#well. now nothing. now the world that he spent so long biding his time in; so long getting enmeshed in (even for nefarious purposes)

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

god help me i'm going insane about dickson xenoblade again

#this is what i get for thinking about lord of the rings too hard this week (specifically denethor / gríma / saruman and the like) #thinking about the way anthony may delivered “when will you learn you HAVE no future?” #he thinks shulk is fully DEAD at that point. he thinks HE killed him. which he very much meant to. but now that the kid is no longer there #now that the terrible future he's been preparing for and actively working to bring about has in fact come about #i don't know that dickson really cared anymore. he played his part he did the deed expected and he did it unquestioningly. So What Now? #well. now nothing. now the world that he spent so long biding his time in; so long getting enmeshed in (even for nefarious purposes) #is about to end; is about to be gone forever. #sure zanza will probably just create another world and maybe he (dickson) will have Even More Power in the new one #(though that's not a given! he doesn't know for SURE his lord and god will keep his promise!) #but like. what the hell does he care at this point #dickson SAYS he wants power but i suspect that long long ago what the giant dickson really wanted was SURVIVAL. #we never get to know just how he became a disciple or what the giant civilization looked like in its heyday or how it ended #but in MY headcanon dickson saw that some kind of destruction coming and he wanted Out #and maybe he hated his peers and figured any power and prestige that came from this bargain was just a bonus #i think he thought of himself as a saruman type: powerful; remote; far above the petty troubles of mortals (even the long-lived high entia) #but i have always headcanoned that by his later days (i.e. when he started engaging w/colony 9; machina village; etc. in earnest) #he committed too hard to the bit and started “going native” as it were; started to give a shit in ways that he would never dare admit #maybe not as much of a shit as; you know; a regular guy would. but more than an immortal disciple and horseman of the apocalypse should. #and all the time knowing that all the world he'd seen would soon be gone #maybe everyone else can get fucked. but shulk had to die too. and that's what their god MADE them to do. #he can't allow himself to care or to hope for another option bc in his mind it's already over; decided; that's it #what else can you do in the face of ultimate power but bow to it and take whatever scraps may fall to an obedient servant? #“you have no future” nor does he except that shulk came back. except that the peoples of bionis/mechonis just wouldn't accept Fate. #and in some final rebellious corner of his mind he starts putting eggs in shulk's basket. “if they can't even defeat telethia they won't #stand a chance against me (or zanza)” so let's see if they CAN. oh they did? how about a dragon? oh fuck they defeated the dragon too? #well fuck. maybe there WAS another option all along. but will/can they stand against me; the final disciple? oh they can?? #guess i'll die then bc i'm not looking THAT in the face. i am NOT unpacking my cowardice/failure/lack of vision after all these years. #good luck with that tho <3 you're welcome for the training btw. where i'm going i don't have to see your trauma assuming you live that long. #dickson #xenoblade

[yet-another-heathen]

Under the Cover of Day - II

899 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. 

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Chapter Warning | environmental whump, desert whump, epic worldbuilding, hiding in an attempt to evade capture, ancient demonic pirates and the sandships they sail, being tracked down like a wounded animal (which, let's admit it. right now you may as well be)

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump

The sun was beating down on the water, glinting and blinding and sharp. Nadeem hadn't moved an inch from where he'd climbed down beneath the spines of the thicket, save to drape his waist sash over his head to disguise the yellow of his turban.

Strings of algae wormed between his toes like grass, flowing with eddies of water beneath the dappled light. Across the oasis, under the blue of their sail, the ifrit had set up camp. 

Open tents spread out along a sandy stretch of embankment, while the women and men milled back and forth to the pond with buckets and canteens. Long, darkened limbs reached as far out as they could to collect water from the dryness of shore. Feet traced carefully around the water's edge, never touching the surface. Their voices rose and fell in a way that was even-tempoed and foreign.

Patrols had been venturing out into the oasis since dawn, groups of three or four disappearing into the underbrush only to emerge from some new part of the clearing. He’d counted twenty-two in all, with tall figures occasionally calling into the ship where he suspected there may be a handful more. 

He watched the camp carefully, searching for any indicator of how long they’d stay. He knew the human caravans that traversed An-Nadr would sometimes linger for weeks at any oasis they found in the wastes. He had no idea what that would mean to the larger sandship. 

So far they had unloaded very little save for their tents, and he was holding to the last of a prayer that meant they wouldn’t stay for long.

He’d seen enough wildlife that there had to be some kind of foragable plants, and if he was lucky—very lucky—it would be enough to get him though a few more weeks in hopes that another human caravan would pass through. If he could stay out of sight, he still had a chance. 

There was only one problem.

Even under the stifling heat of the afternoon sun, the water that bubbled from the earth was so cold that his limbs had gone numb where they were buried in the sucking depths of the silt. With the night fast approaching, he knew he couldn’t stay where he was.

But there was nothing between him and the ifrit camp but open water. 

So Nadeem did the only thing he could do. He planned. When night fell he would slip from the bank under the cover of darkness, where he could pick his way over the stones back out into the safety of the dunes. He knew the sand, heat-baked by day, would be enough to keep him warm. Having nearly drank his weight in water, he figured he could make it another night or two before he’d have to find a way back.

The desert bought him time. He just had to wait. 

He wound his fingers through the roots buried in mud beneath him, and leaned his head back into a crook between branches. He watched the world through his lashes, biding his time as the wind sifted through the thorns.

---

Ifyaa had spent the morning unloading the ship, the sun beating down on him until his shoulders had begun to smolder in the heat. Wisps were still rising from his skin as he made his way through the camp, side-stepping bedrolls and limbs as he made his way toward his tent.

Several of the others had just returned from patrol. Among them he spotted his husband, trailing behind the rest. Yeezumon’s eyes were cast out over the oasis, scanning the trees as if he was expecting to see something move.

Ifyaa finished securing the side of the tent flap, then slipped between the other ifrit and made his way across the beach. Yeezumon didn’t glance back when he approached, but he automatically reached out for Ifyaa’s hand.

They brushed the tips of their fingers down each other’s palm, settling in at one another’s side.

“What is it?” he asked.

Yeezumon glanced at him, distracted. He passed something over, silent as Ifyaa took it and held it up to see. A jagged stone half as long as his finger, the pointed tip covered in red-brown blood. 

“Hm. So I wasn’t seeing things,” he murmured. He turned it over in the light, then handed the stone back, “What’s it doing so far south?”

“I don’t know. I had my patrol check the horizon, but there’s been no sign of other ships.”

“...a stray? This far out?”

“I’m not sure.”

He sighed. Ifyaa slowly unwound his turban, stepping forward into the water. He felt Yeezumon tense as he waded out into the ankle deep silt, the sound of splashing turning eyes from the camp before they realized it was only him. He tugged his turban free, running fingers over the waves of his hair before stooping to run the fabric through the water.

“Well whatever it is,” he wrung the cloth, “I don’t fancy a mercy killing.” He scanned the edge of the pool. “Have you told Adrsiae?”

“She knows.”

Something in the tone of his husband’s voice made him glance back, and he found those dark eyes following him with just the barest trace of a smile.

“Habibi, how do you feel about taking on a new pet?”

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[natedogx15]

Mission 7: A Hero's Heart and Plots a Plenty

Previous Chapter / AO3 / Master List

Izuku and Shiki stare at Toshinori in shock as he smiles at them. There is a long silence before it ends with Izuku's scream.

"All Might deflated!" Izuku screeches as he grabs onto Shiki.

Shiki himself does nothing but stare at Toshinori with wide, unblinking eyes. His face betrays nothing but close-mouthed shock as he silently stares at the skinny man while Izuku holds onto him and panics.

"W-wait! You can't be All Might! All Might is fearless and saves everyone with a smile. P-plus, he's huge!" Izuku shouts toward Toshinori, his mind refusing to believe what happened not even a minute ago.

"Nope, you're wrong. I am All Might." Toshinori sighs as he looks at the two.

Izuku joins Shiki in quiet shock as All Might continues.

"You know those guys constantly flexing and posturing at the pool? What I do is similar to that." Toshinori tells them, causing Izuku to scream.

"No way!"

Toshinori sighs before sitting down and leaning against the fence behind him.

"It's the truth. But make sure you don't write about it online, even accidentally." All Might warn them.

He then pulls up his white shirt and shows the two something that furthers Izuku's shock.

On the left side of All Might's abdomen is a nasty purple injury with various stitching that seems to converge into his body slightly.

"This is an injury I got from an enemy around five years ago. Half of my body's respiratory organs are missing, along with my stomach." Toshinori explains to the two.

Izuku doesn't know what to say. He can't believe what he's hearing. All Might, the Symbol of Peace and the strongest hero in Japan was gravely injured in a fight.

"Right now, I can only do hero work for about three hours each day," Toshinori reveals with a sigh.

After All Might says that, an idea pops into Izuku's head as to how he got that injury.

"Five years ago... Was that when you fought against Toxic Chainsaw?" Izuku asks as Shiki seems to get over his shock by blinking a few times.

Toshinori is surprised to hear the question and gives Izuku a slightly impressed look.

"You're well informed. But no, it was during a fight that was never revealed to the public. I didn't want it to be known because the Symbol of Peace should be undaunted against evil. Having criminals know I can be injured this badly may boost their morale." Toshinori tells them with a sigh.

"It makes sense. You're known across the world as the paragon of invincibility and peace. If people found out you could be injured, it would cause a lot of people biding their time to become bold." Shiki nods, speaking for the first time since Toshinori revealed his skinny form.

"Yes. That's why I smile. I smile to show the pressure of heroes and to trick the fear inside me." Toshinori tells them, shocking the two teens into silence again with his announcement of his fear.

"Pros are always risking their lives by fighting villains. You two have tasted that lifestyle with your Kamen Rider personas. However, I've spent far longer than either of you. So, believe me when I tell you, you haven't experienced anything yet." Toshinori tells them.

Izuku bites his lower lip when Toshinori says that, one question he's been asking all his life popping into his head.

"So, are you saying that someone Quirkless can't be a hero?" Izuku asks him, afraid of the answer.

Toshinori looks at him for a second before looking toward the sky.

"Had you asked me that question a couple of weeks ago, I would have probably told you it was impossible to become a hero without a Quirk and that you should aim for something like becoming a cop, firefighter, or another type of first responder," Toshinori tells them, causing Izuku and Shiki's hearts to clench slightly in pain and worry.

However, Shiki picks up on Toshinori's words and asks.

"And now?"

Toshinori gives the two a warm smile and says.

"I think there's a good chance one can still be a hero without a Quirk with the right equipment, enough training, and the heart to be one," Toshinori tells them, causing the two teens' hearts to skip a beat in happiness.

"What changed your mind?" Izuku asks him curiously.

"You did," Toshinori says while pointing toward Izuku.

Izuku looks shocked, while Shiki turns to his friend with a surprised face.

"M-me? H-how?" Izuku stutters, unable to fathom how he could have inspired the Symbol of Peace to change his stance on who can be a hero.

"Because of what you did when that other Kamen Rider was about to release his attack. You showed no hesitation as you ran towards him to try and protect those around you." Toshinori tells him, causing Izuku to blush and rub his arm in uncertainty.

"I-I didn't do that on purpose, though. M-my body reacted on i-its own. Before I realized what was happening, I was already getting closer to Kacchan." Izuku explains to Toshinori.

That response causes Toshinori to gain an even warmer smile.

"Did you know there's a story for every hero? In most of them, there's one thing they have in common. Their bodies move before they even have the chance to think, almost on their own." Toshinori tells them.

Realization and shock flash through both sets of eyes as Toshinori continues their speech. Izuku bends down as tears fill his eyes as he remembers his mom's words when they found out he may never gain a Quirk while Toshinori continues to speak.

"I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm so sorry."

"And that is what happened to you on that day," Toshinori tells him as Izuku begins to cry.

As this is happening, Shiki clenches his hands into fists, but Toshinori isn't done.

"And it wasn't just that moment that proved you two were heroes. It was also what you did today. Despite your injuries, you two willingly left your homes to head toward where you knew danger was. You both showed the heart of a hero when you did that, willing to throw yourselves into danger for the sake of others. When there was nothing for you to gain and everything for you to lose, rising to that challenge is the mark of a true hero." Toshinori compliments the two.

That causes Shiki to loosen his grip while Izuku cries tears of happiness. Shiki wasn't far behind him. His own memories surfaced.

"I'm sorry, Shiki. It's too dangerous for you to be a hero."

"Young Midoriya, Young Hikage. You both can be fantastic heroes." Toshinori announces, causing the dams to burst and them to cry waterfalls of tears.

Their crying isn't silent sobs like when they first met each other. No, it's full-blown ugly crying from happiness as their idol tells them they can be great heroes.

It takes almost fifteen minutes for the two to calm down and stop the tears. After calming down, they looked toward Toshinori with puffy red eyes as he patiently waited for them to finish.

"S-sorry, All Might. We d-didn't mean to take up your time like that." Izuku hiccups slightly as he apologizes to Toshinori, who waves their concerns off.

"Think nothing of it. I understand the feelings you're both going through right now. You both have the right to cry tears of joy." Toshinori tells them with a smile.

"S-so, what are you going to do with us?" Shiki asks, stuttering slightly as well.

"Simple. I want to help you two become great heroes by training you myself. You both have been doing a fine job handling the Nomu. However, you'll need training if you hope to get any further as heroes. You must improve upon your limits and surpass them. That is the essence of being a hero!" Toshinori announces while transforming into All Might at his last sentence... then coughing up blood and deflating again, causing Izuku to scream in worry.

On the other hand, Shiki gains a flat look when he watches Toshinori do what he did. The shock, happiness, and other emotions have worn off enough to where he can think calmly again. Being able to; he's able to see the strangeness of this situation and has a feeling he'll be dealing with a lot of strange, awkward, and comedic moments if this is how All Might act when not on the job.

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

Katsuki has a frustrated look on his face as he walks toward his family's apartment while the sun is starting to fall. His 'training' started back at square one because of how he handled the situation with Mammoth Nomu and the other Kamen Riders. Slidin' Go was drilling him about how to work with the other Kamen Riders in public as if he needed them to handle being a hero. To add to his anger, he'd spent some of today looking through the comments about his latest fight against Mammoth Nomu and his action against the other Kamen Riders.

It's not like he cares about what the extras online say about him. He never cared about what others thought of him and was always hyperfocused on becoming the strongest as the number one hero. Because of that, he always acted in whatever way he wanted without a care about how others would see him. However, the threat of losing his ability to become a hero early because of Deku and his friend has left him silently stewing in a boiling rage.

"I can't believe after all these years, Deku is still getting in my way of becoming the number one hero. I'll show him and all the other extras that they can't stop me from accomplishing my dream." Katsuki silently promises himself inside of his head as he makes his way up the stairs.

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

Unknown to him, he's not the only one feeling the effects of today's display. Shinonome is also having problems due to his actions and her choice of giving him the Hero Driver.

"What was that display, Shinonome? We can't keep helping you if your Kamen Rider continues to do actions such as today. He could have gotten some people seriously injured or killed by deflecting that attack aimed at the Nomu. You had better have him shape up or pick someone that isn't such loose cannon glory hound." Someone snaps at her on the phone while she's in her home office space.

"Of course. I'll get him to fall in line soon. I already have a trustworthy hero training him. It'll only be a matter of time before his more negative aspects are fixed. Thank you for being willing to stick with me and my decision for so long, sir. I promise it will benefit us in the end." Shinonome promises with nervousness and thankfulness evident in her tone as she ends the call.

After she ends the call, though, she immediately gets another one. She quickly looks at the caller ID and gains a nervous and horrified expression. She instantly picks up the phone and answers.

"Yes, sir?" She asks.

"Shinonome." The person on the other end, who was also the same person she spoke to in her car before, says in a tone that clearly displayed his anger.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sir. I promise I am doing my best to rein him in." Shinonome immediately begins promising to the man on the phone.

"Do you know how much unnecessary risk you're placing on us with this attempt at power-grabbing?" The man asks her, causing Shinonome to start apologizing even more.

"I know, I know, but I promise I'm already taking steps to fix everything. I have Slidin' Go training the boy as we speak. I really think he's the best candidate because of his past with one of the other Kamen Riders. If you can give me more time, I promise I'll get you results; just a little more time." Shinonome tells the person on the phone, trying to barter with them.

"If something like this happens again, you will turn the device over to us so we can reverse engineer it or give it to someone more amicable to our cause." The man warns her, causing her to gain an even more horrified look.

"B-but, i-if I do that, all of my hard work will be for nothing. The Commission won't trust me with anything ever again. They may even do a deeper investigation and manage to pull something that could be detrimental to the cause." Shinonome tells the person.

"If you feel that strongly about it, then you should make sure that doesn't happen." The person on the other end tells her before hanging up the phone.

Shinonome looks at the phone as it shakes in her hand before letting out a frustrated scream as she throws her phone into the wall. She bends her body and rubs her knuckles into her skull while muttering.

"I'm screwed, I'm screwed, I'm screwed. I only have one more chance to get this right. That damn brat! I should have never chosen him. The mental advantage over Deku is not worth all of this." Shinonome mutters before taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down.

After a few minutes, Shinonome finally calms down and begins to go over her situation again.

"No, no, it's fine. This kid wants to be the number one hero. That means he won't want to lose his chance at being a hero early. I can set him straight by warning him that this is his last chance before I decide to go for another candidate. I may even be able to threaten his abilities to go to a hero school." Shinonome mutters as she goes over her options.

She picks up her thrown phone, seemingly undamaged from the throw, and speed dials Slidin' Go's number.

"Hey, Ms. Shinonome. I'm guessing the talks didn't go well after our ward's latest performance." Slidin' Go says, causing Shinonome to sigh.

"You have no idea. I'm down to my last chance before it's time for plan B. I need you to hurry up and get that kid to understand that he can't do whatever he wants." Shinonome orders him.

"And how do you propose I speed his training up?" Slidin'g Go asks.

"Tell him he's down to his last chance before I choose someone else for the Kamen Rider program. That should get him the behave the way we want him to. After that, try to bait him with strategies to get around this warning by exploiting a loophole, such as how I said he couldn't fight them in public. Maybe he'll finally understand that he has to play this smarter and follow our instructions." Shinonome explains.

Slidin' Go takes a few moments to think about this information on the other side of the phone before replying.

"That seems like a good plan on how to handle him. I don't appreciate how you're trying to order me around when we're both the same rank within the organization, though." Slidin' Go chastizes her. But it sounds more playful than anything else.

Shinonome smiles before it becomes a smug smirk.

"We may be the same rank in the army as spies. But don't forget; I'm the one on the Commission. That makes me your boss by association." She tells him.

"Hahaha, fair enough. I'll see what I can do. But friendly advice. I recommend preparing to disappear in case things go wrong in the end." Slidin' Go warns her before ending the call.

"Oh, don't worry; I already have a few plans to get out of here," Shinonome mutters before she hears a voice behind her.

"That's interesting. Would you mind sharing with me how you plan on doing that? I'm curious about this organization you're with other than the Hero Public Safety Commission." Giran's voice says behind her, causing Shinonome to turn around in fear.

That fear quickly turns into anger and suspicion as she glares at Giran.

"Who are you, and how did you get into my house!?" She shouts at him as she prepares to attack.

Giran grins toward her and pulls out his revolver-shaped lighter, causing Shinonome to attack him with her Quirk. She fires a mental blast straight into Giran's mind to disorient him. However, her mental attack meets the mental equivalent of a brick wall.

"He has a mental Meta Ability as well?" Shinonome asks inside her mind in shock when she realizes her attack can't get through.

"Your face says, 'he has a mental Quirk too.' You should work on hiding your emotions." Giran advises Shinonome as he lights the cigarette in his mouth.

"Who are you?" Shinonome asks again, this time more nervous than before.

"My alias would be Giran. Now that I've answered one of your questions. You have to answer one of mine. What is this organization you're a part of?" Giran asks her casually.

"And why would I tell you that?" Shinonome glares at him.

"Because I asked nicely and answered one of your questions. You should really pay attention to what other people are saying." Giran tells her with a smile, causing anger to bubble in Shinonome again.

"Don't screw with me, Asshole." Shinonome snaps at her as she tries attacking him again.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tries, none of her attacks can breach Giran's mental barrier.

"Alright, since you don't want to answer that question, why don't you tell me who you talked to on the phone today? I believe I heard you on three different calls. I'd like to know about your connections and see if I can dig anything up about this organization from them." Giran tells her while motioning for her to give him her phone.

Shinonome holds the phone close to her chest and glares at him in defiance.

"There is no way I'm letting you have my phone or check my contacts. Now, get out of my house!" Shinonome shouts at him as she grows more desperate with her attacks.

"Why must they always choose the hard way during these?" Giran sighs as he morphs into his Nomu form.

Shinonome stares in horror as Giran stalks toward her.

"No, stay away! Get away from me! AHHH!" Shinonome screams as Giran pounces on her.

Her scream is cut short when one of the tentacle's ends touches her head, though. She desperately tries to fight off whatever is trying to get into her mind with her Quirk, but nothing seems to be working. She soon enters a coma-like state as Giran rummages through her mind.

"Finally, I was afraid her screams would alert the neighbors. Now, let's see what you know." Giran's voice rings out throughout the room despite not having a mouth in this form.

After a few minutes of searching, Giran stumbles upon a shocking discovery.

"Oh, ho, ho. This is interesting. Dr. Garaki and the Master will be pleased when they learn about this." Giran's confident and excited tone rings throughout the room as he sets Shinonome down.

He keeps one tentacle on Shinonome's forehead as he gently sets her in her chair and takes her phone to browse through it. After a few minutes of memorizing all her contacts, Giran puts the phone back in her hand and moves toward the door, with his tentacle lengthening to keep attached to Shinonome's head while he gets further away from her. He soon morphs back into his human form and leaves the room. A full minute after he exits her house, Shinonome wakes up from whatever trance she's in and looks around the room in confusion.

"Ugh, what was I doing again? Right, dealing with the aftermath of that brat. Let's see, I covered handling my connections, and I already talked to Slidin' Go about what to do about his training. What's left?" Shinonome asks herself as she racks her brain.

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

As Shinonome does this, Giran walks down the street with a grin as he calls Dr. Garaki.

"Yes, Giran?" Dr. Garaki asks when he answers the call.

"I did some digging using the source herself and found an interesting fact about her," Giran tells him.

"And I assume you'll tell me what this fact is?" Dr. Garaki asks him in a bored tone.

"Yes, it seems like Ms. Shinonome is a member of the Meta Liberation Army," Giran explains, only to gain a look of surprise when Dr. Garaki says in a bored tone.

"I'm already aware of that, I had one of the Nomu tail her, and they revealed this information to me already."

