#Bike theft in the blink of an eye

[fireylesbianhell]

This World Won't Ever Forget Us

javid AU chapter two electric boogaloo. we get some perspective switch-up. this probably isn't similar to my usual means of writing, and it's not beta'd at all. I'm still working on getting a grasp of these characters, I apologize if they're ooc.

this one took me to hell and back. anyways, ill bitch more in the tags, you may now eat your lukewarm microwave meal of a chapter

as always, inspired by "Bite The Bullet" on ao3

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David Jacobs was a smart guy, this was an undisputed fact. Ask his Mother, Father, Sister, or Brother.

Ask his few drifting 'friends', that, are honestly more like 'odd Acquaintances' or 'pitiful classmates'. Ask any of his proud teachers who liked having a nice boy and star pupil or the begrudging teachers that let who they saw as a smartass and some 'waking mouth' go by with flying colors in their class. 

So, if you were to say, ask David Jacobs why he was in a car, going 45 down a highway, hoping, prayin’ that the law wasn’t on their ass, he would simply stare in your face like you were a madman. 

Yet, he was the madman in question.

Hearing the car rev again before slowing down, he turned to his fellow escapee. 

He looked about his age, give or take possibly a year or two, but he could tell that he didn’t seem the type to have a ‘Just Graduated’ mentality after having just watched him let loose in the rickety old car down the highway after beating up someone for him in an alleyway.  

“So…” He started slowly, holding onto his cap that still threatened to fall off his head despite the acceleration of the car being slowed. 

“If you’re about to ask if we have any form of a plan, sugar, you’re shit out of luck.” He said exasperatedly. Dave shut his mouth quickly after that. That was, indeed his question- but there was a bit more to it. 

“Actually- er, I wanted to know your name.” He said, probably sounding just as exasperated himself as a look of guilty shock briefly traveled on the driver’s face. 

“...Jack, um, Kelly. Jack Kelly.” He said, slowly, as if clashing with himself out whether to entrust the information to David. 

“David Jacobs, but you already knew most of that.” He said, to clear the air a bit. The car was fully slowed down now, and he let go of his cap. 

They sat again in a bit of awkward stillness before David decided that, if he were likely gonna be spending a little while with this guy, he would bite the bullet, and get to know him. 

“So, erm..where did you grow up?”

“Rowena, Texas.” He replied flatly. 

“Texas? That’s…nice. Why in the hell did you leave Texas for Oklahoma? This place is the worst, y’know.” 

“Wasn’t no choice. ‘Pa had to pack it up from Texas due to our farm going up in price he couldn't keep up with. Stopped up here for a bit and then I got myself arrested.”

And that, made David’s heart stop a bit. 

Run away with a stranger? Bad. Run away with someone who has a criminal record? To, kindly put it, he was fucked. 

“Um…wow…” he said hesitantly. 

He watched Jack deflate a bit. “It was petty theft. A bicycle- I was 13.” He said, still wearing that shunned expression yet not sounding remorseful one bit. 

This did help Dave’s conscious, if not just a tad. He nodded and said, 

“So, no plan, a record consisting of…bike theft, and a car.” 

“Stolen car, a gun in the back, and only one destination before I was bound to drop off the face Oklahomama…” Jack rambled out, gripping down the steering wheel, before blinking a moment and sighing. 

“Before, you of course,” he said with a near wistful glace if Dave had to truly describe it. Wistful, Scared, And the same blink-and-you-miss-it 'oh, god I'm fucked' look in his eyes. 

And if David took note of his rather pretty slightly multi-colored brown-green eyes, that was just for him to know, thank you very much.

David stared back. He was in a car- a stolen car, his brain helpfully supplied to him- with a criminal and a gun, on the run, running where? 

He kept that thought aside- he was too busy still looking at an extremely stressed-out-looking Jack starting to babble on once more. 

“I tried- to tell ya, I mean. I promise i-i ain’t no crook. Just- trying to get out, like you.” He paused, looking guiltily again before starting up 

“I can drive you back. Back to your house, or, hell even that scum stunk diner if you don’t feel safe or nothin-” 

Jack Kelly couldn't continue, as he was busier suddenly attempting not to crash a car at the moment- 

due to the fact that David Jacobs was currently kissing him. 

Jack wasn’t an expert in anything romantic. 

