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nametakensff · 8 months ago

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Cat For Grabs (D/isco E/lysium) (M)

Okay, here is 4.3k of cat allergy K/im K/itsuragi because why the fuck not 🐈‍⬛️💞

J/ean and K/im arrive on scene at a murder, where the victim's pet cat takes a particular liking to K/im. Allergic misery ensues

(Set in the kind of AU I've cobbled together where H/arry and K/im are an item, maybe like 8 months post M/artinaise. They hook up with J/ean regularly)

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Content:

M/M/M mentioned and ongoing but mostly in the bg, cat allergy sneezes, spray, handkerchiefs, rapid sneezes, stifles, nose blows, mentions of anal sex, mentions of hay fever sneezes, mentions of blowjobs, H/arry has a sneezing fetish (but he isn't here), J/ean and K/im flirt a lot

CW: Graphic descriptions of a dead body at a crime scene, K/im performs a brief autopsy, mentions of gun violence, they are cops so you know. Just doing cop things

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Jean was the first to arrive on the scene, alone. Absolutely not ideal – he was at real risk of danger if the shooter – or multiple shooters – were still on the property. The precinct was in absolute maelstrom - an unprecedented amount of crime this week, even for Jamrock. Jean had driven here by himself once he realised Harry was entirely incapacitated. He’d fixed him a look of annoyance until the older man had returned it with a look of his own that said ‘please don’t be mad at me, I’m drowning.’

Jean had sent out a general radio request for backup to any nearby officers for this apparent shooting, which had taken place in a fairly quiet and respectable part of town. He’d been grateful to hear Kim’s confirmation that he would be there within minutes, as well as some other patrol officers affirming the same. Jean should have waited outside, perhaps, but he had a gut feeling as he pulled up to the small, bungalow-style apartment that it was empty. A quick search with his gun held steadily in front of him confirmed that he was entirely alone.

Unless you counted the gory remains of the sole resident splayed out on the kitchen floor.

“Well.” He said to the corpse, nudging its ankle with the toe of his boot. “You’re certainly very dead.”

The metallic scent of blood in the air was overwhelming. An even more overwhelming and unpleasant scent of sewage indicated that the bullets littering the torso of the corpse had also passed through the colon multiple times. Jean wrinkled his nose and covered it with his hand. He almost wished his hay fever was still hindering his ability to smell.

But god, this was a bloody, violent murder. The surrounding cabinets were littered with bullet holes that appeared to have been sprayed in wide arcs across the room indiscriminately. It had to be the work of an automatic weapon. Jean spared another glance at the corpse, then made his way back into the living room. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

He thought it better to wait for Kim to perform a conclusive field autopsy. He didn’t want to leave himself distracted and vulnerable to any potential attacks by performing one alone now. And, if Jean was being honest with himself, Kim had a stronger stomach for corpses - perhaps thanks to his time and experience in Processing - and a markedly weaker sense of smell. He glanced at his watch. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.

He peered round the room. It always felt intrusive entering people’s apartments like this if he had spare time to overthink. This particular home was exceptionally drab; hardly any items or photographs to indicate personality or interests. Just ugly greys and browns and lumpy furniture. There were a few books stacked on a coffee table, but their covers looked just as banal as everything else.

A sudden shuffling sound to his left made Jean jump and reach for his gun. He looked round frantically, cursing himself and half expecting to see some crazed gunman crouched behind one of the armchairs, ready to mow him down like the man in the kitchen. Thank the lord, he did not. What he did see, however, was a visibly well-fed cat with thick black fur emerging from underneath a nearby bookshelf. Heart beating wildly in his chest, he let out a long sigh of relief and regarded the doddering approach of the supremely rotund animal. Come to think of it, he had noticed a litter-box in the bathroom.

The cat slumped at his feet, looking incredibly at ease and not at all as if its owner’s bullet-riddled corpse was resting in a pool of his own red-black blood just one room over. It mewed at him, butting his boot with its head before rolling onto its side. Jean couldn’t resist kneeling down and getting closer. He scratched gently behind an ear and smiled as the tip of a little white fang stuck out of the cat’s closed mouth, giving it an endearingly goofy appearance. A small blue collar was secured round its neck (no bell, just his luck) with a metal nametag hanging from a loop of metal. He lifted the tag up with his thumb and forefinger to examine it.

“’Beau’.” He read the name out loud. “Well, you are a handsome boy, aren’t you?” He cooed down at it, stroking it from head to tail once it was clear he wouldn’t be leaving the encounter in receipt of a mauling.

Around thirty seconds later, he could hear the familiar rumble of an approaching Coupris motor car. He kept his hand on his gun just in case, allowing his arm to drop to his side when Kim made his way through the living room door, gun outstretched before him. His orange bomber jacket was a sight for sore eyes against the surrounding bleak topography. Once Kim spotted Jean on the floor looking back up at him, he lowered his own gun in relief.

“My apologies, Detective Vicquemare – I came as fast as I could, there was some congestion nearby.” He peered at the cat for a moment, then back at Jean’s face. “The premises is secure, correct?”

“Would I be on my knees playing with a cat if it wasn’t?” Jean muttered, scratching under the cat’s little chin and smiling in adoration as it closed its eyes in pleasure. “We have a single body, in the kitchen.”

Kim nodded, holstering his weapon and scanning the living room with a perfunctory glance. The cat shifted under Jean’s broad palm, turning to face the source of this most recent disturbance. The second the lethargic feline lay eyes on Kim, it jumped to its feet and strode away from Jean and towards the Lieutenant, tail raised high. Kim froze in his tracks and glanced down in what looked to Jean like mild dismay as it drew closer. The cat began without a moment’s hesitation to wind itself lovingly between Kim’s ankles, nuzzling into his legs and pressing every inch of itself against him. It meowed loudly between little rumbles and purrs.

Jean couldn’t deny that it was both an endearing and amusing sight. The cat had certainly been friendly enough to accept his pets, but for whatever reason, it appeared to be especially enamoured with Kim. He didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated; Kim lifted an ankle, tsking as the cat, instead of moving away as intended, reached up with its front paws until Kim put the foot back down. It then resumed its figure 8 of adoration whilst Kim looked down in a gentle kind of exasperation.

“He really likes you.” Jean smiled at Kim, getting to his feet and brushing cat hair from the knees of his uniform.

“I can see that.” Kim did smile softly then, regarding the happy little creature, but made no move to reach down and stroke it. If Jean had been on the receiving end of that magnitude of love from a cat, he would have scooped it up into his arms in seconds.

“Not a fan of cats?”

Kim looked up at him for a moment, then back down at the cat, frowning slightly as it increased the intensity of both its purring and nudging.

“It’s not that. I like them well enough. It’s j-just…!”

His breath wavered, and Jean watched as he brought a gloved fist up to his face. He recognised the desperation of the pre-sneeze expression on the Lieutenant, and patiently waited for him to finish. Under normal circumstances and with anybody else, he probably would have looked away for the sake of the other person’s dignity - but he’d seen Kim sneeze more than enough times in extremely abnormal circumstances to bother with any pretence.

He didn’t share Harry’s interest in sneezing in quite the same way, but there was an element of enjoyment in watching Kim fall apart. No matter how he sliced it, he couldn’t deny the analogous nature of sneezing and orgasming; Harry had long since hammered that into him. And so, he watched with a certain degree of appreciation as Kim’s eyebrows drew up and his jaw fell open in surrender, before his entire expression cinched tight, the tickle cresting.

“Hh! Hh’gxkt! Ng’xt! Hh’Ddtch!! NGxt’tsziew!”

They were quiet, polite and almost perfectly restrained – much like the Lieutenant himself. Both he and Kim were prone to multiple sneezes, but it seemed to take a lot more out of the older man to strangle them into submission. Jean had always sneezed in small, ticklish fits that rarely resolved the irritation without multiple repetitions. Every now and then he was prone to a more productive and vigorous sneeze, especially following prolonged attacks that forced him to take in a final, desperate gasp of oxygen to round off the fit. It didn’t make too much of a difference to him physically whether he stifled them into silent little shivers or not. It honestly depended on company whether he would bother.

He wasn’t sure why Kim bothered holding back when it was just the two of them. He’d save himself a lot of congestion and sniffling down the line if he let those sneezes out now - Jean could honestly say he knew that from numerous past observations. But he wouldn’t mention it - it was best to leave Kim alone and let him do what he wanted. He was a bit of a control freak – not that Jean could really fault him for that, being a stubborn ass himself – so there was no point in nagging him. He himself hated when others commented on his frequent and persistent sneezing, especially when his allergies were killing him. Most of the Major Crimes unit now knew to leave him well alone, particularly on his most miserable – and therefore volatile – hay fever days.

With the exception of Harry, of course. In a completely inconvenient and Pavlovian fashion, he had almost come to associate his hay fever with sexual gratification. Both he and Harry knew his initial rejections of Harry’s advances were merely for show, and a matter of pride. Every time his superior officer would sidle up to him and suggest they find some privacy, he would eventually break and let the older man fuck him, or suck his cock. He may as well get an orgasm out of the endless torture that plagued him throughout late spring and summer. It wasn’t even that bad, being fucked and sneezing your head off at the same time. Aggravatingly, if he were to be honest, it was actually rather fun. He supposed he was more or less an expert at this point.

Kim was more recently initiated into the whole fucking and sneezing thing. For what it was worth, he seemed like a perfectly kinky motherfucker who enjoyed watching Harry squirm. And there was almost no better way to do that than to tease him with this fetish, which Kim took to like a duck in water. Jean had to admit whenever the three of them fucked around and Harry inevitably begged to be indulged, it was reassuring – and very fun – to know that they had the numbers against him. Brothers in arms. God, what a life.

Kim lowered his fist with a shaky exhale, looking worn out by the onslaught for just a moment before his regular placid countenance was restored. His nostrils flared briefly with an audibly damp sniffle.

“À tes souhaits.” Jean offered.

“Merci.”

Kim looked up at him and flashed him a sheepish sort of ‘haha. Look at us. Sneezing in the wild’ conspiratorial glance. Jean smirked at him.

“As I was saying. I don’t dislike cats. I just dislike that they tend to make me sneeze.”

Jean nodded and looked round at the flat. Cat hair covered most surfaces, if only sparsely. A beam of sunlight coming through one of the narrow windows illuminated a few stray hairs dancing round on the currents of air. He winced a little in sympathy. The sight even made his own nose tickle a little; he subconsciously reached up to rub the side of it with a crooked finger.

“You’re shit out of luck, then. It’s cat hair heaven in here.”

Kim sighed wearily, accepting his fate. As if picking up at last on Kim’s less-than-satisfied state of being, the cat paused in its motions to drape itself over the toes of Kim’s boots and glance up at him with a sweet ‘Mroww’, which Jean could swear lilted up in pitch as if to question the Lieutenant. Kim looked down at the cat with soft eyes.

“It’s not your fault, little one. Don’t worry.”

He hesitated for a moment before reaching down and gingerly stroking the top of the cat’s head with a gloved hand. It was an awkward and brief motion; he pulled back before the cat could nuzzle its docile head into his palm. Both Jean and Kim watched as even the minor scritches unearthed a tiny cloud of soft black fur. Kim jerked upright almost violently, and Jean had to stifle a laugh.

“I’ll be paying for that in a while,” Kim sighed again, rolling a pair of black nitrile gloves over his leather ones with a pleasing snap. He gently shifted the cat off the toes of his boots one foot at a time; it went easily, seemingly exhausted by its own outpouring of affection and allowing itself to sink into the carpet like a puddle of fur. It really was a lazy motherfucker. Jean was quite in love with it.

“Excusez-moi.” Kim muttered as he stepped over the liquid pile of cat, purring happily in its heap.

He looked up at Jean as he made his way over, doing a small double-take as he noticed the way Jean was beaming at him.

“What?” His lips quirked up ever so subtly, thankfully taking the taller officer’s grin in good humour.

“Nothing. You’re just cute with animals. Awkward.”

Kim just smiled at him, warmly.

“I should really get to work.” He said, moving past Jean into the kitchen. “In here, you said?”

“Yep.” Jean followed behind him. He could see that the numerous rotations the cat had made around Kim’s legs had deposited a great deal of soft black fur sticking to the camo. He would help Kim get rid of it all before he got back into his MC. He watched as Kim knelt next to the body, careful to avoid the coagulating puddle of blood that spread outwards on the cheap linoleum floor.

“Have you had a chance to examine the victim?” Kim ran his hand over the chest of the body – it was practically shredded through with bullet wounds. He performed a brief ‘Stations of the Breath’ ritual before resuming his inspection.

“Not extensively, but enough to see all of this.” Jean gestured to the wounds and the endless shards of glass spanning the ground. “Looks like he was shot through the window with an automatic rifle. He fell onto the glass, and some of it is implanted following the initial explosion of the window shattering. Most of, but not all of the blood is from the bullet wounds.”

Kim nodded, inspecting the body more thoroughly. Jean continued.

“He looks to have died around the time that gunshots were reported forty-five minutes ago. Definitely not long enough for his cat to start eating his face.”

Kim wrinkled his nose at that, uttering a small sound of disgust.

“Gross.”

“Not as gross as this mess.”

Kim nodded his head in grim recognition. He dictated notes to Jean as he conducted the examination but couldn’t find anything counter to Jean’s initial conclusions. The cause of death and injuries to the body were easily explained. The reason for this extremely violent murder – not so much. Kim extracted a wallet and driver’s license from the victim’s jeans – not a name or face either of them were familiar with from any ongoing gang related investigations.

“This was overkill.” Kim murmured, righting himself and removing the nitrile gloves. “Far too extreme for a run-of-the-mill civilian.”

“I agree.” Jean nodded. “Since the shots are from outside, and I can see no sign of disturbance inside the apartment, it doesn’t look like a break-in or burglary. I – oh.”

He paused, noticing the slight sneer Kim was wearing as he fought off another allergic tickle, nostrils flared wide. He was wildly unsuccessful, whipping round and into the raised collar of his bomber jacket seconds later with a violent series of sneezes.

“HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! Hgkt’tsh!! ‘TTSCH’uu!!”

The first one burst out of him in angry, dizzying rush of spray through teeth clenched just a moment too late to provide any effective suppression. The next two he managed to bite down on, barely, shoulders jumping under the pressure. Jean reached out to grab him firmly by the bicep as he shook, threatening to unbalance himself and, heaven forbid, topple down onto or next to the corpse. Though not remarkably loud, the sneezes were forceful and audibly desperate. The smaller man sighed once he was done, and Jean released his arm.

“Bless you!” He offered, a little impressed by the display. He imagined Harry would have jizzed on the spot.

“Ughh, Merci. Désolé.” Kim replied, sniffling and blinking one itching eye shut. A single tear of irritation started a slow descent down his cheek. Jean reached under the frame of Kim’s glasses and swiped it away with his thumb on a whim, before realising he had been petting Beau with that same hand. He felt relieved when Kim didn’t fight him on it, perhaps not even realising his mistake.