"And you didn't think to tell me about this while I was digging. Why?" Giran asks in a slightly annoyed tone.

"Because I was hoping you'd figure it out along with other information. So, what did you learn while in her head?" Dr. Garaki asks him.

Grian sighs at being brushed off but gets over it quickly to continue their conversation.

"Well, I found quite a few members are in relatively high places and where their base of operations is," Giran tells him, piquing Dr. Garaki's interest.

"Oh, good job, Giran. Where is it?" Dr. Garaki asks.

"You're not going to believe this," Giran warns Dr. Garaki.

"Try me." Dr. Garaki challenges.

"Well, this organization has been sneakier than you probably expected. They've been building their resources and members in a single city. Deika City, to be precise. You won't believe how much information I got from that woman. The organization is massive. It's surprising how well they kept it a secret. The people running this are pretty competent." Giran tells Dr. Garaki, surprising the man on the other side with this news.

"Interesting. Thank you for this new information Giran. I'll pass it along to the Master, and we'll decide how to handle this." Dr. Garaki tells him as he's about to hang up the phone before Giran stops him.

"Wait, don't you want to know about the names of its top brass?" Giran asks.

"You learned about that from her too?" Dr. Garaki asks.

"Yes, the leader is Rikiya Yotsubashi, the president of Detnerat. As for the upper echelon, we have the executive director of Shoowaysha Publishing, Kizuki Chitose, a board member at Feel Good, Inc., Chikazoku Tomoyasu, and the leader of the Hearts and Mind Party, Hanabata Koku." Giran lists off the members he knows about.

"Hmm, that would explain why Detnerat has been selling support gear on the black market as of late. It would also explain why Destro's autobiography continues to be printed. Not to mention how they've been able to stay hidden for so long. Good job, Giran. It would seem you've stumbled on an information gold mine with that spy." Dr. Garaki compliments the man, causing him to grin.

"No problem. I'll be leaving this city until the heat dies down, though. With those Kamen Riders, All Might, and police combing the streets for the Nomu source, this city has lost its profit for a while." Giran tells him.

"Very well, you can pull back for now. However, I want you to change your targets instead and get us into contact with this new Meta Liberation Army." Dr. Garaki orders.

Giran scratches his head and releases a sigh, the grin never leaving his face throughout the entire conversation.

"You know, you can be a real slave driver. That's a tall order with how many members it seems to have and the risks of moving in on a group like that." Giran tells him.

"I'm aware. However, their belief and cause make them the perfect group to further my research and have plenty of Nomu to attack the Kamen Riders. Working with them will be nothing but beneficial for us." Dr. Garaki informs him.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do. Just give me a few days." Giran requests.

"Take all the time you need. We're in no rush." Dr. Garaki tells him while ending the call.

Giran looks at his phone before putting it away and looking toward the sky. He releases a large puff of smoke and sighs.

"I guess that ancient saying still holds true today. No rest for the wicked." Giran says as he walks off toward the train station to leave town.

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

Shiki and Izuku were dropped off by All Might and are heading up the stairs toward their apartments.

"Well, these last two days have been eventful. I can't believe this has all happened in a couple weeks." Shiki mutters next to Izuku.

Izuku can't help letting out a tired and nervous laugh when he thinks about his friend's words.

"I know. I didn't expect to have to go through so much so soon when I became a hero. It's surprising how fast our lives are changing." Izuku agrees with Shiki.

"Yeah, I've heard that a hero's life moves quickly. But I didn't expect it to be so literal. We went from two Quirkless teens that people said shouldn't be heroes to being trained by All Might of all people. That's probably the biggest change we can ever expect in our lives. Well, besides getting strong Quirks of our own." Shiki tells him.

"Yeah." Izuku agrees with his friend before they part ways. Shiki is the first to leave and heads toward his apartment.

When he enters, he immediately dives onto his couch and turns to look at the ceiling.

"Did you know there's a story for every hero? In most of them, there's one thing they have in common. Their bodies move before they even have the chance to think, almost on their own."

"I don't think I've ever been in a situation like that, even when I moved to protect Izuku against the shadow-controlling Nomu." Shiki thinks to himself.

"Does that mean I'll make for a bad hero? No, I've been training for this and have tread the ins and outs of the Hero Driver. Plus, I'll be getting extra training from All Might." Shiki mutters as he tries to tell himself that it doesn't matter.

"But all you've done is physically and strategically prepare, and those didn't help against K.E.M.," A part of his mind says.

"It's fine. All Might was still impressed with what he saw in me. I can still be a great hero despite never being in that situation," Shiki tells himself.

"He was more impressed with Midoriya, though. And he's in the same situation as you but with less training." His mind reminds him again.

 Unable to sit still, Shiki stands up and opens one of the apartment doors to reveal a small gym. Putting on the gloves at the stand next to the door, Shiki walks toward the sandbag in the room and starts punching it.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be okay and be able to complete my dream." Shiki mutters as he continues to punch.

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

The morning of the next day, the two teens find themselves met with the sight of All Might standing proudly in the parking lot.

"Hahaha, I'm glad to see you both. How are you feeling today?" All Might boisterously ask the two.

Shiki shakes his body a few times and feels most of the soreness gone, barring his hands, but Shiki ignores that.

"I feel okay. What about you?" Shiki asks his friend.

Izuku smiles and nods, although feeling more sore than Shiki.

"I'll be fine." Izuku nods, causing All Might to grin an even wider grin.

"Great. Then let's begin your training." All Might says as he grabs the two and flies off.

"Ahh!" Izuku shrieks in panic as Shiki's eyes widen in surprise and slight fear as they fly off.

The trio soon lands on a beach, and All Might drop the two on the sand.

"Welcome to Takoba Municipal Beach Park, boys." All Might shouts as the two look around to see piles and piles of junk. The area around them seems more like a junkyard than a beach.

"Um, All Might. What are we doing here?" Izuku asks his idol.

"Training, my boy! We'll be training your bodies by having you help clean up this beach!" All Might announces.

Izuku and Shiki look shocked as they stare at the mounds of trash and metal around them before looking toward All Might.

"We have to clean up all of this?" Izuku nervously asks as Shiki stands up and begins browsing through the trash.

"Yes. Of course, I don't expect you two to do this in the span of a day." All Might says before he suddenly deflates.

"This training will be through the rest of the year up until around its time for the UA entrance exams," Toshinori tells the two.

"The entrance exams?" Izuku asks in shock.

"Yes. You will be taking those exams and joining the UA hero curriculum." Toshinori announces.

"Are we going to be getting letters of recommendation from you?" Shiki asks curiously.

Toshinori quickly shakes his head no and looks at the two seriously.

"No, you two will prove you belong at UA without me. The most I'll do for you is give you two will be giving advice and training." Toshinori tells them.

Shiki looks slightly disappointed when he hears that but quickly shakes it off.

"Now then, I want you to begin clearing this beach." Toshinori orders.

The two Kamen Riders pull out their Hero Drivers, but Toshinori stops them.

"Not like that. I want you two to do this without your support gear." Toshinori announces, surprising the two.

"But wouldn't it be best if we got training with our Hero Drivers and Rider forms?" Izuku asks in confusion.

"Maybe, but I want you two to first train your bodies by working without them. Have you ever heard the saying, Quirks are like muscles? Well, we'll be training your muscles like heroes would be training their Quirks." Toshinori tells them.

This shocks the two, but they still follow Toshinori's instructions and begin picking up the garbage. Izuku begins his training by picking up the smaller pieces around the beach, while Shiki quickly goes for the more substantial items like car parts. While they do this, Toshinori watches them and analyzes their movements.

"Hmm, it seems like Young Hikage is more confident in his physical abilities than Young Midoriya. However, that could also be taken as Young Midoriya being the more tactical person by trying to finish the easiest part of this task before starting anything else." Toshinori thinks to himself as he watches the two go to work.

However, he soon notices the slightly uncomfortable and pained look on Shiki as he carries off some trash toward a nearby truck that Toshinori requested ahead of time. This causes Toshinori to monitor Shiki more closely and see the slight rawness of his knuckles for the first time.

"Did he injure his hands before coming here?" Toshinori mentally wonders.

Toshinori decides not to pry on it for now and moves on to watching Izuku.

Izuku is currently picking up items like bottles and cans but can't keep many in his arms at a time. He soon drops all the trash in his arms and looks disappointedly at the fallen recyclables.

"I need to find something to put these in." Izuku thinks as he looks around for something.

He quickly spots a paper bag underneath some trash and some sand. He digs it out and looks inside to see a few small holes, but not substantial enough to make holding things in it difficult. Using the bag, Izuku puts his recyclables in it and heads toward the nearest recycling. He then repeats this process by putting smaller pieces of trash and recyclables in before dumping them in their proper bin.

The two keep at their methods for hours with some quick breaks before Toshinori has them stop. He brings the two some water he bought from a nearby convenience store and lets them rest.

"Good job, you two. Now you'll be going on a run." Toshinori announces.

The two don't say anything and follow their trainer's instructions. So, the trio runs down the sidewalk next to the beach, with Toshinori following behind them on a moped. As they're running, it becomes clear that Shiki is better equipped to handle this type of training as Izuku is lagging slightly while Shiki keeps a constant pace. Seeing his training partner lag behind him, Shiki slows down to run near him.

"Are you okay?" Shiki asks.

"Y-yeah. Just *huff* not used to this kind of *huff* training." Izuku says between gasps and releases heavy breaths.

Toshinori drives onto the other side of Izuku and says.

"And that is exactly why we are doing this. Heroes must train daily to stay in top form while in the field. Your Hero Drivers may make up for your underdeveloped bodies, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't train yourselves up. With enough training, you'll be able to handle the strain from battles and overuse of the Hero Drivers. Plus, it'll improve your overall performance as heroes." Toshinori explains to the two before falling back to drive behind them.

Hearing this, Izuku seems to gain his second wind and tries hard to continue running with Shiki. However, this burst of energy soon ends, and he has to stop and rest on a bench while drinking from his water bottle. Shiki, who stopped with him to get a short rest, looks toward his friend with a raised eyebrow.

"You've really never trained before, have you?" Shiki asks him, causing Izuku to blush in embarrassment.

"You do realize the only school that lets people without Quirks take their hero course exam has a physical test? We may be able to take it once every year, but that doesn't mean anything will change if you only rely on your brain." Shiki says while placing a finger on Izuku's forehead.

Izuku groans as Shiki dresses him down.

"Sorry." Izuku apologizes.

"Young Hikage is right, Young Midoriya. While training your mind is important. You must remember to train your body too. Some say that exercise can help you learn." Toshinori encourages the boy.

"Sorry. I'll try harder, All Might." Izuku apologizes again before promising to do better.

"It's alright, my boy. That's what this training is for. And don't work harder than you have to. You both should follow these training plans I'm giving you to the letter." Toshinori announces as he hands the two small notebooks with notes on how they should train.

The two take a few moments to check their training regiment for the next few months before putting them away so they don't lose them. Though, Izuku looks slightly more green than usual when he realizes how much he must do.

"Remember, you must follow these regiments to the letter. We'll stop training here so you two can rest before tomorrow's training. I expect you both to be here bright and early tomorrow morning." Toshinori announces, causing the two to sigh in relief.

"Now, I'm off!" Toshinori shouts as he transforms into his muscle form and flies off.

The two watch him fly off, and Shiki tiredly sighs before walking away. Izuku quickly follows after him.

"So, what should we do now?" Izuku asks his friend.

Shiki looks at him boredly before saying.

"I've got to go buy all the food on this list. You can come to if you want." Shiki tells him.

Izuku blinks in confusion at his friend's words.

"Won't your parents be buying them? Actually, where are your parents? I don't think I've ever met them before." Izuku asks Shiki.

Shiki freezes at Izuku's words. However, he quickly shakes it off and says.

"I'm being taken care of by my grandpa," Shiki says in a tone that doesn't convey any emotions, and Izuku realizes he hit a sensitive topic.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories." Izuku quickly apologizes.

"It's fine. You didn't know. Let's go." Shiki tells him as he leads the two to the nearest store.

The two walk with an awkward silence between them as they collect Shiki's groceries.

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

As this happens, David Shield is coming out of customs at an airport with someone following close behind him.

The person following behind him is a young woman about a year or two older than Shiki and Izuku. She's tall with fair skin, light blue eyes behind black-framed circular glasses, and long wavy blond hair that reaches her back.

The young woman is wearing a white short-sleeve dress shirt under a dark raspberry pink waistcoat with an orange plaid bow, pale gray Capri pants, and brown boots that go up to her knees with pink plaid socks that reach her kneecaps.

"Are you excited to meet the others, Melissa?" David asks the young woman.

The now-named Melissa gives David an excited grin.

"Yeah. I can't wait to meet them. I also can't wait to see this Rider system you're so proud of." She tells David happily.

"Well, we'll be there soon. Your uncle told me he'll be picking us up." David tells her, causing Melissa's grin to grow.

"Uncle All Mi-" Melissa starts before getting cut off by David with a panicked palm to her mouth.

"Let's not say that out loud around here, Melissa. We don't need that kind of attention on us." David tells his daughter with a weak smile.

"Sorry, Dad." Melissa gives her father an apologetic smile, and David smiles at her.

The two soon exit the airport and spot All Might's car quickly. The reason for this is that it looks like a high-tech black supercar, and David was the one who built it for him.

"There's the Hercules," Melissa says, pointing toward the car.

The two quickly head toward the car and see Toshinori silently waiting for them in his skinny form. When he sees them in his rear-view mirror, Toshinori gains a bright grin and exits his car.

"Uncle Toshinori." Melissa excitedly says as she runs over and happily hugs Toshinori.

"It's good to see you again, Melissa," Toshinori tells her with a smile.

"It's great to see you too. It's been so long since we last saw each other." Melissa tells him while hugging him tighter.

"Hehe, sorry about that. I've been pretty busy over here lately. The wicked don't rest and all that." Toshinori apologizes to her, his smile turning slightly tired.

"Hopefully, the installation of the Hero Driver will help with your workload then," David grins at him while saying that.

Toshinori winches when David says that and gives his friend a strained look.

"About that, there's been an issue. We'll talk about it while I take you to your lab." Toshinori explains as he gets out of Melissa's grip and motions for them to get in the car.

The three quickly put Melissa's bags in the trunk, and Toshinori drives them toward the lab.

"So, what happened while I was gone?" David asks.

Toshinori releases a heavy sigh, causing David and Melissa's worried looks to intensify.

"While you were gone, someone in the Hero Public Safety Commission got their hands on a Hero Driver and gave it to a rather dangerous person," Toshinori reveals, causing the two other occupants in the car to widen their eyes in shock.

"What!" David shouts in shock.

"Yeah. I'm sure Midoriya and Hikage have been trying to call you." Toshinori tells him.

"My phone got destroyed while at I-Island, and I haven't been able to check my mail." David winches when he realizes how bad this looks for him.

"That's bad," Melissa says when she realizes her father may be in trouble.

"Yeah, I'm sure they think you may have something to do with it," Toshinori warns his friend.

"But I let Samuel and Hisashi know I'm leaving for I-Island to bring Melissa here. I even let Mrs. Yaoyorozu know I'd be away from her company's lab." David explains.

"Samuel's gone missing too. We still don't know where he is. I only know this because I asked a friend investigating his disappearance when you told me about who was in your group." Toshinori explains.

"You don't think Mr. Abraham gave out the Hero Driver? Do you?" Melissa asks her uncle.

"No way. Samuel and I worked on the Quirk-enhancing technology long before we started helping Hisashi with the Hero Driver. I know Samuel; he's a good person." David defends his teammate.

"I'm sorry, David. But while you have an alibi, it seems like Samuel doesn't. You, Midoriya, and he are the only ones who could create a Hero Driver. He probably went into hiding after seeing how destructive the person given it is." Toshinori explains to his friend.

David has a betrayed expression, and Melissa looks at her father worriedly.

"But it's not all bad. I met with the boy you told me about and took him and the chairman's grandson under my wing." Toshinori reveals to try and lighten the mood.

That helps David's mood, and he looks at his friend in surprise.

"Really. I thought you didn't want any more sidekicks after Nighteye and your injury?" David questions his friend.

Toshinori lets out a heavy sigh as he looks at his dashboard sadly.

"Let's just say; I'm starting to feel my age catch up with me, and it made me realize I may need to spend more time teaching," Toshinori says sadly.

David gives his friend a look of pity and understanding. Hero work is like that of an athlete. Eventually, your age catches up with you physically and mentally, progressively becoming harder to continue.

"I'm sorry to hear that." David apologizes to his friend.

However, Toshinori quickly stops him and smiles.

"It's alright. I still have enough years in me to finish everything I want to do. One of those things is to deal with these Nomu plaguing Japan." Toshinori tells him.

"Well, I'm glad to hear they're my juniors now," David says with a somewhat strained grin.

"I'm already working them hard by making them clean up my old favorite beach while going through tough training regiments." Toshinori laughs.

The conversations continue to move on to a more positive note as the three drive toward Uncountable Enterprises. Once they arrive at the gate, though. Things take a slightly different tone.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Shield. But I need security to follow you in and stay with you until Mr. Midoriya or our boss says otherwise." Mr. Raccoon says as he alerts security about David's arrival.

David smiles at the man and says.

"I understand. There was a breach, and you're on edge. I'm sure I'll be able to clear this up soon." David tells the man, causing him to give David a thankful look.

The trio is let in and parks the Hercules. Afterward, they're led into the building by two security guards, with Melissa having a nervous expression. David quickly places a comforting hand on his daughter, relieving some of the tension in her.

They soon arrive at the lab floor and go through the hallway, hearing noises that bring a smile to Melissa's face as they walk.

*Grinding*

*Drilling*

*Burning*

*Bang*

"What are we doing wrong with this stupid A.I.? We've scanned the code multiple times!" A scientist screams in frustration.

The group soon arrives at the team's lab and rings the doorbell. Hisashi quickly opens the door, and his eyes widen when he sees David.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you, and you didn't respond to my emails!" Hisashi says as he motions for them to enter the room quickly before stopping security.

"I've got this handled. You can go." Hisashi tells them.

The two nod and leave. After they do and he closes the door, Hisashi turns around to glare at David before he notices Toshinori.

"What is he doing here?" Hisashi asks while pointing toward Toshinori, not knowing he's All Might.

The three's eyes widen in a slight panic as they realize this. However, David quickly covers it up and gives Hisashi a shaky grin.

"This is a friend of mine from back in America. I asked him to pick us up from the airport, and he drove us here since I told him about my work." David explains to Hisashi.

"Is that why he's been skulking around my apartment lately? He randomly appeared after my son and Hikage's grandson took down a Nomu." Hisashi tells David while narrowing his eyes at a nervous Toshinori.

"Well, he's another friend of All Might. So, I'm sure he was also scouting to see if they're worth training since I also told All Might about the program." David says while grinning nervously as Hiashi's eyebrow twitches.

"How many people have you been telling this secret program to?" Hisashi says, emphasizing the word secret while looking at his teammate and others.

"Not a lot, I promise. I thought I'd only tell some of the people it can greatly affect so they can help keep an eye on your son. I promise that nothing bad will come out of it." David tells Hisashi quickly.

"Well, I guess I should thank you for that, then. Apparently, All Might has taken our Kamen Riders on as his students. That'll help them in the long run. Especially with our latest problem outside of hunting the Nomu." Hisashi lets out a tired and angry sigh.

"Toshinori told me about that. So, someone got their hands on one of our Hero Drivers?" David asks worriedly.

"Yep. It's not just anyone, though. It's my son's old-school bully. You know, the one I told you about. And he's being protected by a rather annoying member of the Commission." Hisashi explains with a frustrated expression before he focuses back on David.

"So, where were you during all of this, David?" Hisashi asks him.

"I went back to I-Island to pick Melissa up. I told you about this before I left." David tells him incredulously.

Hisashi blinks and puts a hand to his chin as he racks his brain, trying to remember David telling him that. Finally, after what feels like hours, despite being far less, he remembers David telling him that while he was on one of his tangents.

"That's right. Well, I guess you may be in the clear. Possibly. We don't know when the Hero Driver was given out. So, you're still likely going to be under investigation." Hisashi warns.

David doesn't look happy about that, and neither does his entourage. However, Hisashi isn't done.

"However, you have a better alibi than Samuel since he's vanished. So, he's the main suspect, and you'll likely be safe." Hisashi tells his friend, causing everyone to calm down.

"Do you think that it's Samuel who sold the Driver?" David asks for Hisashi's opinion on the matter.

"I'm pretty sure, yes. He's the only one not here and hasn't given an alibi. It's either he sold one, or something happened to him. It may be both." Hisashi adds-on.

David gains a worried look along with Melissa and Toshinori, with Melissa muttering.

"Oh, Mr. Abraham."

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

Samuel Abraham is not having a good time. He felt like he couldn't enter the lab after K.E.M.'s debut due to the destruction the Kamen Rider caused. He hadn't expected someone from the Commission to choose such a destructive person.

"What am I going to do? The others will kill me, and Chairman Hikage won't forgive me for putting his grandson in harm's way." Samuel panics in a hotel where he's been hiding out after watching K.E.M.'s debut.

"I shouldn't have gone through with this," Samuel mutters as he remembers why he did what he did.

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

"What do you mean the sponsors may shut down our work?" Samuel asks David.

"I'm sorry, Samuel. I'm doing everything possible, but the sponsors think our device is too dangerous!" David shouts in frustration as he puts his hands on his head.

"What are we supposed to do?" Samuel mutters frustratedly.

"Well, I have a way we can work around this, but you may not like it." David sighs.

"What?" Samuel asks him desperately.

"I got an offer from another scientist in Japan who's heard about our work. He says the Commission has given him a job, and he's looking for people to join his development team. He says the project will involve dealing with a new type of villain that's risen in Japan. He'd like us to use our research to help him develop the device." David explains to him.

"So, he wants to use our research to complete his project with his name at the front?" Samuel asks in anger.

"It's not like that, Samuel. We'll all be getting the credit for where we worked. Besides, this project is supposed to be kept secret until the Nomus have been dealt with." David tells him.

Samuel looks frustrated when he hears that and stomps off.

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

"I shouldn't have let David talk me into agreeing to this. Losing all our hard work is better than being a wanted criminal." Samuel mutters as he puts his head into his hands.

"What am I supposed to do now? Could I make it back to I-Island? I have a few friends in other places that may be able to help me with this situation." Samuel calms down as he pulls his phone out to see if anyone can help him.

As the phone dials, he mutters.

"I should at least try to get out of the city."

Next Chapter

#kamen rider #original kamen rider #kamen rider deku #my hero academia #mha #izuku midoriya #hisashi midoriya #original characters #samuel abraham #slidin' go #david shield #melissa shield

[serenailith]

yesterday’s gone (we’ll make it through)—iv

on ao3 here

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Hob wakes to an empty flat, a pounding head, and a mouth that tastes like something’s died in it. He eases himself into a sitting position and scrubs a hand over his face. The world spins as he sways. He really should not have had that last drink.

