling down the cooler. They all immediately rushed up to support them, and with the strength of the five of them combined, it was a far easier effort.

“It’s about time you got here,” Chit Sang said , and he pulled the same thing on Sokka as he did on Y/N. “I brought my girl and my best buddy—they’re coming too.” 

And Sokka reacted the same way she did—annoyance underneath, but cooperation above it. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Stop it here.” 

Y/N grimaced as she dug her heels into the rock, and they managed to stop the cooler just before the shore. Together, they turned it around, the edge of it just barely in the boiling water. 

“Get in,” Sokka said. “It’s better we’re out before the guards can realize any of us are gone.” 

Chit Sang’s people nodded and began to get in the cooler, but Y/N’s gaze followed Sokka as he walked over to a large boulder. He picked it up to reveal his Water Tribe clothes, and she was able to see his longing stare as he stood there. 

“Are you sure you want to go?” Zuko asked, folding his arms as he and Suki joined them. “You’re the one that said you wanted to redeem yourself, redeem your honor. Rescuing your dad is your chance.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened as Sokka slipped his sword over his back. “Your father could be here?” 

“They’re getting a new shipment of prisoners in tonight,” Sokka said quietly, staring at the ground. “We overheard the guards talking about it—there are some war prisoners, which means my dad could be one of them.” 

The meaning of it dawned on her—either they left and lost their chance at saving Sokka’s dad, or they stayed and lost their chance of escaping, possibly for nothing. It was an impossible situation, but Y/N knew Sokka—and for someone like him, the answer was obvious. Of course, his version of the answer would be to make the rest of them escape and leave him here alone—if it went wrong, only he would suffer the consequences. But that wasn’t going to happen. 

“If I had just cut my losses at the invasion, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Sokka looked up at them. “Maybe sometimes it’s just better to call it quits before you fail.” 

“No,” Zuko insisted, “it’s not. You’re going to fail, Sokka, and you’re gonna do it a lot before things work out.”

Sokka stood up from his crouch, frowning as he looked at Zuko. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No, it’s not. But it’s reality.” Zuko followed him as Sokka started going towards the coast. “Even though you’ll probably fail over and over and over again—” 

“Seriously,” Sokka grumbled, “not helping.” 

“—You have to try every time. You can’t quit because you’re afraid you might fail.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I agree with Zuko,” Y/N said. “You can’t leave your dad, Sokka—you don’t even want to, I know that. But whatever happened at the invasion won’t happen again—we’re here to back you up, no matter what.” 

Zuko looked at her in disbelief—whether it was the fact that she actually said his name, agreed with him, or even just entertained his presence, she wasn’t exactly sure—but she glanced away just as quickly. He sighed, and focused back on Sokka. 

“So,” he finished, “what’s your decision?” 

“If you’re all done cuddling back there, can we get a move on?” Chit Sang spoke up, holding the cooler on the coast with his hand. 

Sokka looked out into the boiling lake, then back at Y/N and Suki, and finally at Zuko. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. I’m staying.” 

He set the sack holding his clothes on the ground and looked at the three of them. “You guys go—especially you two, Y/N and Suki. You’ve been here long enough. I can’t keep you here for something that might be nothing.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Y/N asked. “We’re not going anywhere, Sokka. Like I said—we’re right beside you.” 

Suki nodded. “I’m not leaving without you, Sokka.” 

“I’m staying too,” Zuko said with a small smile. 

Just once, for Sokka, Y/N managed to bite back her remark. But their moment together was ruined by Chit Sang, who hopped into the cooler along with his friends. 

“Not me,” he said. “I’m out.” 

“We gave up our only chance of escaping.” Sokka sighed as he watched the cooler float away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I hope we haven’t just made a huge mistake.” 

“We haven’t,” Y/N said. “I know it.” 

-

Y/N watched the cooler float through the boiling waters, the mostly stagnant lake doing little to help aside from the occasional currents. With the new arrivals coming in at dawn and the fact that they couldn’t go back to their cells, the four of them were left to their own devices on the shore. Sokka and Suki sat together, her head resting on his shoulder with his arm around her waist, talking quietly with each other. Zuko stood a few meters away from them, his attention focused on the sunrise. Y/N was occupying her time by keeping an eye on the cooler and kicking a small rock around with her foot. They’d been there for an hour now, just trying to pass the time until dawn. 