“Carry on, detective.”

Jean continued to explain his theory surrounding the murder whilst Kim pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief and tended first to his bleary eyes, then to his twitching, irritated nostrils. The skin on their rims was left slightly pinkened after some uncharacteristically rough manhandling. He must be more allergic than he let on, Jean thought, and began leading the pair of them out of the apartment.

He jumped when in the living room Kim jerked forward with another desperate fit, halting their progression and eliciting a sudden, loud meow from Beau. Said cat watched on with expressionless green eyes from his position stretched out on the sun-warmed carpet as Kim shuddered, sneezing into the hastily raised cover of his elbow.

“Hh’GXTSsshhh!! ‘GXT’Tchieww!! HDd’TZSchh!! ‘TSCH’oo! Ahh, mon dieu.”

These sneezes were particularly viscious, wrenching themselves out of Kim and leaving him bleary-eyed and shaky in the aftermath.

“God, Kim. Bless you.” Jean offered, his hand rubbing absently at the small of the Lieutenant’s back.

“Thang’k you. Let’s go.” Kim said, snuffling into his handkerchief and walking out through the front door without a second to spare. Jean cast a glance at the cat, mewling again as its beloved Lieutenant marched away, and followed him out of the door without a word.

“Hmm. No known or suspected connections to any street gangs or drug cartels. He may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seen something he shouldn’t have.” Kim offered as they leant against the wall of the building. He blew his nose softly. It didn’t sound at all productive as his sinuses started to swell. “Somebody meant to silence him.”

“Maybe.” Jean took a drag on his cigarette. “But the MO is unlike any of the regular gangs in this area. I mean, a machine gun?? For one unarmed guy, at home? It’s too messy, outlandish and loud – in other words, way too risky.”

Kim nodded and paused for a moment. Jean wondered if he was going to sneeze again, but he spoke up after a beat.

“There…was another murder, a few months ago – on the other side of Jamrock, with fatal injuries confirmed to have been sustained via an automatic rifle. I’ll have to check, but the circumstances are shockingly similar. That victim also had no apparent connections to any gangs, or a previous criminal record.”

Jean made a small noise of recognition. He remembered, now – the case was still ongoing. It had intrigued both Harry and himself, but had been brushed aside as several more inflammatory and pressing cases had arisen. They’d passed it off onto some junior officers that had recently joined the Major Crimes unit, enticed by Harry’s newfound sobriety and the assurance of Kim’s fastidiousness. He would be taking that case right on back.

“That was also a murder in a residential area – some kids say they saw somebody hop a fence but couldn’t give us any more details.”

Kim looked up at him, nodding. He scrawled a couple of notes in his notebook before slipping it back into his pocket.

“We should look into that. It’s not much to go from and the cases appear unrelated, bar these few details but – we can’t afford to write it off. They’re both too irregular.”

Jean put out his cigarette on the wall next to him, ignoring Kim’s look of disapproval.

“Right. I’ll call in to the station and update them.” He looked at his watch in annoyance. “There were supposed to be more officers on the scene twenty minutes ago. Where the fuck are they?”

“Before I left the station earlier it seemed frantic – I think it’s just a particularly bad day.”

Jean grumbled but conceded. The entire reason he had arrived alone and Kim had joined him en route from another crime scene was because Harry was buried with the recent influx of crime on top of the years of unprocessed paperwork. He knew that. To Harry’s credit, he had cut down the latter a significant amount, despite the slow and confusing process of dealing with his memory returning in sporadic and often extremely stressful bursts. Jean was secretly very proud of him, if he even had any right to be.

“We need to get in contact with the victim’s relatives, if any – can you do that?” Kim asked, sounding a little shaky as he finished. Jean turned to watch him shudder into a fairly rapid-fire quadruple of sneezes.

“hh’dztch-T’zschh-Tschht! Huh-!! AESSCH’uu-!! Merde!”

He had sneezed entirely uncovered and straight out in front of him. Jean pretended not to notice the resultant light aerosol that hung in the air for a fleeting moment, glittering in the late morning sunlight. Kim clapped a hand to his face immediately afterwards as if suddenly remembering he was on public display, sighing into the leather of his glove.

“Bien sûr.” Jean answered. “And bless you, again. You’re starting to sound like I did over summer.”

Kim replaced his hand with his handkerchief, scrubbing at his pink nostrils through the soft cotton. He pushed his jostled glasses back up his nose when he was done.

“Thank you. Fucking cat hair.”

Jean smiled and lit another cigarette. It was always delightful to hear the Lieutenant drop an F bomb. He and Harry were clearly rubbing off on him.

“I’ll sort out the family – and once the other chuckle-fucks arrive, we can start questioning witnesses and get the body taken to the morgue.” Jean offered.

“Good. I need to head back to the station and submit some reports – I can relay what we’ve discussed here to Harry.”

“Great.” Jean exhaled heavily, thankful for the soothing rush of nicotine. He’d seen enough dead bodies this week to last anybody a lifetime – Kim probably twice as much. But c’est la vie. There was always another body.

“Can you wait until the cavalry arrives?” Jean asked him. “I know things are fucking batshit insane right now and you’re needed elsewhere but I’d rather not be the only officer here.” He looked pointedly at the surrounding houses and the curious faces lingering in the windows. More pressing than warding off curious bystanders, however, was the very real risk of the murderer returning to the scene and spraying him dead with bullets.

“Of course.” Kim patted his arm. “You should never have been here alone – I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster.”

“Thanks.”

They spent a couple of minutes in companionable silence, interrupted only by another small fit of sneezes from Kim and an emphatic blessing from Jean whilst they listened out for the sound of approaching sirens. Kim sniffled a couple of times while Jean was working on his third cigarette, audibly stuffed up. Jean said nothing. Harry would be fretting over Kim more than enough once he got back to the station, anyway.

“Hopefully the victim has family that can take on the cat.” Kim broke the silence.

Jean beamed at him.

“His collar said his name was ‘Beau’. You sure you don’t want to adopt him?” He smirked around his cigarette.

“Funny.” Kim deadpanned. He was struggling to pronounce his ‘n’s around the congestion.

“Maybe I’ll take him.” Jean teased. “He’s a cutie. And then he can visit you.”

“That would mark both the end of our friendship and my capacity to engage with you on any level beyond professional.”

Jean laughed.

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Kim smiled at him, voice low and flirtatious. “Don’t you dare let Harry know that a cat is up for grabs. Contrary to what I let him get away with, I do like being able to breathe through my nose.”

“Something I’ve discovered,” Jean took a drag on his cigarette before continuing. “Is that orgasms are actually pretty effective as a decongestant.” His eyes glittered as he looked over at Kim.

“Good to know.” Kim returned that look with an equally mischievous glance from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “But I think I’ll leave Beau out of this arrangement. Three is already a crowd.”

Jean choked on his latest puff of smoke, laughing and coughing in turn. Kim looked incredibly pleased with himself.

“Compose yourself, officer. This is a crime scene.”

Jean wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of one eye.

“Yes sir.”

#I hope you guys like my cat OC #i wish he was real and belonged to me #nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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wofconfessionsblog · 8 months ago

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(Not much of a confession, but whatever)

I know that hybrids get their main features/traits from their mothers (Darkstalker, Sunny, Whiteout, etc), but they still have traits from their fathers like how Sunny doesn't have normal black SandWing eyes and no tail barb.

Since Sunny is half NightWing, if she was born under the three full moons I think she could (theoretically) have (MUCH weaker) NightWing powers. Like being able to sense emotions, or if she's touching someone/really close she can kind of hear someone's thoughts.

I feel like it would be a pretty interesting concept, not likely, but this would only be possible if Sunny was born under the three full moons.

I also headcanon that Sunny has the strongest fire in the group, maybe even stronger than usual SandWing's because she has the combination of NightWing and SandWing fire.

Another random hc: SeaWings can collect a ton of water in their mouths and can then spray it at someone like a water gun, they can't create water. I feel like some SeaWings also just randomly cough up water, it seems like something that Turtle would just randomly do and freak the rest of the arc 2 gang out.

ANOTHER HC: Peril and Clay shouldn't date (I don't hate the ship), Peril is too obsessed with Clay to be in a healthy relationship. I feel like it would be better if he freed Peril and she was able to learn to live as herself, learn about herself and even educate dragons about dragons like her. EITHER THAT, OR GET HER SOME THERAPY

(Feel free to ramble about any of your hc's! I love reading about other's hc and oc's!)

i have nothing to say, PEOPLE PLEASE READ THIS THIS IS ALL VERY INTERESTING

#wings of fire #wof #wings of fire confessions #wof confessions #tui t sutherland

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kaenbl4ze · 8 months ago

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Hi! I just reread Read You Lima Charlie for the millionth time. It's probably one of my favorite SEAL Buck fics, and I've combed through the whole tag multiple times. I know it's a bit of an older fic, but do you have any plans on continuing the AU somehow? I'd love to read more of that AU or hear your headcanons if you have any!

Hello hello! Thank you so much, you have no idea how excited I am to hear that! Please do feel free to ask any and all questions about the AU or my headcanons and I'd be more than happy to answer <3

I know it's been a hot minute (sorry heh work and life got a bit hectic) but I do have a draft of a fun little sequel sitting in my google docs which I've been writing on and off. Alas I am a perfectionist and also a slow writer so it's been in limbo.. BUT it is definitely there and almost done and will come out at some point! I hope!!

In the meantime thank you for reading and asking about it and being so patient and i love you so here's a little sneak peak action scene from the draft:

[tw graphic depictions of violence, blood/gore, death]

“Where’ve you been?” Steve’s eyes did a quick sweep over Buck’s body, analytical, checking for injuries. Noticed Buck’s empty hands. “Where’s your rifle?”

“I was doing the laundry!” Buck replied through gritted teeth, eyes wide with exasperation.

He looked back around the corner of the building as Steve spoke behind him; soldiers dragging off the wounded away from the blast site, his teammates spread around with the other troops and suppressing the flow of insurgents, a few enemy fighters slipping through the gaps in fire, spraying bullets into the base in wide sweeping arcs before being shot down.

“I don’t have a sidearm to give you. Head back to the armoury, grab your shit – give Command the sitrep on your way.”

Buck hummed in the affirmative, still scanning the combat zone, and was about to turn around and heed Steve’s instruction, but at the last moment caught sight of a combatant sneaking around behind a stack of crates. Slung over the man’s shoulder was a rocket launcher, and time seemed to slow as he swung the weapon around, gripped it tight, and levelled it at a cluster of infantrymen.

Buck saw red.

“Buckley!” Steve hissed, clawing at Buck’s sleeve in an attempt to stop him from sprinting towards the stray tango, but Buck slipped through his grip. He was too fast. Too focused. The last thing he heard was Steve muttering under his breath, “I swear that Kid is not right in the head.”

Planting a foot against a wall mid-run, Buck used his momentum to bound off and vault one-handed over the crates. He was airborne for half a second before colliding with his target in a spear tackle, bringing them both tumbling to the ground. The launcher clattered across the floor, and the two men engaged in a tangled mess of hand-to-hand combat.

Buck channelled his silent rage into the fight – got the large man into a grapple, caught an elbow to the mouth in the process, twisted the man’s arms as he yanked at Buck’s clothes. Buck had no gun. But he remembered, belatedly, that he did have a knife. Regrettably not one of his fixed-blades, but a folding knife that he had slipped into the pocket of his shorts a few days ago while rearranging his loadout. It would have to do.

The guy was a dirty fighter, strong, but he was sloppy. Poorly trained. More holes in his form than swiss cheese, and Buck fully intended to exploit them.

Buck ate a punch straight to his nose; didn’t let the sharp flash of pain or the momentary blur in his vision slow him down. He lunged straight for the opening in his opponent’s stance that he knew would be left undefended, torquing body mass and manipulating limbs to get the man into a one-armed chokehold against Buck’s chest. He quickly reached into his pocket with his free hand, flicked the lever to deploy the blade, and plunged it deep into the man’s neck right where Buck knew his jugular rested.

With a jerk of his arms, simultaneously pulling the knife towards himself and twisting the man’s head away, he was met with a spray of hot blood and a wet gurgle.

Steve rounded the crates with his weapon raised right as the body dropped to the ground with a dull thump. Buck hung his head, catching his breath from the exertion and letting the blood from the blows to his face drip from his nose and dribble out of his mouth. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip to cut off the string of bloody saliva, then spat out the viscous mess into the sand. Beside him, Steve strode forward, glanced down at the body, and exhaled sharply through his nose.

In his peripherals, Buck caught a flash of movement. He whirled around instinctively, and in the same motion whipped his arm and let the blood-slick knife fly out of his hand.

Two bullets from Steve’s rifle landed at the centre of the combatant's chest just a moment before Buck’s blade hit its mark, buried up to the hilt in the hollow of his throat. The man stumbled, eyes wide, and collapsed to the ground as his legs buckled beneath him. His weapon flew out of his hands in the fall, and his momentum carried his body a couple more feet before it finally slid to a twitching stop.

Buck straightened, scrunching his nose tentatively and sniffing. A deep buzzing sensation underscored the cacophony of battle around him, heartbeat steady and powerful in his core, fingertips thrumming with energy, vision crisp and vibrant. He blinked. Then, he turned to Steve, nonchalant.

“I had that.”

#asks #us navy seals #evan buckley #steve mcgarrett #seal buck #seal!buck #911 #911 abc #911 fic #911 fanfic

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winters8child · 4 months ago

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It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 66

We touched down in Sokovia, the city's tension hanging thick in the air. Our top priority was clear: evacuate the terrified citizens and uncover what Ultron had been constructing with the massive stockpile of vibranium he'd amassed. The team split up, each of us taking different sectors of the city, determined to cover as much ground as possible.

Steve and I found ourselves on an old bridge, its once-sturdy foundation now a stark contrast to the chaos that engulfed the streets below. We directed the frantic stream of cars, guiding them out of the country like shepherds herding their flock. The people were in a state of panic, their faces etched with fear as they clutched their meager belongings and held onto their loved ones with desperate grips. Some moved with eerie calmness, their eyes vacant—Wanda’s influence quietly compelling them to leave.

It did not take long for Ultron´s minions to swarm us, they erupted from the ground and climbed out of the water, causing even more panic among the people. Steve and I stood back to back, ready to take on all of them.

My fingers gripped the handles of my twin handguns, the familiar weight grounding me as I stood beside Steve. His shield was at the ready, eyes sharp and vigilant.

Without warning, the high-pitched whirring of Ultron’s minions filled the air. They descended in droves, their red eyes glowing ominously against the dull backdrop of the city. There was no time for hesitation—only action.

“Left flank!” Steve’s voice cut through the chaos, and I sprang into motion.