Or the one before it.

Or any of them, his sleep-addled brain murmurs in a fit of coherency. He remembers—with a bit of a struggle—stumbling up the stairs from the pub around three this morning. Starting to drink was a lot easier to recall than the subsequent hours.

He’d entered the pub in a fog, mind tangled around the events of the day. He had spent nearly ten hours in an uncomfortable chair staring at a being he’s only ever seen once a century. Hob had wondered if Dream’s hospitalisation meant he was human, or if he was still the enigmatic entity he’d always been. Just biding his time until—what? What could Dream possibly be waiting for?

He’d waited for Hob. In that hospital bed, alone but for the nurses, Dream had waited for Hob to show up.

Hob knows, better than he knows himself, that he will always show up. He proved it when he ignored his scheduled lectures to spend the day by Dream’s side. That’s what friends are for, right? Right, he thinks with a snort that sends his head reeling. Friends.

He’s spent the better part of six centuries wanting answers about the Stranger. Now Hob has a name but little else. Hard to call that a friendship.

“I am called Dream, to friends.”

That’s what Dream had said. “To friends.” Friends. That has to mean something.

Hob sighs and flops backwards again, wishing he had another drink.

Deciding finally that it’s far too early to have such deep discussions with himself over the validity of friendships with no names given, Hob rolls out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom in the hallway. Using the toilet and scrubbing his teeth make him feel slightly more human, though his head continues pounding. Nothing some over-the-counter painkillers can’t fix, he knows this from experience.

It’s been a long time since Hob drank as much as he had last night. And for what? What had driven him to drown himself in ale and whisky?

His Stranger. His Friend. Dream. A Dream no longer so haughty and prideful. There had been something in his eyes, deeper than the surface, that screamed of loss, agony and confusion. Loneliness.

“I think you’re lonely.”

“You dare. . .”

“No, look, I’m not saying—”

“You dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong.”

Hob groans at the memory. It’s been over a hundred years, and he will never forget the disdain on Dream’s face, the ice and rage in his voice. If Hob concentrates, he can almost feel the cold rain pouring down, slipping along his skin as he watches Dream stalk away into the night. Hob’s heart still aches at what transpired that night.

Just because Dream’s called on him now, Hob knows it does little to confront the way they left things in 1889.

He’s just finished washing his breakfast dishes when his phone rings. The nurse’s voice is too bright, chipper, as she tells Hob that ‘Murphy’ won’t be released today. Hob wonders if she’s allowed to tell him this—isn’t patient confidentiality a thing? But she doesn’t seem bothered by it, only explains that it will be a few more days before ‘Mister Murphy’ is well enough to be sent home. Hob thanks her for the news and frowns when she ends the call without another word.

As much as he wants to see Dream again—if only to prove their friendship is real no matter what Dream may think—Hob knows he can’t miss another day of lectures. So he sighs, sends a silent apology through the universe to Dream’s ears, and heads to his bedroom to dress for the day. He can always spend tomorrow at Dream’s bedside; there are no classes scheduled, and he’s nearly caught up on marking papers.

His body is willing to pace around the lecture hall as he speaks. His brain, however, is firmly in that hospital room, focused on pale skin beneath wild black hair, grey-blue eyes that hold evidence of pain. Hob can count on one hand the times he’s seen Dream less than perfectly composed, and this is the worst of the two.

Hob tapes a sign to his office door then locks it. Once he’s flipped the switch, the room is doused in as much darkness as possible in the middle of the day, and he drops to sit on the sofa against the wall. After setting an alarm on his phone, Hob lets himself fall sideways, tucks his legs up on the cushions, and closes his eyes.

Rising up before him is the remains of what was clearly a palace at one point in time. Crumbling stone, desolate landscape. Smoke rolls across the ground, low and undulating, and deadened trees are scattered across the lands. Roiling grey clouds ooze across the sky above, threatening a storm. Dry dirt spreads as far as the eye can see.

Hob has never seen this place before, not even in his dreams. And that must be what this is. A dream. He’s back in his office, sleeping on the uncomfortable leather sofa. Not here.

So why does it feel so real? Why can Hob smell the desolation in the air? He can almost taste the decay as he stares around. A trail of cold slithers its way down his spine, and he takes a step closer to the palace. Further past the towering gate.

Each careful step carries him nearer to the detritus. Much like seeing Dream, the sight is worse up close. He shudders in the chill emanating from the ruins, the silence ringing out. A low rumble, thunder then forked lightning, and Hob reaches out a hand. A voice in his head tells him to stop, but he pushes through.

His fingers have barely brushed against the massive door when he sees the shadow. His brows furrow, and he stares at the figure just beyond the entrance. Wire-rimmed glasses glint in the low lighting. Something moves further behind the figure. Before he can say anything, a sharp pain lances through his gut.

Hob bolts upright, panting heavily. A thin sheen of sweat lies cold on his skin, and he shivers though the heating is on. Something had been beyond that door, he knows it. Whether it is benevolent or otherwise, he isn’t as sure. Even now that he’s awake, he can almost feel the heavy gaze still on him.

He swallows thickly and covers his face with his hands.

It’s not the first time he’s dreamed something other than nightmares or memories in over a hundred years, but it certainly has left the most chilling mark on Hob.

Thankfully, it’s almost easy to push the dream from his mind and focus on teaching. To pretend he doesn’t still feel the icy finger of fear and unknown running along his veins. Light glints off gold, and Hob’s head jerks around to catch sight of it. It’s nothing more than midday sunlight streaming through the window, landing on a student’s wedding band.

The longer he speaks, the less nervous he is. The less afraid, because Hob has lived too long to not recognise the stench of fear. He relaxes in his role as professor, until the final lecture ends. Then he gathers up his papers and books while his pupils do the same. They file out, leaving him behind, and he falls into the chair behind his desk as soon as the door closes.

“Get control of yourself,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. It was a dream. He’s had worse. Hell, he’s had worse reality. A dream should have no effect on him, not like this.

“Is everything okay, Professor?”

“Hmm?” He looks up to see one of his best students in the doorway. “Yeah, Jacqueline, I’m fine. Can I help you?”

“I just. . . I was walking by and saw you. You seem upset.”

Hob straightens his spine and forces a smile. “Oh. No, not upset. Well, not at anyone other than myself. I seem to have forgotten my glasses today, so I’m starting to get a bit of a headache.”

There. A simple yet believable lie. She cocks her head, the ends of her braids clacking together, then nods slowly. With a gentle smile, she wishes him a good evening then slips back into the corridors once more. Hob sighs and grabs up his bag. He’s spent long enough here.

He spends the entire trek home debating whether to visit Dream. After all, it’s what friends do, and Dream must be incredibly discombobulated, given his current situation—alone, hurting. . .

Hob has just made the decision to stop in at the hospital when he checks the time. Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago. So he points his feet toward home and ignores the voice in his head telling him he’s making a mistake.

After a rather unsatisfying dinner of stir-fry, Hob changes into a pair of grey sweats and a ratty T-shirt that’s seen better days before settling in on the couch. He puts on some music—Etta James, again—and begins reading through the essays he’d assigned.

He has just crawled into bed and closed his eyes when his phone rings on the bedside table. Hob hesitates—it’s nearly midnight. It’s far too late for a conversation. But then again, it’s nearly midnight. The only reason someone would phone this late at night is—

Dream.

He scrambles for the phone, knocking it to the floor in his attempts to grab it. His fumbling hand pushes it further beneath the bed, and he curses loudly as he manages to grab hold of the device. His greeting comes out breathless, anxious, his heart thundering in his chest. He swallows thickly, though his mouth has gone dry, as he waits for a response.

“The doctors are keeping me here.”

Hob blows out a breath, clasping a hand to his forehead. “Y-yeah, they told me this morning. How are you doing, Dream?”

“I am stuck here alone. How do you think I am doing, Hob Gadling?”

“Okay, bad question,” Hob concedes with a chuckle. “I, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t get to come see you today. I had classes that I couldn’t skip.”

“Classes?”

And is that genuine intrigue in Dream’s voice? Hob hopes so. Instead of questioning it, he tells Dream how he’d become a professor this time around. It’s one of the more satisfying careers he’s ever had, right up there with the printing press. Dream doesn’t interrupt, but Hob can still hear his inhales, his soft exhales.

Finally, Hob has to know: “Why are you still awake?”

“I am sorry for disturbing your sleep” comes down the line, Dream’s once-imperious voice too small and timid. Hob can’t stand it.

“It’s okay,” he says, though his words are interrupted by a yawn. “Really. I don’t mind. Do. . . Would you like to hear a story?”

There’s the sound of a quiet scoff, and Hob prepares for a rejection. Instead, he gets a quiet “I would rather enjoy that.” So he cards his fingers through his hair and tries to figure out which story would be best. Something from his own life? No, those are best told face-to-face. He wants to see Dream’s expressions when he hears of all that Hob has done since 1889.

It hits him, then. He knows what story he should tell.

Hob clears his throat and begins: “Lorsque j’avais six an j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image, dans un livre sur la Forêt Vierge qui s’appelait ‘Histoires Vécues’. Ça représentait un serpent boa qui avalait un fauve. Voilà la copie du dessin.”

There’s nothing but the sound of breathing on the other end, but Hob doesn’t let it discourage him. He only settles further against his pillows and continues reciting the story. He could probably have gone with the English version, but he’s always thought French was a prettier language. English is, after all, little more than a massacre of various languages and dialects.

He tells Dream the story until he can hear the tell-tale sounds of someone in sleep. Smiling to himself, Hob listens to the even cadence of breath for a long moment. He finally exhales slowly.

“Sweet dreams, my Friend.”

why yes, that IS hob gadling reading "le petit prince" to a can't-sleep-and-lonely!dream

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x hob gadling #my writing #yesterday's gone

[infernal-fire]

Long Forgotten

I am choosing to not use warnings. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with themes of infidelity, angst, swearing and sexual innuendos. 

Summary: Your Steve isn’t yours anymore and you’re beginning to understand why. 

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairings: Steve x reader and a surprise appearance ;)

Disclaimer: this is set right after Endgame

A/N: this story was inspired by @nsfwsebbie’s fic please don’t take him (even though you can). it was so damn amazing. i thought of how the situation would go under different circumstances, and added a more strong willed reader into the mix  :)

i tried to proofread but im sort of posting in a rush so all mistakes are my own!

(This GIF does not belong to me)

Your head was nestled in the crook of Steve’s neck and his arms were cradling your tired form. Dried tears left your face feeling dry and your up do from the funeral was now tousled. Steve let out a heavy sigh and held you a little tighter. 

You could fall asleep if it weren’t for the looming stress of returning the stones so you decided to bide your time by focusing on the super soldier’s unnaturally slow heartbeat. 

“We should go, sweetheart. They’re waiting for me.” his voice broke the placid silence that had enveloped the room. 

You silently got off the bed and Steve’s hand nudged yours, stopping you from reaching the door. 

He slowly pulled you towards him and you met him halfway, face-to-face.

“I know things aren’t great right now. But we’ll get through this,” he spoke lowly as his large hands cupped your face. They felt rough against your supple skin, but his touch was as tender as ever.

You stared into his eyes for a moment before speaking. "I’ll come with you,” you offered.

“No,” he affirmed. His tone was firm yet a touch of softness was reserved in there somewhere, just for you.

“I love you Y/N. I’ll love you no matter what,” he said as he pulled your head into his chest and engulfed your body into his. 

//

You reached the new, mini version of the previously destroyed time travel contraption Tony made. Sam, Bucky and Professor Hulk were engaging in light conversation that clearly, none of them were interested in. You look up at Steve, who was as tense as ever, clutching your hand like a vice. He let go and glanced back at you before joining Sam. 

You knew deep down that Steve would never be the same anymore. Hell, after the Battle of Wakanda, Steve almost ended the relationship because the Avengers lost.

But the Avengers won this time, and things should feel different. So why did it feel like he was leaving forever? 

You recalled the very short conversation you had with him about Tony’s snap.

 “I should have snapped,” he sobbed. 

“You’ve always been selfless your whole life. This was Tony’s time to be selfless, and you don’t get to take that away from him.” You hugged him and cried with him. 

There was nothing else to be said.

How much you wished no one had to die. 

He stood on the platform and nodded at Bruce before locking eyes with you.

Apologetic. He looked apologetic. 

At the time, you thought he just looked sad. You assumed it was residual sadness from the funeral but looking back, you realized he looked apologetic for what he was about to do. 

Rebuilding your relationship wasn’t easy. Tony and Nat’s death and the trauma of the battle were overshadowing both of your feelings. You salvaged what you could and life returned to a “normal” that never existed. 

Being an Avenger means your living costs are covered by Tony, basically compensating for the missions. Only there weren’t any missions anymore. You were grateful but it meant that you had a lot of time on your hands. 

You took up a job as a waitress and Steve continued running sessions at the VA with Sam. It was humbling to be serving people at a diner after fighting alongside some of Earth’s mightiest heroes. But you needed it. And slowly but steadily, happiness crept its way into the tower. 

You didn’t see Steve around anymore though. You weren’t sure if you were even together anymore, aside from the forehead kisses and lingering glances.

You and Bucky set the table while you heard Sam and Steve banter over who gets to choose the movie today. Bucky chuckled and called them to eat.

There was relentless teasing, jokes being tossed around and big smiles everywhere.

“The nurse had poked him 2 times at this point and there was no blood coming out of him.” Sam laughed. 

“So she asks me if we can do the other arm.” Bucky snorted through breaths of amusement. 

“This guy pulls up his sleeve and the girl faints.” Sam howled as everyone doubled over in laughter. 

You wiped a tear from your eye and you look over at Steve who was laughing as well. It had been a long time since you’ve seen him so happy. 

Sure, he’d been distant. He hadn’t touched you since he came back. It had been 2 months though, and you wondered if you should try again tonight. You put a hand over Steve’s and he snapped his head to you. He gave you a small smile before slipping his hand out from under yours and picking up a napkin.

He needed the napkin, you told yourself. 

You went up to change into something that he might find more appealing. You were torn between the red lace set or the black corset. You settled for the classic red lace and tied on a robe before heading downstairs to tease him a little. 

“You’re going to tell her before you go right?” You heard Sam’s voice and broke your stride to the kitchen. 

“She won’t be happy.” You swore it was Steve’s voice but it was a little too quiet to be sure. You silently padded toward the kitchen, standing right outside the entrance to hear better.

“Of course she won’t be happy. You went back to be with a girl from 70 years ago and spent 4 months with her. You sort of cheated on her Steve.” Bucky’s voice quipped at Steve. 

You couldn’t be hearing right. Steve went back and got together with Peggy?

“It’s not sort of cheating, he almost got married to her,” Sam remarked in rebuttal. 

He almost got married to her. 

He almost got married to her. 

He almost got married to her.

There was so much information to process. Your shoulder sagged with the weight of the news and you cupped your mouth before anyone could hear your sob. 

“But I came back.” Steve countered. 

“Do you love her?” Bucky lowered his voice and inquired. 

“I don’t know anymore.” 

Your chest heaved and eyes burned. You wanted to gasp for air but you knew if you breathed, you would let out the anguish building in your stomach. 

Your back hit the wall and you slid down, not caring if he hears anymore. 

In moments, Steve, Bucky and Sam appear beside you with startled faces. 

You didn’t look at them as you got up and paced to your room. You thought you heard Steve’s voice calling after you but your thoughts pounded and clawed at the insides of your head. You couldn’t be sure and you weren’t going to turn back now. 

He didn’t run after you. You had predicted that he didn’t want to deal with your hysterical crying which surely could be heard past your room walls. When you considered it, this new Steve was actually quite predictable; you knew he wouldn’t bother bringing it up to you until you brought it up yourself. Because he was a coward like that, you decided. All of his actions spoke for themself and the one true motive behind his cheating is cowardice. You don’t know if you would have been okay with him going back to Peggy, but if he talked about it, things not have ended the way they did. 

After 2 days of not leaving your room, you knew that there was a better way to handle this. It wasn’t you who should be embarrassed; instead of sulking, you marched to his room with newfound determination. 

You threw open his door that he didn’t even bother locking. Steve was mid-speech with someone on the phone, seemingly a conversation that wasn’t going his way. He seemed tense, his muscles protruding from the tight white t-shirt pulled over him. 

Your jaw ticked as you shifted your weight onto one foot and rested on the doorframe, waiting for him to end the call. 

“I’m sorry to cut this short. We have a lot to talk about but it’ll have to happen in-person.” he concluded the phone call and sat on the bed with his head in his arms. 

“Seems like you planned it all.” you commented, trying to sound like you didn’t care. In reality, the wound was still very fresh. Even though a part of you had known that the relationship was over for some time now, you were only coming to terms with it now. 

“I wanted to tell you before I left, but you were just so upset and I couldn’t …” he trailed off. 

“All of a sudden you care about me? And now this is somehow my fault that you were too chicken to tell me,” you retorted, unimpressed with his answer.

“I have always cared about you and always will.” He got up and walked towards you. He cupped your face but you pushed his hand off, glaring up at him. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I admit I could’ve handled everything lot better but Y/N. When you told me Tony’s snap was his moment of selflessness, I realized that all I’ve ever done is be selfless. And I don’t regret any of it. But it was time I chose to do something for myself. Then I remembered Peggy and the life I left behind and I just knew this world would be okay without me so I chose to be selfish. I chose to be selfish, Y/n, and I don’t regret that either.” 

You were crying now, and Steve reached to wipe it off, but you smacked his hand. 

“You used to choose me. You woke up everyday and chose us. The day you decided you didn’t want this anymore, you decided you would just go ‘fuck all’ and cheat on me? You couldn’t have ended it like a normal person?” you questioned through your tears. Your vision was foggy but you kept wiping your eyes, trying not let him see your tears.

He sighed and let a few moments stretch on before he answered.  

“We both know that this relationship was over a long time ago Y/N.”

You noted his use of your name and not the usual pet name ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’. It saddened you even more to think that he doesn’t associate those words with you anymore. 

“You’re a fucking bastard Rogers. You are the biggest coward I have ever met in my life. You may be the Captain America, but you are the biggest wimp in real life.” You could tell he was fuming because of your comment but you continued your spiel. 

“I tried everything to make this work. The moment that the thought of cheating crossed your mind, you should have broken my heart. Because all you did now was rip it out and stomp on it before spitting on the what’s left-”

“I can’t believe you’re standing here accusing me of not trying to make this work. You know what Y/N? I fucking left Peggy because I thought about you and thought I could make this work. And then I came back and remembered all the reasons why this wouldn’t work and now I regret it. I wish I could go back to Peggy.”

“Go fuck yourself Rogers,” you muttered and turned to leave. “Actually, go fuck Peggy’s skeleton Steve. I curse you with every cell in my body. I hope you never get to see her again. I know you’re trying to go back,” you added before wiping you final tear, once and for all. There was no way you were going to shed another tear on this asshole. 

Except, it wasn’t that simple. You did cry over it more, but if there’s anything you did right, it was making sure he never saw your tears. 

You also found that post-break up glow up’s were a real thing. The lack of missions means you didn’t need to see Steve unless you chose to be in the same space as him. So you chose to make new friends and bring new light into your life. There was no dread clouding your judgment because for once, there was no impending threat on the future of Earth. 

You cut your hair, you changed up your wardrobe and got as fit as you’ve ever been. Your friends made frequent stops at the Tower which eventually turned into dragging you into their bar hopping.

On the other hand, Steve was doing everything he could to go back to Peggy, just like you had predicted. You manifested his downfall. Hank Pym refused to let his work fall into the hands of the Avengers and Steve was having a very hard time convincing him otherwise. The final nail in the coffin was when Hank decided that Pym Particles should not be produced anymore. As long as the world didn’t understand the entirety of the quantum realm, no one should have access to something that could mess with it. No arguments could ensue because there was nothing anyone could say to change Hank’s mind.

As much as Bucky and Sam wanted him to go back, they knew he deserved it for everything you were put through. When Steve found that his friends weren’t on the same page as him, he spiraled deeper into regret and depression. There wasn’t much to be done in terms of world-saving, which is what he was made for. The person he thought was the love of his life is gone now. When the dust settled, he realized that you were the only thing that kept him going for so long. But now he lost you too, and there was nothing he could do get you back. 

While you were out living your new life, Steve was trying to find a life for himself. He would see you around the compound and wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of your love. What he would do to feel that again, he couldn’t explain to anyone. 

Your escapades were at an all-time high. You knew that single life is the life. Just when you finally concluded that all men were trash, Ransom came crashing into your life. Although he only reinforced this belief, this man wasn’t just any trash. He was your trash. 

He was the mutual of your friends and you seemed to never be able to escape him. Moreover, your friends decided that you wouldn’t escape him. 

The teasing and playful banter between you two turned into something more serious about a year after your break-up. Ransom was everything Steve wasn’t. 

Steve was a gentleman. Chivalrous. Gentle. 

Then you reminded yourself that he had proven to you that he wasn’t any of things anymore. Ransom was the exact opposite, but he wore it on his sleeve. After all the lies and cowardice, Ransom’s blunt and bold attitude was exactly what you needed. 

There were moments you found yourself comparing the nature of the two relationships. With Steve, a lot of it was gentle and soft with some roughness around the edges. Life alongside Ransom was nothing short of callous, but that’s why soft, vulnerable moments felt even more extraordinary and special. 

If you made a judgement based off first impressions, someone like Ransom seems to be more likely to cheat than someone like Steve Rogers. Upon deeper analyzation though, Ransom doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet. He doesn’t claim things easily, but when he does, he would go to any length to make sure what’s his, will stay his. Soon after you realized this, you began abandoning thoughts of comparing the two relationships. 

//

There was a party at the Tower for Sam’s birthday. It was the first time in a long time that you were going to be around Steve for longer than 10 minutes. Doubt began seeping through your determination; how well would you fare under the pressure of pretending to be okay around him? 

“Do we have to match, sugar?” Ransom whined from your bathroom. 

“Why would you even go to an event as a couple if you aren’t matching?” you hollered back. 

You heard Ransom grumble as the bathroom door swung open. The emerald green dress shirt with small gold polka dots complemented his eyes so perfectly. Ransom was about to complain again before seeing the look of awe on your face. He decided right then that he could suck it up for the night. 

You were wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with sheer black net covering your shoulders, your sleeves reaching your elbows. The material was different, but the print was the exact same as Ransom’s. He couldn’t help but wonder why you put so much effort into such little things. He made a mental note to do something like this for you another time before wrapping his arms around your frame, burying his face into your face.

“Ran! My hair!” you squealed as you tried to push him off. 