The sun was slowly, slowly rising—she swore that it was purposefully going at a more lethargic pace just to spite them—and she sighed as she kicked the rock into the lake. It sank beneath the boiling water, sizzling the whole way down, and she felt that tightness in her chest again. Spirits, she wished she had her bending. She would’ve been able to get them all out without a second thought—instead, all she could do was sit on the shore, useless. 

Y/N heard footsteps behind her and she glanced over, figuring it was Suki or Sokka—instead, she was met with Zuko sitting down on the ground next to her. 

She rolled her eyes and looked back out onto the lake. “Go away.” 

“I just want to talk.” 

“Well, I don’t.” 

“You don’t have to,” Zuko said. “I just… need to say some things.” 

Y/N kept her attention trained on the horizon, staying silent. There was nothing she could do if Zuko wanted to talk, but that didn’t mean she had to listen. 

“I could tell you how sorry I am again, but… I don’t know how much weight that has. Especially right now, when we’re here. I— I am sorry, more than you could ever possibly know, but you probably don’t want to listen to me wallow. So I’m offering my help instead.” 

She frowned a bit at that, but Zuko continued. 

“Sokka told me you lost your bending. I lost mine too, when I first started helping Aang. It was because, before all of this, for as long as I had been bending, the source of it was my anger. But when I realized I was on the wrong side of it all, that anger went away, and my bending along with it. I had to find a different source for it; find the true meaning of firebending. If you figure out how your source was lost, then you can figure out how to get it back. And I want to help you get it back.” 

Y/N huffed a mirthless laugh. “If that’s the reason I lost my bending, then I think I have a pretty good idea what caused it.” 

“What—” Zuko started to say, but he was interrupted by Sokka.  

“The gondola’s moving,” he said, and Y/N turned around to see him and Suki standing up. He pointed at the line that the gondola rode over to the prison, and sure enough, it was going across. 

“Let’s move,” Y/N said. 

The four of them rushed over to the ledge that went around the walls of the prison—Sokka gave Suki, Y/N, and Zuko a boost up by making a platform with his hands, and then climbed up himself with a little help from Zuko. They edged around the wall, being careful not to lose their balance, when all of a sudden there was a deafening scream from out in the lake. 

Y/N’s eyes darted over and she saw Chit Sang standing up in the cooler, clutching his hand—by the splash next to the cooler, she took it he got a little too close to the boiling water. The distant commands of a guard could be heard as the alarm bell clanged on repeat, and Sokka’s eyes widened. 

“The plan failed,” he said, horrified. “They’re caught!” 

“Keep going,” Suki whispered. 

They continued to edge around the platform together, and Y/N winced as she saw a bolt being fired, and after it caught hold of the cooler it began hauling them back in. 

“Looks like we made the right choice by staying,” Y/N murmured. 

“The gondola’s moving,” Sokka interrupted, and they picked up the pace as they finally reached the edge of the yard. They had a view of the gondola as it finally landed after what felt like an eternity, and they all fell silent, waiting with bated breath. “This is it. If my dad’s not here, then we risked everything for nothing.” 

“We had to,” Suki said, and she squeezed Sokka’s hand. Y/N nodded. 

The doors were opened by one of the guards, and prisoners began filing out. After the first man, Zuko looked over at Sokka. 

“Is that him?” 

Sokka scoffed. “My dad doesn’t have a nose ring.” 

Prisoners continued to walk off the gondola until there were no more left, but not a single one of them looked like Sokka. 

“Is… is that it?” Sokka shook his head. “No— no, that can’t be it. Where is he?” 

“I’m so sorry,” Suki said quietly. 

Sokka screwed his eyes shut as he let himself fall back against the wall. “He’s not here.” 

But then a guard spoke up. 

“Hey, you! Get off the gondola.” 

Sokka’s eyes shot open, and their attention immediately went to the gondola. A man walked out after another moment—his dark brown hair was tied into the same kind of wolf tail Sokka had and Y/N saw every day back in the Northern Tribe, and two braided strands moved in the slight breeze. Sokka let out a haggard breath of relief as his eyes widened, full of hope, and Y/N knew immediately.  

“That’s him,” he whispered. “Dad.” 

-

They were able to sneak their way back without detection by melting back into the crowd of prisoners in the yard, Sokka joining the guards a few minutes after they made themselves scarce. There was a renewed energy in their group, knowing that Sokka’s father was there. It wasn’t all for nothing. 

Zuko, however, wasn’t doing too great at the moment. 