I moved swiftly, weaving through the debris-strewn streets. My handguns were an extension of myself, each shot fired with precision as I targeted the nearest sentries. The recoil was steady, the sharp reports of gunfire echoing through the empty streets. A sentry’s head shattered with a burst of sparks; another fell as my bullets punctured its metal chest.

One of the sentries lunged at me, its mechanical limbs swinging with terrifying speed. I dropped to a crouch, firing upwards. The bullets hit their mark, the sentry crashing to the ground in a spray of sparks. Without missing a beat, I spun around and fired at another sentry attempting to flank Steve.

Steve was a force of nature, his shield moving in a relentless arc as it deflected incoming attacks. I watched him slam the shield into a sentry with a powerful, crunching impact. The sentry was sent sprawling, its metal frame crumpling under the force.

As I continued to pick off the advancing sentries, I noticed one closing in on me with determined speed. I ducked behind a nearby column, quickly reloading my guns. The sentry’s claws slashed through the air, narrowly missing me. I retaliated with a precise series of shots, each one finding its target and sending the sentry crashing to the ground.

The sounds of battle were relentless—metal clashing, the roar of energy blasts, and the staccato rhythm of gunfire. I took cover behind a half-collapsed wall, catching my breath as I reloaded. Peering around the corner, I spotted a trio of sentries advancing on our position. There was no time to lose.

I moved with practiced efficiency, stepping out from cover to fire at the nearest sentry. The bullets tore through its circuits, sending it crashing into its companions. With a swift, calculated move, I dispatched the remaining sentries, each shot precise and deliberate.

Steve was right beside me, his shield deflecting a volley of energy blasts. His determination was palpable, his focus unwavering. The chaos of the battle was suddenly interrupted by a deep, shuddering tremor. The ground beneath us began to shake violently, the very city seeming to groan under a tremendous weight. I stumbled, gripping Steve’s arm as the concrete cracked and the familiar skyline of Sokovia started to lift off the ground.

A deafening rumble filled the air, drowning out the sounds of battle. Beneath us, the once-stable streets and buildings began to rise, lifting into the sky like the pieces of a giant puzzle. My heart pounded as I watched the city’s skyline distort and transform, the weight of the transformation making the air feel heavier, and more oppressive.

Ultron’s cold, mechanical voice echoed through the chaos, each word dripping with malice and twisted glee. “Do you see? The beauty of it, the inevitability. You rise, only to fall. You, Avengers, you are my meteor, my swift and terrible sword, and the earth will crack with the weight of your failure. Purge me from your computers, turn my own flesh against me. It means nothing. When the dust settles, the only thing living in this world will be metal.”

The ground continued to quake, and I looked down to see the enormous platform of the city stretching ever higher. Ultron’s taunt cut through the disorienting noise, the weight of his threat sinking in. He planned to make a statement—a final, catastrophic act to ensure his dominion.

Steve’s eyes were steely, his jaw set with resolve. “We need to stop this,” he said, his voice cutting through the tumult. “If we don’t, the entire city will be obliterated.”

The ground shook violently, but the city wasn’t the only thing in upheaval. Amid the chaos, a particularly large sentry barreled through the fray, its red eyes gleaming with cold determination. It crashed into Steve with a thunderous impact, sending him flying backward.

Steve hit the windshield of a nearby car with a heavy thud, the glass shattering under the force. “Cap, you got incoming,” Tony’s voice crackled through the comms, the urgency clear but a moment too late.

Steve groaned, pushing himself up with a grimace. “Incoming already came in,” he muttered, his voice laced with a blend of frustration and determination. As the dust settled around us, I rushed over to Steve, who was still slumped against the shattered windshield of the car. I extended a hand, pulling him up with a steady grip.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice laced with concern as I scanned his battered form.

Steve straightened himself with a groan, a pained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m fine,” he said, though the pain was evident in his eyes. “Just a little rattled."

Amidst the chaos of the city, with the ground shaking and the screams of the terrified filling the air, Steve looked at me. His gaze softened, a moment of vulnerability slipping through his usually steadfast demeanor. The intensity of his eyes, combined with the faint smile, spoke volumes more than words ever could.

“Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a deep, unwavering commitment. “The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart.”

He paused, his gaze lingering on me with a look that was more personal than professional. “You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed, walk it off.”

The way he looked at me—protective, caring, and full of something deeper—made my heart ache. In that fleeting moment, the chaos around us seemed to fade, leaving just the two of us standing firm against the tide of destruction.

I nodded, feeling a surge of resolve mixed with the unspoken connection between us. “Understood. Let’s get to work.”

The onslaught of enemies was relentless, a ceaseless tide of mechanical aggression that seemed to multiply with every victory we achieved. For every sentry we took down, another emerged from the shadows, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they closed in. It was as if Ultron had engineered them with a single purpose: to overwhelm us, no matter the cost.

In the heart of the chaos, we had converged around a massive, ominous device—the core of Ultron’s plan. This behemoth, a twisted amalgamation of alien technology and stolen vibranium, pulsed with menacing energy. Its intricate network of cables and metallic tendrils snaked through the air, feeding power to the thrusters that held the city aloft. The device was a monstrous centerpiece, thrumming with the relentless hum of raw, unstable power.

The air around us crackled with energy, the device’s eerie glow casting long, shifting shadows over our faces. The thrusters, massive and imposing, roared with a deep, resonant sound, their constant vibrations reverberating through the ground beneath our feet. The sky above was a tumultuous backdrop of swirling gray clouds, streaked with flashes of lightning that illuminated the city’s precarious position high above the Earth.

Steve’s voice cut through the chaos with its usual authority. “The next wave’s gonna hit any minute. What have you got, Stark?”

Tony’s voice crackled over the comms, tinged with frustration and urgency. “Well, nothing great. Maybe a way to blow up the city. That’ll keep it from impacting the surface if you guys can get clear.”

I saw Steve’s jaw tighten, his face set in grim determination. “I asked for a solution, not an escape plan,” he replied, his voice unwavering despite the dire circumstances.

Tony’s response was swift, almost resigned. “Impact radius is getting bigger every second. We’re going to have to make a choice.”

Natasha’s voice joined the conversation, her tone pragmatic and edged with a trace of defeat. “Cap, these people are going nowhere. If Stark finds a way to blow this rock…”

Steve’s eyes flashed with fierce resolve. “Not ‘til everyone’s safe.”

Natasha’s words carried a somber truth. “Everyone up here versus everyone down there? There’s no math there.”

Steve’s gaze was unwavering, his stance resolute as he spoke. “I’m not leaving this rock with one civilian on it.”

Natasha’s reply was a mix of acceptance and quiet defiance. “I didn’t say we should leave.” When Steve turned to look at her, she added with a wry smile, “There’s worse ways to go. Where else am I gonna get a view like this?”

Things were looking grim, and I struggled to match the determination radiating from Steve and Nat. I grasped Steve’s hand tightly, trying to offer a smile, though my eyes betrayed my deep concern.

“So this is it then,” I said with a sigh, my voice barely cutting through the noise of the battle. “Let’s do what must be done.”

The gravity of the moment hung heavy between us, but as we prepared for the final push.

Tags: @capswife

Next Chapter

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #marvel #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #the avengers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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flashybaby · 2 months ago

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The main female antagonist in the Devil May Cry reboot’s boss fight has her literally summon her baby from her womb to fight for her. as opposed to the original series’s female boss fights, which includes a woman who makes bats and shoots lightning, a woman who fights you with a fuck ton of guns, and a big snake plant monster.

But the reboot is the one that treats their female cast with respect, as according to Ninja Theory, the creators of the reboot.

No, but the reboot’s female cast aren’t just prostitutes with guns, unlike Lady, who had an emotional arc about why revenge hurts even if it’s well deserved, or Trish, who has an arc about learning what it’s like to be human due to Dante’s influence.

Instead we have Kat. who serves no role in the plot that cannot be filled with the spray can she uses.

And Lilith, who literally exists to be pregnant with Mundus’s kid, get a sniper rifle abortion, and then die.

THE REBOOT LITERALLY USES ITS FEMALE CAST MEMBERS AS FUCKIBG BARGAINING CHIPS.

No, but the reboot is the one that respects women tho. /s

#devil may cry #dmc devil may cry #dante sparda #vergil sparda #mundus dmc #lady dmc #trish dmc #kat dmc

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imcmetallizing · 2 years ago

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Thermal Spray Process Is The Advanced Coating Process

• Advanced level coating Thermal spraying involves heating and spraying a material like aluminum and copper on a metal surface to create a coating on that surface. The thermal spray process has several advantages for manufacturers. • The versatility of the process is unmatched Thermal spray guns are used to form coatings of a wide range of materials including aluminum, copper, ceramics, and polymers. It can be applied on varieties of metallic surfaces. • Precision Precision coating as per the requirements is the primary advantage of the thermal spray process. the thickness of the coating can be altered as the manufacturers want. Moreover, curved surfaces can be given a homogenous coating. • The durability of the coatings Coatings produced through this process are highly corrosion, wear and tear, and erosion resistant. It prolongs the lifecycle of a machine or machine part. • Cost-effectiveness This process of coating formation is much more cost-effective than other coating processes. The process requires lesser time to complete, especially large and complex parts.

For more information on the thermal spray process visit https://imcmetallizing.com/

#thermal spray #metal spray #thermal spray process #thermal spray gun #metal spray machine #thermal spray powder #thermal arc spray #thermal spray coating equipment #thermal spray system

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

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black and blue

(AO3 Mirror) (Main Masterlist) (Event Masterlist) (Event Info)

-> part of my 6k followers event!

Tape 1 // Side B Track 06: Jonny - Faye Webster Joel Miller x unrequited love

summary: You spend a night with Joel. You finally realise his true feelings.

warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unrequited Love, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, very very angsty.

a/n: or; the inherent horror of being in love with Joel Miller.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonny, did you ever love me?

Jonny, help me figure it out

Not that I've paid attention,

But you haven't said it out loud

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It feels like you've spent half a lifetime looking at the back of Joel Miller's neck. And it's grown on you; so much so, you're almost disappointed to see the curve of jaw when he looks back.

If he looks back.

Joel is careful, takes patrol more seriously than you seem to; rifle in his arms like it's an extension of himself. You suppose it is: he's got the arc of bullets etched into bone. It's out of necessity, you think, but he's too good at it; leaning into the recoil and watching it rip it into something else.

"Think m'deaf, in this ear." He says, one quiet night. A lifetime ago, yesterday; it doesn't matter.

You trace the shell of his ear with a fingertip. He flinches slightly. The muscles at his neck are stiff, tense even as he's splayed out on the sheets.

"I know, Joel." Slowly, he curls back into your side; trained on your lips, flicking up to look at ppyour eyes. He doesn't like looking you in the eye, you've noticed. "Thought you were ignorin' me, for a while. Turns out you just can't hear for shit."

He laughs, a rumbling that shakes bone in that way you like. He doesn't laugh enough, you think, too bogged down by the weight of surviving .

But in that safehouse, one of your usual haunts on an overnight, it's the only thing you can hear. You fall asleep to it; the closest thing to joy you've felt in years; taking the form of secrets whispered in a hazy glow, told to you between heartbeats and careful kisses.

Like a dream, it's all gone in the morning.

You bundle yourself into boots and tattered clothes; whilst Joel triple checks the perimeter. There's a wordless exchange when he gets back, as you hand him extra bullets for his rifle. A brush of fingers so soft, it feels violent. He doesn't look you in the eye.

You're back to staring at Joel's head; counting the clumps of gray hairs that curl up at the nape of his neck. He's wearing that denim shirt you hate – the same one he always leaves the QZ in and the very same you took off of him last night. You don't hate it because he looks bad; it's quite the opposite in fact. You hate it because it's the only thing he's superstitious about – a crisp collar and the top bottom undone, and it means a good run. It scares you, sometimes. If Joel Miller's searching for something to believe in, something lucky, what hope in hell did the rest of you have?

He seems antsy, today. Restless, scratching at his neck more than usual. You keep a steady pace behind him, crunching glass and rubble underfoot. The city is… quiet. But whilst you've learnt not to stick your head in the mouth of a gift horse, to be grateful and not think too hard, you can tell: Joel's more than a little unsettled.

He brings his hand up, stopping dead in his tracks. There's a broad palm at your shoulder, and then he's looking around, bringing the rifle up to his chest. You can't see anything out of the ordinary but you trust Joel with your life. If something feels off to him, then it is.

There's a crunch of brush underfoot. Something whizzes past you; the spray of bullets, and all of a sudden, you're knocked onto your knees. It hurts; sharp pain at your shoulder, but you're scrambling to your gun and eventually you stagger to your feet. Joel's much quicker, dispensing a quick bullet or two in the direction of the shots; and you hear the thud of a body in the undergrowth. Someone lunges towards him from behind, and you're on him like a shadow – a small blade drawn and ripping his throat apart with its edge. With the little strength you have, you turn, back against Joel; using the spluttering body as a shield to advance towards another attack. You're deflecting the rounds of a small handgun; antique, by the looks of it; and then Joel's finishing off the job as you roll away at the last second. Three efficient shots, and they're both dead.

"We need to–" Fuck, you're gasping, clutching at your shoulder and barely registering the blood that pumps from the wound. Joel seems shell-shocked, eyes wide at you. You're putting a hand on him, squeezing tight, trying to tell him to snap out of it . "Not enough time, Joel…n-need to secure the area. Make sure there's not more coming– ffuck–"

And then you're doubled over with pain, half-collapsed on his chest; clutching at the fabric of that stupid shirt he always wears.

"Joel, " You're in tears now, gritting through it because God, why isn't he listening?" Joel, I n-need you to–"

"I know, darlin'," He's slinging the rifle over his back, scooping you up as best he can in his arms. His voice is soft, oh so gentle; and it's all you can do to not melt into his touch. "Let's get you somewhere safer, okay?"

And you want to argue, tell him you're fine , there's bigger things to worry about right now. You want to kick, scream, and everything in your body wants to tell him to run; but his chest is so soft, so warm…

He's leading you towards the remains of an abandoned apartment complex, about a half mile away. It peeks out from spindly trees, blurry around the edges. Your vision wanes, Joel's face being the last thing you see; and he's not looking at you, face tight and desperate as you stagger towards safety.

When you come to, you're delirious. The room is hot; damp and dark despite moonlight and cool air streaming in from an open window. You stagger towards it, sticking your head out for some much needed respite, but it does little to relieve you. Ever so slightly, you lean against the windowpane and pain rockets at your shoulder; throbbing and sharp. It leaves you reeling backwards, clutching at the wound. There's a rough bandage wrapped tightly around it; and you're horrified to realise it's caked in dry blood. Fuck. Head pounding, you curl up on the floor, trying your best not to panic. It's a lot of blood to lose, and you're feeling dizzy with just the thought.

You're scrambling for the medbag; a little canvas sack inside one of your packs on the floor. It hurts, but you grit through the pain, rummaging through clothes and whatever's left of your food. Half of its contents are strewn on the floor when you realise: it's in Joel's bag, which is nowhere to be seen.