“Usually it’s me that takes this long to get ready. You trying to impress the Captain?” Ransom winked and sat on your bed. 

“Oh fuck off.” you rolled your eyes and added the big bow to your half up hair-do. 

“You look so innocent baby. How angelic would you look with my cum dripping out of your mouth?” he smirked as you dropped your mouth, looking at him through the mirror. 

“My god Ran, this is not the time.” You shook your head and pulled him with you, finally making your way to the party downstairs. 

You were breaking out into cold sweat for some reason. Part of you really wanted to show Steve how happy you were now, but you felt that it meant you weren’t truly over him. Were you making a mistake?

Right before you opened the door the common room where the party was ongoing, Ransom stopped you and looked right into your eyes. 

“You know, as much as I’d like to make your ex jealous, if you don’t want this, I could think of a lot of other ways to spend the night,” he winked and you blushed. This is exactly why you liked him so much. There was no pressure to be anything but yourself around him. Even if you told him you wanted to go back to your room, there would be no judgement on his behalf. He wouldn’t ever bring it up as a joke either, because he just knew what he could and couldn’t joke about. 

“Let’s do this, bubbles” you giggled. He groaned at the nickname and pulled you into his side with one arm, opening the door with the other. 

One of Ransom’s many talents was making an entrance and this event was no exception. As you walked through the entrance, Ransom kept his head high and pulled you along with him. His confidence began rubbing off you and within a few steps, you stopped slouching. Straightening you back and tossing your hair behind your back, you bathed in the glory of the looks you and Ransom were getting. He took you straight to the bar, smiled at you and ordered drinks. 

“You know, your ex was fuming in the corner,” he remarked as he sipped on his drink. 

“No!” you laughed incredulously, unable to imagine Steve begin angry over Ransom’s presence. 

“It’s true, look for yourself,” he calmly retorted. His eyes flicked to a corner of the room and you followed his gaze there. Steve looked away upon seeing you look at him but it was clear that he was flustered. Bucky stood beside him, entertaining a gaggle of girls, but Steve’s attention was clearly elsewhere. 

“He’s actually pretty hot in person, it’s making me jealous” Ransom nonchalantly mentioned. 

You threw your head back and laughed. Your doubts of whether this was a good idea were dissipating very quickly. 

Ransom chuckled and then looked at you intently. You looked back at him, the high of the laugh wearing off because of his intense stare. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” you blurted. 

“You know, I’m glad you said it because I did not want to say it first.” he snickered and you playfully punched him. 

“Ow! I’m just kidding, don’t go all Avengers-mode on me!” he fussed.

You pulled him into a tight hug. He peeled your head away from his chest to cup your face and give you a light kiss before whispering ‘I love you too.’ You started to tear up, thinking of all the pain you had to go through to get this moment of tranquility with your favourite person in the whole, wide world. 

He cooed and kissed your forehead. 

“I always got you.” he assured and pulled your head back into his chest. You smiled and broke away from the hug, sitting back on the bar stool. 

“I think you transferred your lipstick because you have a dark red lip mark on your forehead.” 

You groaned and frantically wiped your forehead. 

“Hey,” he caught your wrist. “Why don’t we go back up and fix that?” His eyes glinted in the dim lights and you giggled like a schoolgirl as he pushed through the crowd.

In that moment, and every moment after it, Steve was long forgotten. 

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[nightingaelic]

Fallout 4 companions respond to getting captured by Super Mutants (for optional added angst, maybe even getting turned into a super mutant). Strong not included for obvious reasons.

Ada: "Be advised: My guardian has equipped me with a tracking device in the event of my capture. You lack the privileges necessary to access their estimated time of arrival."

Ada is always matter-of-fact about her situation, even if her legs aren't functioning and she's squashed between two bags of body parts on the floor of an abandoned hospital. She's also patient, and content to wait until the sole survivor comes to retrieve her. In the meantime, she'll run escape scenario algorithms to determine the best way out of the building. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Cait: "Are you f***ing serious?! I'll tear your ears off with my bare hands and string them on a necklace! You don't know who you're messin' with, you green bastards!"

No one can match Cait in sheer viciousness when fighting to free themselves, but even she has her limits. The sole survivor would likely find her in a cage, hyperventilating and on the verge of tears. If the super mutants made the mistake of exposing her to FEV, she would tear the nest apart herself. Mutation would be another internal struggle for Cait, but I think she could successfully make peace with her new state of being if given enough time. A makeshift, giant baseball bat might help.

Codsworth: "Unhand me, you brutes! By God, the class of people I'm forced to associate with these days just keeps falling!"

Pre-war Codsworth is constantly offended by the super mutants' behavior, particularly their lack of housekeeping. He can't help bemoaning his situation for all to hear, something that would probably annoy the super mutants enough to bonk him on the dome until he shuts down. Some assembly required once the sole survivor catches up with him. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Curie: "While we are waiting, would any of you mind answering some questions for me about how you came to exist in this state? Ça vous dit?"

With a wide new world of oddities to study, Curie takes her abduction as yet another opportunity to learn. If nothing else, she can observe super mutants in their natural- or at least chosen- habitat. Prior to her synth transition, not affected by FEV for obvious reasons. Post-synth transition, however, I think Curie would take the mutation as an opportunity to study the effects that turn a person into a super mutant. I don't think she would lose her bubbly personality, similar to the way Lily the nightkin retained some of her old sense of self.

Danse: "You may have the upper hand today, but you and the other freaks of nature are fighting a losing battle." [spits]

Having lost the most to super mutants in the past, Danse fights his captors until he is completely spent. In fact, the sole survivor would have to practically carry the man home for a lengthy recovery, something his suit of power armor would definitely help with. Mutation into a super mutant is one of Danse's worst nightmares, and if exposed to FEV, he would beg the sole survivor to show him the same mercy he once showed Cutler.

Deacon: "Oh yeah, this reminds me of that summer I spent camping out on the National Mall. You even look familiar. Know anyone by the name of Uncle Leo?"

Like in every tight spot he's ever been in, Deacon masks his stress level with quick wits and quicker retorts. Most likely to slip his confines, let the sole survivor fight their way to the heart of the nest, then reveal he was free the whole time and they needn't have bothered. If exposed to FEV, Deacon would probably panic and enlist the sole survivor's help in searching for a cure, positive that a mutated countenance would irreparably damage his ability to help the Railroad. Then again, he might see it as a "new look" and use it to his advantage for a bit.

Dogmeat: [snarling]

Any super mutants that get their hands on Dogmeat are highly likely to lose fingers. Still, there's not much the canine can do if he's put in a cage, other than bark and wait for rescue. While FEV leaves many dogs as aggressive shells of their former selves, I think Dogmeat would be largely okay with his new green-and-bulky form and would still happily guard settlements and follow the sole survivor around, not unlike Gracie from Far Harbor.

Hancock: "Whoa, whoa relax. I've got time to hang out for a bit, no need to get all worked up. Don't stain the coat, I doubt you can cough up the caps to get it cleaned."

Of all the companions, Hancock is the most unbothered by becoming a super mutant captive. It's just another wasteland adventure, albeit one where the opposing cast of characters are all at least two feet taller than him. He might earn some bumps and bruises for being unable to keep his smart mouth shut, but he'll just bide his time until he spots an opening to wreak havoc and escape, or until the sole survivor comes along to wiggle him out. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

MacCready: "You know, I'm getting real sick of you green lunatics. Spent almost a decade living next door to some of your cousins, and they knew enough not to mess with me."

Upon capture, MacCready would roll his eyes and accept that he's going to have to wait for some help. He'd get more desperate the longer his wait went on though, envisioning a world where Duncan lost his dad without getting to say goodbye. Mutation wouldn't necessarily dampen his spirits at first: After all, if anyone can find a cure, it's the sole survivor.

Valentine: "Not exactly a group of masterminds, are you?"

At this point, Nick is used to getting abducted and locked up by just about every group in the Commonwealth. He knows super mutants well enough to know they don't listen to reason, but he can't resist getting in a jab or two about how he's far from edible. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Piper: "So, uh, what's say I write up a column about how super mutants are seriously misunderstood creatures and we'll call it even? No?"

Piper might have similar levels of confidence as Deacon, but hers are much more likely to waver when faced with possible death by ingestion. Her quips would be fewer and more nervous until the sole survivor arrived, at which point she would put her game face back on and cheer her rescuer along. If exposed to FEV, she would beg the sole survivor to help her find a cure for Nat's sake, and eventually weasel the information about Virgil out of them.

Preston: "I didn't need to get up close to know why you're called 'uglies,' but here we are."

While terrified at what the super mutants might do to him, Preston is the most level-headed when captured. He's already great under pressure in battle, and he's used to setting his own fears aside to find solutions for his woes. Most likely to have more people coming to his rescue than the sole survivor alone, due to his role with the Minutemen. If exposed to FEV, Preston would likely accept his fate with dignity, and make the sole survivor promise to dispatch him if he turns violent. I don't think he would, though, and the Minutemen would probably be more accepting of a super mutant officer than most.

X6-88: "I can afford to wait for field assistance, mutant. They will not make the mistakes I did."

X6-88 accepts his predicament calmly, like he accepts everything that happens to him. If unable to free himself, he will patiently wait for the Institute help he knows is coming, even if it's just the sole survivor with a pipe pistol. Regarding FEV mutation, turning into a super mutant might be the straw that breaks the camel's back for X6-88. In the Institute's eyes, the Courser is now hideous and no longer viable in the field: In X6-88's opinion, though, he is even stronger and more dangerous than he was before. I could see him finally choosing to desert his post out of a growing sense of self-preservation once transformed.

BONUS!

Gage: "Well look who's suffering from delusions of adequacy! I'd call you f***ers dumb as rocks, but at least a rock can hold a door open."

Porter Gage is great at heckling, and just good enough that he toes the line right up to where super mutants would start to understand he's insulting them. The sole survivor would likely find a gaggle of them around his confinement space, convinced he's complimenting them when he's actually being very rude. Breaking him out gives him the biggest smile. Becoming mutated himself might actually benefit Gage in the long run, as the raiders he used to be wary of would instead find themselves newly-wary of the Overboss' right-hand man.

Longfellow: "Too bad you aren't one of the more reasonable ones. Might've saved your skin."

Longfellow treats his own capture with a sense of humor, acknowledging that he's not as young as he once was and might need help now and then. Chuckles the whole time the sole survivor is fighting their way to him, and grateful upon release. If turned into a super mutant, he'd shrug, accept his fate, and ask to be escorted to live with his friend Erickson up near Far Harbor.

Maxson: "I welcome the day you and your kind meet total destruction."

If Danse is angry about being captured by his sworn enemies, Maxson is seething. Kidnapping a Brotherhood Elder is something that shouldn't even be possible in his eyes, let alone by super mutants. Once freed, he would do his best to erase the nest from the earth: Fire, missiles, tactical nukes if necessary. Also like Danse, Maxson would order the sole survivor to mercifully dispatch him if he were mutated. Additionally, he'd have them destroy any evidence of his exposure to FEV, and simply turn in his holotags with the news that he had perished in the line of duty.

Desdemona: [livid silence]

Plunks herself down, lights a cigarette if her hands are free, and waits. Eventually, the sole survivor or Glory will turn up, and she'll give them one, lingering look of disappointment before vanishing into the Commonwealth ruins. Least likely to get captured in the first place. If mutated, she would reassume her job as leader of the Railroad with no comment, and everyone else would know better than to ask.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout asks #super mutant #super mutants #dogmeat #piper wright #nick valentine #preston garvey #robert joseph maccready #maccready #hancock #mayor hancock #deacon #cait #curie #danse #paladin danse #codsworth #porter gage #old longfellow #x6-88 #ada #fallout companions #fallout 4 companions #fo4 companions #fallout companions react #desdemona #maxson

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Red Flags

Warnings: Serial killers, breaking and entering, torture, manipulation and broken bones AN: Huge thank you to @9layerdevilfoodcake and the lovely Carissa for bouncing some ideas and beta reading this while I was struggling!

AO3

Michael had enough. He was tired and hungry, getting nothing more than delirious in this forest. He stood on shaky legs, not caring about the blood of the goat he just killed. He didn’t know where he was going, just letting his feet carry him to wherever they pleased. He no longer cared about the destination. His surroundings faded into nothingness, until a familiar white-picket fence came into view. He finally focused on his surroundings, immediately starting to sob when he recognised where he was. His childhood home, his grandmother’s house. His body must have craved the familiarity and the warm embrace that only she could provide. But like every other mother figure in his life, she was dead, and he blamed himself. With bleary eyes he pushed open the squeaky gate. The smell of roses made the memories rapidly flash through his mind. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The house had been untouched for years. Dust and cobwebs everywhere. He thought of his grandmother watching the house fall into this state of decay. Watching.

He felt the eyes of the house next door on him. He refused to look out the window. He didn’t want to see the looks of disgust and pity. He wiped his eyes and stood a little straighter. This was his house now. He could do whatever he wanted here. No one to answer to, no more deadlines and most of all, no more older blonde woman dictating his life. ////

He stared at himself in the mirror. The stubble and lack of sleep seemed to age him. His hair was no longer perfectly styled, it was wild and uneven. The more he looked at himself the more his face began to morph into the women in his life. He hated it. He didn’t want to look like the woman that threw him out at his lowest. Or the woman who, even in her death, could not accept him as hers. He carried the ghosts of next door with him, and he’d do anything to alleviate himself of that burden. He could only change his appearance for so long. Hair dye would eventually fade; contacts would need to be removed and he wasn’t willing to put himself under the knife.

The smell of blood on his clothes pulled him out of his thoughts. The mirror reflected the decrepit house he was in, turning his nose in disgust. With the last of his strength, he mustered a tiny bit of magic, using a spell to clean the house. He walked through the house as it returned to it’s former glory, remembering his own attempts at interior design when he was younger, looking up the beams and archways where he would nail his ‘gifts’ to his grandmother. Times were simpler then. He shook his head of the nostalgia, hoping the plumbing was still working; he needed a nice hot shower.

//// None of the clothes in the closet fit him anymore, he didn’t realise how much he had grown. For now, a towel was the best he could do until his other clothes were out the dryer. He spent his time scouring the house for legal documents, anything that entitled him to some money and the deeds of the house. He needed to get this all under his name, just in case his grandmother used that stupid medium to undermine him. He tugged open the last drawer. Bingo. Everything he needed conveniently placed in one place. Money, a will and the deeds of the house. He would need to go to whatever legal office to get it sorted. The dryer still had time to go. With a big sigh, he sat on the couch. The one that faced the ‘other’ house. He gave a smile to those still watching him. He must have looked demented by the reactions he got from them. The exhaustion and hunger were catching up to him, succumbing to sleep on the couch.

////

It was morning when he woke up. He let his towel fall with a big stretch. Thus was his house; he could do anything. Even walking around naked. He kept the blinds and curtains that faced that house open. Let them watch. He pulled his warm clothes on. The detergent brought back memories, he’d buy a new scent when the time came. He grabbed some cash and whatever documents he needed for the day, venturing out into the big bad world.

////

Humanity deserved to perish simply for the time it took at the bank. The manger was an old lady, greying blonde hair and a pair of ill-fitting glasses. Michael thought she was extremely rude and didn’t hide his distaste when he spoke to her. She asked far too many questions for such a simple procedure. “Young man, aren’t you far too young to be accessing these funds?” she asked, looking over her glasses. “I can’t control when my entire family dies now can I,” he spat back, sick of her already. She continued to look him up and down as she typed away. Printing something off, she slipped a booklet of paperwork to him. “Everything has been approved, your card should arrive in the next few days. Can I do anything else for you?” “I’d like to take out some cash.” “How much?” “$500.” She paused, “what are you planning on doing with that?” Michael was getting beyond irritated, his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temples. “There’s no need to be so rude young man,” she huffed. Michael gave her a sarcastic smile before snatching the money and walking out of the bank. The world would be better off without her. He’d deal with her soon. ////

Michael returned home with numerous bags of clothing and food. He would learn how to cook for himself, takeout was not sustainable. The pantry was stocked with basic essentials, but most of it was stocked with candy and other snacks. No one could stop him from indulging in his gluttony now.

His wardrobe was full of blacks and reds, the perfect colours for him. He was most looking forward to the black jumpsuit. It stood out to him in the store, a style he had never tried before. His fingers drifted over the seams when he tried it on, turning and admiring the various angles in the mirror. He looked up to the clock through the mirror, it was almost 5pm, if he didn’t leave now, he would miss her leaving. ////

Michael waited for the old bank manager to leave. Biding his time in the shadows. He watched her as she said her goodbyes in her shrill voice, then as she walked to her car. Michael stalked behind her, waiting for her to get in. As she got comfortable, she dropped something by her foot pedals. When she reached down to grab it, Michael took the opportunity to get in the car and lock the doors. He smiled at her when she screamed. The parking lot was empty, no one would hear her. “Shhh,” Michael put a finger to his lips, the other hand held up a gun. It was one of Constance’s that she had hidden in the house. The woman suddenly stopped, her shaking hands on the wheel. “You’re going to drive, and I’m going to give you directions,” he said, his tone left no space to argue. She nodded, tears in her eyes, hoping he would let her go eventually.

////

They pulled up outside the murder house. Michael got out first, taking the keys from the ignition. The woman stayed in the car, still shaking. She wasn’t given much time to think, Michael dragged her out of the car and up the steps, his hand over her mouth. Her legs flailed around, heels falling off and feet dragging on the ground. Sill, Michael paid her no mind, not even as she thumped down the stairs when he threw her into the basement.

He felt eyes on him again as he went into the kitchen, looking for something sharp. When he got to the basement door, it was blocked by none other than Dr. Harmon himself. “You don’t have to do this kind, you know you’re better than this,” he tried to convince Michael. “You didn’t have to cheat on your wife, now here we all are, miserable in the same fucking house,” Michael spat back. “He didn’t give Harmon a chance to respond, teleporting into the basement where the woman cowered in the corner.

“Please, I’m sorry if I did something, there’s other ways to solve this,” she cried. “I need to get home to my grandkids,” she tried to appeal to his softer side. He continued to stalk towards her, ignoring her and inspecting the sharp knife. “You’re far too old to still be this rude. I think that it’s a habit that can’t be solved anymore,” Michael replied, sounding disappointed. The woman couldn’t back away any further, stuck to the wall. Michael got down to her level, wiping away her tears. “You have grandkids?” She rapidly nodded, hoping he changed his mind. “I had a grandma too. Looked just like you,” he took a blonde hair and sniffed it, it didn’t smell like her. “At least she had basic manners. And, she wouldn’t be caught dead in this hideous number,” he pointed out. He had to give Constance credit where it was due. “Do you want to know what happened to my grandma?” he whispered in her ear. She was too shaky to respond. “I killed her too,” he whispered again, this time his voice cracked a little; remembering the day he found her dead in this very house. Even if she was a ghost, she could have at least spared him a hug. His eyes began to well up. The woman took this as an opportunity to reach out, placing her hand on her face. He snapped back to her, taking her hand in his. “But no one can ever replace her,” his voice still shaking. He felt like a little boy again. He could feel the pity from the woman. She wasn’t scared of him anymore and he didn’t like that. He was no longer a child. He had a greater purpose. Without hesitation, Michael sliced her throat, letting himself be covered in her blood. He looked at his reflection in the knife. Maybe this was the look for him, covered in blood. He licked his fingers, tasting the liquid. “I’ll save the heart for later,” he thought to himself, before ripping it out and making use of one of the fridges. This was one way to pass the time and maybe, it would finally get his father’s attention. //// A car was found on a random highway. In it was the mangled corpse of the owner, and a simple letter signed by ‘the Alpha’. This marked the beginning of a new wave of violence in southern California. A serial killer was on the prowl. The victim profile was quite strange. Typically, killers would choose young women. However, this killer liked older blonde women, usually grandmothers or mothers. It scared you regardless, worried that one day the preference might change. You worried for your co-workers too, many of them fitting the description. The thought that you might have even interacted with the culprit made your skin crawl. ////

Things would inevitably go wrong if one were fuelled by bloodlust alone. Michael had broken into the wrong house. The woman that pissed him off at the supermarket lived a few doors down. Regardless, he was curious as to who lived here. The home was so different to what he was used to. The interior design choices were not the standard ‘live, laugh, love’ and farmhouse kitchen with seashell bathrooms. This house was nice, it had a younger feel to it, the heels by the door further proof of his theory. He quietly made his way up the stairs, looking into every room and taking it all in. He finally found the occupied room. The dark-haired woman was fast asleep in her bed. Comfortably sank into her pillows. He adjusted the blinds a little so he could see better. The way the moonlight reflected off her face took his breath away. His fingers twitched, he wanted to take her home this instant. He could take care of her, he knew he could. He liked a challenge however, he wanted her to come to him. He didn’t know how long he stood and stared at her, only leaving once she stared to stir. He’d be back. ////

Michael’s heart was jumping out of his chest when he arrived back to the murder house. The residents were surprised he didn’t come home with another victim or even a drop of blood on him. His face was flush and he was in deep thought. Luckily for the residents, souls were not congesting the house, as Michael would make sure to burn the new souls as soon as he could. He whispered nonsense to himself as he made his way up to the attic. His trance was interrupted by his foot hitting a box. Had it always been there? He slowly took the lid off, finding an old camcorder and lots of tape. Was he living in the movie ‘sinister’? He was the scariest thing in this house, no ghoul could ever top him.

The box gave him something to do for the rest of the night. Returning with some snacks and in his pyjamas. The entertainment didn’t last long. It was just shitty home movies from former residents. It got worse when they’d come forward and explain them. He turned his face in disgust at the last one; a homemade sex tape. He gagged before turning it off. The sun was rising, telling him to go to bed. As he put the camcorder way, he had a genius idea.

////

You felt weird when you woke up. It was as if someone had been watching you. Your blinds were slightly open, and your bedroom door ajar. Had someone been in? As you walked through the house, something just seemed a little off. Things were ever so slightly out of place. There even seemed to be less fruit juice this morning than you were sure you had last night. Maybe it was the paranoia of the current situation getting to you. You sighed and shook your head before going to get ready for the day.

////

You hated working in the family and wills sector of the legal profession. You were hoping to make the move to fashion law soon, just waiting for the right opportunity. You really weren’t made for the requests of dead people and their bickering relatives.

