#pan writes

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BigB felt a sharp pain drop straight through his head and pierce his heart as screams of horror and glee echoed in his mind.

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Scar felt a harrowing ache erupting in his chest and a deafening silence roaring in his ears. His heart keeled in confusion as he too collapsed, alone.

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Joel felt the blazing glory that once swept the lands pay it’s cruel retribution as it now seared through his heart in a fiery inferno.

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Impulse felt his heart split in two, slashed by a wickedness forthcoming surrounded by an army of teeth and claws.

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Martyn felt a strike through his heart and his feet buckled beneath him as the cave illuminated in a brilliance of sparks one last time.

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This is dedicated to @bagginshieldisreal

Pain is what blossoms in Thorin’s world when he wakes again. He doesn’t expect to wake. Well, he doesn’t expect to wake in such pain. What Thorin expects is to be greeted by the halls of his forefathers, by the Maker himself. Instead, his world is one of sharp pain and that alone blocks his vision from the world surrounding him. 

If this is his fate after everything, Thorin cannot help but think it must be punishment for his recent actions. 

Chief gave you that look again as you held up the picture on your phone, you face a picture perfect representation of a sad puppy, like the one on your phone.

“No.” He said with a straight face and monotoned voice. You let out a groan and fell back onto the bunk. “(Y/N), you don’t need another dog.”

There was scratching on the floor near you and you looked over to see your Pomeranian wagging his tail excitedly, barking happily.

“But Chieeeef!” You cried out, looking over at him as he went back to the military log in front of him. “What if Prince Fluff gets lonely!” You said as you rolled onto your stomach, putting your hand out and patting the dog a few times.

“That name in and of itself is why you can’t get another one.” He said with an amused huff before closing the screen in front of him and turning to you. “Plus we have enough to worry about on our missions, you can’t keep getting more dogs to fill up the barracks. It’s not fair to the others who have to take care of them and it certainly isn’t fair for the dogs.” He muttered.

You blinked a few times before sighing. “Maybe you’re right…” You trailed off before giving him a look and he tensed up.

“Don’t.” He said and you moved a little closer, giving him the puppy dog eyes.

“(Y/N). Stop it.” He said, his hands clenching as you leaned against him.

“This dog is a trained dog. It can attack on command…” You explained, making him flinch and turn away. “I’m not saying you can have this dog but… it would be a good companion on the battlefield…”

He gritted his teeth before standing up, making you fall suddenly onto the bunk.

“Fine, we can go see him.” He muttered and you felt the excitement overwhelm you as you leaped to your feet, smiling widely.

“Yes! I knew that would work.” You said with a triumphant smile, making Chief chuckle and shake his head.

“You know me too well.” He muttered before turning and walking away, you quickly on his heals. Prince Fluff also tagging along with a yip and a wag of his tail.

day 9 : wound ( from @adfaugust )

this isn’t the war they were promised, not even close. no safety in trenches, no bombs deployed from the air, far away from any damage. instead, they’re thick in the jungle, getting their heads blown off by traps, assailants nowhere to be seen. paul didn’t even want to be here, fought the draft to the last second, and now here he is, clutching a rifle and feeling sick to his stomach. wishes, not for the first time, that he’s just one of the ladies in the sick bay. sure, the injuries are horrible, but it’s better than being out here. 

he’s playing nurse right now, surprised by his own strength as he starts lugging bear to the bushes, rifle swung dangerously over his back, where he can’t take it out if someone attacked. he needs his arms, anyway; bear’s in no shape to walk. he’s losing blood fast, a bullet in the side. and when paul pulls up his shirt to check, there isn’t an exit wound. considers, stupidly, if he could just pluck it out with his fingers, but he knows that’ll be worse, that he’s gonna give bear an infection. which he’s sure the poor guy already has, or maybe he’s just delirious from the pain.

“paul,” bear coughs, and he shows his teeth in a smile that’s gnarly, but not in a good way. it still seizes paul like his hand’s got a heart in its vice grip, and the sight of him must do something for the guy, since that grin only gets wider. “at home, in the barn… we got this kayak.”

bear’s got a tone in his voice that tells paul he’s on some long-winded story. he debates telling bear to save his strength, but there’s a real chance he’ll die out here before paul can get him help, so he lets it go. “yeah? what … what kayak?”

“beautiful — ” and bear cuts himself off with a series of coughs, blood coming up on his shirt in a way that makes paul feel faint — “beautiful boat. some men like their fancy cars and impressing women with ‘em. like their… their speedboats. but there ain’t no better joy than being the engine to your own vehicle.” still smiling broadly, bear claps a hand over paul’s. “i’ll take you out one day. once the war’s over. once the fish come back.”

“you’ll get there,” paul promises, shirt off so he can use it as a bandage, ripped all the way around and then some so he can get it wrapped. bear’s always been a big guy, hence the nickname, but he’s stronger than anyone else paul’s ever known. a little rough around the edges, and dante never liked him, but paul’s never liked dante much either. at least, he don’t got a lot of faith in the guy. paul didn’t know much about bear before getting drafted, where bear was already on his last few years. seemed like, if all went well, paul’d get out of this place four months before bear’s time was up. he signed up, twice — but he’s still in the trenches like all the other draftees. makes paul wonder if there was ever much of a choice. but bear sticks up for the little guy, and he prays with whoever needs it. lotta guys here are turning to faith. hard not to when people’s legs and arms are getting blasted off, when they go flying. and bear always matches paul drink for drink, indulges him when they get too drunk to keep pretending there ain’t an issue with what they’re doing.