There's a thought that creeps in when you realise: you don't know where he is. He's well and truly gone, if he's taken his bag. How long has it been? Has he really left you here? Hot and cold and shriveling all at the same time; he's left you here to die. And you can't even blame him; he's done more than most people would in this kind of situation. You lay back on the floor, ignoring the pain at your shoulder.

You're light-headed, cycling through hot flushes and then freezing cold; likely battling the beginnings of an infection. And you've lost a lot of blood; of which you've seen countless people die from less. Too far out from the QZ to survive the journey, and here, at least you can see the sun when it rises. Maybe he did you a kindness. Maybe this is Joel's way of saying goodbye.

Delirium sets in and makes you think of a life without all this. Where you and Joel have something real – something more than two lonely bodies in orbit around one another. You're not stupid; masochistic, maybe, but not a fool. The nights you've spent together, secrets told in the form of arms around one another and tender kisses; were things to bury in shadowy graves left by moonlight. That's what you feel like, sometimes, wrapped around his back and listening to the fall and rise of his chest; swallowed up by the shadow left in Joel Miller's wake.

The quiet hurts far more than anything else. You try to fill it up with something other than vicious empty; laughing at the shit lot in life you've drawn. You're in love with him: piece-of-shit , too-far-gone , this-will-end-in-tears-or-blood-or-both-sweetheart, Joel Miller.

You say it to the wind, to the arms you think you're imagining that scoop you up from the floor. Your hands are numb, losing all feeling as you claw at rough denim; watery laughter ringing out in the little room.

"T-Think I love you, Joel." You say to the pale face that burrows into the crook of your neck. A ghost, maybe, that whispers back.