You greeted one of the partners. Ms Grace everyone called her. She was your mento and a mother figure to you out here in the big bad legal world. Hopefully, she’d give you a good reference when you left. “New client for you today, just… entire dead family,” she whispered the last bit, making a cutting gesture with her hand. “That sounds horrible.” She nodded, before letting you set up for the day. ////

It was afternoon before said client showed up. Your office phone rang informing you of his arrival. A tall, blond man sat in the waiting room; his eyes widened in recognition when he saw you. You decided to ignore it. “Hello, are you Mr. Langdon?” “I am.” “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, in Y/N and I’ll be taking your case,” you held your hand out for him to shake. It was comfortably warm. “Please, call me Michael.” You nodded and smiled, before leading him to your office. “Any refreshments before we get started?” He shook his head. From the outside, his case looked simple However, the deaths in his family left a convoluted mess, but you were sure Mr Langdon would get what he wanted. He was the only legal and living heir after all. You chatted away as you printed off and filled out the relevant forms. The conversation came easy. It had been a while since someone had caused butterflies in your stomach.   You weren’t unprofessional however, keeping it professional with clients. When all was done for the session, you saw him out and waved him off. The interaction with him had left you a little flush. The receptionist giving you a knowing look.

////

This was totally unplanned. Michael wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. He thought that maybe his father had a hand in this, a reward for his hard work. He made his way back home, keeping the packet you gave him close, it still faintly smelled of you. He sat on the couch facing the other house. Images of you occupying his mind. It all got too much, lazily stroking himself to the thought of you that afternoon. ////

He left the house again, camcorder in hand. He pressed record as soon as he got inside your house. Filming every little detail leading up to your room. Even filming himself waving in the hallway mirror, as if he were recording and innocent home video.

He slowly opened your door. You accidently left the lamp on that night, giving him the perfect lighting. He zoomed in on your face before getting closer. Your duvet was blocking the view, reaching forward to carefully move it a little. Running his thumb over your lips and getting it on camera. He groaned at the softness. His fingers skimmed over your face, neck and collarbones. He watched as your nose crinkled a little at the touch. Cute. His evening plans were abruptly cut short when your phone began to ring. At this hour? Who was it? You began to stir at the invasive sound. Michael didn’t have time to run, transmuting out the house as fast as he could.

////

In his free time, Michael indulged in all that his family would disapprove of. And nothing could vex Constance Langdon more than her shitty grandson doing all types of drugs. He liked the feeling weed gave him. It helped him relax after the adrenaline rush of a kill. Sometimes, the murder house had a horrible stench of weed and rotting flesh, prompting the residents to keep the windows open. He even tried other things, like Acid and MD. He didn’t like the restlessness they gave him. He especially hated when his face would morph in the mirror, turning him into the people he hated the most. He wondered what it would be like to get high with you. He wanted to melt into you just like he did the floor when the THC finally got him. If he couldn’t get to you that night, he would replay the tapes on the big screen and jack off, wishing you were there. The residents of the house watched in disgust and horror. They may have done terrible things but surely, they weren’t this bad.

////

Mr Langdon’s case had successfully ended, he had gotten what he wanted. You bumped into him a week later, on your lunch break. “Oh? Y/N? so nice to see you,” he stood in the line at your favourite coffee shop. “Like wise,” you smiled up at him. “Would you like anything? I insist. It’s the least I can do.” You tried to reject his kindness but didn’t want to hold up the line, giving him your order. You both sat at a quiet table, waiting for your drinks and pastry. “I don’t usually see my clients on lunch breaks.” “Former client,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. You watched him add five packets of sugar and wondered why he didn’t just get a sweeter drink. Your conversation continued, with your shoes constantly touching under the table. It felt very childish, but maybe you were missing the playfulness in life. Your phone alarm went off, indicating you had to get back to work. As your phone was unlocked, Michael took it and tapped his number in, leaving you at the table with a wink.

////

These interactions led to casual dates. The murders began to slow down, making you feel a little safer. With this in mind, you accepted Michael’s invitation when he invited you over. You were nervous as you waited for him to open the door. The evening breeze did little to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Michael opened the door and you sighed in relief. “You look… beautiful,” he stuttered. “Not too bad yourself,” you smiled back.

He moved aside to let you in, leading you to where he had set up. “I didn’t know you could cook.” “I’m a man of many talents.” He looked out the window, making sure the other house was watching. They looked nervous, hoping you would leave in one piece. They watched you laugh and talk. This could not have been the same boy that had terrorised so many. He was confident, suave, and personable. Worlds away from the awkward, nervous cry baby of a serial killer that they had become used to. He cleaned up well, even tidying up his wild hair. They wondered how long it would last. How long would it take for you to see the real him? They hoped you got out before it got to that state. The time flew by, and you both seemed to get closer by the second. You didn’t notice until your noses were touching, conversation halting. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost hesitant. You took the initiative and captured his lips. All of his hesitation melted away, his hand reaching around you and pulling you closer. The kiss got more heated, indicating that it would lead to something else. However, luck was not on your side. You phone ringing and interrupting you. Michael wanted to smash that phone; this was the second time it had stopped him. You apologised before picking up. Michael watched your expression change and brows knit in annoyance. You put the phone down, apologising. “I’m so sorry Michael, but I’m going to have to go, I’ve been called into work tomorrow and this is an important client, I hope you can understand.” “Of course, I’m sure you’re busy and I won’t keep you. Do you want me to drop you off?” He didn’t know why he asked that question, he didn’t have a car. “Oh thank you so much for understanding, and the offer. I drove here myself so there’s no need to worry about that,” you smiled at him. Michael helped you with your belongings, leading you out the door. You turned to thank him again, before he leaned down to give you another kiss, causing you to blush. He walked you to your car, taking in the interior. He waved you off with a smile. He knew you’d be back soon. ////

Michael shut the door behind him. He thought the night was a success. He opened the cupboard and pulled out your jacket. He hid it away, so you’d forget about it. The designer logo stood out to him. He buried his face in the fur, taking in all of it. Your scent, your warmth, everything. He had been so close to you. He wanted to watch the tapes with this in hand, for that he would have to venture next door. He wasn’t prepared to finally come face to face with his grandmother, looking down on him, cigarette in hand. “Michael fucking Langdon,” her southern drawl was harsh. He hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. He gulped as he watched her slowly walk down the stairs. “Why haven’t you grown out of that terrible habit of yours. You just have to destroy pretty things.” She stopped at the step just above him, still looking down. She gently stroked his face like she used to when he was a child, and he leaned into the touch. The peace was disturbed by a loud slap echoing through the house. Michael’s face turned to the side. He held his cheek, slowly turning to the woman with bleary eyes. “You have some nerve coming back to this house with that attitude of yours, clearly the ‘Church’ didn’t teach you any manners” Michael was trying to find his voice, to finally face the woman that he blamed for half of his problems. “And now look at you, that poor girl doesn’t even know the half of it.” She snatched the coat away from him. “Look at this Michael, this is Prada. And did you see the car she drove? What makes you think you deserve her? Look at yourself,” she gestured towards him. “Hair unkempt, Jobless, all you eat is candy and human flesh. What are you going to when she finds out the truth?” Michael hadn’t actually thought about that. He had neglected himself and his appearance for a while now. Did it really matter that much?

////

“Look, Y/N, all I’m saying is that you can do better. Look at you, you’re beautiful and well dressed and have such a good job. And him, well… he’s a little scruffy and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have a car,” Ms Grace did not approve of your relationship with Michael. She thought you could do better. “I see where you’re coming from but he’s charming. Although I do agree he could clean up a little better. I’ve seen him all dressed up and he looks so good. I just don’t understand why he chooses to look like… that most of the time,” the last bit was more meant for yourself. Your conversation was interrupted by Kevin, a colleague from another office. “He should take a page out of Kevin’s book,” Ms Grace pointed out. Kevin raised a brow at the conversation he had just become a part of. He too was on a lawyer salary, a well-dressed man that anyone would swoon for. “Who’s ‘he’?” “Y/Ns …. Boyfriend?” Ms Grace replied. “Nothing to concern yourself too much with Kevin, you know what Ms Grace is like,” you interjected. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. He must be something to reach those high standards of yours,” he pointed out. “Oh he’s something alright,” Ms Grace muttered. You huffed at the conversation. You didn’t think you were a superficial person, but your colleagues thought otherwise. //// Michael had heard enough. Sometimes he would scry into your workplace, just to check on you, to see if you thought of him as much as he did. The conversation reinforced Constance’s criticisms from the other day. He hadn’t felt this self-conscious in a while. He was not one to idle, immediately finding a hair stylist with an availability. He wanted a transformation that would floor you. With that in mind, he headed to ‘Gallants’. //// The hairstylist was truly annoying, yet he seemed to have magic in his hands. The final reveal shocked Michael also. The confidence he had at Hawthorne seemed to return. He held his head just a little higher as he walked out. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, people stopping to stare at the angelic looking man that strutted down the street. On his way to his next destination, he stopped at the sight of a certain symbol. An inverted cross. His feet had a mind of their own, leading him inside. His scar began to tingle. The congregation turned to stare at the man that had just walked in. They knew. It had to be. The high priestess getting on her knees before him. He could get used to this. //// He reached his final destination for the day. He didn’t usually kill men, but if they got in his way, he didn’t care who he killed. He waited for Kevin to come home. He was going to kill him here. He wasn’t worth the effort of taking him all the way to the murder house. Michael didn’t even give the man a chance to scream. Getting rid of him with a snap of his fingers. //// The murder house watched Michael carefully curate his image the next few months. An entire new wardrobe, his old clothes dumped in the murder house. They watched the elaborate skincare ritual every morning. Carefully peeling away masks and applying serums. How very American Psycho of him. You loved the new look. You made sure everyone in the office new you’d made the right choice. Michael loved the new attention, but he made sure you knew he only had eyes for you. He even planned on offering you a better job in Kineros’ legal team, just so he could keep you close and get you out of the sector you complained about so often. //// A strange thing happened one night. Michael took the camcorder down into the basement with him, setting the lens to record his newest victim. After he was done, he burned the footage onto a disk. What was he up to? //// You were on autopilot as you opened your door. You felt numb. Ms Grace had become another victim to ‘the Alpha’ along with one of your neighbours. You spent the entire day in police interviews, trying to make sense on the situation. As you walked into the house, you stepped on something. A thick envelope, labelled only with your name. You picked it up with shaky hands and opened it. In it was just an unlabelled disc and a sticky note saying ‘love from the Alpha’. It made your blood run cold. This had to be a joke. Some was messing with you; it could be the only explanation. You ran to your DVD player, you had to see what was on the disc, you hoped it was some shitty quality movie ripped from the internet. The video came on, starting in a dark room. The camera turned to a woman tied up, it zoomed in on her face and you immediately recognised her as Ms Grace. Your eyes widened and you felt ill, running to the bathroom to be sick. It was still playing when you came back, changing to a different video. It was dark again but it all seemed so familiar. The camera panned up and you gasped, your hands covering your face. It was a video of you, sleeping in your own home. You no longer felt safe here. You quickly took the disc out and grabbed your essentials, running to your car. As you pulled out your street, you had no idea what turn to take. Turning right would lead to the police station, you could submit the disc and ask for protection. However, they rarely did anything about stalking cases, and the disc had your finger prints all-over it. A left turn would lead to Michael. You felt safe around him and you were sure he could offer you comfort at this time. The beeping behind you made you make your decision. //// You pulled up outside Michael’s house. You rapidly knocked on the door, there was no answer. No light was on in the house. You prayed to whoever that would listen that he didn’t have any other plans for the night. As you lost hope and looked around, your eyes fell to the imposing structure next door. You remembered a conversation where he had said he was restoring the home. A light was on. With a deep breath, you ran up the steps, repeating your previous actions and hoping for a response. A shocked Michael opened the door. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. You didn’t notice the feral look he had going on. Hair dishevelled and blood-stained clothes. He gently put the knife down and wrapped his arms around you, cooing and shushing you. Telling you to calm down and it would all be okay. He was glad you were wearing a dark colour; you hadn’t noticed the stickiness of his hands and the stain they left. He gently moved you into the house, shutting the door. He used his magic to shut the basement door too. Your face was still buried in his arm as he walked you up the stairs. You should have paid attention to your strange surroundings. The ghosts of the house looked at you with the greatest of pity, wishing they could do something.

He sat you down on the bed, kneeling before you and taking your hands in his. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?” he asked gently, wiping your eyes. You sniffled and calmed your breathing, trying not to freak out again as you explained the situation to him. “I… I think he’s after me,” you whispered. “Who’s ‘he?” “The Alpha, he’s after me, I know it.” Michael paused, you must have seen the DVD. He had to stop himself from laughing. “Why do you think that hmm?” his thumb stroked your cheek. “Three people I know have died and then I got this DVD in the mail,” you paused, “It… it’s a video of Ms Grace tied up and then one of me sleeping,” you began to cry again. Michael sat on the bed next to you, pulling you in for a hug, you buried your face into him again, taking in his scent and trying to calm down. “You’re the only person I feel safe around,” you mumbled. Michael smiled into your hair. He had you exactly where he wanted. ////

You decided to wash your face after you had calmed down. Wetting a towel with cold water, you placed it on your eyes in an attempt to de-puff them. The ghosts thought this was the perfect opportunity to warn you about your possible doom. Vivienne pulled open the shower curtain behind you. Revealing a bathtub full of ice and another victim placed in it. However, their plan didn’t seem to work. You didn’t even look back at the sound, having walked out the bathroom just in-time. Michael was sitting on the bad, waiting for you. He had changed into more casual clothing and was rolling a joint. “It might help you calm down,” he smiled up at you, twisting the end off. You sat back on the bed and joined him, relaxing into the headboard. The conversation was casual and mundane, something you really needed right now. Between the sound of his voice and the passing of the joint, you had no idea how much time had passed. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Hands began to wander, and your lips met for a heated kiss, you ended up straddling him. You let yourself be lost in the haze, not knowing exactly when your clothes came off, just that you enjoyed the feel of his skin on yours. You lifted your hips, moving to finally having him inside you, to be as close as you could be. You waited a little, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you got used to his size and took it all in. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your spine was blissful. His hands finally rested on your hips, gripping them and encouraging you to finally move. You complied, taking your time. You moved away from his shoulder. He took the opportunity to leave marks all over your breasts. It just felt so good. You could feel that you wouldn’t last much longer, your movements becoming sloppier. Michael rested his hand on your throat, his face morphed into something a lot more vicious than you were used to. It must have rang some alarm bells, but you weren’t listening. His grip on your neck tightened, and his hips began to thrust up, meeting your movements. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his grip tightened once more, causing the coil in your belly to snap. Your legs shook, walls pulsing around him as he followed not long after. He pulled you into a deep kiss by your neck, slowly moving you off him and onto the bed. You lay there catching your breath, staring into his eyes. Just for that brief moment, nothing else mattered, forgetting about the serial killer that was on the hunt somewhere. You got closer to him and got comfortable, your head resting on his chest, being lulled by his heartbeat. “I was thinking,” he started. “Hmm?” you mumbled back, enjoying the vibration of his speech. “Maybe you should take a break from work for a while and stay with me for a bit, just until things calm down,” he suggested. At that moment in time, the combined high of weed and sex made it seem like a genius idea. Surely it was the most obvious solution? “Yeah it’s a good idea,” you yawned. The exhaustion caught up to you, your heavy eyes falling shut. Michael squeezed you just a little tighter and smirked up at the residents that had surrounded you. Their looks of pity towards you were something else. Michael buried his face into your hair, turning off the lights around him. It was the most blissful sleep he had had in years.

////

You woke up sometime the next afternoon. Michael was nowhere to be seen. After using (the now empty) bathroom, you ventured through the house. It looked different. It looked complete in a way. The tarp, random cans of paint and building materials that you were sure where there last night, were gone. It was as if it had been transformed overnight. The strangest thing was how familiar the décor and interior looked. It looked like a bigger version of your own home. It felt familiar yet uncomfortably so. Quite frankly, it looked like your dream home, styled as if it was going to featured in Architectural Digest. You knew it didn’t look like this last night, nothing close to it. Then you thought back to the wardrobe upstairs, the one you had sleepily pulled your current clothing out of. It was full of your own clothing. Clothing that you didn’t bring with you. Did Michael do this while you were asleep? When did he get the time? You scoured the house for your car keys and purse. Only finding pieces of familiar décor instead. Your stomach got the better of you, heading to the kitchen and hopefully finding something to eat. The pantry was stocked full of your favourites, pulling out a box of your favourite cereal. It was at this moment you were sure that all the pieces were taken from your home. One of the cereal bowls had the same chip that yours had. The nervousness and paranoia of last night began to seep back into you, your face visibly twisted in those emotions. As you mindlessly ate your cereal, the basement door creaked open. You stopped mid chew to look. You quickly swallowed and slowly walked towards it. Telling yourself that there was nothing to fear, and that you were just going to shut it. You heard a thud as you reached the door. Maybe Michael was down there and needed some help or something. You slowly walked down the steps, being careful not to make any noise. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your scream and prevent you from vomiting from the smell. The image forever burned into your memory. There was blood everywhere. Michael had his back turned to you, you were sure he hadn’t sensed your presence yet. You slowly backed away, trying to be quiet and not alert him. You let out a shaky breath when you were back in the hallway. You didn’t care about finding your things now, you had to get out of here. The front door wouldn’t budge open, the backdoor was no different. None of the window’s downstairs would open either. You then remember one of the windows was cracked open in the room you were sleeping in. You may injure yourself, but it looked like your only way out. You pushed the window up even further, making enough room for you to jump out. You hoisted one leg over the ledge, looking out for your landing spot. You prepared yourself to move the other leg, but it wouldn’t budge. You tugged at it a few times before looking back. Those blue, rage filled eyes were staring back at you, holding your leg, and preventing you from getting out. “Get. Back. In.,” he said, through clenched teeth. You shook your head, looking away from him. You didn’t want to think about who’s blood he was covered in. “Please let me go,” you whispered, hoping he’d take mercy on you somehow. His grip just got tighter. You mustered up all your strength, kicking him off you. He let go of your leg, it gave you enough time to jump. You felt the wind rush around you as you fell. You hit the ground a lot harder than you thought. Your head ricocheted off the ground painfully. You ignored the crunch your legs made. Everything hurt so bad, the pain wouldn’t even let you scream. You knew you had calculated your fall right. The ghosts thought you did too, all watching with various shocked expressions. You tried to move and look around you and stay awake. You could only look up. Through your darkening vision, the last thing you saw was Michael leaning out the window, smiling down at you. The cat had caught the canary.

////

You groaned in pain as you opened your eyes.

The light was blinding, difficult to adjust to.

Where were you? Why were you here? How long had it been?

As you looked around, the room looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Oh? You’re finally awake, It’s been a few days, I missed seeing your eyes” a male voice spoke from beside you.

You slowly turned your head to the voice.

The man looked familiar; you raked your brain to figure out who it was.

He placed his hand on your cheek, you hissed and flinched as he stroked scabby and bruised skin. “Look at you. If you had stayed inside, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

His eyes finally met yours and everything came rushing back.

A feeling of dread overtook you. You tried to shuffle away from him, but something was preventing you from moving.

You tried to figure out what it was. Looking yourself over, noticing the blanket was bulky.

You momentarily forgot about the predator in the room, pulling the blanket away and revealing your legs, both in casts.

One of the casts had been signed, ‘get well soon, Love, your Alpha’.

You wanted to sob, but you knew any sudden movements would be painful.

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket back over you, tucking you in.

“If you’re good, you’ll get your painkillers. If you’re bad…,” he leaned over you, putting his weight on your legs, “I’ll cut them off next time,” he grinned.

He got onto the other side of the bed, holding you close to him, squeezing you just a little too tight, and giving your forehead a kiss.

Not even the apocalypse could get you out of his grasp now, he’d kill you both before anything tried to take you from him. Wherever you were, that was his sanctuary. Even if it meant eternal torment in the pits of hell, it didn’t matter, as long as it was with you.

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #Oneshot

[kaile-hultner]

Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.

#Neon Genesis Evangelion #existentialism #philosophy #media criticism #cultural criticism #spoilers

[demonictales]

BITTERSWEET - XUE YANG X READER

this wasn't requested but i got this idea shortly before i fell asleep so i figured I'll give it a try and see where I'll land with it. let me know what you think, aite? characters briefly featured: nie huaisang, nie mingjue, wei wuxian, lan wangji about 3k words

TW: MURDER, CHILD ABUSE, DEATH

It was a bright day in Yueyang as you walked quietly next to your father, only sweet eight years of age. You were the youngest of clan leader Chang Ci'an's children, your older brother Chang Ping, at home complaining why you were allowed to follow your father to Yueyang on this day while he had to learn swordman ship. It was your birthday, so you begged your father to let you come along and you did. Looking out of the window of the ox cart you were riding the eyes of the young child were looking left and right, dazzling items everywhere. But the toy stall was mostly what caught your attention.