“Mai,” he breathed, his eyes wide as he stared at the girl he had left behind in the Fire Nation. Whereas he was used to seeing her completely emotionless, there was a hardened glint in her eye. It, to be completely honest, terrified him. 

“How did you know I was here?” he asked. 

“Because I know you so well,” she said. 

Zuko frowned. “But, how—” 

“The warden’s my uncle, you idiot,” Mai interrupted as she glanced off to the side. It was hard seeing her like this, seeing her here—now that he’d been reunited with Y/N, it only served to make things more complicated. “He sent a messenger hawk telling me you were here, and Azula intercepted it. You’re lucky I’m the one talking to you now instead of her.” 

Zuko stilled. “Azula’s here?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Of course she is. When you betrayed the whole country, you betrayed her, too. You have a lot to answer for, Zuko.” Mai took a roll of paper out of the folds of her robes and let it unravel in front of him—it was the letter that he wrote her before he left to go join the Avatar. “I guess I don’t know you at all. I mean, all I get is a letter?” She scoffed. “You could’ve at least looked me in the eyes when you ripped out my heart.” 

Zuko felt guilty, hoping that Mai felt the same way about him that he did about her. He loved her—of course he did, she was one of his only friends in the Fire Nation after Y/N had been forced to leave, and they grew closer than ever—but he’d come to realize it was solely platonic. He had no choice but to leave the Fire Nation, but maybe he could’ve broken the news in a lighter way to the girl who’d been by his side since he returned home. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I… I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t mean—” 

“You didn’t mean to what?” Mai interrupted, and he winced. She opened up the scroll with her other hand and walked behind him as she read. “‘Dear Mai, I’m sorry that you have to find out this way, but I’m leaving.’ You might as well have added, good luck dealing with the wrath of my sister alone, hopefully she doesn’t blame you for the fact that I’m gone!” The paper snapped as she shut it and shoved it back into her tunic. “You don’t ever think about anyone other than yourself.” 

“This isn’t about you!” Zuko snapped. “It’s not even about me, Mai! I left the Fire Nation to help the Avatar learn firebending because it’s my destiny to help him on his journey—I did this to save the world, not because I thought it would be fun to— to annoy you. I’m trying to stop my father from hurting anyone else.” He sat up from his hunched over position and looked right at Mai. “You of all people should understand that.” 

“You don’t get to use that line on me,” she fumed. Mai might not have been a bender, but there was a lot of fire simmering just beneath the surface. “It really makes me feel better, knowing that you actually couldn’t have cared less about me.” Her expression sobered slightly and she turned away. “You just wrote a letter and left—I had to fix the mess that you made.” 

“What was I supposed to do?” he defended. “You’re best friends with Azula—you probably would’ve told her what I was planning to do and gotten me thrown in jail.” 

Mai’s eyes flashed with anger. “You can’t seriously believe that.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Zuko marveled. “You’ve been attached to her side for as long as I can remember. I mean, you’re here now with her. It’s not that hard to think you’d turn me in.” 

“You really don’t know anything about me,” she murmured.

That caught him off guard. “What?” 

Mai didn’t have the chance to answer him as a guard stopped in front of the cell. “Ma’am, there’s a riot going on. I’m here to protect you.” 

A riot—that must’ve been the distraction Sokka mentioned. It was now or never for him to get out of here; if he didn’t, Zuko was sure his next visitor would be his sister, there to take him back to the Fire Nation in chains. That wasn’t really an option. 

Mai looked over at the guard, her expression once again impassive. “I don’t need any protection.” 

Zuko chuckled. “Believe me; she doesn’t.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m under direct orders from your uncle to make sure nothing happens.” The guard began walking into the cell, and Zuko took it as his chance. 

He shot a blast of fire at the guard’s feet and ran past him and Mai in their shock, and he shut the door just as Mai slammed her fists against the metal. 

“What are you doing?” she yelled. For maybe the third time in Zuko’s life, her eyes were filled with nothing but pure emotion—hatred, anger, confusion, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to get to the yard. 

“I’m sorry, Mai,” he murmured. “You’ll understand someday.” 

And Zuko ran. 

-

Once again, Y/N was left to wait in her cell for Sokka. Before they dispersed in the courtyard, he told them he would find his dad first and then get back to them when he figured out a plan. It was tedious, but she didn’t mind it—after today, she would never see the inside of this cell again. 

The door finally slid open, and though she tensed out of instinct at the guard uniform, it dissolved when he opened his visor. 