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

~~~

You wake up with the sun on your side, streaming through windows. Body creaking, you sit up. Pain rockets to your shoulder, stabs at your stomach; but the dull kind that throbs - rather than sharp and shooting, like last night.

Last night. In a haze, you trace featherlight touches on somewhat clean bandages. Wrapped over your wound, you don't feel like you're dying, at least.

You're still reorienting yourself when Joel pads into the room; muddy and panting. There's blood caked onto his sleeves when he shoots forward; one hand in yours and the other around your waist. He helps you down back onto the concrete, grasping your face to turn it this way and that.

He's inspecting you; thumbs just below your eyes to check your pupils, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. Hot to the touch, but you swat him away.

"Joel– Joel. " You try to wrench yourself away, but your muscles are too weak to overpower his. "I'm good. I feel much better than yesterday, and–"

" Yesterday? " He strains, and his gentle tone gives you whiplash. "It's been a couple days ."

"...what?"

"You've been in and out of it for a while," He clears his throat, and gives a watery laugh. It sounds more rueful, than happy, you think. "And I've been givin' you food and water where I can, cleanin' your wound, and looking for meds."

With that last part, you notice a clear vial by his side, taking it into your hands with a shaky grip. You recognise the label as a strong painkiller, and the bottle's almost empty.

"Been doin' what I can. That's from an outpost not too far from here." Joel looks guilty. "But…"

You hear the rest of that sentence. No antibiotics. Running out of clean water. No way to properly disinfect the wound. In about as many words, the ones he doesn't say, you'll die of infection long before you reach the QZ.

"I don't know what to do, sweetheart."

He puts your hands around his face, pleading in a way you've never seen before.

"You always been smarter than me, so just tell me what to do a-an' I'll do it, no complaints."

"You got more of these?" Your voice is hoarse. He nods. "They're pure? "

A throaty, "Yes ma'am." is all he can manage.

You put the vial in his hand. "You take these to the QZ, and you sell 'em."

The rest of it goes unsaid. It doesn't stay like that, snatched up from the ether and wispy sunlight.

"I can't jus' leave you– "

"You can. You will." You're trying to keep your face hard and lean-lined. You can't crack, not now – you need to be firm, or Joel will do some stupid shit in the name of family.

Quieter now, you say, "You tell Tess, I love–"

"–No. " He's shaking his head vehemently, clutching your hands like they're going to break. "No, no, no. None of that bullshit. You'll tell her yourself when we get ourselves out of this one. W-When–"

His voice breaks, and you're standing up, off of the concrete to marvel at a brilliant blue sky. Joel crumples into himself, trying so hard to keep himself together.

"Joel," You stretch out a hand, rough palms kissing his, and you lead him towards the window. "It's a lovely day, today. Clear skies. The usual route will take 3 days, maximum. You can make it in 2."

You smile.

"I like those odds. Don't you?"

"Come with me. " He whispers, turning to you. "You want me to beg? 'Cuz I will. I'll get on my knees, and I'll beg until you say yes."

And you know he would; stubborn, pig-headed Joel Miller would drag you both to the QZ out of sheer willpower. Even souped up on painkillers, you know, you'd be dead by nightfall.

He can't be here when you do. You can't let him carry that around for the rest of his life, so you shake your head, weakly. For some reason, that's the one that takes; the one that has him doubled over the sill in a moment of weakness.

You crouch down next to him, and then sit, back flat on the wall. Taking his hand, you wrap it up in both hands; warming it up for him. He stills, coming to sit down like you do.

"I love you." He says, and he's looking at you; boring into soul. And then he reaches over, gently, to capture your lips in a kiss; searing and messy.

Separating, you look at him. Just looking, and you blink back a few hot tears. Joel has never been a good liar, not when it counts.

You're crying now, properly , face squeezed up into a ball; trying to clamp down heaving sobs. Even now, he's being so kind, trying to give you something to hold on to; and you want, so desperately, to fall headfirst into that delirium, to die with that feeling of love and being loved. But you can't. Because–

"I know." You say it between sobs. "I-I know , Joel. Have for… for a while."

All he does is nod, brows softening, and then he's capturing you in a big hug in solid arms. You cry into his chest, and it feels like the safest place in the world.

When you separate, you're giving him watery kisses; on his good ear, on his bad ear, on his cheek, and on his forehead. You kiss his knuckles, black and blue, for good measure. He doesn't kiss you back.

He rummages through his pack before he leaves, digging out three clear vials and clean needles. They're pressed into your hands wordlessly, with only Joel's eyes – big, brown, expressive – to tell you what he thinks you should do with them. That last brush of hands is all he leaves you with, and a quiet nod.

You think you prefer it that way; left in that room the way he always does after your time together. Once again, you're left staring at the back of Joel's head; grey curling around the nape, and rough knapsack slung over his coat.

This time, he looks back; and you commit it to memory, holding it close to your chest in that sunny haze. You love him, you do: that piece of shit, too far gone, this will end in blood or tears or both, sweetheart; Joel Miller.

Joel Miller taglist: @scarletsloveletter @cyberwears @neithriddle @traiitorjoe @aawdrea @itsame-sesame @bvbdudette @ravenpoe67 @mypurplewinee @spiderlyla @thatpinkshirt

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou #tlou fic #tlou x reader #lots of angst #angst #hurt/comfort #kat_writes😼#Spotify

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bl00dsuckingbradybunch · 2 years ago

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hey! if hc requests are open, could i request sam emerson dating hcs? thanks!!

Dating Sam Emerson Would Include...

a/n: i, in the most annoying big sister fashion, just want to pinch his cheek. sorry if this is really short…

-> you totally steal his clothes. he's got a whole closet full and, seeing as most of it is baggy as hell on him, they most likely fit you, too.

-> he totally complains about it. all the time.

"aw, come on."

"how would you feel if i started stealing your clothes, hm?"

"i'm being serious now, i need that back."

-> (secretly loves it.)

-> lots of comic book talk. if you're into comic books, have fun spending hours pouring over the forty-seven different story arcs for every DC character and being in awe of his batman number fourteen. if you aren't... well, good luck. it isn't that hard to follow (in theory) and I'm sure he'd be willing to explain it to you.

-> probably considers everything you guys do together a bit of a date. not in an annoying way but in a cute way. like, you guys had to walk nanook together? why don't you make a date of it. hanging out on the boardwalk? that's totally a date. doing your homework together? not quite so fun, but a date! you get the drift.

-> that being said, the chances that any date you're on gets interrupted by at least one frog brother are high. especially when they're, on off-chance, not working. they're pretty much sam's only friends on the boardwalk (beside you), and they can more or less say the same about him in return, so there isn’t much they don’t do together. I don’t make the rules.

"hey sam!”

“…”

“… and edgar… and… alan?”

-> nanook hair everywhere. it’s on your clothes. it’s on your book-bag. it’s on your bed. your boyfriend’s got a big dopey dog that sheds a lot.

-> chaste forehead kisses that make his nose scrunch up >>>

-> michael makes fun of you two all the time. lucy tells him to stop, but he’s not going to. he’s still your stand-in big brother, though. like, nobody’s messing with you on his watch.

-> lucy adores you. you’re always invited to family dinners at the (rebuilt) emerson household.

-> you’re not entirely sure grandpa knows you exist. he’s pretty cool, though.

-> after canon or during, you’re going to have to learn what vampires are. it’s not like the frog brothers are exactly good at hiding their opinions on the matter, and grandpa emerson’s got medieval spikes all around his house, so you were bound to find out eventually.

-> you, thus, have your own copy of vampire’s everywhere.

-> sam (or his friends) have probably hid a stake or two, and a spray gun full of holy water, in your room. good luck explaining that one to your folks.

“sam, you have to take these back.”

-> he probably has a picture (or several) of you on top of all the posters and shit he has.

-> going to concerts on the boardwalk together >>>

-> he’s a very good boyfriend overall, and you two are an adorable couple.

#thanks for sending!#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #sam emerson #sam emerson x reader #sam the lost boys #sam tlb #michael emerson #lucy emerson #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys x reader

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interdimensionalburnout · 15 days ago

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>It's footage from Berri's camera drone, hovering above a large bread-loaf shaped shaped generator. The thing is full of large puncture holes, and the top appears, well, scored like a loaf, a massive slice gouged along the length. Smoke pours from many of the holes, while steam billows out of others. More steam spills out of the wall behind the generator, through severed ducts that emerged from the hidden boiler the machine powered. Berri appears to have been set on leaving it utterly ruined, but without the urgency of someone committing any kind of wrong.

>In fact, she's just sitting there, reclined between two pipes emerging from the wall across from the boiler room generator; in her hand is a simple revolver, firing shots into the side of the already burning machine with sort of lazy precision. Her aim is noncommittal, but she appears to be shooting a heart into the machine's side paneling.

>She's about four bullets in, when a woman barges in through a side entry, blowing the solid steel doors off their hinges with a heel, wrapped in a massive, plated boot. Powered Armor. The thing whirrs and clanks against itself, the exoskeleton hauling heavily-modified armor, the woman armed with the kind of heavy rifle that would be more at home on the back of a military transport.

>"STOP BLOWING HOLES IN THINGS, YOU CRAZY BITCH," is the woman's grand opening, followed up immediately by burst-fire hail in Berri's direction. Berri lets herself fall slack, slipping between the pipes and onto the floor, seeming to land on her back wrongly. She rolls out of the way of another round of bullets, feigning the kind of aches an old woman would posses, while the armored woman, Devil Redd, lays down more covering fire, slowly stomping the distance between her and this random bitch away.

>"I'm gonna gut you like a pig, girl." Redd's voice is hoarse, with an accent that Berri seems to recognize, delight on her face as she pivots on her heel, now fully on her feet. With a flash of the arm, Berri's sword is suddenly weaving her sword through the air, as if she was stabbing wildly, merely along for the ride as the sword makes wide, thrusting arcs in the blink of an eye. The camera zooms in from its perch on the ceiling, as the firing has stopped. Redd's un-helmeted head looks on, eyes blazing, mouth agape: Berri is attempting to hold her sword forward, horizontally, at JUST the right angle, tilting this way and that, trying to keep six 50. cal bullets balanced on the tip of her gladius, stacked in a perfect column.

>"You're gonna need a faster gun if you're gonna gut me, luv," Replies Berri, mimicking the accent with distasteful exaggeration. She's completely vanished from the line of fire when the next six bullets are sprayed at her, but with a too-quick flick of the wrist, six old bullets were left in the air, in her place, each one catching a new bullet. "Or maybe a sharper one, seein's how you mean to 'Gut Me.'" Berri's too close for Redd to do anything about, now, though that doesn't stop Redd from trying to bring her rifle stock down on the back of Berri's head. The power armor gives her an extra foot and a half over her, but Berri's ready for her, even though her sword's back in its sheath.

>Berri's left arm meets the rifle bash directly, and on impact, a shimmering, deep-green gauntlet, shaped like a metal hand and wrist materializes from her wrist to her fingers. It's shaped like plate armor, but even as a solid-light projection, it's clearly made of scrap metals, blocky and crude. But it absorbs the bash of the gun, and blows Redd's right arm our wide, wrenching it out of her left hand and nearly disarming her outright. Berri follows up by shifting her weight onto the insides of her feet, sliding her heel and bringing an armored right hand close to her body.

>The uppercut that follows is a brutal thing, the solidified energy-barrier easily tearing through the thin deflective field of Redd's power armor, and crushing the lower-left side of the chest piece. Redd gives a gasp, merely a human with advanced machines at her disposal, against whatever the hell Berri has going on at any given moment. Berri drops her body low, knees locked like gears in tension for just a single heartbeat, before releasing, as she rams her shoulder hard into that break in the power armor.

>As her shoulder connects with the stunned Redd, more projected Ghost Armor reveals itself, crude shoulder pauldrons, with hard-edged, blocky plating. Semi opaque, like the gauntlets, with a metalic-green sheen to them, Berri's shoulder drives into Red, knocking her backwards. The mercenary, who just this morning had felt like an underworld king, with her impregnable fortress and extremely profitable chem-smuggling organization, barely held her ground, planting a foot behind her and shakily standing her ground. She's dropped her gun, taking a wild right-hand swing at Berri.

>Berri simply leans away from the swing, dropping into a peak-a-boo defensive stance, from which she laid several more punches into the power armor, battering red's ribs, even through layers of steel, framing, energized plate, and kinetic-energy absorbing fabrics. Each swing is a thunder-crack to the audio, and another deep, sharp-knuckled dent in the two large plates that made up Redd's chest piece. Eventually, the seventh punch, delivering a third blow to the first wound, from the first uppercut, drives her to her hands and knees.

>She attempts to say something, but her teeth are stained red, and it's unclear what she was trying to gurgle. Berri steps back, drawing her sword out of its sheath with the same casual energy as pulling out a wallet, and says, "I get that question a LOT, lady." Berri puts her arms out wide, shrugging. "I don't got any good answers anymore, neither." With a flourish, she flips the sword into the air, catching it after a single twirl and driving it through the center of Redd's chest, just as she had pulled herself from hands and knees, to just knees. The strength drains from her arms, even as she attempts to clutch at Berri, but Berri's already turned away from Redd, leaving the sword in her chest. "To you, though, I'm like a bolt of lightning, burning your house down outta nowhere, right?" She walks a slow arc around Redd, looking off, beyond the walls of the generator room, beyond the prison. "I might as well be just that, hay. The first strike of a one-woman storm. Whatever I'm doing here, whoever I am or oughta be..."

>Berri finishes the arc, calmly grabbing the hilt of the sword, and leaning in close to Redd, who glares in desperate defiance, even as her eyes get cloudy, "I'm sure I'll figure it out if I keep killing dickheads like you, and like them," Berri points her right hand to the door Redd came in through, where the bobbing beams of flashlights can be seen in the gathering haze of steam grow closer and closer. Without taking her left hand from the hilt of her sword, she pivots and faces Redd from the left, smoothly grasping the blade of her sword with Ghost Armor, and bracing her left foot against Redd's limp left arm. But she points out, with her left index finger, northward beyond the basement prison-walls, to the Magisterial Palace. Redd's eyes follow the finger as Berri says, "And like them. But you first, scumbag."

>Berri grips the blade tightly from both ends and heaves a mighty ho, wrenching her new, ancient, mysterious blade in an upward angle, horizontally through Redd and her custom power armor, armor to make her a one-woman army in her own regard, in her own league. It's cleaved, cut smoothly, bloodily, brutally from the center, as a hot knife glides through butter. Berri knocks the woman over with a hard, awkward thud as the sword is wrenched through its victim, and her bracing leg slams to the ground next to the corpse. The video cuts as Berri whips her sword first right, and then left, the blood and mechanical fluid being flung from the blade with superhuman force before she sheathes it, and the video feed cuts.

#IC #Viewable ICly

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synthy-sizer · 2 months ago

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You step out into the light to see Violence and Lust guarding the door, both carrying their heavy artillery. “Good, you're back. Come on. We've gotta keep moving.” You follow them to the jeep. “Where exactly are we headed?” “Broadcasting station,” Lust says. “If we can turn off the signal, we should be able to stop the drones entirely.” Things are starting to make a little more sense. “So the drones are summoned by a broadcast? And they're like sentries?” “More like a frequency,” Violence says. “It's like a trigger. It transforms them.” You pile into the jeep and Lust tears off. “Wait, what do you mean ‘transform’?” Violence grimaces. “Drones aren't naturally occurring. They're molded out of something else.” Molded out of what? You're about to ask, when suddenly…

“Hold onto something!” Lust swerves hard. The tires screech and you're violently shoved into the door. Weapons clatter and slide around in the cabin. And then, with a deafening boom, the jeep is slammed to the side with an incredible force. The metal clangs with the sound of a strong impact. Lust continues swerving wildly. More loud cracks and booms follow, getting steadily faster. You whip your head around, craving your neck to see what’s happening, and you spot it.

A humanoid figure, pale as a corpse, stands in the field. In harsh contrast to their pale skin, their eyes are covered in black material, and so are their arms. One arm is pointed towards your vehicle. Wordlessly, emotionlessly, you watch as its pointed arm explodes into a bright orange light, and you feel the thud in the earth underneath you. Clumps of earth spray into the air, some splattering into the window. You suddenly realize what's happening. You're being fired at. You're terrified but you can't look away. You feel compelled somehow to scrutinize the appearance of what must be a drone. It looks human, too human. Is it possible….?

“Bring us around!” Violence shouts over the hectic sounds of the vehicle weaving around and heavy gunfire. Lust swerves hard, taking you around the drone. As you circle it, your eyes follow the barrel of Violence's cannon. He aims silently and carefully, and just when you reach the closest distance from the drone in the arc, he fires.

Instantly, you're deafened. Your ears ring and the jeep tilts backwards from the force. You watch as the drone's arm explodes into a shower of metal and gore. Shrapnel launches in all directions, pounding into the dirt and slamming into the jeep. The sturdy windows develop scratches and marks from the speed of the metal scrap. A cloud of red blooms from the shredded arm. The air smells like iron. Lust is quick to make a retreat as soon as the drone is disabled. You watch it as you drive off. The heavy cluster of gun barrels has fallen to the ground, digging up grass with its weight. It remains attached to the stump of the shoulder by a mix of sinew and cables. Its head continues to turn towards you, following the jeep with its gaze. As it slowly shrinks into the background, you see the severed weapon and the shoulder explode in a mass of metal tendrils and fleshy pink, both seeking each other, coiling together and yanking it back up.

There's silence for a moment. Just a second to process. You can't contain yourself. “What the fuck was that?! Was that a person?!” “That was one of the drones we were talking about,” Violence shouts back! “You know that's not what I'm asking you.” You glare at him, and then at Lust and Jordan. “What happened to that person?” Your heart is pounding in your ears. You know the answer already, but you're afraid to hear it. “Fine. Ok. We weren't sure how to tell you this, and we Aldo weren't 100% sure it was true but…the signal we're trying to shut down turns people into drones.” You feel like you're going to throw up. You're faint. Your vision is blurring at the edges. “You didn't tell me….this is our fault, that everyone I know turned into….” Violence is quick to snap at you. “No, Sofia, it's not our fault. Apollo put a genetic trigger in every Luna colonist except for their higher-ups so they could be guards for them. They're the ones who see human lives as disposable. We're trying to stop it.” His words bounce around in your mind. Maybe part of you understands, deep down. But you're overwhelmed with guilt and horror. “Why didn't you just leave me here?” Jordan chimes in. “Because we need you to stop it.” You look at her, bewildered. “Think about it. You're a native to Luna and you aren't turning even though we've seen a drone this far out. Isn't that odd?” The question almost knocks you entirely out of your breakdown. “Heresy, don't start with your conspiracies. We haven't even gotten in range of a siren yet. How do we know she won't turn?” “Because of her genes,” she retorts. “I told you that doesn't necessarily mean anything.”