he remembers now, suddenly, how many times bear has clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’s a good man. asked him earnestly if he’d make sure sharon’s cared for if he don’t make it back. paul has to wonder if bear knows. if he knows what feelings paul’s had for his girl. what feelings he used to have about bear — jealous and envious and hateful and awed all at once. similar, he guesses, to how he feels about his cousin. 

bear squeezes paul’s hand. “we’ll get there.” paul’s always wondered why bear talks like he’s older than he is, like he’s on his deathbed. it makes it all the more chilling, knowing this is just a normal conversation, that bear could be anything, could be drinking or taking a swim or laughing by the fire, but instead, he’s dying and he talks the same.

paul flags down a tank and a couple of guys work to hoist bear up onto it, planning to take him out to where the copter can pick him up, take him to a hospital. can barely bring himself to let go of bear’s hand. “just take it easy, buddy. don’t you dare die on me.”

the guy only laughs, soft and self-loathing. “take care of sharon for me. take care of her.”

and when paul sees joyce with the bottle of alcohol, his lips twitch. gaze drifting to the woman bleeding out on the couch. and when he’s asked how she’s doing, he says, hard to say. i’ve seen it go a lot of different ways. cause it’s true. what’s also true is that a lot of those guys that made it still strung themselves up in the end, or took a bullet to their skull, or drowned themselves in drink. sure, the physical wound mended up, no infections, but what they suffered up there? in their minds? it ain’t as easy as getting an operation done.

day 25 : the 1970s dedicated to @lazarus-harp, since yknow, it’s their birthday! hbd and i hope you have an amazing day!!!

sometimes, mat’s got to wonder if surviving is even worth it. he’s definitely thinking about that now, doubled over and puking into a toilet in some cruddy public bathroom. he admittedly doesn’t go out in public much anymore, having become something of a hermit after that one night in everlock. that said, it still surprises him, seeing modern lights and monochrome tiles. the toilet is white porcelain, not bright yellow or green. it’s screwing him up. the detective closes his eyes and tries to breathe. his throat is choked with acid. it was just one night. one night out of — well, he’s not really in the mood to calculate it, but he’s in his thirties and that makes for a lot of nights. and none of them had been in the 1970s besides that one. so why, when he closes his eyes, does he still see the lights and the carnivals, the spinning wheel and the strongman’s fists?

The light brush against his nose had Bilbo twitching it in an attempt to rid the offending sensation. His dreams of late have not been quite pleasant, but for once, he’d dreamt of simpler things. Like Bag End, and the soft sheets of his bed and... rough, scarred hands teasing along his exposed skin.

Again the sensation came. 

Bilbo twitched his nose in annoyance. He could feel the awareness seeping into his dream. The sensation had moved from brushing against his nose to his cheeks. Perhaps he could swipe it away and fall back into sleep. 

Whatever it was, it was insistent and Bilbo snapped his eyes open with intent. 

His breath escaped him. 

Above him, haloed by the early morning sun shining through Beorn’s home, Thorin gazed down at him. His expression was soft, softened further by the sunlight streaming past him. 

The dwarf was ridiculously handsome, despite the dried blood on his face and the state of his hair. Bilbo felt his heart skip a beat as Thorin tilted his head to the side, a warm smile blooming on his face. 

He came to the realization that the sensation that had woken him was Thorin. Or rather... Thorin’s hands caressing his face. Which, he thought, had to somehow be an extension of his sleep-deprived brain finally having some rest. 

But, no, Thorin’s thumbs brushed tenderly against his cheeks. 

It might have been a dream, had the sound of dwarves bickering not caught his ears. Thorin’s face crinkled in displeasure, the brilliant smile fading the tiniest bit. Bilbo knew his mind wasn’t so cruel to deny him pleasures in his dreams. This wasn’t a dream, which seemed more insane. 

Over him, the dwarf straightened up. Bilbo hadn’t realized Thorin had been bent over him as such. 

“Good morning, master Baggins,” Thorin said, his voice soft. 

You sat in the chair, arms tied behind your back, and a harsh light on your face. You gritted your teeth and listened to the footsteps pace around you.

“What did you think this would accomplish?” The modified voice asked you and you let out a nervous laugh before glancing at your shoes.

“A way out?” You mumbled and the footsteps stopped in front of you. You could barely make out an outline and a few lights flickered on in the dark, showing a white angry face.

“A way out, huh? What exactly do you mean by that?” The voice came again and you nervously move in your confinement.

“I thought if I got caught maybe you guys would stop being utter douchebags.” This caught the person off guard and the lights flickered into a frown, tilting a bit.

“And how, pray tell, are we douchebags?” The voice came again and you let out a bitter laugh.

“You guys are doing this all for yourselves. You don’t give a shit about us outsiders. Any time one of us tries to come and help you out, you shut us out! It’s like you only do this for the publicity!” You finally said and the white lights flickered again, more rapidly this time, and two arms shot out from the dark, slamming onto your folding chair and your face was met with a mask, whose screen was littered with a mass of white pixels.

“Don’t you dare say another word!” The voice yelled, making you flinch back. “That is not why we do it! You idiots are all the same. We do it because we care!”

You felt a pit of fear open in your stomach as you quietly whispered. “Then prove it.”

There was a silence and the pixels on the mask formed a confused look. “What?” The person in front of you seemed a loss for words as you gained your courage.

“Prove it to me that you guys aren’t all in it for the fame. Show me what you really do this hacking for.” There was a silence after before the face flickered into a happy one.

“Couldn’t agree more, welcome to the club, (Y/N).” Wrench said with a laugh before backing up from you and heading out.

You let out a small sigh, letting your head fall forward. That was the most brutal initiation you have ever had to go through.