“Did you find him?” she asked. 

Sokka nodded and smiled. “Yeah. I found my dad and we talked—we have another plan, but… it’s risky.” 

“We don’t have many options that wouldn’t be risky,” she said. “Let’s hear it.” 

“We’re escaping today,” Sokka said, “but… we’re using the gondola.” 

Y/N frowned. “The gondola? How?” 

“We’ll commandeer it, and we’ll take a hostage with us to make sure we can get across without them cutting the line."

She frowned. “It’ll never work. There’s too many guards around the station.” 

“That’s exactly what Suki said!” Sokka exclaimed. “Spirits, we need to get you two out of here—you’ve been spending way too much time together.” 

Y/N smiled. “Keep going with the plan, buddy.” 

“Right,” he nodded. “My dad figured that out—we’ll cause a distraction, a prison riot, so the guards will be occupied and we’ll be able to make it.”

“Even if we can get to the gondola, we’ll never make it across the lake,” Y/N said. “The warden prides himself on being in charge of an inescapable prison so much that he puts it in every speech—he’ll tell them to cut the line no matter what, and then we’re screwed.” 

Sokka grinned. “That’s the thing. We’re gonna take the warden as our prisoner—that way, they’ll have to let us across, and they’ll be too scared to even risk cutting the line.” 

“That is… an insane plan. But I think it might be our only shot.” She chuckled as she shook her head. “You certainly haven’t lost your spark as the plan guy.” 

He laughed. “Like I could ever lose that spark.” 

-

When Y/N’s cell door slid open, she could hardly believe it. Yeah, she trusted Sokka, but this was the beginning of the end. She was really going to get out of this dreaded place—she was going to see Toph, Aang, Katara again. The promise of seeing her friends again was enough to push her through anything this escape would take. 

She joined the flow of prisoners into the courtyard—they had all been released, not just in blocks, so it was easy to blend in. Y/N kept her eyes peeled, and she eventually caught sight of Sokka, his dad, and Suki. 

“You guys made it,” she breathed as she came to a stop in the loose circle, and then she looked up at Sokka’s dad, her eyes widening slightly. “Um, it’s nice to meet you, sir.” 

He smiled. “There’s no need to call me sir—a friend of Sokka’s is a friend of mine. I’m Hakoda.” His eyes fell on the beads in her hair and his smile grew. “Another member of the Water Tribe? Looks like this place can’t keep any of us locked up.” 

She grinned—she definitely saw where Sokka got it all from. “I’m Y/N—I’m from the Northern Tribe. I guess they really can’t.” 

“As fun as it is introducing you to my dad, we’re in the middle of something,” Sokka said pointedly. Y/N just smiled and nodded, letting him continue. “We’re trying to start a prison riot, but apparently the bad guys in here are actually… learning to control their anger. It’s weird. Do you know what to do?” 

Y/N shook her head. “I’ve only managed to get in fights by being really unlucky. Have you tried… yelling?” 

It was at that moment that a gruff voice rang out behind them, a big hand slamming down on Sokka’s shoulder. 

“Hey, you! You’re lucky I didn’t rat you out!” Chit Sang glared down at Sokka, but then he smiled a bit. “My generosity comes with a price, though—I know you’re planning another escape attempt, and I want in.” 

“Can you start a riot?” Y/N spoke up. 

He nodded. “Easily.” 

“Do it, and you’re in,” she said. 

Chit Sang walked forward and grabbed a prisoner by his cuff, lifting him up over his head as he yelled out to the whole yard. “Hey! Riot!” 

To Y/N’s surprise, it actually worked. The prisoners immediately dissolved into chaos, fighting one another, shooting off blasts of fire, and just generally creating a mess as dust from the ruckus created large clouds all over. It was the perfect distraction. 

Hakoda’s eyebrows shot up. “Impressive.” 

They all took refuge by one of the walls, and Y/N looked at Sokka. “We have to get the warden now, right?” 

“Yeah, but—” he looked around anxiously— “we can’t leave without Zuko. What is taking him so long?” 

She resisted the urge to say they could leave him here, but it was imperfect timing, because Zuko showed up right as they mentioned him, fighting off a guard on the way before he settled into their circle. It was a shame.

“Zuko!” Sokka exclaimed. “You’re finally here! Now we can grab the warden and get to the gondolas.”  

“How do we do that?” he asked. 

“I, uh… I’m not sure.” 

Zuko groaned. “I thought you thought this through!” 