"Diē diè, can I have some toys?" The angel like soft tone of your voice making your father laugh heartily. " How much more do you want today ? " He responded patting the place next to him. "Pretty please? It's my eight birthday. -- " You argued. "After I am done with my business here we'll walk the market." It was his final word and you were more than happy. Perhaps you'd even bring something for your brother. Not long after spoken words and a few hours after midday you finally enjoyed the market running from stall to stall until a sweet scent filled your nostrils. Your eyes became big when you spotted the freshly baked sweet pastries on a stall, running for it and it seemed you weren't the only one being lured by the sweetness flowing through the air of the Yueyang market. Next to you stood a boy, probably around your age, a bit taller than you and not as clean. His clothes were ripped apart and dirty, a beggar you concluded. It kind of made you sad but you couldn't do anything about it. One of the servants had caught up and you ushered him to buy you some pastries, delightfully taking a bite as you saw the boy next to you eyeing them. He could take them off of you if he'd ran fast enought but fate had different plans. You handed him some, two pastries, because you wanted too. He seemed hungry and you hated the feeling of being hungry to an extrend that made your eight year old body angry in a different way. You'd throw quite the tantrums. Perhaps that came from being to spoiled by your father. And speaking of the devil here he came, voice rough and loud. " Boy, do you want some pastries? " Ci'an asked, but you knew his tone, he wanted something in return. Your father did not even let the boy speak at all while pulling out an envelope. " If you can deliever this letter, young boy, I'll buy you the pastries. Find me afterwards." That was something nice you thought to yourself. Making him word but giving him food as payment. What your naive little mind did not know was that your father had other plans in mind and simply kept walking away from the pastries stand, leaving you to walk around on your own for a little while longer before asking you to hop onto the cart again to leave for home as it was soon dinner time. Xue Yang did gladly do as he was told for he could have some sweets and finally some food in his stomach. Yet the encounter didn't go as planned, instead he was angering the recipient of the letter and the boy had to deal with the consequences. Being dragged to the nearby liquor shop next to the stall where pastries were sold Ci'an and his daughter were long gone, leaving a young naive boy hungry outside, waiting in despair for trusting people. All the boy wanted was something to eat, so he roamed the streets until he found the man and his ox cart, a girl's head looking out of the window excitedly as she spotted the boy. "Diē diè! Diē diè!" You spoke loudly, rushing your father to stop the cart as the boy was running behind. " The boy has returned. You have to buy him pastries now." Though, as naive as you were you saw another side of your father that day, changing moods from being so generous to annoyed and angry. You had never seen him like that. And he did not stop the cart, not until the boy ran in front of it, halting it on his own terms. The scene played in front of your innocent eyes, making you cry. This was not how you knew your father to be, not in your eyes. The sound of the whip beating flesh making you fall back onto the ground of the cart, begging your dad to stop as it scarred you. Crying like a coward, just like the display of your father made your anxiety well up. For far you enjoyed your day, your birthday. Getting more toys, even finding something for A-Ping, your older brother and even sharing pastries with the boy outside just to see it all turn into a small nightmare during day. The sudden movement of the cart made you fall back again onto the ground until you heard a scream from underneath. It was not something you wanted to ever hear again. But the yells from people

around reminded you of what your father had just done. 'How cowardly to hurt a child. ' ' He really has no shame. ' 'Chang Ca'in you bastard.' 'Stop involving others in your quarrels. ' Peaking outside, you only saw a small group of homeless people gather around the boy who's name you never learned. Lying on the ground bleeding in pain and agony, holding his hand while crying. If you could only help him as you rode further away from the scene, back home. The past few days did not change a lot, you practically begged your older brother or any servant to take you to YueYang to find the boy and eventually one servant gave in. It took you a lot of convincing but you tried your best to find the boy. You had packed a small bag with bread and cheese and fruit. It wasn't a lot but it should be enough for a day or two. You even stole money from your father, hopefully it was enough to let a doctor help him. Ever since that day you saw your father in different eyes and learnt quickly he wasn't as great as you thought he was. You were only eight but you grew up faster than you wanted it to be true. You had spent all morning trying to find the boy until noon, you asked any beggar on the street, any stall owner, anyone you could probably think of and find until you found him dozing near the liquor shop next to the pastries. Their sweet scent filing the air around you once more. Carefully you approached the young boy, afraid you might scare him. He looked peaceful lying there and you did not want to wake him up. He sure had to be in pain. As quietly as you could you put down the small bag with food next to him, along the way you even bought a small bottle he could fill up with water. You wanted to apologize for your father's actions but you did not want to disturb him so you whispered something while being crouched down next to him. "I'm really sorry, little brother. Please eat well and get treatment or medicine. I wish it would not have happened.. Hopefully, you can accept my sincere apology." Little did you know he was listening as your eyes scanned his hand, you could not imagine the pain he had gone through, but there wasn't much more that you could do. You knew you were in trouble if your father found out you apologized to a beggar, especially to someone he caused harm to. Yet no one but Xue Yang knew that the two of you would meet soon again.

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

You had soon learned to leave your home as fights with your father became bigger and more unbearable. You were ashamed to be a part of his cowardly behaviour and did not tolerate it. So eventually when you turned eighteen, you left the manor and roamed the cultivation world, working on yourself, getting to know yourself and making aquaintances. One of your aquaintances was Nie Huaisang. He was a refreshing young man you'd enjoy drinking with, leading you to meet Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng and even the most famous Lan Wangji along your journey. Nie Huaisang had become a good friend of yours, eventually you were a welcome guest at Qinghe. It was rare but welcomed, you saw him as family, a brother you enjoyed spending time with. Even now, you resided at Qinghe having Nie Mingjue talking sense into you for going back home on your mother's birthday and visiting her. Your father's reputation had spread wide and far over the years, making you embarrassed to even carry the last name of Chang but here you were, bowing to the clan leader and biding your farewell. Qinghe might never be your home nor would the Nie Clan ever be your family, but at least you had a place to stay and you were more than thankful of it. Many times had you spoken to Mingjue and expressed your thanks and all you could do was to repay his hospitality with loyalty. Hard to earn but easy to give and be accepted. Leaving at dawn it took you about two days to arrive at Yueyang. At the gates of a place you called home, though the atmosphere around it did make you shiver as you tigthly held onto your sword. Something seemed terribly off and it was a feeling you hadn't felt in years, nothing except one thing could compare to it. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, as you slowly approached the gates of what was once your home. Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching rather excitedly from the rooftop, ready to attack at any given moment. The quietness drove you mad as you kicked the door open, being greeted by hanging corpses yet the scenery of mass murder unfolded behind them. There was you clan, wiped out from existence. Elders, children, servants and anyone you once knew, lying in their own poodles of crimson colored blood. What happend? Who did this? Where was your brother? Where was your mother and your father? All security forgotten you run forward, looking for your parents. " Mother! --- Mother! " Unwillingly your vision became blurry as you stumbled through the corpses of what once belonged to your name. The stinging smell of death making it hard to breath. How many days were they laying there for already? A loud dull thud was heard as you fell to your knees, tears running silently down your pale cheeks as you cradled your mother's cold body to your chest, sobbing without content. Oh how he enjoyed the drama unfold in front of his eyes, better than any theater you could see at the market. Though even he did not let one person live, something about her seemed familiar. He could not pin point it, all he wanted was the revenge for what this man had done to his hand. It was worth the massacre and the now free show as he landed quietly a few feet behind her. She must've been the last remaining person of this god forsaken clan and his last victim to get full revenge. "I should never have let home in the first place. I'm so sorry, mother. I'm so sorry.." Your words were swallowed by your mothers dark hair. You would mourn her for a long time, she was a gentle lady. A few feet away you saw you father, nothing but anger welled up in you as you placed your mother down onto the cold ground, your robes stained by her blood. You had never felt this much rage or anger inside of you as you grabbed your sword, ready to hit whatever flew into your way. Standing above him, you could not hold one piece of respect for him. It was his fault again, for you to feel so painfully lost once more. " What kind of father are you? --- You cannot even protect your own wife. " Broken words had left your lips. " All because you were so cowardly, playing bigger than what

you could pay for. " Quietly those words left your lips, " Now we are no more. There is no more Chang clan, all because of your greed. " Out of nowhere someone started clapping, as if he waited for just the right moment. Faster than lightling you pulled out your sword, facing the young man in front of you, close to where you kneeled moments ago next to your mother's body. "What a tragedy! But brilliantly spoken. ----- It was indeed his fault. " Xue Yang crossed his arms behind his back as he came closer, step by step. " It seems I have not yet fully killed every single member of this clan. --- Who might you be? " He smiled mischieviously at you, but you answered either way. " Chang Y/N. -- Only daughter of clan leader Chang Ci'an. --- " "Today must be my lucky day then. I will for once and all end all of the clan members life. -- " Xue Yang dashed forward, a devilish smile as both of you fought amidst the chaos created by him. Usually something like that would excite you, you could flaunt your skills thought it was a different matter as you landed on the roof, holding him away from you. "What have we done to deserve being slaughtered?" You questioned him, not even bothering asking for his name in return. All you knew was that he had to die today, for the sake of your clan and that they may rest in peace. "Fine with me. " He grinned. as he held up his hand, turning it to look at it at every angle. Silently you watched as he turned around, voice raising. " Once upon a time there was a child, all he wanted was some food. ----- He met a men on the marked here in Yueyang, saying that if he'd delivered a letter, he'd buy him the pastries. As young and naive as the child was, he did so, the only thing on his mind was the food he would get. " The story seemed awfully familiar to you as you remembered the day, your eight birthday. "Though, he did as he was told, Chang Ci'an left without ever paying his debt to the boy. Instead the boy was beaten up, kicked out of the liqour shop and left hungry on the street. Dumb as he was, he confronted the man just ----" "--- just to get whipped and his hand crushed by an ox cart. " You finished his sentence as Xue Yang whipped around in curiousity, wondering how you knew. "You're the boy I met back then. The boy my father hurt. ------ " It was a moment of carelessness from your side, letting your guard down bit by bit. A change of attitute in your behaviour. " I came looking for you, to apologize. I left food and drink and even money to get yourself treatment. " Xue Yang's head was slightly tilted, oh he did remember, but that did not still his urge to have the clan burned down to ashes for what they did to him. She had shown him care indeed, but that was long forgotten he had no mercy, not the elders or children, not even you. "Why? --- Why di------" The sound of metal falling on the bricks of the roof filled the early evening. You had lost the grib on your sword when you looked down, the blade that pierced your back turned red with your blood dripping down, stopping you mid sentence. He had taken advantag of you being distracted, but could you blame him? No, you couldn't. Falling forward onto your knees, you started coughing up blood until you were kicked down, landing onto the stairs of the entrance, feeling the hit of the stone underneath you in your bones, shattering you into pieces from the pain you felt. Turning onto your back in pain, you saw him looking down at you. A huff left your lips, coughing again, quietly choking on the blood that filled your lungs. " What--- what is your--- name?" Words came out in pieces, all you could do was lay there, barely able to move as your own blood colored your robes in dark wet liquid that was warm. "Xue Yang!" "I'm sorry, little brother Xue Yang.." Your words were barely above a whisper as your head fell aside, your vision becoming darker by the second, all you remember was a young boy you once handed two pastries too because he seemed hungry. What you did not see was the smile that had left Xue Yang's features, the agony that

he enjoyed before hearing your words, the same words but with his name, the same words you'd spoken as you thought he was sleeping. In the end, you had the last word, not him. And your friend had to witness you and your clan being whipped out of existence, reporting to his brother that you had passed away at home being murdered.

For Xue Yang hearing those words being spoken lastly, it was everlasting terror.

#mdzs x reader #mdzs reader insert #xue yang x reader #cdrama x reader #the untamed x reader #mdzs x y/n #anime x reader #xue yang #mdzs: xue yang

[the-chick-of-the-air]

Hello my lovelies!!

Ok let me just start by saying- 600 followers?! Are you kidding?? Thank you all SO much! I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to have every single one of you interested enough in my blog to be following me! Thank you thank you thank you!!!🥰🥰

Now I’m gonna repay you by breaking your hearts!

This is my first try at anything super angsty, so if your gonna yell at me afterwards please feel free to do so in the comments or in my ask box or even just reblogging and cursing me in the tags🤣 please let me know what you think!

TW: Major character death, mentions of vomiting and allusions to body mutilation- nothing graphic just vaguely indicated but whatever you are comfortable with is up to you! If any of what I warned makes you uncomfortable please don’t read! Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction!

Update: I’m sorry- I posted this and for some reason the tag list wasn’t working but it should be now! If your username has changed please let me know so I can tag you properly down below!❤️

Summary: Someone important dies. Cardan deals with it. Grab your tissues❤️

Final Resting Place

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” The folk are not in the habit of apologizing, much less for something that is so common. It matters not, Cardan has ceased listening, has heard nothing after The Bomb uttered those damning words.

Jude is dead.

He recalls, distantly, a time when Nicasia drug him halfway to her underwater kingdom, wishing to show him its beauty and splendor. He recalls how helpless he felt, how he could breathe but it wasn’t right. How he was silenced and the pressure from the water was crushing his chest so painfully it didn’t matter if he could breathe or not.

This feels near exactly like that.

“Your Highness?” Someone is asking a question he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t even ask them to repeat themselves. All he can do is state,

“She is to be brought back here. Burned on the pyres.” A Queen’s funeral. The only funerals the folk bothered to observe.

Someone, The Roach, likely, grunts in disapproval, “She… we…are not able to bring the body back. It was…”

Cardan isn’t sure what part of that statement makes his stomach churn the worst, the fact that they just referred to his wife, their queen as a body, or the fact that there apparently isn’t too much of her body to bring back.

He tries not to think, not to guess at what death was so brutal that she doesn’t even have a body left.

And that really is it, isn’t it? She, his fierce, vibrant, deadly queen, who always looked over her shoulder, is- was always so cautious, secretly ruling over a land that was designed to kill her, the mighty Jude Duarte, slayer of the folk-

Killed by something mortal.

In the mortal lands.

Where he sent her.

It was almost laughable, Cardan did laugh. Hysteria bubbling up in his chest like bile, which it might have been because suddenly the churning in his stomach was no longer violent but imminent and he’s throwing himself into the bathing chamber.

He doesn’t hear the court of shadows, her court of shadows, retreating as he retches into the chamber pot.

~.~

Time has lost all meaning.

It’s been days, weeks, months. The days pass in a blur, marked only by those who knew what she meant to him coming to give their condolences. Like it could lessen the pain of her being gone. Lessen the pain that came with the knowledge that this was his fault.

It was so ironic it hurt. Had he not exiled her to the mortal lands for her protection, she would have still been alive, ruling where she belonged, right by his side.

And now, she would never get to rule her kingdom openly. She would never share his throne, his crown, his name, his bed again.

She was gone before he got to have her.

And it was his own damn fault.

He refused to hold any audience with Taryn. It wasn’t fair, her twin was dead and she was parading around wearing her face. He knew that should he take one look at her, he would break beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him alive on the throne being Jude’s memory, how she would have wanted, commanded him to keep ruling, even if she wasn’t there to do it with him.

He did allow an audience with Viviane, once. She had all but demanded it and would hardly take no for an answer. She arrived, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as terrible as he felt which didn’t seem fair either.

He wanted to be alone in his pain, for it to be all his own, because no one could understand, could relate to how he felt for her. Why should they share in his grief? The newest plate of armor he has cast over his heart?

She wasted no time on condolences, which in itself was strangely comforting. She got straight to the point, “You missed the funeral.”

“A mortal tradition.” His voice was hoarse with disuse. Had he gone so long without speaking to anyone? That didn’t seem possible.

“Dammit Cardan! She would have wanted you there.” Her anger was refreshing, a nice change of pace compared to the complete emptiness that was left behind in the shape of a mortal footprint upon his heart.

He almost wants to disagree, but that would make no sense. The folk can’t lie, not even half-fae.

When he doesn’t respond, Vivi crosses her arms, “Will you at least come visit her? Say your goodbyes? You have to say yes, we both know you need it.”

And painful as it was, she was right. The one thing that hurt worse than Jude being dead, knowing that it was because of him, was that he didn’t get to say goodbye. That all his letters to her went unanswered. That she died without knowing how much he needed her. How much he missed her and all she was to him. How much he…

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he silently rises and follows Vivi to his queen’s final resting place.

~.~

The mortal world is bright and loud and reeks of iron and is so alive it feels audacious. How dare anyone else continue living when someone from this place, someone so important, so above them was forced to forfeit that right?

The plot of land where she- what’s left of her- is laid to rest is small. The headstone sits, new and clean, next to two more that are dulled with age.

Justin and Eva Duarte.

Madoc had somehow procured graves for the two mortals he slaughtered, and now their youngest daughter lay beside them.

They are standing there for ten minutes before Vivi speaks, “You know, when someone visits the grave of someone they love, they usually look at it.” Her voice is monotone as she stares at the slab of stone sitting at the head of a patch of newly sprouted grass.

He’s not sure he can. If he looks, if he sees there is in fact a final stop, a final holding place for this restless mortal, then he will know it is real. That this wasn’t all some elaborate trick or punishment of her own making to get back at him for her banishment.

Foolish as it is, that was a dark hope buried deep inside him. That she was really still there, biding her time, waiting until he was just ruined enough to waltz back into his life to teach him a well deserved lesson. Perhaps on gratitude, on not taking things for granted.

It would be such a Jude thing to do.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he nearly flinches away, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Her footsteps recede, utterly fae and silent. So unlike the ones he desperately wishes to hear a final time.

It takes him maybe two minutes more for his eyes to finally find the headstone. He is shocked to find he can barely read what is inscribed upon it through tears that have filled his eyes.

Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

Beloved sister and wife

2001-2019

His tears come in earnest, then. How had he never known she took his name as well? Had cared enough to do so? Or was this something her sisters did to spite him? He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle any sobs trying to break free.

Cautiously, so cautious she would be proud, he runs his fingers over the inscription of her name- their name. When he knows his voice will be steady, he speaks.

“Well, wife.” He presses his eyes closed as a fresh wave of tears pushes at his senses, “I doubt either of us saw it coming to this.” Gently, he tugs something out of the satchel he brought with him.

“It was yours. For you to wear upon your return. For when you came home.” He couldn’t stop his voice from breaking as he carefully laid the crown down at the foot of the headstone, glamoured so mortals would see it as a pile of painted rocks.

“I guess in a way, I got what you thought I wanted. For you to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. He had never wanted this. When in palace lessons, he thought that dreams plagued with her scent, her voice, her touch had been the most horrid nightmares. He was wrong, this was far worse than any dream he had of her angry face, her soft hair. This was a nightmare terrifying enough to cripple the strongest of men.

“Well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter that I wish I could take back what I said about you in our childhood. That you would return to the earth, worm food.” He shudders, recalling that he had said those things while imagining that they would have followed a long life. One filled with her aging slowly due to living in Elfhame. Secret imaginings he only allowed himself in the darkest hours of the night- ones where he was by her side and they wreaked havoc together for the rest of their long, full lives. His next words are whispered, “I never imagined it would happen so soon.”

His hand returns to the headstone, gripping the cool rock tightly.

There is nothing left to say aside from one final message. Nothing left to do other than leave this place and continue on in his immortality, letting her fade into the backs of everyone’s memory as the Last Mortal Queen.

Taking a final shaky breath, Cardan utters the truth he had spent nearly his whole life repressing, trying to lie his way around. The words he now so desperately wishes he had said to her before he cast her out of their home in hopes of preventing this very thing from happening.

With one final look upon the place his wife, his queen is forever to rest upon, he whispers,

“I love you.”

~.~

Years and years and years later, young children of the gentry sit in their history lessons amongst their mortal classmates, and learn of the beautiful, treacherous life that was led by the Last Mortal Queen, Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

And that is that! Did I make you cry? Do you want to throw crumpled tissues at my head? Let me know!❤️ (I left out details of Jude’s death on purpose, it’s up to your imagination to come up with what happened to her, sorry for pain😬)

Tag list:

As always, please let me know through the comments or my inbox or any other way you are comfortable with and let me know if you wish to be added to my list so you can be alerted to my future works!

@maleckanejnessienjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples-blog @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

Till next time, loves!🥰

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #the cruel prince #tcp #jude x cardan #angst #I’m so sorry #I made myself cry writing this #actually I was fine writing it #but when I reread to edit it #then I cried #if Jude is your comfort character I am SO sorry #fluff to come in the future #I promise #you guys are incredible #a test in seeing how sad I can make my writing before I can’t even write it #the folk of the air #let me know if anyone reads my tags #I think I’m so witty and I hide it in here #aaaaaaaaaangst #no fluff #trigger warning: vomit #trigger warning: major character death #trigger warning: allusions to body mutilations #I’m so sorry Jude #my home girl and I killed her off #ok I gotta stop with the tags or someone is gonna hit me with a shoe #ha! even tumblr wants to him me with a shoe: I reached the tag limit!

[remsmoonlight]

— title : calming the waters

— word count : 2.3 k words

— pairing : rick grimes x reader

— summary : the switch from surviving on the road to living in a cookie cut neighbourhood hasn’t been easy on anyone, especially the leader of your group, you leave it to yourself to remind him it’s not all on his shoulders

— warnings : only brief descriptions of blood and violence .. usual stuff for twd

note: only at the end did i realise i left the opportunity for smut but im too tired to continue damn

Life in Alexandria has so far been strange to adjust to, you continue to find yourself waking up regularly through the night. Your body has relied so long on a broken sleep cycle it simply cannot switch off the switch as easily as you wish for it, and wish for it you do every night before bed. However, life refuses to heed to your desires, preferring to disregard them completely. Your family finds it amusing to tease you about the dark circles under your eyes, that is after you have had anything with caffeine in to rattle your system into a state of alertness.

How the residents have made it this far agitates you to no end, while you and your family have suffered tragedy and loss at the hands of people like the Governor, to the people at Terminus while they sat sheltered and safe from the horrors of this new world crawls under your skin. The thought scratching inside of you, they’ve never known pain as you have, the realisation comes as one of the sons of the Monroe family accosted you the moment you set out of the door.

“ ⏤ she keeps going on about this pasta maker. I’m telling you, she never stops. “

“ she never stops, huh? “ you ask, placing yourself on the porch step with your head lazily resting in your hands. You felt as soon as he began speaking to you it was going to be a conversation you would not be interested in.

The you from twenty five minutes ago happens to be correct.

This all began because Rick thought it appropriate to let you sleep a while longer, and while you do feel more rested than you have in the longest time you can remember, you can feel irritation tickling the back of your neck intensely. Oh, I’m going to kill him when I see him. A silent thought interrupts you rudely, you almost shake your head to be rid of it and focus back on Spencer.

“ yeah, she’s not someone you wanna be caught right now by. She can talk your ears off for days. “ he informs with a chuckle, completely unaware of your blasé attitude or uncaring for it.

“ you know, I can really imagine that. “

Every inch of you is buzzing with an uncomfortable energy, you don’t want to integrate with their community just yet, preferring to feel around and understand the dynamics of how everything works. When society fell into the flames from humanity’s last fight with the walkers, you were lucky enough to have been able to seek safety with your group back in Atlanta at the quarry, and these have been the same people you have spent time with, shared your meals with, everything done has been with them. Quiet town life has been a memory of a past life that has faded into nothing more than a grey blur, shrouded in fog. To live here? It’s like learning how to ride a bicycle after many years of letting it gather dust. Your ways are not perfect, but they’re perfect for you. For your own pace and peace of mind.

“ has my mom given you a job yet? “

“ uh, yeah actually she has. I used to be a preschool teacher before everything went to hell. “ you explain to him, your memories of the children you used to teach had been painful until Judith. The little girl had been what you needed to confront your past that you had been so quick to push away in order to survive. You can’t count how many times you’d come close to thinking about their little faces, and if they’d survived the initial chaos, refusing to even put a face to a possible death. You’d spent many days and many hours getting to know their audacious and bold personalities, it cut you deep to even imagine the days they were supposed to have, the lives they should have been promised extinguished so prematurely as if they had been no more than a flame of a candle burning in the night.

“ well, those classes are really small. You won’t have your hands full. I suppose you’ll probably be helping with the afternoon classes, we’ve got more teenagers here. “

“ mhm, I thought as much. “ your words are a small acknowledgement, though it deterred him little.

Spencer keeps talking and talking, every once in a while you mutter an ‘ yeah ‘ or an ‘ mhm ‘ and even at points humming in response. It’s obvious he means well and is trying to get to know you all but it’s just a simple clash of cultures, it’s why you’re unable to cut the conversation short so rudely. Even during the apocalypse being respectful hasn’t been wiped away.

Yet.

“ hi, Spencer! “ the sugary sweet tone of Carol interrupted the interaction as she greets Spencer and yourself, the broad smile ignites her features.

Although, you know her better to know this is not one born of genuine emotion to see the man.

“ I was hoping to borrow my friend here. Rick’s looking for them. “

Recognition lights his features up, his eyes widen in understanding her words. Never have you been more thankful for the older woman than currently, if there’s one thing Carol can be, is a miracle maker. Spencer backs away with little to say, bidding a goodbye to both of you.