The two of them bicker over their ideologies, both seemingly no longer concerned about your wellbeing. You shrink down in your seat and try to process your emotions and everything that's just happened. “Watch out!” Lust's scream shakes you out of your thoughts, and shuts the bickering right up. She swerves again, and everything once again goes flying. You poke your head up to see a small cluster of drones starting to aim at you. “Broadcasting station is a no-go! We've gotta make a retreat!” You fly through the field, barely avoiding the drones’ fire. Suddenly, you realize you recognize this area. “Toward the trees! There's a path through the forest! They can't aim if they can't see us!” Lust trusts your direction, swerving around and aiming for the path. “You better be right about this! Where does this take us?” You know exactly where. “The neighborhood!”

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backtraf · 2 years ago

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Hi, I've got a sotf prompt for you!

Tim gets into a fight with cannibals/mutants and is injured, so Virginia goes all protective momma cat on him or Kelvin's all concerned and pouty while he patches him up or maybe both? Also Tim trying to reassure them that he's alright and it's just a scratch (it's not)! This can be anything from angst to fluff to hurt/comfort

Btw I absolutely love your writing, have a wonderful day!!! 💛💛💛

The Attack Part 1

Tim was cleaning the shotgun when he heard the telltale sound of a group of cannibals roaming nearby. He tensed his jaw and stood up. Virginia was already signing to Kelvin to take cover, which he did without hesitation.

Virginia ran to Tim, and he handed her the two pistols. Together, they stood, making their way to the edge of the camp. It wasn't silent for much longer. Two of the cannibals lept from the trees and landed right in front of Tim and Virginia, one holding a sickle while the other held a club.

In a display of intimidation, Tim pumped the shotgun, but it only seemed to make the two more aggressive. They both lunged at Tim, swinging their weapons in a wide arc to try and hit him. Virginia shot the left one mid swing and Tim pulled the trigger to the shotgun, peppering the cannibal's body with pellets. They fell to the ground, unmoving.

Suddenly, a surge of ten other cannibals came rushing out of the trees, screaming and yelling in anger. The fight was short but quickly became taxing for Tim, unable to keep up with the non-stop attack. Luckily, Virginia had his back, taking out enemies to help keep them off of him.

Everything was going pretty well until one of the cannibals got a lucky slice across his chest, sending a spray of blood up into the air. Tim let out a strangled, gasping cry of shock. The cannibal let put a screech of triumph and jumped at him again, this time slicing down his chest and to his abdomen. Virginia let out an animalistic cry and began unloading the clip into the cannibal's chest until he finally fell and stopped moving.

Heaving, she looked around, seeing every single one of them were dead. She dropped the guns and ran to Tim's side, where he lay gasping and in shock.

Kelvin came out and ran to them, his eyes filled with tears as he pressed the cloths he found against the deep wounds.

Tim shakily lifted his hands, signing to both Virginia and Kelvin, "Are you okay?"

Kelvin looked at him as if not comprehending what he had just asked while Virginia nodded at Tim. He let his hands drop to his sides as his eyes began to roll back into his head, unable to remain conscious any longer.

#sons of the forest #sotf #sotf kelvin #the forest #tim sotf #sotf fanfic #sotf fanfiction #virginia sotf #angst anyone?#will tim be okay?#tune in next week to find out!

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jujutsubaby · 11 months ago

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sea spray, feathers, and life 🕊️

☆ pairing: akiangel, aki hayakawa x angel devil ☆ summary: what if Aki had listened to the Angel Devil when he asked him to run away? is fate something we can ever truly outrun? (where a human and a devil find that they have much they can learn from each other.) ☆ warnings: major chainsaw man manga spoilers (bomb girl/international assassins/gun devil arcs), suggestive situations, smoking, blood, death ☆ tags: friends to lovers, canon divergence, fluff, angst :^) ☆ a/n: absolutely cannot get enough of these two crazy kids!!! listened to way too much beach house while writing this to give u an idea of what to expect lol. hope u enjoy! :3 ☆ word count: 11k :')

"I'm leaving to see the Gun Devil tomorrow. This may be the last time we ever meet. Goodbye."

Those had been Hayakawa's last words to him earlier that day. The Angel Devil turned them over and over in his head until the words blurred together and did not sound like words at all.

Hayakawa had been faced with a conundrum, and he had confided in Angel about it when he visited him in the hospital. His contracted Future Devil had revealed to him that he and the Blood Fiend would die at the hands of the Chainsaw Devil. Angel knew that Hayakawa had grown fond of the Blood Fiend and the boy who housed the Chainsaw Devil, and assumed that Hayakawa was telling him in order to process his emotions. Angel knew this was something humans tended to do, and Hayakawa was still more emotional than most of the devil hunters in public safety.

But Hayakawa had told Angel for a different reason altogether: to help him. To suggest that he work for public safety as all the other chained and imprisoned devils did, so he would not be retired. The prospect sounded thoroughly unappealing to Angel, but the fact remained: Hayakawa was, once again, trying to protect him.

Angel was used to humans haunting his dreams, but usually it was vague memories of the ones whom his power had killed. To some, it might seem like "guilt". But guilt was a thoroughly human emotion, and whatever Angel was, he knew he was not human.

Hayakawa was not yet dead though, so Angel was unsure of why the man was in his thoughts at all. As he lay on his back in the stiff hospital bed, he wondered if he would know the reason better had he been human.

In any case, one thing was clear: Aki Hayakawa had to stay alive.

After being discharged from the hospital, Angel found himself wandering towards the captured devils' holding cells at headquarters. While the access to devils was typically closely monitored, he was able to slip by undetected with relative ease. He had always been amenable with the devil hunters; his docility would be rewarded now.

"I am here to ask about Aki Hayakawa."

The Future Devil twisted his monstrous head and blinked his six eyes in modest surprise.

"Do my senses deceive me? A fellow devil, here to speak about my favorite contract? What fun!"

Angel had heard rumors of the Future Devil's irritating playfulness and had tried to temper his expectations. His doubt at getting any useful information only grew. He persisted, not knowing what else to do.

"I am his partner in public safety. He informed me that he had a vision about his death at the hands of Chainsaw."

The Future Devil tilted his head. If the gaping maw of his stomach weren't wide open at all times, Angel was certain it would have been grinning impishly.

"And why is it that you are so concerned about Aki Hayakawa's death, Angel Devil? Could it be that he is much more to you than a mere colleague?" He asked with a suggestive leer.

Angel held his gaze impassively, knowing that the other devil was just trying to get a rise out of him. The Future Devil crossed his arms coquettishly behind his back, a delicate gesture at odds with his massive, wild shoulders.

"I have heard tell of devil hunters growing appetites for fiends, but for a devil to lust after a human? Even the thought feels positively perverse! Although, I suppose the Fox did appreciate Aki Hayakawa's handsome looks."

"That is nonsense," Angel spat. "He and I are partners. It is my responsibility to know if there are any circumstances endangering us both. Now, what do you know about Chainsaw? Will I be there when he attacks?"

"Why do you think I would help you?" The Future Devil giggled. "Aki Hayakawa's death cannot be changed, or altered. All I will tell you is that he'll die in the worst way possible, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He leaned back on the wall of his cell with a contented sigh.

"What's more, the way you speak of it, I can tell it'll happen in a way you would least expect. How wonderful!"

The following morning, Angel met with Hayakawa as was their usual routine. In a rush, he had suggested to his partner that they meet Makima together to find a solution to Hayakawa's problem. Angel did not truly believe Makima would help his partner, but he had suggested it to buy some extra time. As soon as Hayakawa agreed to meet, a relaxing sensation settled over his body like a gentle rain. Angel assumed this was what humans referred to as "relief".

"Makima said she would meet us on the beach," Hayakawa informed him when they met. They were both equally baffled by this, but neither claimed to understand the cryptic division head.

Angel was tired, and had not slept well; his missing arms pained him, and his meeting with the Future Devil plagued him.

Logically, Angel knew that the future could not be altered; but devils were not infallible. Perhaps there was some way that the Chainsaw Devil would only claim Hayakawa after he lived out his remaining two years in peace.

"I know of a way you can avoid dying by the Chainsaw," Angel said as they walked along the deserted boardwalk.

"What's that?"

"You could quit public safety and run far away. As long as you have both of your legs, you can run."

"Yeah, totally," Hayakawa responded with a rare smile; this agitated Angel.

"I'm not joking. You're not like me. You could go anywhere, get a normal job, and live a normal, peaceful human life."

Hayakawa demurred, of course, citing his attachments to the Blood Fiend and Chainsaw boy. And to Makima.

"So, you like Makima?"

"I guess so."

"Why?"

Hayakawa hesitated. "Why..." he repeated.

Angel looked down over the edge of the boardwalk. His stomach dropped. Makima was already there, already waiting. This was taking too long.

The sight of Makima on the beach filled him with more dread than anticipated. Why?

They continued on down the boardwalk, towards the stairs that would take them down to Makima. His legs and wings were growing numb and cold as his pulse quickened. Angel had an intense sense that he was leading Hayakawa to his doom the closer they got to Makima.

And Angel was no stranger to sacrificing humans for Makima.

The panic boiled over, and Angel felt as though all the air left his lungs the moment all his memories came flooding back. His legs suddenly felt like jelly and gave out beneath him. Presumably at hearing his collapse, Hayakawa turned around and rushed to him.

"What happened? Are you all right?" He withdrew a flask of water from his coat and held it up to Angel's lips for him to drink.

"Perhaps you should have rested this morni—" Hayakawa began, but Angel interrupted him. He wanted to say what he remembered before he forgot again.

"Makima, she — I was on the beach. I was found on the beach. They took me in, they taught me to speak, to swim," Angel spluttered. He was usually much more collected than this; the flood of memories was making him act positively human. "I loved them. She found me and — I killed them all..." he muttered.

Hayakawa sat on the ground before him and, facing him, held his shoulders.

"Are you in danger?" He asked.

No, you idiot, you're the one in danger! Angel wished he could say. All he could do was shake his head stupidly.

"I'm going to Makima; we're almost there. I'm sure she will be able to help."

"No! Wait!" He cried, but Hayakawa had already stood and turned to continue.

Angel reached out to grab Hayakawa's sleeve before recalling he no longer had his arms. He growled in frustration and flicked out a wing to block his partner's path. Angel could see the surprise in Hayakawa's eyes as he turned back around.

Angel remembered blocking Hayakawa with his wing once before, to shield him from bullets. He hoped it would be equally effective at protecting his partner this time, too.

"Makima made me kill them all..." Angel whispered frantically. "She controlled me. Makima's so dangerous. You're in danger."

He looked up beseechingly at Hayakawa.

"Please, Hayakawa. Please just flee."

"But...Denji, and Power..."

"They'll be fine without you!" Angel snapped. He did not know that, of course, but he did not care about them. It was no fault of theirs, but they were not Hayakawa. Not Aki.

"Please, Aki...please just this once, be selfish. Run. I'll deal with Makima."

For a moment, all that either of them could hear was the waves washing against the sand.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Until his memories had come back, Angel had not recalled he had been capable of love. Now, of course, he remembered everything, including all of the human emotions he had learned from those people by the sea. He had been capable of love, which made him capable of loss, mourning, and guilt. And of self-sacrifice. He thought back to how Aki had grabbed his hand in the cyclone, without a thought to his own safety. He had happily shortened his own already limited lifespan to help Angel, who had not even wanted to live.

Angel looked down at the limp shoulder of his suit. He did not even possess the hand Aki had held anymore.

Suddenly, he was vaguely aware of the sensation of being hoisted up by the waist to his feet.

"Ok. Let's go."

Angel gaped at Aki.

"'Let's'?" he inquired, not fully sure he had heard his partner correctly.

"Yes, 'let's'. We're partners, after all. So let's both be selfish."

Aki didn't know why he had chosen Hokkaido as his and Angel's destination, but at least it was good and far from Tokyo. He hadn't noticed until they boarded the train, but Aki realized that he had actually just been back to Hokkaido with Denji and Power, to visit his family grave site. How different circumstances had been then.

Angel's plea had come as a shock to Aki. He had never seen Angel look even vaguely interested in anything, let alone emotional like that. The sight unsettled him in its unfamiliarity; it had also made Aki want to console him. Although Aki had always gotten along with his partner, that feeling had been unexpected, he had to admit. Perhaps he was feeling softer hearted than usual after seeing Power so traumatized from their brush with the Darkness Devil.

Emotion and logic did not often coexist within Aki, though, and he was rapidly realizing that this was a stupid idea. If Makima was really as powerful as Angel claimed, what would one train ride do to keep her from them?

But when he thought about the devil, pathetically crumpled on the ground, begging Aki to leave without him, he could not shake the sense that fleeing together had been the right thing to do.

Angel, who had mostly returned to his usual self, turned to Aki.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked.

"I'm thinking that we didn't really think this through enough," Aki admitted. "How could we run away from Makima if she's really as powerful as you say?"

Angel tilted his head and looked up to the ceiling of the train compartment thoughtfully.

"Do you really think she would pursue us?"

"Of course," Aki replied. "We work for her, and we deserted our posts."

Angel looked on languidly at him, as though he were telling a vaguely interesting story. Aki could not hold his gaze, so he looked down at his lap, continuing, "We deserted Denji and Power."

"The Blood Fiend and Chainsaw boy — you don't think they can look after themselves? They seem more than capable of defending themselves...perhaps they need you to feed them and keep house?" Angel's words sounded cruel, but Aki knew his partner well enough by now to understand that this was just his blunt way of asking questions. Aki had even grown to appreciate it, for it was during these conversations that he knew that Angel was trying to understand him.

"It's not about that," Aki explained. "It's about the duty we have to each other."

"Ah, like the duty we had to Makima? Or like a contract?"

"No," he said with a brief shake of his head, musing over how to explain the idea to a devil. "It's more that when somebody is important to you, you feel a duty to try your best for them, even if the odds are stacked against you."

Angel hummed.

"Duty is, I believe, a purely human concept," Angel said slowly. "I couldn't see a devli engaging in something futile like that. We look after ourselves, first and foremost. You should learn to think of yourself, too."

"You were ready to face Makima, even if you know the full extent of her power," Aki pointed out. "You were ready to do something pointless like that just to give me a chance to escape. You felt a duty to try."

After that, Angel was quiet for a long time. Aki wondered if he had fallen asleep; he had seemed so weak that morning, after all.

But eventually, he did speak up.

"I still don't think devils can fathom duty," he said, before he looked up at Aki. For the first time, watching his eyes glimmering up at him, Aki noticed how long and feathery Angel's eyelashes were.

"I do know that we devils can feel love, though."

Aki knew that Makima had to have noticed their absence by now. Still, though, the rest of the train ride went by uneventfully. Angel fell rapidly asleep after their conversation, giving Aki a chance to meditate over what the devil had said.

He supposed that everybody did have a duty towards themselves, as Angel had suggested, but Aki had not exercised this duty in a long while. He didn't feel he deserved to look after himself when he had failed to do the same for his family all those years ago. His existence after their deaths was meant as a penance.

Angel did not seem to agree, though. Aki looked down at the devil, whose head had started lolling sideways onto his chest; it was a warm, heavy weight that Aki could feel through his shirt. The sensation reminded Aki of when he had clasped his partner to himself to keep from losing him in the storm soon after they met.

Aki wondered whether Angel had known the implications of what he was saying, talking about love like that. Love meant a lot to humans, enough to allow your entire self be devoured just so the person you care about might have a chance at survival.

But he supposed that was what Angel had been ready to do, essentially, to keep Makima at bay for him.

Aki sighed. Not for the first time, he wondered what Himeno would think of Angel.

It was perturbing to see how terrified Angel had been of Makima once he recovered his memories. He had said something about being forced by her to slaughter his loved ones. The thought was enough to make Aki shudder. To witness your family's death was one thing; to cause it was quite another.

According to the Future Devil's premonition, something like that was the fate that awaited Denji. For all his rough edges, Aki knew that the boy was soft-hearted, more so than himself. In a sense, Aki was less afraid of his own death than of the impact it would have on Denji if he perpetrated it.

He did not want Denji to lose his innocence like that. Perhaps staying far away would be the best course of action after all.

Aki had failed to protect Taiyo from his own grisly fate; he would not fail again. Even if the future was unavoidable, Aki still felt compelled to try and outrun it. This, too, was one of the illogical, irrational forms that love took.

Eventually, Aki roused a still-groggy Angel; when the devil lifted his head from Aki's chest, he briefly noticed that it felt cold without the gentle weight resting on it.

They disembarked as a pair at Kikonai before taking the first bus they could find to a stop whose name Aki could not recognize and ended up at a small fishing village. Aki was unfamiliar with the area in spite of being from Hokkaido; his family had lived further inland, where there were mountains and forest. Aki preferred not to be reminded of his old home and family right then, and especially not the forest, so their destination suited him fine.

As they walked by the side of the road searching for something resembling lodging, a wave of salty sea air tinged with spray misted over both of them, causing Angel to shiver violently. Aki had forgotten how much colder it was this far north, especially for somebody unused to the climate. Slightly guilty for dragging him out here, Aki removed his coat and wrapped it tightly about Angel's narrow shoulders. It practically swallowed him whole and bulged awkwardly around his wings; Aki tried to suppress his amusement at the sight.

"I am pleased that one of us can laugh about this," Angel grumbled as Aki did up the buttons for him. It seemed Aki's attempt to hide his smile had failed.

"I'm sorry. You just look so odd in that coat. It's kind of adorable."

"I wish you had taken us to Hawaii instead," Angel complained, but Aki could see that his expression softened as he burrowed further into the borrowed coat.

Soon, they arrived at a small building that looked like it might be a bed and breakfast. Angel followed closely behind Aki as he entered. They found a small middle-aged woman waiting inside, who ushered them in with the excitement of a host who did not frequently see guests. As Aki discussed the rate and indeterminate duration of their stay and pulled out his wallet to count money, Angel noticed a young child approach and stare up at him. He must have been around five, or maybe seven, Angel estimated, but he had never quite gotten the hang of human children's ages.