“And I thought you told me it’s okay not to think everything through!” 

“Maybe not everything, but don’t you think this is important?” 

“Hey,” Chit Sang spoke up, and he gestured over with his hand, “looks like your girlfriends are taking care of it.” 

When Sokka and Zuko looked where he was pointing, they were both shocked. 

Y/N and Suki ran through the crowd together, effortlessly dodging between the rioting prisoners. When they reached the wall, Y/N laced her fingers together and gave Suki a boost up. She grabbed onto makeshift handholds and footholds from deep grooves and missing pieces of metal in the wall, and when she was secure she reached down for Y/N. She jumped and grabbed one of her hands, and Suki grunted as she pulled her up just enough for her to get her hands on the wall as well. They began scaling it together, moving faster once they found easier purchase on the balcony railings. 

Suki hopped over the rail and Y/N slid under, and together they ran down the pathway. Suki took down the first guard as she kicked him against the wall, but then three more came around the corner poised to fight. 

“Get the warden!” Suki yelled at her. “I’ll take care of them!” 

She nodded and got back up on the railing, the extra height giving her enough air to grab onto the ridge of the arched doorway and continue to climb. She hopped over the railing, and sure enough, the warden was standing at the end of the pathway with a single guard in front of him. 

Y/N used her momentum to slide through the guard’s legs, landing right in front of the warden as she popped up. He tried to throw a punch but she caught his wrist and held it tight, the way Suki had taught her, and allowed herself a smug smile. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growled. 

Y/N stared at the man who was responsible for her months of imprisonment, and she couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Try me.” 

She yanked his arm down and twisted him around, untying the cord cinched around her waist to bind his wrists together. She then pulled down his headband to gag him, letting out her first sigh of relief since the whole plan had begun. 

“Nice work.” She turned around to see Suki catching up to her with a huge smile on her face, the guard from before knocked out on the ground. “Looks like all those makeshift lessons in the courtyard worked out, huh?” 

Y/N grinned. “I guess they did.” 

She slammed the warden against the wall and tightened his bonds, unable to resist mocking him. “Sorry, warden,” she taunted. “Looks like you’re our prisoner now.” 

Behind her, the rest of the guys were finally catching up, their heads hung as they sucked in deep breaths. 

“Took you long enough to join us!” Y/N called, and she gestured to the warden with her head. “I got our hostage.” 

Hakoda shook his head as he looked at them, a proud smile on his face despite being completely out of breath.  “Those are some girls.” 

Sokka and Zuko both spoke in unison. “Tell me about it.” 

-

Chit Sang hauled the warden over his shoulder and they started on the final leg of their sprint. All they had to do was get to the gondola, and they would be home free. 

“We’re almost there!” Y/N yelled, but she had just glanced back at the rest of the group to say it when she heard the sound of fire blasts, her head snapping back to see the guards firebending at her. 

She didn’t even have the chance to move before Zuko shoved her out of the way, jumping in front of them—in front of her—to block the firebending. His movements were smoother, more fluid than the last time she’d seen him bend. Apparently his trip with Aang had done him some good. 

Y/N shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to think about his bending, of all things. Just because he saved her once didn’t make up for anything else. 

“Back off!” Zuko yelled, taking up a defensive position as more guards ran over. He pointed at Chit Sang and the man over his shoulder. “We’ve got the warden!” The guards paused for a moment, but then they cleared the way. “Let’s go!” 

They cautiously walked through all the guards, poised for a fight in case one of them broke, but once they got through them all they began their run again. Suki was the first to make it to the gondola, and she slid the door open. “Everyone in!” 

Y/N filed in after Sokka, but she looked out the window and saw that Zuko was starting the gondola—what in Kuruk’s name was he doing? 

But then he broke the lever off after a few kicks, and he sprinted to the edge of the railing. Zuko jumped, and he was just barely able to make it as Sokka caught his arm and pulled him in through the window. 

“What was that?” she scoffed. 

Zuko shifted under her scrutiny. “I was making it so they couldn’t follow us.” 

“That wasn’t your best idea, genius,” she muttered. “You nearly got left behind.” 

Sokka and Zuko met each other’s eyes, both with the same thought. Sokka covered it up with a cough and patted him on the shoulder. “Way to think ahead.” 

“This is it,” Suki smiled, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “We’re actually getting out of here.” 

“Wait,” Hakoda interrupted, “who’s that?” 