“ Carol, thank you. “ you breathe, your hands move up to scratch your scalp as tension eased away into the open air. “ I thought he was never going to leave. “

“ yeah, I thought you were in trouble. I thought you were ready to kill him. “

“ believe me, if he spoke for two more minutes I was coming close to getting very creative with one of those blunt dinner knives in there. “ you speak, a short giggle plummeting from your lips at the thought.

“ he’s at the gate ⏤ Rick, that is. If you want him. “

A few more words of light hearted humour are exchanged between you, just little things. You have known Carol for a long time, one of the few people to continue to see her as a human after losing Sophia, yes she was in mourning, but she was still human. You never tiptoed around her, you offered her support as best you could and for that she continues to be grateful. Even in the prison, you became closer, as time passed on she took up something of a parental role in your life. Though you were old enough at the time to not need one, you accepted it. A slice of normality granted to you for what reason you have never found out, but one you wouldn’t seek out either, for some things happen without cause or reason, a mystery of life.

Turning around a corner, you’d realised you took a wrong turn around one of the houses, your sense of direction would have been your downfall had you not found the people you now call your family. Admittedly, you’d not spent much time exploring the vast environment that is home to these large homes, you still dedicated some time to mapping all the twists and turns. However, not even that has aided you. Despite this, you find a silver lining to getting lost.. you have been able to shake off whatever blades of irritation that sorely wished to cling to your being for longer, you wanted nothing more than to approach Rick without anything that could set him off.

Though few words have been shared between you both about how you all feel about being in Alexandria, it doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed a tension building its blocks within Rick. Knowing all he has been through, you’re worried that he will reduce himself to being no more than a caged animal, biding his time to break free. It’s why you’re searching him out, a discussion is sorely needed before anything should happen, chaos has a way of trailing your family like a puppy following its master.

“ there you are. “

Rick lays his sights on you in the distance, waiting for you to move closer before saying a word. You would go so far as to say it has been one of the few instances of genuine contentment as his features relax from the lines of strain it held not even a few moments previously. Your hands move straight to your hips, standing a few metres away from him.

“ oh, you were actually looking for me? “ eyebrows raise ever so slightly, you thought Carol had been simply nudging you in his direction.

“ just to check the perimeter. “

“ and you need me for that ? “ you question him as your hands move to rest on your hips, a knowing smile lifting your expression as you observe him.

“ ‘course I do. “ Rick’s tone matches yours, it’s been a while since you’ve heard even the faintest hint of amusement associated with the intense male. It’s alien in a sense, though you’re welcoming of it.

Few words are exchanged with the Alexandrian who has been tasked with guarding the gate, exchanging the barest of information you realise as you watch Rick. You hope that even an hour outside the walls of the town is enough to soothe even the slightest of the negative energy that surrounds his being. Your situation is not perfect, and it’s inverted to what you had been experiencing previously, but you believe in your heart that this has to work. The thought of your family not being able to survive yet another bout of the outside world terrifies you to your core, the ice that is your fear erupting from your centre at the idea.

“ is there a real reason why you wanted me out here? “

“ it’s been a while since it was just us, gettin’ hard to breathe in there. “

“ Rick, you know I’m always here if you need it. I hate to see you carry everything on your shoulders the way you do. “

The hardness that had embedded itself into his face slowly eases at your words and thanks you for your support, he reaches out in between the distance that separates you to slip his fingers between yours. A comfort warms you in a way that no heat could at the action, you’re unable to stop the laugh that bursts free with a splutter. Even back on the road, and he was at his wits end, he was never this affectionate. It’s not something you hold against him though, there were many more things on his mind that required more attention.

“ somethin’ funny? “ he questions you immediately.

“ seeing this side of you, it’s just a bit weird. A good kind of weird, though. “ you assure, continuing to walk over the overgrown branches. “ you’re doing okay? Like, really? “

“ just hard to get used to. These people have just been lucky. “

You nod in understanding, it’s been your first thought every morning since walking through that gate with months of dirt and grime that had accumulated, clinging to every inch of your skin. While blood from the dead dried into your skin, becoming part of you, they lathered themselves in floral perfumes and sprays. As much as you want to allow the venom to pool within you, to form a monster born of hate ⏤ you can’t.

In this world you can’t be driven by such emotions, to aim them at innocent people. Had you been in their position, would it be such an easy position to leave this protected bubble? A piece of the previous world left untouched by the cold, ghostly grip of the dead.

“ we can’t hold it against them. “

“ they’re weak, they could get one of ours killed. “ he quietly grumbles in response, his head shaking at the thought. They’d lost too much already, and he would be damned if he lost any more members of his family, especially now they’d reached an element of safety.

“ or they might not? “ you counter his statement, your eyes pleading as you stop where you stand, your hands still connected.

“ we can’t deal in maybes, we deal in certainties. “

“ what are you suggesting, Rick? That we take over? “ you ask, your brows dropping lower. You’d seen enough death and violence to last you a lifetime, you’d had enough for now. You can’t confirm if you have enough energy for another fight. Too much has been lost.

“ if it comes to it. “

“ this is their home now, our home. They’re not bad people. “ you argue lightly, not wishing for a heated disagreement out there. Any walker around would be attracted by the noise and then the smell of the living, you’ve begun to get used to not having to slaughter walkers every day.

“ no, but they’re unprepared. “

“ so were we at some point! “ inch by inch, you close the distance. You rest your grip on his forearms, trying to calm him no matter how useless it may or may not be. “ Rick, you’re trying to create a problem. I get this is an adjustment and if anything does happen, we’ll have you back. We will fight, but for the sake of safety.. we have somewhere to actually live. “

Against his better judgement he nods, just to put a stop to the conversation. He’d wanted to spend some time alone with you that held no prying eyes from Alexandrians, nor the entertained gazes of your group.

“ let’s just see how things go, and try not to keep things bottled up. It never works out. “

“ I’m not sure you want me to share my deep, dark secrets. “ he asserts with a playful inkling hidden poorly within his words.

A smirk lines itself into your features, you’re feeling the energy from Rick and you can’t deny that it feels good. You lift your chin higher, inching your lips closer to his, the warm glow beginning to burn brighter ⏤ a silent dare in the form of a quiet whisper on your tongue. “ try me. “

#twd imagine #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes oneshot #twd oneshot #twd fic

[chierafied]

Do I Remind You of Somewhere You Wanna Be - Part 2 (SKW2021D2)

Black: Mourning & Misfortune.

---

Previous Part

---

In a While Now, I Will Feel Better

---

Lately, she had been growing restless.

Kagome was very familiar with the feeling. She knew all the signs, knew to look for them, knew what they meant. After all, it was something she’d been living with for years now.

Bouts of restlessness would come. An itch under her skin. Jitters, like bursts of electricity tingling all over. Growing impatient and snappish. Constantly living on the edge. Until finally, it would strike her: A need to escape, an urge to get out of the city, take a break from her life. Like hearing a siren call to a place she could no longer reach.

It didn’t take a genius to understand why Kagome would get episodes like that. Why, every now and then, she packed a bag, laced her hiking boots and left Tokyo for the more remote corners of the country. Kagome had always had a certain thirst for adventure but it hadn’t been until after falling down a well on her fifteenth birthday that the excitement had truly begun.

She’d been transported; into a different time, into a different world. She’d embarked on a proper quest, faced danger, made friends and fallen in love… She had become someone new. Someone braver and stronger and kinder. Someone older and wiser, too.

Those months spent in the Sengoku era had changed Kagome so profoundly that sometimes it was hard to remember that it had barely been a year of her life. In just one year, she had completed her epic quest.

And in doing so, doomed herself.

Because fortune was a coin with two sides and nothing good lasted forever. And after her purpose in the past had been filled, fate had stepped in once again. She’d been expelled, brought back to her own time, the adventure at an end.

The days after her return had been black. She missed her friends. She missed Inuyasha. But even more, she mourned the life she had lost, the life she could have had. The life of travel and purpose, of thrill and danger, of risk and reward. The life where what she did had truly had an effect on so many people’s lives. The life in which she had mattered.

All of that had been lost to her.

In this new black world, she’d muddled through school somehow but university education had held no appeal to her. Her grandfather had come to the rescue, helping her to get a job as a tour guide at one of Tokyo’s bigger shrines. It was a fun job, one that Kagome actually enjoyed. After all, she did know her history.

But despite this success of carving her own path and finding something she enjoyed, the restlessness loomed large. Always lingering at a periphery. Kagome never knew when it would strike, this urge to try and reclaim some of that feeling, that sense of adventure she’d lost.

It had first captured her in its clutches when Kagome had been eighteen – fresh out of high school, before she’d started her job as a tour guide. She hadn’t known what to do then, had acted wholly on an instinct and a whim. Feeling on edge and wanting an escape, she’d simply hopped on a train. No thought or destination in mind, Kagome had found herself in the small seaside city of Odawara. She’d strolled the streets, stood on the beach, gazed at the mountains in the distance. She’d looked up at the white tower keep of the Odawara Castle and for a moment the tidal wave of longing had been so crushing that her breath had choked in her throat, her knees had trembled and her heart had ached in her chest as if punctured by shards of glass.

Kagome had stood there in the castle yard, lost in a place five hundred years away, as minutes stretched into hours. She’d finally come to, in the dark and cold, to realise that the sun had set. Alone and irrevocably stuck in the present, Kagome had walked back to the train station and had managed to catch a late evening train back to Tokyo.

She’d settled back to normal life, found the job with her grandfather’s help soon after. And that strange episode of needing to escape had just been a random anomaly.

Until, near her twenty-second birthday, Kagome’s grandfather had passed.

He’d been poorly for over a year and they had all known it was coming – age had been catching up to him with its steadfast inevitability.

Kagome had stood by her mother’s side. She’d comforted Souta. She’d sat through the funeral without shedding a tear.

And a week after the funeral she’d written a note and left.

Kagome had travelled to Nikko and stayed at a ryoukan for three nights. She’d wandered the national park, admiring the forested mountainside, listening to the soothing rush of the waterfalls, flowing strong, swollen by spring. At night she’d shrouded herself in the dark, relaxing in the night-black waters of the onsen, looking at the velvet sky stretching above.

In these quiet moments, she could almost imagine herself back where she yearned to be. Had there been more stars in the sky she might have believed it, if only for a moment.

When she returned home, she found a letter waiting. One addressed to her grandfather. Neither Mama nor Souta had dared to open it, but Kagome looked at the return address and realised it must have come from an old friend of her grandfather’s. Grandfather had talked about Marutomi-san sometimes. He was a priest as well, looking after a remote mountain shrine dedicated to Inari Oukami. Kagome had not opened the envelope either, but she had written back to his Grandfather’s friend to tell him the sad news. Marutomi-san had answered Kagome’s letter, expressing his condolences and telling stories of her grandfather from when he and Marutomi-san had been young. Through letters, they had struck a friendship and Marutomi-san’s many stories had dulled Kagome’s grief. There was light among the black again.

But even after Kagome settled into her life, the restlessness remained. Slumbering and biding its time until something would trigger it.

Now, coming home from work, climbing up the shrine steps, she felt it again. Like ants, skittering all over her skin. A craving for a time and place she could no longer reach thrumming in her veins. The city around her, with the noise and towering buildings, with the cars and bright lights, with all the people, metal and glass, was sucking the oxygen from the air, like walls closing in.

Kagome paused at the top of the stairs. She looked across the shrine yard, her gaze snagging on Goshinboku.

Tears pricked her eyes. The blackness hovered just around the edges of her vision, threatening to swallow her.

She needed to go away. For just a moment, she needed to forget.

---

Next Part

#sesskag #sesskag week #sesskagweek2021 #sesskag fanfiction #skw2021 #skw2021d2 #chie writes #fic: sk #Do I Remind You of Somewhere You Wanna Be #Part 2

[jaggedlittleteacup]

Three Acts

Note: Fuck it, I’m just going to post this now. @call-me-moo.

Act Three

I dial Mary’s number on my dying mobile. “Do c...come in. It’s a little cramped…I must warn you.”

I’m sitting on a rickety old chair in an abandoned building. No, not even a building- a mere façade.

Just like Mary.

I shake away the thought and concentrate. I don’t have long before I start bleeding through the stitches. Every passing minute is crucial to both the plan and my survival.

I’ve already gotten through the bulk of the phone call with Mary. It’s mostly filler to keep her from storming inside and shooting me on sight, and it’s working so far.

Like scenes from a play...

She’ll be coming inside soon, judging from her initial distance from the building. It won’t be long now.

I can hear her breathing quicken over the line as my question grows more and more personal. “What do you want, Sherlock?” she growls, her voice lower than I’ve ever heard it.

“Mary Morstan...stillborn in 1972. Thought it’d be...a-awfully clever, taking her name like that,” I say softly, clutching my chest with my free hand. “It’s why you don’t have any...f-friends from before...then.”

Common enough tactic.

Mary’s sharp laugh rings out. “You don’t sound very well, Sherlock. Perhaps we should get you to a hospital.” Her voice lowers. “Or a morgue.”

“How...how good of a shot are you?” I ask, biding my time with the questions. I need to stall. Answers can come later, hopefully with John’s assistance.

Even so…

I need to know.

I can almost hear her smirk from the other side of the line. “How badly do you want to find out? I’d be more than happy to demonstrate. I can see you’re right in front of me, it would only take a single pull of the-“

“If you’re such a good shot…” I take a few shaky breaths and continue to interrupt her, “…th-then...demonstrate. Unf-fortunately, I don’t have any l...live targets, forgive me. You’ll h-have to...settle for a coin.” I force a weak laugh that makes my stomach ache and my labouring lungs burn. “That is...i-if you can…”

The line crackles a bit on her end. “You think you can bait me, Sherlock? I thought you knew me better than that.”

Yes, Mary.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“I want to...know how good you are,” I say encouragingly. “Go on...the doctor’s wife must b-be...rather bored, by now...Because…” I gasp for a much-needed breath.

“Because what?” she snaps, frustrated, as she adjusts the leather strap of her heavy purse.

Added weight of the gun. Obviously unaccustomed to carrying it around. Is she still a good shot?

“Because...you’re a psychopath...and p-psychopaths get bored.” I groan into my coat collar in pain. At this rate, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold out.

“Ha,” she scoffs. “I’ll entertain you, Sherlock. God knows you can’t have much left in you, anyway.” Mary pulls out a fifty-pence piece from her purse and holds it aloft. She glances above, gauging the height of the ceiling with a critical eye, and flips the coin in the air. In one swift move, she aims the gun and fires. A metallic clank is heard, and she smirks triumphantly.

I hang up the phone with a flourish. “Impressive,” I whisper, the faintest smile on my face visible in the flickering light.

Mary turns to look at me, clearly startled. “You’re…standing. Then who...Ah. I see. A dummy? Fairly obvious trick, don’t you think?” She slides the coin over to me with the tip of her boot.

I lean over with a grunt and pick it up, pausing only to examine it. I straighten up, the stabbing pain making it harder to stand. My breathing is growing more and more erratic, but I choose to ignore it in favour of my deductions.

Ordinary fifty-pence coin, no obvious assistive modifications. Hole where the 0.38mm bullet penetrated is precisely in the center. Fifteen-plus years in the killing business, at least. She’s a remarkable shot, I’ll give her that.

Not good enough, though.

“Impressed?” she asks, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Spectacularly...accurate sh-shot, yet you...failed to place...a kill. Sentiment, or d-did you...not want to...blow y-your cover?” It’s a risk to taunt her so openly, but unfortunately a risk I must take.

“Neither. John wasn’t supposed to come save you. The doorframe creaked fairly loudly and that alerted him. You would have died if it hadn’t been for my damn recklessness,” Mary snarls, looking more angry at herself than anyone else. “It’s not a mistake I’ll make again.”

Wait-

She raises her gun to my forehead.

-this isn’t how it’s supposed to-

I hear a click and a loud shot.

When I open my eyes again, I see Mary crumpled on the floor, her chest weakly moving up and down as blood leaks from her body, filling spaces it shouldn’t be. I can hardly breathe from the shock of seeing her so suddenly vulnerable.

“You...d-don’t...you didn’t…h-have a...g-gun…” she chokes out. “H-how…?”

“Sorry,” I hear a bitter voice behind her say, and suddenly John is standing there, his gun pointed straight ahead, and it all makes sense. “Not that obvious a trick.”

“John- b-but-“ I stutter out, my mouth moving, but hardly any noise coming out.

How…how did he…?

Mary groans loudly, and I move to ask him again, thinking perhaps he didn’t hear me.

“J-John…”

“You. You don’t get to speak,” John hisses, before leaning down to Mary’s side. “Mary, I can still…”

“N-no…” she says softly, obviously straining to sit up. “It’s...t-too late, John. I...I suppose...n-now I know how...Sh-Sherlock f-felt...Ah-!” She cries out in anguish and lifts a shaking hand to John’s face.

He doesn’t push her hand away. “You’re a pathetic liar, Mary. You lied to me, you shot my best friend, you- you-“ He’s practically hyperventilating with anger now, each breath harder than the next. “You killed our baby.”

Mary is eerily silent for a moment, but she nods eventually. “I d-did...John...Will...w-will it matter...i-if I say...I-I’m sorry…?”

“No,” he says honestly. His face is more pained than I have ever seen, contorted with unspoken rage and agony. “You’ve destroyed it all, Mary. I will never forgive you.”

“P-please…” she begs, clinging onto his collar with an almost frightening desperation. “I c-can’t go...n-not like this...J-John…”

“You should have thought about that…” John swallows back a sob, “...before you shot Sherlock.”

Tears stream down her pale, stricken face. “I th-think I l-loved you...o-once...d-did you ever...l-love me...J-John…?”

“Once,” he says softly, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not anymore. Not since Sherlock came back, I think.”

I’m silent.

What could I possibly say…?

Her face grows sadder, if that’s possible. “I...c-could never...c-compare...not t-to…him…”

“I’m not gay,” he says with a weak smile, forcing a small chuckle.

“A-and...I’m...n-not an...a-assassin…” she gasps out with a laugh, pulling harder on his coat. “I...w-would have...n-never really...k-killed you, y-you know…?”

His face is grim. “I don’t know that, Mary. Because I don’t know you at all. I- I bet...I bet your name isn’t even Mary.”

“It’s n-not,” she admits, her grip beginning to fail. “Th-that- ...wh-what I just s-said…- was a lie...I w-would have…” she coughs out, dark blood trickling from the corners of her pink lips. “I w-would h-have...I w-would...b-because I’m s-selfish…”

He nods. “I didn’t believe you, anyway.”

“I e-even...w-wanted...R-Rosamund…” Mary’s trembling hand slips from his jacket.

“Mary…”

“R-Rosamund...f-far better...th-than...Sh-Sher...Sherlock…” Her breath hitches on my name, and her face tightens with the effort. “G-goodbye...b-both of you…”

“Mary,” John breathes. “D...don’t…”

“G-go b-back to B-Baker S-Street...J-John...And Sh-Sherlock…?” She turns her head slightly to look at me. “I-I’m...s-sorry…T-take c-care...of...J...John…”

Her eyes go glassy and dull as she quietly exhales for the last time. John looks numb as uses two fingers to gently push her eyelids shut. Pressing a final kiss to her clammy forehead, he abruptly stands up and snaps his fingers. “Sherlock. Let’s go,” he says, his tone deathly quiet and clipped.

“J-John…”

“I said...let’s go. There’s nothing left for us here.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I’ve waited too long. I should have called someone. I should have called the hospital. I can almost hear John scolding me already- ‘Why do you never call the police?’

My vision goes blurry as my legs fail me. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, but then again…this night has been full of surprises. Nothing short of dangerous encounters and yet another miraculous deus-ex-machina from John Watson.

Not dead. Not yet.

“Amb- ambulance…” I whisper hoarsely, before collapsing on the floor next to Mary’s cold, limp, unmoving body.

John rushes towards me, and I get a glimpse of her pale face as my eyes flutter shut. Her lips are slightly parted, almost upturned. She seems to be finally at rest. She doesn’t deserve it, but I don’t think I could think of a better way for her to exit this world. A brutal display of karma…

…And yet…

I feel my flat expression become a weak smile.

She looks...so peaceful...almost like she’s sleeping…

The End (?)

~

Act One linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656892650818011136/three-acts

Act Two linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656968775195934720/three-acts

Epilogue linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/657054522939686912/three-acts

#bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #johnlock #jim moriarty #post reichenbach #mary is not good #she’s actually pretty evil #like ew #Mary sucks #lol

[spasmsofthought]

silence (zuko x reader)

I’ve had Adore You by Harry Styles stuck in my head these past few days. It got me in some of my feelings, so here’s a drabble because of Harry Styles and my feelings!

“You don’t have to say you love me, you don’t have to say nothing.” 

Give me your feedback. Like, comment, reblog!  

Much love, fellow humans xo 

Read Part 2 here: Unfinished

-

“Please don’t make me say it,” You whisper as you look out at the night sky, littered with glittering stars. The sun will rise soon but you couldn’t sleep anymore. 

Your arms are wrapped around your body, warm only in temperature.

Everyone else is asleep, trying to build up as much strength as possible, but you stand outside wondering if this will be the last time you will ever look upon the stars.

The world will not be the same twenty-four hours from now. It will either be burnt to a crisp or the Avatar will have saved it. 

You’re honestly not too sure which will happen. 

The team has done their best to stay upbeat, but you’re not sure anyone is prepared for a final battle. There have been strategies planned out, locations are mapped, and people are assembled, but there is an itch under your skin. 

It can’t be satisfied no matter how many times you stretch or take a dip to clean yourself off in the river.

There was an anxiousness, like waves dashing against rocks in the middle of the night, that had been pumping through your veins for weeks.

Every day was just one day closer to the end of the world.

Beach parties and plays and drinking juice while watching the sun set were like little breathers, sure. But little breathers meant nothing if you weren’t able to breathe properly in the first place. 

A lone, silent figure stands beside you, taking in the quiet scenery. A small breeze ruffles his dark hair, moving it softly before it settles again. His amber eyes looks darker but there’s still a fire burning in them.

Zuko should be sleeping, but here he is, standing with you hours before you both begin the longest day of your young lives. 

You will be separated from him tomorrow, you already know this. Your place is with Suki, Sokka, and Toph; you will be of no help to Katara and Zuko as they face down his sister.

Despite the plans that have been laid out, there is still a tension in the air between the both of you. 

There are too many things to say and too many things that have always remained unsaid. Too much silence. He has had too many things to figure out on his own and you have been all over the place until recently. 

Having Zuko join a group full of teenagers trying to save the world, someone who is the son of the man heading the colonization of the town you had spent your whole life in, left you with thoughts and feelings you hadn’t recognized within yourself before. Katara hadn’t been the only one in your group to hold a long-standing grudge with the Prince of the Fire Nation. 