"How do you do," Angel greeted stiffly; he was never sure how to interact with children, as they typically were instructed, with good reason, to stay far away from him and his dangerous powers. The boy ran and hid behind the proprietor of the bed and breakfast, and she laughed.

Humans could form all sorts of bonds, he had come to realize in his time on Earth. There was of course the bond between a leader and a follower, but also between friends, or lovers, or families. Devils rarely got to taste these experiences, but Angel had been lucky to do it once. He glanced up at Aki, who had been looking warmly back at him all along. Twice, perhaps.

Angel followed Aki up a small, tight set of stairs, where their room was. Their hostess, who seemed to take a shine to the odd pair, gave them a set of clothes better suited to the weather.

"These belong to my husband, but I'm sure he won't mind," she said, handing Aki a bundle of knitwear.

"And for you," she continued, turning to Angel and looking slightly sheepish, "I wasn't sure what would fit you; my husband's too tall and my son's still too little, but I have my eldest daughter's old clothes...I'm terribly sorry, but I thought some warm clothes are better than nothing."

Aki accepted the clothes for him, and both of them thanked her profusely for her hospitality. Angel wasn't sure why she was apologizing, but his heart softened at the thought of wearing her family's clothes. It was an intimate gesture that made Angel feel as though he were a part of a whole; it was not a feeling he had often. Devils often disparaged humans and their codependencies, but at the end of the day, he knew that many including him craved the same levels of connection.

As Aki faced the wall to change into corduroy slacks and a high-necked sweater, Angel idly watched the sinews of his body maneuvering in and out of his clothes. He recalled what the Future Devil had said about Aki, about how the Fox Devil had contracted with him for his looks. His partner certainly was an objectively attractive human. Angel wondered if his stomach would feel butterflies, as the phrase went, if he himself were also human.

After changing his clothes, Aki slipped on a pair of knit gloves that the woman had also provided him, and he turned around to help Angel get dressed. Angel was vaguely aware that humans were protective of their naked form, something he would never understand. However, as he felt his partner's gloved hands undo the buttons on the oversized coat he had loaned him, and then his suit jacket, and finally his dress shirt, Angel did notice that every brush of of Aki's gloved fingers against his bare skin felt like a small tidal wave of sensation. Were these "butterflies"?

The pair of them had not exchanged any words through the whole process, until Aki broke the silence. "Do you like magenta or teal better?"

"Come again?"

Aki held up two loud patterned fleeces; their hostess's daughter had certainly had eccentric taste in fashion. Angel gaped at the options, realizing that he had not ever worn any clothes other than the suit he was required to at Public Safety. How did people select clothing?

Before he could choose, there was a quick knock on the door, and the proprietor popped her head in.

"I brought some extra linens — oh! I'm sorry!" She exclaimed, seeing Angel still in a state of partial undress. Before she fully averted her gaze, though, Angel noticed her eyes lingering at his back.

Humans did not typically have wings, Angel realized belatedly. While his halo usually could fade into the background, his wings were always a dead giveaway as to what he really was. How humans would react to a devil was always a bit of a gamble, especially humans unused to seeing them in public. Aki's eyes widened as he, too, realized what had happened.

Wordlessly, the proprietor took the fleeces back from Aki, excused herself, and left the room. While Angel knew that rejection was always a strong possibility with humans, he still was forlorn; the gesture of the clothes had meant more to him than he had realized. In the end, he was always reminded of what he was — a menace and a danger.

His hand still gloved, Aki squeezed Angel's shoulder.

"We could find another place to stay. Don't worry," he reassured.

These simple motions of comfort were so new and rare to Angel. Not only was he a devil, but he had a power that specifically made touching him dangerous.

Aki had never been afraid to touch him, though.

The proprietor returned to the room before either of them could make a move to leave, bringing both of the fleeces in once more.

"It was a hasty job, but see if this works for you," she said, setting them down on a table. As Aki lifted the teal pullover, Angel could see long slits cut into the back.

"It won't be perfect," she continued, "but at least it's something. I can fix up more clothes for you; nobody ever wears them anymore, so it'd be nice to see them go to a nice young fellow like yourself," she finished with a maternal smile.

Angel felt a lump forming in his throat.

"You do realize that I'm a devil, don't you?" Angel asked in spite of himself, as Aki slid the fleece over his head and arranged it around his wings.

The woman shook her head. "To me, you're a guest. And guests are all members of our family, even after they leave."

Humans truly were remarkable.

Over the next several days, as they got acclimated, Aki found that he did not have any plans. What's more, he also found that he did not wish to make any.

After more or less giving up on his mission of vengeance against the Gun Devil, Aki had felt unmoored without the purpose that had driven him so far through his life. The drifting sense had been uncomfortable to Aki back in Tokyo. Here, though, he was happy to spend every day waking up, eating with their host family, and wandering aimlessly along the beach. For the first time, having no purpose felt freeing.

Aki remembered first meeting Angel and being a little bemused at his lackadaisical nature. Their roles seemed reversed now. Where Aki was happiest doing nothing, Angel was always doing something, be it asking the local village people mundane questions about everyday life, begging to sample local cuisine, learning how to play soccer from the village children, or simply just walking alongside Aki on the beach.

Seeing his partner living life with such zeal filled Aki with an indescribable sensation. It made Aki notice the small wonders of being human, things he had taken for granted, when he saw Angel savor them with such delight.

"You've been different," Aki observed to Angel on one of their long walks.

"So have you."

"How come you're so full of energy all the time now? You used to not care about anything," Aki pressed on.

"I don't know," Angel mused. "I think I've decided that I enjoy living, especially now that it's on my terms."

Aki knew what he meant. For so long, their lives had been dedicated to the department of public safety (and, in Aki's case, to vengeance). Without that looming responsibility, the possibilities of life unfurled before them like a water lily.

The days stretched into weeks, and soon, the winter air had a little less bite to it. On these slightly warmer days, Angel went swimming in the ocean alongside fishing boats, and he free-dived for shellfish and kelp. The fishermen had tried to dissuade Angel, saying the water was still too cold, but he assured them that his non-human constitution made the temperature merely uncomfortable, rather than deadly. Aki was also nervous for him at first, unsure of whether he knew of the dangers of the sea, but he found that the devil could swim like a fish and dive like a whale.

There was still much they had to learn about each other, Aki realized.

He then realized that he was looking forward to it.

Angel stepped out of the water with a basket fastened across his bare torso, laughing and bantering with the villagers who had gathered to watch him dive in the freezing waters. He had grown to fit in so well with everyone in the village in spite of their initial misgivings, and the villagers had all rapidly grown fond of the voraciously curious winged devil.

With a twinge, Aki recalled that Angel had experienced something akin to this long ago, before Makima had taken it away from him. Aki was certain that Makima would come again for them, but human that he was, he was fiercely determined to somehow protect the joyful little life they had carefully cultivated here.

Angel approached Aki on the beach now; as he walked, he flicked his wings dry, and the droplets of water caught the cold afternoon sun to create a brilliant iridescent glow. Angel looked so ethereal, so joyous, so beautiful; and he had chosen Aki, of all people, to bring with him into this light he radiated.

"I think I've decided that I enjoy living, too," Aki said, helping Angel dry off. "Especially now that it's with you."

As the villagers grew more comfortable with Aki and Angel, so, too, did they grow less wary of the devil in their midst. Angel meant no harm, of course, but he was still dangerous.

One day, after another long dive, Angel shook off the excess water from his body, lay back in the sand, and allowed the cool evening air to slowly dry his wings the rest of the way. As his eyes drifted shut, he ignored a distant sensation of tugging on one of his feathers.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT! STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" Aki's bellow echoed through Angel's consciousness, and he snapped his eyes open and sat bolt upright.

"What? What happened?" He asked. His question was answered as he saw the little boy from the inn holding a long white feather as tears formed in his eyes. Angel instinctively moved to comfort the child; having steeped himself in human life, Angel himself was beginning to act human too. The boy backed away and ran back indoors with a wail.

Aki, who had come out to the beach to bring Angel his sweater, slipped the now well-worn teal pullover over his head and wings in a routine they had both gotten used to.

"You have to be more careful," he snapped. Once Angel's head emerged from the neckhole, he noticed that Aki looked panicked, more than angry.

"It's all right," Angel soothed, "My feathers and hair are already dead, so people can touch them without getting hurt."

"He was so close to touching your wing. What would have happened then?"

Angel drew his knees to his chest.

"I am well aware of what my powers are capable of, Aki," he said quietly. He took a slightly sick, thoroughly human pleasure in seeing Aki's face crumple in regret.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just...I don't want anything to happen to you. I want you to be happy like this forever."

Angel could never stay upset with Aki for long.

"Draw your scarf up to your nose," Angel instructed. Aki complied, albeit a little confused, but the confusion melted away when Angel leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his fabric covered lips.

Aki had also brought a large towel for Angel to lie down on, but Angel instead draped it around his body, careful to cover all the parts of himself that were bare, and leaned into Aki. Through the towel, he felt an arm encircle him and draw him close. He could almost feel Aki's body heat through the layers of cloth and found himself pretending wistfully that there was nothing between them at all.

Humans were rarely, if ever, more powerful than devils. Angel could not reconcile that logic with the fact that he felt so protected in that moment, in his human's arms.

They remained like that, entwined in one another, until the sun had flung its last vermillion tendrils across the sky and sea as it dipped below the horizon. In the darkening night, they finally got up and walked back to their lodging.

Aki had taken to wearing his hair down ever since they had arrived at the village, and it had grown over the weeks past his shoulders. Angel wished for his arms back if only to have fingers to run through it. He had never noticed how silky and dark Aki's hair was when they had first met, when Aki still kept it in its rigid topknot. Angel preferred this style, when he could watch it sway and be reminded of a starless night on a new moon.

Aki and Angel re-entered the bed and breakfast with apologies on their lips, but their hostess beat them to the chase, apologizing profusely for her son's behavior. Aki explained to her that it was only a matter of safety and apologized for frightening him, while Angel offered the boy his old feathers the next time he molted. To Angel's dismay, the child looked disgusted at the proposal, but the way Aki laughed with abandon had made the rejection worth it.

After dinner, they bade their hosts good night and retreated back upstairs to their room. Aki found that his arms felt desolately empty without Angel within them, especially after the close contact they had enjoyed earlier that evening. Angel must have felt similarly, for instead of lying in his own bed, he wrapped himself in a thin blanket and came to Aki's instead. As he pressed his face into Aki's chest, Aki idly carded his fingers through Angel's fine, soft hair, careful not to touch his scalp.

Aki wished desperately that they could stay like this forever; realistically, he knew Makima would come for them sooner or later.

"I'm going to ask you a question," Aki whispered. "But you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"What is it?" Angel asked, tilting his head upwards.

"What happened with you and Makima? What exactly is she capable of?"

Gingerly, his hand covered in the sheet, Angel removed Aki's hand from his hair and held it in place.

"I was born in the sea, near a village not unlike this one," Angel said steadily. "When I came to shore, I knew nothing, not even how to speak. The people in that village taught and gave me everything, for no reason other than that I was there and I needed their help. But they did more than just help me. They loved me. And I loved them, too."

Angel took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed his eyes.

"One day, Makima appeared on the beach. I'm not sure how or where she came from, or how she knew of me, but she was there. She asked me to use my powers. I refused, of course. But the next thing I knew, hours had passed, and everybody...all their lives...I absorbed them."

Aki squeezed his hand through the blanket.

"Those are the people you said you have nightmares about. The ones your powers killed," Aki stated softly. Angel nodded and sighed.

"Makima made me, and then she scrubbed my memories somehow. I only remembered when I saw her on the beach that day we ran away; it reminded me too deeply of that time, I suppose."

"How did she command you and your memories like that?" Aki wondered aloud with a frown.

"You can do any manner of things when you're the Control Devil, I guess."

Aki hadn't considered that Makima was a devil before, especially not one so frighteningly powerful. He could not say he was surprised, however. It explained her effective manipulations, even of himself, and her refusal to perish. It did not stop Aki from feeling even more daunted about evading her, however, especially now that he knew she had a penchant for turning her underlings into weapons on a whim.

Angel looked up at Aki again. The intensity smoldering behind his eyes, with their emberlike red irises, lifted him back up from his spiral of fear.

"I think I was only able to remember, and to break free of her powers, because of you. I think my mind broke through because I wanted so badly for you to be safe from her."

The ardent look in Angel's eyes overwhelmed Aki, and he carefully kissed his head, just enough to graze his hair.

"You have come to be so precious to me," Aki murmured against his head. "I hope you know nothing but peace for the rest of your days." Aki knew that Angel would far outlast him and the pathetic two years, if that, he had remaining. But if he could be certain that Angel would always be content like this, he knew he would be able to go happily.

One early morning, just under two months after they had come to their village, their hostess cracked their door open to say there was a phone call for Mr. Hayakawa. As Aki rose from bed to go answer it, Angel rolled over into the warm patch he had left and fell back asleep. His own bed had been unused for weeks.

When Angel awoke once more, the sun was higher in the sky, and Aki stood in silence on the balcony outside their room.

"Come back to bed, it's still early," Angel called, his voice still crackly from sleep. Aki looked back over his shoulder, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Angel frowned; he knew Aki had been fond of cigarettes as a devil hunter, but he had not seen him smoke once since they arrived in Hokkaido.

"I need to talk to you."

"Come to bed and talk to me, then."

Aki sighed, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, stubbed out his cigarette on the balcony railing, and came back inside to sit at the foot of their bed. He clasped his hands, which were clad in the woolen gloves he had grown accustomed to wearing.

"Is everything —"

"That was Makima. She said she would arrive here tomorrow morning for us," Aki interrupted.

Angel felt as though the air had been walloped from his lungs.

"Where will we go next?"

Aki regarded Angel.

"Makima still commands me. So long as I'm with you, she will be able to find us. She promised she would be quicker next time, anyway," Aki lamented. "I don't think I want to run anymore."

Angel felt bitter tears of disappointment burning in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"It didn't work," Angel said, his voice tremulous. "I hardly bought you any time at all. I'm sorry that you didn't end up getting to live the rest of your life in peace after all." Angel was so ashamed at his failure that he could not bear to look at Aki.

A gentle hand rose to cup Angel's jaw. The glove smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, Angel noticed. It was a smell that reminded him of being in Tokyo.

"Please don't apologize," Aki said tenderly. "I should be thanking you. These weeks you've given me here have been more dear to me than anything I've had for a long time." Angel leaned into his touch. "I have three more favors to ask of you now," Aki said.

"Anything," Angel breathed. He truly would do anything to help Aki stay safe; surely he must have known that by then.

"First, I want you to stay far away from Makima, no matter what you do. You broke free from her control. Without me there, you can remain undetected by her."

Angel gaped at him.

"I only broke free from her control because of you, Aki. I refuse to abandon you to her now. Wherever you go, we go as partners."

Aki brought up his other hand now, and cradled Angel's face. Angel felt the pads of his thumbs, scratchy from the gloves, stroking over his cheeks.

"Please," was all Aki could say right then, but his plaintive eyes frightened Angel. He couldn't bear to see Aki looking so desperate like that, so he nodded. He could figure out how to negotiate these requests later.

"The second favor?"

Aki paused, looking as though he were gathering courage.

"I want you to drink my blood."

"I can get by fine without my arms," Angel said quietly. "I don't need your help to regenerate them."

"This isn't about that," Aki replied. His hands, which had since drifted from Angel's face, were now resting on his shoulders. Aki looked intently at him.

"I know how important blood is to devils. I know what it means to you. I want to give you the most meaningful thing I can. I want to give you something as precious as what you have given me. I want to live on with you in your veins even after my body is gone." Aki had leaned closer and closer as he spoke, until his head was resting on Angel's chest. Angel could feel his heart thumping against Aki's skull.

"I want you to know that my entire being belongs to you. So please, take my blood," Aki finished in a plaintive whisper.

Angel rested his chin on the smooth crown of Aki's head.

"And what is your third request?"

"For you to end my life."

It took Angel a moment to process this; once he did, he was seized by horror and tried to scramble back in the bed, away from Aki, almost as though he would kill him right then just by proximity.

Aki, however, was still holding his shoulders; Angel could not move very far away. He was looking up at Angel now, so earnestly that he could hardly stand it.

"How can you ask that?" Angel inquired with an uneasy laugh. "Tell me your true third request now."

"I'm serious. This is the best way forward for us. You'll be free of me — and of Makima — and you can live your own life. This is the only way you can get away. I've thought about it a hundred different ways."

This was all wrong. He could not slaughter his beloved like this.

"What about the Chainsaw hybrid and Blood Fiend?" Angel begged desperately. "How can you protect them when you're dead?"

"I know what you're trying to do. You know as well as I do that I need to stay away from them for the rest of my life. You know what the Future Devil foretold. You know what Makima is capable of."

Angel indeed did remember what the Future Devil had said, and he was moreover intimately aware of what Makima was capable of. Logically, Angel knew that Aki would likely be turned into a weapon exactly as he had been the moment he was back in Makima's clutches, especially now that he had proven himself as a disobedient liability. Based on the Future Devil's words, he could likely be turned against the Chainsaw boy he held so dear.

It was a wretched future.

If Angel really did love Aki, wasn't it his responsibility to attempt to keep him from such a fate?

"I need to think about this," Angel murmured.

"Take all the time you need," Aki replied casually, as though his request had been something inconsequential.

Angel knew he could not actually take all the time he needed; Makima would be arriving in just one day. He just needed to think of something before then.