Y/N, Suki, Sokka, and Zuko all moved to the window to look where he pointed, and she felt her heart drop. 

“Azula,” she whispered. 

“That’s a problem,” Zuko said. “It’s my sister and her friend—Mai said she was here, but now that she’s really here…” He shook his head. “I hope you all are ready for a fight, because that’s the only way we’re getting out of here.” 

Ty Lee hopped onto the cable lines and began running across them with impossible grace, while Azula propelled herself up to them with fire. They were closing in fast. 

“Oh boy,” Sokka lamented. “Guess we’ve got no choice, huh?” 

“I don’t mind,” Suki said, cracking her knuckles. “This is a rematch I’ve been waiting for.” 

“Me too,” Y/N murmured. After all, Azula was the reason why she was here. She willingly signed her death warrant. A rematch was a long time coming. 

“Dad, Chit Sang, stay down here,” Sokka said. “We’ll take care of this.” 

Hakoda nodded. “Be careful, son.” 

The four of them climbed up to the top of the gondola, making it there just as Azula and Ty Lee landed, Suki and Sokka on the side of the chi-blocker leaving Zuko and Y/N to deal with the princess. 

“How lovely to see you both again,” she said mockingly. “It’s just like our childhood all over again, isn’t it?” 

Once again, Y/N wished she had her waterbending—she nearly went to flip open the cap of her waterskin before remembering she had neither the container nor her bending. It was frustrating beyond belief—especially when her enemy was one of the best firebenders in the world and their arena was a shaky gondola a hundred meters above a boiling lake. 

So instead she eased into a grounded stance, the way Suki had taught her, and put her fists up. “Let’s skip the pleasantries.” 

Azula smiled, sickeningly sweet with a glint of danger in her eye. “Gladly.” 

She shot a blast of fire at them and Zuko blocked it, giving Y/N a chance to lunge forward and take a swing. Azula caught her wrist and twisted her arm, but she tore free and kicked her in the chest. Azula stumbled backwards, right on the edge of the gondola—Y/N was about to make a move, but Zuko’s voice stopped her in her tracks. 

“Move!” he shouted, and when Y/N backed out of the way Zuko shot fire at her with both fists. Azula regained her balance at just the right moment and dispersed both blasts by moving her palms in a circle. 

Y/N didn’t wait for Zuko—she was on Azula as soon as the fire cleared, kicking and swinging with all of her might. Her attacks were anything but clean, but it was a constant onslaught of attacks, and she could tell by the way Azula blocked them that she wasn’t as skilled at hand to hand combat as she was at firebending. 

Everything was coming back to her, fueling the anger inside of her—from the cruel jabs at her when she was still a servant in the palace, to killing Aang, to sending her to the Boiling Rock to die. Red colored her vision, and it was what made her swing a little too hard allowing Azula to catch her off guard and knock her down. 

Y/N fell hard, her head slamming into the edge of the gondola’s roof. The top half of her head hung over the open air, and she was just able to haul herself into a sitting position to avoid the certain death that a free fall would provide—now, as Azula stalked towards her, she was only facing almost certain death. 

“I should’ve killed you back in the prisons when I had the chance,” she snarled, and she raised her fist. 

“Yeah,” Y/N grit out, “you really should have.” 

Before Azula got the chance to turn her to ashes, Zuko shot a huge blast of fire at her, knocking her off balance and forcing her back on the defensive. Y/N scrambled away from the edge, her vision still slightly blurred from her fall, but her heart was beating again. That was far too close for comfort. 

“Get away from her,” he growled, and Azula just laughed. 

“Even after all this, you still can’t let go of her. You really are pathetic, Zuko.” 

Even from the ground Y/N could see the fire blazing in Zuko’s eyes, offset completely by the mirth in Azula’s. She saw this as a game—nothing more. 

Suddenly, the gondola swung back and forth, tossing everyone off balance. Y/N grabbed onto one of the metal plates and held on for dear life—in the corner of her vision, she saw Sokka nearly fall off, just barely saved by Zuko catching his hand. 

Ty Lee, from her vantage point at the top of the metal support, yelled down at Azula. “They’re about to cut the line!” 

“Then it’s time to leave,” she said decisively. “Goodbye, Zuko.” 

She blasted herself up with fire as Ty Lee backflipped across to the other gondola, and Y/N was finally granted a moment of respite. Even if they were about to fall to their boiling hot deaths. 