Zuko, however, had proven himself loyal and changed after his stint back in his homeland. His steadfastness and new change of heart hadn’t been lost on you. 

His posture is straight, like a king. You know he’s more prepared than you are. He’s been a part of some pretty terrible things that you could only imagine seeing take place. Building turning to ashes and entire villages fleeing for safety were the stuff of only nightmares for you.

He’s always been a lonesome figure, proud and strong. You wonder if he’s really ready to lead a nation out of 100 years of war and into peace, especially as a teenager. He’s still trying to figure out who he is. 

The silence is almost overwhelming.

You can’t tell if he doesn’t know what to say or if he’s choosing not to say anything. He’s hard to read and it’s frustrating. 

For someone who can be so trustworthy, it seems easy to also believe he’s adept at keeping secrets. 

I think I might be in love with you, your heart wants to scream. It wants to do something because you have been waiting for so long for something; anything. And nothing is happening because everyone is in the middle of a war, always close to losing or dying. 

I think I might be in in love with you.

Your mouth stays shut. 

He broke up with his girlfriend before he left the Fire Nation  to be branded as a traitor, Sokka told the whole group one night over the campfire, but you had no idea what his feelings were for her now. He might still love her, and you’d be the loser with unrequited feelings. 

“I, uh,” Zuko begins, moving a hand to rub his neck. His face is like a stone, his mouth maybe hinting at a grimace. It’s hard to tell since Zuko rarely smiles. “I know we’re going to be in different places tomorrow, but I -” 

You’re usually a woman of little action; waiting and patient and biding your time. But you can’t take it. 

You may die tomorrow and you can’t waste a second more guessing and wondering and trying to analyze the situation. 

Tomorrow the world may burn and everything will be left in ashes. If you do nothing, this moment will be discarded in the aftermath. 

It’s your last chance. 

Zuko can’t catch up as you turn to the side a little and press your mouth to his in a kiss. Your eyes are closed and you try to savor the moment, soak it in. You want to remember this tomorrow when you are faced with horror and tragedy and war.

You step back after a moment, shocked at yourself. Zuko looks surprised as well, his eyes rounded almost comically. You can barely focus. 

You take in a quick breath, unable to believe what you just did. 

“I can’t say it, I’m sorry.” 

Your heart beats words inside you though, 

I might be in love with you.

I might be in love with you.

I might be in love with you.

I might be in love with you and I might die without ever telling you.

You’re not sure he knows what you mean, he’s about as oblivious as they come (and had more important things on his mind), but you walk away back to the tents without looking back.

I might be in love with you.

Your tent flap closes behind you.

I might be in love with you.

You lay down on your pallet but your eyes stay wide open.

I might be in love with you.

Tomorrow will be difficult, and maybe awkward, but maybe you won’t regret it. 

I might be in love with you.

Only time will tell if you survive any of it.

#prince zuko #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar: the last airbender #avatar: tla #avatar zuko #fire lord zuko #atla zuko #zuko x reader #Zuko x OC #avatar the last airbender one shot #zuko one shot #zuko imagine #atla

[charliesradiodemon]

Corruption

Hello! This is a LATE birthday present for my dear friend @sesukytes ^.^

Happy late bday my dood <3

ENJOY 

With Vaggie and Angel out of her life and the hotel still empty, Charlie’s fears became realized. She failed again. Even with a successful redemption program, nobody was interested.

At that point she didn’t know what to do anymore. She didn’t know what she could do anymore.

________________________________

Alastor resided to biding his time after witnessing Angel ascend to Heaven. It was a great shock that the naive little princess seemed to have finally made a breakthrough, but it seemed that it didn’t matter. He waited around to see if the rabble would bite and come running for a “better life”, but not a single desperate soul came even after two months.

Having been bored sick of his empty investment, Alastor decided to make his own move. A month had passed after he heard that Vaggie had ascended and Charlie refused to even leave the hotel. She’d been silent and wasn’t answering his calls nor calling him back.

“A shame, really...” he muttered while stiffly rapping his fingers on his pristine mahogany desk, not caring whether his sharp claws broke through the polish or not. He knew things couldn’t continue as they were. He was generous enough to give her time to recoup and continue on but his patience had finally reached its expiration date.

________________________________

When he walked up to her bedroom door, he already knew exactly what he needed to do. And in her state, leaving her would push her further down the spiral of despair. If he played it right, her broken expression could make up for the waste of time that he spent waiting on the hotel; not that he had many high hopes for it in the first place.

‘To see the broken look on her face...’

Alastor knocked before entering, a bit too eager see the final dregs of hope leave his partner.

What he found was truly pitiful.

She hadn’t been crying, but seemed as if she’d cried herself dry. Instead, she just stared at him blankly, looking broken and lifeless; not at all like her peppy self. Her eye sockets seemed to hollow in, her hair disheveled and somehow she seemed impossibly thinner than ever. When he looked into her eyes he found that the spark was nonexistent, leaving a blank gaze as if all that was left was an empty husk of a being.

Any fun he could have breaking her now was completely drained.

She was pitiful and it took him much effort to find a reason to stick around any longer. Without her life or her smile, Charlie was just a broken doll he couldn’t play with let alone break any further.

As she still said nothing to him, Alastor looked to her nightstand. There, an assortment of litter and tissues laid. In the center of it all: a small framed photo of her and her family sat. She looked to be younger than the portrait in the lobby, but still old enough to be considered a teen.

It was an unremarkable photo in all regards. He’d seen far too many of these family portraits around the hotel and the palace when he visited Lucifer. It seemed odd how family oriented the Magnes were considering how broken the relationship between Charlie and her parents were.

But unlike the ones Alastor had seen before, Charlie looked different. His eyes lingered on the visible horns protruding from her skull, standing tall and proud and unabashedly her’s. In the few family portraits Alastor had seen, Charlie seemed to purposefully hide her horns away even while her mother’s were displayed proudly.

He’d seen her horns and teases of her form in photos, paintings and on live television before, but Charlie had never looked so proud to show off her demonic features than in the photo on her nightstand. She was never ashamed of her demonic form, but rarely had she ever used her features. From what Alastor could remember from his time with her, he realized that she never utilized her demonic form or any powers.

He wasn’t even sure she even had any powers. He reckoned that she had to considering that she was a product of Lucifer, the most powerful being in Hell.

Alastor’s eyes fell back to the skeletal being before him and mulled over a thought that popped into his mind.

He could fix her- improve her even. She was practically a blank slate now, could he really pass up the opportunity? They could discover what exactly she was capable of together. Imagining the possibilities with the princess of Hell was just too enticing to let go.

Granted it wasn’t what he originally intended nor was he one to pick up fixer uppers, but he couldn’t just let the daughter of Lucifer waste away. It wasn’t like he had another venture lined up anyway.

________________________________

He continued to visit her daily, bringing her homemade food, clean clothes, linens and anything else she could need to cheer her up. He would talk to her, try to liven her up and keep her up-to-date on the latest news. Though she initially answered with single worded answers, it was clear his efforts were working as their conversations got longer as her state improved

Little by little, she opened up to him more and more. And in a short amount of time, she seemed to be back to a semblance of normal. And although she physically looked better and spoke more, Charlie was still missing the soul and spark that she’d lost.

Though Alastor didn’t mind. It was just all a part of the process.

Now, after a few weeks of nurturing her, it was time to get the ball rolling.

“All I’m trying to tell you sweetheart, is that you have been holding yourself back. You have so much potential for so much more! Aren’t you the slightest bit curious about what you can do?” Alastor sat on the edge of her bed, facing Charlie who had her legs drawn up to her chest.

Charlie held her knees tighter to her chest and frowned. “Not really...”

“What a shame! It could prove useful for your endeavors. Now that you know redemption is possible, you’ll need to attract more souls to your hotel!”

“I don’t know Al...”

He sat on the edge of her bed and reached over to place a hand on her cheek, drawing her attention to his softened gaze. “Trust me, my dear. I haven’t led you astray before haven’t I? You’ve already done all you could. Allow me to help this time.”

As much as she didn’t like the idea, she knew he was right. Now that she knew redemption was possible, she could help people get to Heaven. But did she have the energy or power to do that when everyone still doubted her? Nobody took her seriously and she doubted anybody would believe what she did at that point. Hesitant, but without many other options, Charlie nodded. “Okay, but I’m not making a deal with you.”

Alastor chuckled, smiling a bit brighter in response to the bit of spunk returning to her. “Not a problem sweetheart. I wouldn’t have expected it any other way.”

Another week passing meant another week gaining Charlie’s wholehearted trust. 

Alastor had to admit, it was enjoyable watching her grow back into the person she was before. She even smiled on the rare occasion. But as pleasant he’d found that her company was, he needed to get her going.

Having known her father, Alastor knew that Lucifer had the ability to subjugate and pacify any demon at will. Any demon under his will would fall into a trance-like state and obey all orders, even if it meant permanent death for that demon. All he needed to do now was see if Charlie had inherited this ability from her father.

He brought it up to her, presented as an idea to bring in patients.

As expected, she seemed hesitant. “That doesn’t seem right Al.”

“Don’t you want to help your people? How else are they going to find salvation if they aren’t convinced?”

She paused, seemingly convinced yet careful. “They won’t...”

Alastor nodded, standing from her bed. “Exactly! And the longer you wait for them to come crawling to you, the more that will perish by the next cleanse! I know that you want to help your people, don’t you sweetheart?” He turned to her and extended a hand. “Now why don’t we try? It’s about time you’ve left your cave and let the world see your dazzling smile, so let’s kill two birds with one stone?”

Charlie looked between him and his hand several times while she deliberated her decision. If she did nothing, would things get any better? Alastor was so willing to help her in her time of need- even more so than Vaggie ever had.

What was wrong with trying?

She took his hand, earning her a wide grin and a strong tug from the man. With a yelp, she flew off her bed and into his waiting arms. In an unexpected turn of events, Alastor wrapped his arms around her.

Warmth filled her. When was the last time she’d gotten a hug from anyone? Months ago from Vaggie probably.

“A solid choice my dear! Might I say that I’m impressed with your resolve!” He bent away to find tears rolling down her cheeks. Bothered by their existence, he wiped them away with his index finger. “Why the tears, Charlie?”

“I... I just want to thank you for being here Alastor. I-I don’t want to th-think about where I’d be without you here...”

Alastor chuckled and gently placed his hand on top of her head. She was his now, there was no doubt about that anymore.

“Think nothing about it. I didn’t think I would ever find myself caring about another’s well being.” He said partially truthful.

Once she composed herself, Charlie left the hotel for the first time in nearly three months while holding Alastor’s hand for support. She’d almost forgotten what her home had looked like. The blood-red hue of the sky, the faint smell of rotting flesh; it was something she didn’t know she missed.

Still holding his hand tightly, Alastor led her out to the streets to get down to business. He’d waited far too long for this moment and he was all too eager to get started. “I believe your ability is innate, meaning if you just wanted it enough, anyone could be bent to your will,” he looked about the busy streets but quickly perked up. “Why not try it on that one there?” He said, pointing ahead of them.

When Charlie looked, there was a scraggly three-armed man sitting on the sidewalk holding a cardboard sign that simply read: “help” in crude lettering. He was a hulking purple giant of a man, taking up most of the walkway on the street. Had he not been so massive, the passerbys would have probably scowled at him for being so invasive. The purple demon also appeared to have a permanent frown on his face that made him even less approachable.

“I believe the man needs help, he’s practically asking for it dear,”

Charlie grimaced, suddenly feeling an awful twist of wrongness in her gut.

Alastor quickly sensed her hesitation by her tighter grip on his hand. “Charlie darling, I know you can do it. You can help that man. If you can do it, he’ll never have to beg in the streets again! You wouldn’t deprive him of that chance now would you? You know he certainly wouldn’t survive the next cleanse being so exposed like this,”

Again, he was right. Alastor was always right, and Charlie knew that well.

But still, it just didn’t sit right.

Alastor bent toward her, getting close so that she could only focus on him. Charlie stared into his ruby-red eyes, confusion in her eyes. “I will be here with you all the way.”

She hesitated a bit longer, biting down on her lips and looking down to the ground.

‘Alastor’s always right.’ She reminded herself in her head.

“Okay.”

They approached and Alastor let go of Charlie’s hand to watch her with anticipation from behind her.

Charlie forced a friendly smile on her face and waved up to the seated man. “Uh hi!”

The beggar man didn’t seem amused. “You got money?”

“I have something even better!”

“Meth?”

“Nope! I-I uh, I have a hotel! That redeems souls so that they can go to Heaven!”

The purple demon huffed a laugh. “Oh I know this scam! You want me to go with you to this hotel of yours and you’ll take my organs and use me for meat,” he crossed his two arms and let his third hand give Charlie the bird. “Yeah no thanks, bitch. Get lost.”

Before she could walk away dejectedly, Alastor held her shoulders to keep her in place and whispered in her ear. “Demand it. It will only work if you demand him with confidence. Try it again.”

She took a deep breath. ‘He’s always right.’ She subconsciously reminded herself once more.

“Hey didn’t I say get lost? The fuck you still-“

“You will come with me and stay at the hotel. You will work toward redemption to Heaven and stay there.” She stated firmly and devoid of emotion.

The man closed his mouth, removing the scowl on his face. Not even a moment later, he stood and looked to Charlie expectantly. “Sure thing.” He said with barely any emotion behind his own answer.

Charlie’s eyes widened and she gasped, feeling her heart race. Quickly she turned to Alastor and shot him an unsure look. “Al... I... I think I did it...”

Alastor chuckled and approached, studying the man for a moment. When Alastor leaned in close to the dirtier demon’s face, the other man did not react with any hostility, just with an innocently confused look on his face. Satisfied with the results, he turned back to Charlie and nodded “Yes you did, dear. Now, let’s check him in, hm?”

________________________________

Everything ran smoothly from the first patient in the hotel. Charlie began subjugating the homeless population quickly to beat the cleanse deadline. Every day she got into a normal routine that made bounds in her development. She quickly became much more confident, and most importantly: more reliant on Alastor and his opinions.

Alastor stood beside her wherever she went like he was a part of her being. Though he could be described as her shadow, Charlie seemed to be slowly melting into his.

She began doing everything he suggested. From subjugating whoever he pointed out, to smiling almost all the time, she was improving to his standards rapidly and eagerly.

He was her new constant in life, her lifeline and her only friend.

________________________________

With only days remaining until the next cleanse, the streets of Pentagram City were cleared of a large portion of its homeless population. She’d redeemed such a large amount of people that could have been lost to the cleanse and she was proud of it.

“Darling, the angels are coming this way.”

Charlie gasped, sprinting up to the window next to Alastor. What she found was a team of four angels making their way toward the hotel with deadly purpose. “What? Why?”

“They probably know where a large mass of demons are.” Alastor said calmly with a shrug. 

It was time to awaken another power within her. He didn’t have a hand in this arrangement, but he wasn’t complaining. This was the perfect motivation to get Charlie going and he was giddy to figure out what was next. 

Watching the figures get closer and closer, Charlie’s heart began to race with frustration and panic. “They can’t do that! I’m helping people!”

“They don’t seen to care.”

She laced her fingers in her hair, quickly losing her cool. “What do we do? We can’t relocate everyone! There’s too many of them!”

“I suppose we’ll have to fight.” 

Charlie whipped her head around and stared her companion down in disbelief. “Al, that goes against what I’m trying to do here!”

“Then everyone perishes.”

‘He’s right, Alastor is always right.’

“...Okay. Let’s go then.”

________________________________

“Kill it.”

“W-what?”

“Kill it, or else it will keep coming.”

“B-but...”

Alastor bent, still looming over her and the writhing angel she’d caught in her grasp. He took her chin to look him in the eye. “You must, or else everyone will be in danger.”

Charlie’s head began to spin, her heart racing and the adrenaline rushed through her. ‘Everyone will die. All my hard work...’ She needed to do it. She needed to for her people’s sake.

Alastor let her go, allowing her to decide. If she truly put her full trust in him, he knew she’d do it. It was only a matter of time.

But he didn’t have to wait too long.

Charlie’s grip on the angel’s throat tightened, earning a gurgle from the struggling being. It couldn’t muster the strength to thrash nor could it dig its fingers in to try to pry the hand around its throat off.

She watched it struggle- watched the life slowly leave it. It was suffering. It was fighting so hard to live. It was a sad sight, yet Charlie’s pity for it quickly left as Alastor whispered in her ear. “That’s it, darling. Remember, they hold no remorse slaughtering your people. They even smile as they do so. So why don’t you smile as you return the favor?” He paused before chuckling.

He craned his head around to look at her face to find a smile forming on her face. “There you are. And what a lovely smile, Charlie. Truly a vision.”

Smile? Was she really smiling? How could she smile as she was killing something? Why did it feel so good? 

The sudden squelch as well as the splattering of warm blood on Charlie’s face instantly removed her grin. The angel stopped squirming, but slid downward from her bloodied hand. Without a head atop its shoulders, there was nothing left for Charlie to grip. With two audible thuds, she watched as the body of the angel slumped over with the head rolling a bit away from its body. 

‘Incredible strength, but I’m not surprised.’ Alastor thought, impressed by her feat. It took a great amount of strength to decapitate a being by just squeezing its neck.    

He placed his hands on either side of her shoulders from behind to assure her. “No matter how many you kill, it’s not your patient’s sin. You cannot go to Heaven anyway dear so you’d might as well take the burden and protect them, right?”

She looked down at the angel’s headless body on the ground. “To protect them?”

He turned her slightly and stood in front of her. He gently placed a hand on her head, keeping her grounded. “Yes. I’m proud of you, Charlie.” It wasn’t a lie, he felt immense pride in the progress she’d made.

‘Proud of me?’ She questioned mentally. She pried her eyes off of the sin she’d just committed to whip her gaze to Alastor. “Alastor...” She whispered, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.

“Yes dear?”

She didn’t say anything and instead jumped to wrap her arms around him, catching him off-guard.

He felt her trembling followed by an unmistakable moistness touching his bare chest. “My dear, don’t cry.”

His eyes narrowed as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

‘And all you need is me.’

#it's more of a quick fic #this could easily be broken up into multiple chapters #charlastor #charlastorfic #radiobelle #radiobellefic

[my-brothers-corrupted]

I really want to see Chase and Henrik have a proper conversation about what they both experienced in those last days with Anti, and how it affected their relationship with each other! I feel like we haven't seen enough of how they're doing since everyone's been focused on trying to help Blue.

"How did this happen?" is the first thing Henrik asks when they have regained some control over themselves, and they are sitting side-by-side in their nest, with nothing to hide from and a purring cat between them. "What happened? The last I remember, you were still on his side."

"I can't believe you're not mad for everything I did to you," says Chase. "Or - failed to do for you. Schneep, I heard you screaming some days and I..."

"Chase," says Henrik softly. "He was in your head."

Chase looks up at him, eyes watery. "I still should have fought harder."

"It's done now, my friend."

"I regret it, though. And the last few weeks, with you being stuck in your head, I just spent the whole time thinking about how I failed you. Trying to take care of you to make up for it somehow."

"Chase, we can both play this game all too easily. Me, I was the clear-headed one, but I was helpless to get you free of Anti. I was able to do nothing while I watched him strip you of yourself, of your control, of your freedom. Turn you into some puppet. All I could do was bide my time. Was like torture all in itself. Something terrible could have just as easily have happened to you, brother, and then I would be the one sitting here full of guilt that I did not protect you. But this is what we were fighting for, right? For freedom for the two of us? Now we have it. And I know you did fight, Chase... you were so lost in his power no one could pull you out on their own. For weeks there, my friend, you were the one stuck in your head."

Chase sighs, chuckling weakly as he thinks it through. "Yeah. I guess."

"Darling," says Henrik warmly. "No more guilt. Tell me about the fight. I want to hear the story."

Chase smiles back at him. It's been a long time since he's dwelt on that last week before Anti was killed.

"It's a long story," he says. "Very long."

"Get started, then," grins Henrik.

"Well, Red and Blue escaped."

"I remember that much. Yes... that's why he... he..."

"Yeah." Chase touches his hand gently. "Don't - don't think about the stuff he did to you yet if you're not ready, okay?"

"I'll try. Distract me."

"Okay. So after they got away and he, well - he took you away... It was just me and Dapper. He put us both in the same room. And then he just - I remember being flooded by him, you know? Like usually he tried to be subtle about it, but he just... replaced me inside my own head. Enough that I could tell something was wrong, that I got scared. And I could hear you crying out, I knew you were in pain. I was really sick. Half the time totally his, just this... slave. And the other half the time fighting to come back to myself.

"Dapper was my anchor. It was like, when I was going through what he had gone through for months, I could finally see how terrible things were. Anti had stopped me from seeing that from my own perspective, but when I thought about him just being made to be Anti's little puppy - when I saw him for who he was and for how much Anti had controlled him - then I knew there was a real problem. And me, I was so naive, with my memory all fucked up and Anti still telling me lies. Dapper was hopeless. He didn't think we would escape at first. I could tell how scared he was, but he just... couldn't start the fight on his own. We ended up balancing each other out, I think. He had the experience, the wisdom, the clarity I needed to find. And I tried to get him fighting again. Once he did lift his head up again, Dok... fuck, did he fight."

"Yeah? He was himself too?"

"Yeah. He's a good guy. He was still sad over Anti when it was time, though. We both were. Actually... none of us had the guts to end him. Except Blue." Chase bites on his lip, shaking his head. "I think it's really messed him up, Schneep."

Henrik leans forward, squeezing his fingers. "Tell me everything."

So Chase does - lets it pour out in a wave and watches his words fill Henrik's ears and settle down into his brain. Watches Henrik listen.

Listen in the way that only Henrik does. Every word from Chase's mouth is important. Must be processed and examined and, if any concern is to be found, addressed.

Chase tells him that Jackie can't think about anything but work and his brothers, that he gets in fights and doesn't spend time with them, lost in thinking about the future. He tells him that JJ is good half of the time and the other half he is obsessive, nervous, sickly, and in grief. He tells him that Blue has become someone Chase barely recognizes, that he lashes out and hurts all day long, that he seems to be reaching out to him at the same time as he shoves them all away, and that now he's run away from home, and they don't know what's happening with him.

Henrik nods, chews his lip, considers. Chase sees him planning. After so long, he knows what it looks like when the gears in Henrik's head are turning faster than anybody else in the world could follow, and he's more than content to just watch him think.

"And you?" says Henrik, when he has arrived at a conclusion to whatever thought process has moved through his head. "How are you?"

Chase looks down, his long eyelashes falling on his freckled cheeks.

"I'm okay most of the time," he says. "Just... I just... I'm glad you're here. Really, really glad."