The sea was calm and unruffled that day, its surface smooth as polished glass. Angel wished he could say the same of himself. He briefly considered taking a quick dive to clear his mind before hearing footsteps approaching the bench he was sitting on. He knew those footsteps so well by now that it hurt to hear them.

"Mind if I join you?" Aki asked from behind him. Angel shook his head without looking back, and Aki took a seat by him. He was smoking another cigarette. Angel realized he had never even asked what it was that Aki enjoyed about smoking, and right now, all he wanted was to know everything about Aki. He wanted to wrap himself up in Aki's entire existence and wear it like that horrible oversized wool coat he had borrowed so long ago.

"I want to try one of those," Angel said instead, gesturing to the plume of smoke emanating from Aki's mouth and nostrils. Aki reached into his pocket for the packet before Angel stopped him.

"I want that one," he demanded, flicking his eyes towards the cigarette dangling from Aki's mouth.

"You sure?" Aki asked around the thin tube of paper.

Of course he was sure. Angel didn't want a cigarette, he wanted Aki's cigarette. And Angel didn't want to smoke so much as he wanted to share whatever he could with his Aki.

Aki turned and gingerly held Angel's chin with one gloved hand. With the other, he withdrew the cigarette from his own mouth before slipping it into Angel's. Angel parted his lips to accommodate it; the paper was slightly spongy from Aki's saliva, he noticed.

Angel took as deep a breath as he could, hoping to inhale something that felt like Aki. Instead he ended up with an acrid lungful of bitter smoke, which he coughed out in a fit.

Aki smiled and took the cigarette back.

"Have I been a bad influence on you?" He asked wryly.

Angel did not smile back.

"I am a devil and you are a human, in case you forgot. There's no way you can be a bad influence on me."

The pair sat in silence for a few moments, listening only to the quiet lapping of the uncharacteristically calm ocean. The life they had here was so beautiful; Angel resented that Aki wanted to end it.

"So that's it, then?" He asked, scarcely concealing the irritation he was suddenly feeling. "You're giving up? After all we went through to even get here?"

He was ashamed for sniping at Aki over this. He knew that Aki had a perfectly logical reason to ask for what he did. But his heart somehow seemed to be ignoring his mind, and forcing him to be angry at the man he loved. Angel really had been spending too much time around humans.

Aki took a drag from his cigarette and turned his head to blow out the smoke away from where Angel sat, careful for the smoke to avoid him. This consideration annoyed Angel even further.

"I asked you a —"

"I'm not giving up at all. I'm doing the opposite. I thought you would be glad."

"Unfortunately for you, I feel nothing of the sort."

Aki pressed on; if he noticed Angel's sour tone, he did not show it.

"You're the one who taught me that we have a duty to ourselves. These past two months, I have been able to live on my own terms with you. I was able to know freedom, even if just for a bit. I can't risk Makima taking that away from me. I want to die on my own terms too, not on hers."

"What do you need my help for?" Angel asked. "There are many ways to die before Makima arrives, if that's truly what you desire."

"Because what I really want is for you to be the last thing I know in life," Aki replied simply. "To me, the happiest, kindest death would be one surrounded in you."

At that, Aki rose from the bench again to return to the inn.

"Don't stay out here too long. It's cold, and I don't want you getting sick."

Angel knew that Aki was aware that devils could not fall ill the same way humans could. Besides, even if he were vulnerable to disease, why should Aki care if he really intended on being long gone by this time tomorrow? Angel huffed to himself; Aki always insisted on saying nonsense like this.

Angel leaned back and closed his eyes. What was he going to do? He was broken from his short reverie by the sound of gleeful screams and shouts. He looked back down ahead of him to see the village children setting up one of their little human games with balls and nets — soccer. They had taught him to play when he first arrived. Angel smiled at the memory; he had been utterly hopeless and completely unwieldy on the playing field, but the children still patiently taught and played with him. They had wanted him to be a part of their game, for some reason.

Angel was no stranger to being accepted by communities of humans, he supposed, but it still surprised him every time it happened. Humans who had nothing to gain by including him, nor lose by shunning him, still took him in and integrated him.

As much as Angel cherished this village, he missed his old one. He missed the gregarious old man who had helped him build a home, and the lovely young woman who was the first human he had grown close with. Even though it was Makima's doing, Angel still hated himself for absorbing the lives of all of those people, and he especially hated that he didn't remember doing it. This guilt would be a burden he would carry willingly forever.

Angel understood the unique pain of being turned against his loved ones, so he had no choice but to understand why Aki was so resistant to the idea.

The soccer ball rolled up and tapped Angel's foot. He saw the child from the inn give him a wave and an expectant grin. Angel stood and kicked the ball back and missed the boy by a good several yards. The child roared with laughter; Angel could see his missing teeth.

Angel realized that he didn't know the child's name, even though they had grown close over the past weeks. Perhaps he had learned it, but he had never been much good at remembering human names. It was something devils were not always primed to do.

There was one human name that Angel had never had trouble remembering, though. He doubted he could ever forget it. What a waste of brain space, Angel thought to himself; his mind swam with sentences he would probably never need to say again, but he just knew they would stubbornly remain in his mind for good.

Good morning, Aki. Come back to bed, Aki. Could you bring me a towel, Aki?

I love you, Aki.

I will see you again soon, Aki.

It was evening by the time Angel came back into the inn. Aki was back in their room, the hostess informed him. Angel thanked her and went up to their room.

Aki was sitting in their bed reading; he was illuminated by the golden sunset. Angel was not sure if he would ever see anything so breathtaking again, so he made sure to commit the sight to memory.

When Angel approached and sat on their bed beside him, Aki closed his book and looked up wordlessly.

"I have decided to honor your requests," Angel said evenly and without preamble. "But I have a request, too."

"Of course," Aki said, nodding. "What is it that you want?"

"Form a contract with me, Aki Hayakawa."

Aki looked surprised only briefly before asking, "What are the terms of your contract?"

"I will use my powers to help you achieve what you want. I will honor your three wishes to the best of my abilities."

Aki sighed in relief.

"And in return?" he inquired.

"In return," Angel said softly, "you must promise to haunt my nightmares for all of eternity."

Aki pressed a featherlight kiss to Angel's forehead, their first direct contact since Aki had rescued him from the cyclone. He probably lost a few days of his life already right then, Angel thought ruefully.

"I accept the terms of your contract, Angel Devil."

With that, Aki began to unbutton his shirt partway, and pulled it down off his arm to offer Angel a bare shoulder.

Angel swung a leg over and straddled Aki's lap for purchase as he angled his head for access to the tender skin where his neck met his shoulder. As his teeth broke into the soft warmth, Aki let out a sharp gasp. Undeterred, Angel drank the blood that jumped eagerly into his mouth. He drank and drank until it dyed his lips and tongue red, until he was certain he would never forget the taste of Aki.

Finally sated, he leaned back, watching as Aki grabbed one of his unused undershirts and pressed it to the small puncture wounds to stem the bleeding. Aki watched him back, undoubtedly fascinated by the odd sight of his arms growing back.

Regeneration was always something that astounded humans. Angel took it for granted for the most part, often ignoring the power altogether, but today, he was grateful for it. He reached forward with his grasping new fingers to unbutton the rest of Aki's shirt and tear it off before shucking off his own sweater. Angel knew that he had some measure of control over his life siphoning powers, and he would keep it as weak and slow as possible so as to prolong their time together as much as he could. Realistically, though, Angel still knew they had a few minutes at most.

As soon as they both were bare, Aki wrapped Angel in his arms, crushing their bodies close together as their lips met hungrily. The feel of Aki's teeth and lips and tongue battering his own made Angel's wings flutter faintly. His hands roved up and down Aki's stomach, his arms, his back; Angel memorized the feel of every scar and sinew. Just as Aki had wanted Angel to be the last thing he knew, Angel wanted Aki to be the first thing his new limbs learned.

Angel brought his hands up to Aki's head and tangled them into his velvety midnight hair, just as he had always so deeply desired. He ran them tenderly through the smooth strands as he massaged Aki's warm scalp; then, he formed fists and twisted them. Aki grunted softly at the sensation of his hair being pulled, and he abruptly flipped them both onto the mattress, pinning Angel beneath him.

The view of Aki hovering over him was far more beautiful than any of the gorgeous sunsets they had seen together. His shimmering eyes; his bitten lips; his dark hair hanging in disheveled curtains; he was a vision.

Aki balanced on his forearms now, careful not to place any of his weight on Angel. He trailed gentle kisses up Angel's chest and neck, painting a path back to his lips. Aki treated his body as something so tender and precious and breakable, and not as the weapon that it was. Angel whimpered for more; more roughness, more teeth, more weight, more everything. He wanted all of Aki until he could have no more.

They couldn't have more than a few minutes left now.

Angel wrapped his legs around Aki's waist and leaned up on his elbows to nip greedily at Aki's ear, swirling his tongue around the small piercing. Aki came apart at the sensation and ground down roughly into Angel, just as he wished. Angel fisted his hands into Aki's hair again and their mouths found each other once more as they panted into each other in sync.

Soon, Aki's breathing began to slow, and his body relaxed down. He rested his head in the crook of Angel's neck as Angel stroked his hair soothingly.

"You have done so well," Angel whispered.

"Thank you," Aki panted back, his hot, humid breath tickling Angel's skin. "Thank you for doing this for me."

Their bodies were so close that Angel could feel Aki's pulse as though it were his own. And it was fading.

"I'll see you in Hell, Aki."

Aki gave a weak laugh, and Angel could feel the shape of his smile in his neck.

"I'll be sure to keep it warm for you."

Then, Aki's body grew heavy and still, and Angel knew that he had upheld his end of the contract. He encased his and Aki's bodies together in his wings, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Angel did not know for how long he slept. Every time he awoke, he pushed himself back into the blissful oblivion. Logically, he knew that he should get up and leave, that Makima would still be arriving the next morning. It was not a compelling argument, however, when every time Angel closed his eyes, he saw nothing but dark hair and burning eyes and panting lips and strong arms. It seemed that Aki was upholding his end of the contract as well.

When Angel finally did awaken and open his wings, a flood of morning light washed over himself and Aki's cooling body.

"Good morning, Angel Devil," greeted a soft, polite, terrifying voice.

He had slumbered for too long.

"Ms. Makima," he greeted calmly. "Good morning to you as well."

Angel hoped that, so long as he betrayed no weakness, Makima wouldn't be able to control him again as she had done before. He just had to remain stoic.

"Are you ready to return with me?" She asked. "I would greatly appreciate it, seeing as you seem to have disposed of one of my top devil hunters."

"It already seems you have many devils in the department, Ms. Makima. I'm not sure a weakling like me would be much help anymore. It would be easier for all of us if you took me off the payroll, I believe."

If Angel's insubordination irritated Makima, she did not show it.

"I'm sure we could find a use for you. It's too bad that we don't have Hayakawa anymore, though," Makima said. "Perhaps there's still some way he can make himself useful too, I suppose. We will just have to be creative."

Angel's blood ran cold as grotesque visions of Aki's body being manipulated like a marionette ran through his mind. Makima reached forward to toy with Aki's bangs.

"No!" Angel cried, forgetting about his facade of stoicism. "Leave him alone!"

Makima's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Then, her lips curled into a wide, feline smile as she crouched in front of the bed.

"How about this, Angel Devil? If I ensure Hayakawa's corpse is properly...disposed of," she said merrily, happy to have found Angel's weakness again so quickly, "will you be a good boy and return with me to headquarters?"

"Yes," Angel said, nodding rapidly. "I will. Please just leave Aki be."

Makima, pleased with his answer, waited outside as he wore his public safety suit, which was slightly musty from being in the wardrobe for so long. After a moment of thought, Angel pulled Aki's coat on top of his suit and emerged from his room. It still bunched around his wings and looked terrible on him, but it had made Aki smile when he first wore it, and that alone made it worth saving.

Angel knew that Aki had made him promise that he would stay far out of Makima's grasp. Even though contracts technically expired once one member died, Angel still felt guilty for going back on his word so soon. On the other hand, his freedom felt like a small sacrifice when it was in return for this one final protection for Aki.

But Angel was not worried, he realized, as he took one long last look at Aki's body. He had broken out of Makima's control once; surely he could do it again.

Unlike his last stint of employment with the public safety department, Angel was this time locked up with the rest of the captured devils.

"We can't have you too closely in contact with the devil hunters again this time, can we?" Makima had said mischievously. "Not with the appetites you seem to have developed."

And so Angel found himself locked in a small cell in the same hall where he had visited the Future Devil all those months ago. He would be brought out when helpful for contracts; other than that, he was free to sit and be tortured by his own thoughts.

At least Angel could feel relief that Aki was free, however. At his insistence, Makima allowed Angel to watch as some of her aides burned Aki's body to a crisp.

"Has my new neighbor arrived?" Called a familiar voice from a nearby cell. "It's about time! I was wondering when you'd arrive, it has been so very lonely here."

Angel's mouth curled in scorn.

"I do not make conversation with liars, Future Devil."

"How cruel you are! I helped warn you and Hayakawa, and this is the thanks I get?"

Angel knew he should not engage the other devil, but he could not help it; he, too, was bored.

"You assured me the future was fixed. You said that Chainsaw would kill Aki. None of that happened, and he died anyway. I ended up being the one who killed him, at that." Angel's eyes prickled with tears, and he wiped them away roughly with the hands that Aki's blood had given him. "Is this all some kind of joke to you?"

"The future is fixed, Angel Devil. I never said that the Chainsaw Devil would kill Hayakawa, I only said he would be the cause of Hayakawa's death."

"You're begging for a lifespan spear to be thrown into your ugly mouth."

"Who would have thought a pretty little devil like you would have such a temper!" The Future Devil laughed, infuriating Angel further. "Don't you realize that Hayakawa wouldn't have thought to go on that little vacation with you if not for the threat of being killed by the Chainsaw Devil?"

"He only came with me to protect the Chainsaw boy," Angel said to nobody in particular. It was the truth, of course; avoiding the Chainsaw hybrid was why Angel had suggested that Aki flee in the first place. Selfishly, though, Angel was hurt; had Aki cared about him at all, or was it all just about protecting his friends?

"I didn't say that," the Future Devil replied. "Faced with the choice of dying by the Chainsaw Devil or by you, he chose you. He chose you both in life and in death. Humans are so disgusting when they are in love," the Future Devil lamented.

"In love?"

The Future Devil scoffed. "I lived in Hayakawa's right eye, remember? So trust me when I tell you that the way that human acted with you was totally freakish. Humans aren't supposed to be that way with devils. You must have noticed something."

"Why even bother telling me all this?" Angel asked suspiciously. "Why are you reassuring me?"

"I'm bored, and I'm lonely," the Future Devil said simply. "Does me no good to withhold this, anyway. It's more or less useless as far as information goes."

"You said it would be the worst death ever," Angel continued. He was running out of energy to be angry, and he might as well get all his questions out now. "Were you not lying about that, either? Should I be offended?"

"It was such a dreadfully boring death, you have to admit. How many devil hunters die quietly? For someone with such a violent little life, I'd never have expected Hayakawa of all people to go out like that." The Future Devil chuckled to himself. "It was kind of fun to see the two of you so paranoid in the end, though."

Angel thought for a moment.

"You're a piece of shit, Future Devil."

The Future Devil sighed wearily.

"So I've been told."

Angel waited anxiously for a summons for a dreadful new contract for his powers. As he waited, he kept thoughts of Aki fresh in his mind. It had been Aki who had helped him break Makima's power in the first place, and he wanted to be prepared to break it again if the need arose.

But days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, and the need never did end up arising.

The monotony of Angel's existence was broken up one day by a visit from an exhausted looking older man who Angel recognized as one of the senior devil hunters. The man unlocked his cell door, and Angel looked inquisitively at him.

"Did Makima summon me?"

The man frowned.

"She's gone."

"Dead?" Angel asked, confused. "How?"

"It's a long story," the man sighed.

"Are you my new boss, then?" Angel wouldn't be free, but at least he wouldn't be under the dominion of the Control Devil, and anything would be better than that.

"I would have been, but Denji told me you're more trouble than you're worth."

Denji?

Angel tried to place the name before remembering Aki calling the Chainsaw hybrid by that name. Angel really was hopeless with human names.

"Denji thinks I should let you go, and after everything he did, I think I'm inclined to listen to him."

Not knowing what else to say, Angel got up and began exiting the cell. The older man escorted him out.

"For what it's worth, I don't believe him," the man said as he led Angel to the exit. "I think Denji's just trying to do you a solid since you were Hayakawa's partner."

"Why would he do that?" Angel asked.

The older man shrugged.

"Beats me. I don't really care. In any case, one less devil to babysit is fine by me. And if you get out of hand wherever you go, just know I won't hesitate to cut you down and bring you back in. No offense."

"None taken," Angel said, and he left the public safety department forever.

Angel wasn't quite sure what to do at this point. But now he was free, thanks to the Chainsaw boy. In spite of his initial confusion, Angel thought he might understand why the Chainsaw boy had done him a favor, even though they had only known each other briefly and not even been friendly. Humans still felt those bonds — duties — to one another, even after they died. Since he could not do something kind for Aki, whom he had actually cared for, Denji had settled for doing something kind for him.

Humans actually did have quite a bit in common with devils. Both only truly died when people stopped thinking about them. However, while fear was what kept devils alive, humans could also be kept alive with affection, respect, and love.

It had only been a few months since Aki and Angel had last been at the seaside village in Hokkaido. The village had been the last place Aki had been known and loved; there, Aki would still be alive and awaiting Angel's return.

As Angel boarded the same train he and Aki had taken in a panic months ago, he found that he was actually looking forward to seeing the village again. It was warming up now, so his swims would be much more pleasant, and the waters would be teeming with new sealife for him to harvest for the villagers.

He was equally excited to see the people — the kind inn owners, their shy son, his playful friends, the boisterous fishermen. All of them. He would even learn their names this time.

It was very unlike a devil to miss and crave the company of humans, Angel reflected, before smiling to himself. Perhaps Aki had been a bad influence on him after all.

#chainsaw man #csm #akiangel #aki x angel #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki #angel devil #csm angel #csm aki #csm fanfic #csm angst

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