A hand was extended in her vision and she took it without thinking, wincing a little bit as she stood up. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, lifting her free hand to her head. There was no blood, but she wagered she would have a nasty bruise where her head had slammed against the hard edge. 

“Are you okay?” It was Zuko that asked the question, and Zuko that helped her up. She ripped her hand out of his immediately, suddenly more than okay to walk on her own. 

“I’m fine,” she grumbled. 

“You did a good job against Azula,” he said. “We fought really well together.” 

Y/N ignored his attempt at conversation, focusing on the more imminent threat as she swung back into the gondola through the window. Sokka and Suki were already there, and Zuko followed shortly after her. 

“They’re cutting the line,” he said. “The gondola’s about to go.” 

Hakoda blew out a loose sigh. “I hope this thing floats.” 

But the gondola kept moving—no falling to their deaths at all. Y/N squinted as she moved to the window, able to see a distant fight happening but not able to distinguish anything in particular. “What’s going on?” 

“Someone’s fighting the guards,” Sokka marveled. “Who is that?” 

Zuko’s eyes widened. “...It’s Mai.” 

Y/N frowned. “What in Kyoshi’s name is she doing helping us?” 

“I don’t know,” he murmured. 

The rest of the ride was smooth, and before she knew it they had arrived at the other side. They all ran out of the gondola, and Chit Sang tossed the warden back in. 

“Sorry, warden,” Hakoda said. “Your record is officially broken.” 

The rest of the group continued running away, but Y/N couldn’t help but stand there, looking at the prison from a distance. 

“What are you doing?” Sokka questioned urgently, and she turned her head to see him waiting for her. “We need to get out of here before our luck runs out.” 

“I know,” she murmured. “I just… can’t believe we did it.” 

Sokka smiled. “Well, you better believe it, because we did. And now we need to finish the job.” 

Y/N nodded and took Sokka’s extended hand, and the two of them ran to catch up to the rest of the group. 

“Well, we made it out,” Suki said, directing it at Sokka as the two of them came over the hill. “What now?” 

“My sister was on that island,” Zuko said. “That means she had to get here somehow.” 

Sokka’s eyes lit up, and together the three of them crested the volcano. Docked at a landing in the water was the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever seen. 

Zuko smiled as he pointed at the airship. “That’s how we’ll get out of here.” 

-

It was a careful but quick descent down the side of the volcano to reach the airship, and after some firebending from Zuko and navigating between him and Sokka, they were on their way. Y/N took the chance to settle on a cushioned seat, the comfort a luxury she had sorely missed. 

She could still hardly believe she was really free—the last time she was on an airship like this, it was to be transferred to the Boiling Rock. Months of her life had been stolen by the Fire Nation, and she couldn’t wait to see her friends again, to be around nature, to be free. 

Y/N let out a content sigh, and she looked up at the sound of footsteps. Sokka had turned the corner, a folded map in his hands that he quickly stuffed into the folds of his uniform. 

“How are you doing?” he asked. “I saw you take a nasty fall—are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine. Once I get back to Katara and she heals it up, I’ll be good to go.” 

“That’s good. Maybe she can also, uh—” Sokka gestured at her black eye using his own face as a guide— “fix that up for you.” 

“Are you saying I don’t look like a super cool warrior with it?” she asked with mock disdain. 

Sokka laughed. “You look like a super cool warrior anyways. Y/N, you did amazing out there. The way you and Suki got the warden, your fighting against Azula—I’ve never seen you like that, except maybe when we fought through the whole Dai Li to talk to the Earth King.” 

She smiled grimly. “That’s what a couple months in this place does to you. Suki’s combat lessons in our yard time didn’t hurt.” 

Sokka went silent, and when Y/N looked over at him she saw that his face had fallen. “Sokka?” 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through all that,” he murmured. “The Fire Nation, and the Boiling Rock, and—” he glanced over his shoulder, “well, Zuko. I can’t even imagine what this has been like for you, and— and I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to do this, Sokka.” Y/N could hardly keep track of how many times Sokka had apologized to her, trying to absolve himself of a deep-rooted guilt that he didn’t deserve to have. “It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you for it in any way. I mean— you’re the one that got me and Suki out!” 

“I just feel like I should’ve been able to protect you,” he murmured as he crossed his arms, “both of you, then you wouldn’t have been in here in the first place. But I couldn’t.” 

Her eyes softened and she patted the spot next to her. Sokka sat down after a moment’s hesitation, and she pulled up and folded one of her legs on the platform, allowing the other to hang off the side to sit more comfortably. 

“Since we’re baring our souls to each other here, I guess it’s my turn,” she said with a slight laugh before her expression sobered. “Sokka, the honest truth is that I… I honestly thought that I was going to die in there. Princess Azula was the only person that even knew I was at the Boiling Rock, and the way things were, as a weak, non-bending fifteen year old girl who was known for working with the Avatar…” Y/N shook her head. “Let’s just say the warden wouldn’t have been surprised if he suddenly had an empty cell.”

Sokka’s face fell even further, and she took his hand in an effort to lift his spirits. “But I’m not dead,” she said earnestly, “and that’s because of you. Sokka, you risked everything to get us out—you came for your father, and you ended up saving him and Suki and me. You’re a hero, and you should feel like one!”

Y/N squeezed his hand, trying to get all of her emotions across in a simple action. “I love you, Sokka, really. You’re the brother I never had, and I can’t imagine living without you now. So thank you.” She smiled. “I owe you everything. I owe you my life.”

Sokka stared at her with slightly wide eyes for a moment before he moved forward and pulled her into a hug. 

“I know I already said this, but I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he whispered. “And I think Katara will join me.”

Y/N laughed a bit. “You’re gonna get tired of me before I even think about going somewhere. I’ve been away from you all for way too long.”

Sokka pulled away, his blue eyes shimmering with tears but a grateful smile showing how he really felt. 

“I love you too,” he said. “I’m so glad we found you.”

“So am I,” she whispered. “So am I.”

-

After talking with Suki and Sokka some more and very pointedly avoiding Zuko, Y/N dozed off. The events of the past two days had left her exhausted, and now that she didn’t have to constantly have her guard up, her body practically demanded a break. 

She was woken up when she heard Sokka shouting something about landing, and she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she sat up. Normally she would’ve gotten a knot in her back or shoulders from sleeping on the barely padded bed—the airships had small rooms for the guards for overnight trips, and they each chose their own—but after spending so many nights sleeping on concrete, her body had adjusted accordingly. Besides, this bed had a mattress, however thin it might’ve been. After the Boiling Rock, it was the height of luxury. 

She pushed the door open and wandered into the main room, where she saw that the loading deck was open. She could hear Sokka and Zuko talking, while Suki, Hakoda, and Chit Sang waited a few meters behind them. 

“Sokka’s explaining it all to them,” Suki whispered as she stopped next to her. “So they don’t freak out about the giant Fire Nation airship.” 

“Smart,” she said, nodding sagely. 

“—I caught the best meat of all; the meat of friendship and fatherhood.” 

Sokka turned his head and gestured for them to come out, and when Y/N saw her friends she nearly burst into tears. 

Aang had gotten taller since the last time she’d seen him, and he carried himself completely differently. From what Sokka said, he was in the process of mastering firebending—maybe that was why he looked so confident. He was also alive, which meant that a flurry of her worst fears dissolved, lifting a huge weight off her shoulders in the process. 

Toph looked the same, and she was almost thankful for it. She’d always been a grounding presence for Y/N, mirroring her element, and knowing that she hadn’t missed everything made her feel slightly better about it all. 

Katara’s hair was down and her outfit was new, but she had a different air about her, a steelier glint in her eye. But when she saw her father and Y/N, it completely disappeared as they widened in surprise. 

“Dad?” she gasped, her eyes already starting to glimmer with tears. She ran over to him, embracing him tightly as she buried her face in his chest. 

“Hi, Katara,” he smiled, patting her on the back as he pulled her in closer. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

She picked her head up and looked at Y/N, shaking her head in disbelief. “And— and Y/N? You’re alive, a-and you’re here! This is like a dream!” 

Y/N grinned. “I feel— woah!” 

It was her turn to get attacked with love, and she fully welcomed it as her and Katara hugged each other so tight the other could barely breathe. “I feel the same,” she managed to get out, and she closed her eyes in contentment. She had missed them all so much. 

“How did you do this?” she asked, looking over at Sokka. “How are you all here? Where did you go?” 

Sokka smiled bashfully at her, scratching his neck. “We… kind of went to a Fire Nation prison and broke them all out.” 

A laugh bubbled out of Katara, and she let go of Y/N to pull Sokka and her dad into a group hug. “Of course you did.” 

And as Y/N looked at the three of them, then Aang absolutely beaming and Toph’s own smile at the ground, she couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes. But this time, they were tears of joy. 

She was finally home.

-

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