He had one ‘girlfriend’ on a nearby farm once, when he was nine, and a few here-and-there crushes. It took one crisis in juvenile detention to take a realizing that, he liked boys just as much as he did gals- he didn't express it too much less someone like his Ma, from those few fragmented memories he had of the woman who left him, who spent every open minute on about God hatin’ the ‘Queers’ and may take it in their head to try and hurt him for it. 

Jack knew he had a little thing for the boy who ran away with him in his stolen car, and, to have this boy kissing him like his life depended on it was a real eye-opener, especially while you're supposed to be driving.

Eventually, as if they both remembered humans do need to breathe, and broke apart, Jack's eyes darting to the open road ahead of them and making a sharp turn to the side of the road. 

David’s eyes widened as if it had just hit him what he’d done. 

Dave started to panic, internally- he just kissed him! Just like that! He didn't pull away sure but- maybe he was shocked? Angry? Maybe he was about to yell at Dave for not asking or he probably didn’t even like guys at all oh god-

Dave’s worries were paused by Jack kissing him this time. 

Oh- well, that was a whole lot better than what he initially expected to happen. 

Jack pulled them apart and then, sighed, oh so dramatically, that David couldn’t help but laugh himself. 

“So..." he started, that exasperation back mixed with a meekness David expected seeing in watching his younger Brother trying to ask a girl out to a dance. Dave simply smiled, giving Jack a patient smile 

Jack paused, looking up again. he gained his confidence once more, if only for a second. 

"We don’t know each other still anyways, but Davey Jacobs, will you go wherever the hell with me despite my vast and likely growing criminal record?"

If you asked David Jacobs’ parents, siblings, acquaintances, and teachers. or anyone who ‘knew’ him, they would tell you he was obviously smart enough to say hell no. 

“I Will.”

—————–––—————––

Stepping into the shittest motel he’d ever seen, Dave was really starting to feel the romance. And now the lack of adrenaline that’s been fueling his life-changing choices.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“It’s not perfect, I know- but, once I get another job done, we’re gonna be in the finest homes wherever we wanna be.” He grinned- that grin could bring David’s mind from its encyclopedic likes to nothing in an instant, yet somehow make him want to write the sappiest most romantic stuff he could ever dream of. 

Dave nodded and let him talk to the clerk, requesting the one-bedroom and getting by with an odd look, and thankfully nothing else. The man didn’t seem an uptight kind, god knows what happens here at his motel, and by the looks of the place, David was sure that two guys who may be queer were the least of his concerns. 

He and Jack made their retreat up, and when they got there Dave Collapsed backward onto the bed while Jack dropped a few things to the little shoddily built wood table beside them. 

Dave looked up seeing the car keys, Jack's handgun, and a few papers on top of an open map. 

“What’s that?” He asked, scooting over to see a few things marked down on the map half-covered by newspaper clippings and addresses, and a few notes in piss-poor handwriting from odd names like "Race" and "Specs" 

“Places I need to be or have scouted out.” He said stoically, before smiling and grabbing his hand suddenly. 

Jack pulled him over and put a pencil in Davey's hand and wrapped his arms around his shoulders with a giddy little smile. 

“Well? Anywhere you want babe. The world is ours the second I get those jobs done and then some. Any Job, Home, Earnin' you can think of.” he smiled, taking a step back and letting Davey have full control now. 

This was new. 

David Jacobs could finally help call the shots. Be dangerous, Be wild, and kill off that clean-cut plastic mold of a person he had to be, the person that drove him to the madness that got him to jump in that car this morning.

Ever since he was a kid there was almost always something he had to take care of. He had to help his father out constantly after the accident and relies on Dave to help him with his job. If Sara was unable to help their mother, Dave could do it with no problem. keep up with the chores, do the schoolwork, and help with his parent's work and his sister's work. 

Then in school, his intellectual ability was immediately turned against him by others. Got a project with David Jacobs? Oh, then you basically don't have to do anything at all! Let brainiac handle it. 

Then, Mom & Dad have Les, and David Jacobs becomes the babysitter, helper, worker, cheat sheet, and everything else in between. Every minute of his life became doing things for and taking care of other people. 

And now, Tall, Dark, Handsome swoops into his life, and Jack Kelly gives him freedom. 

He looked up at Jack with one of the most genuine expressions of happiness he’d ever felt on himself before and looked back down at the map. 

He too wanted to see it all, and by god, He & Jack were gonna. 

But David Jacobs was a smart guy, who knew they had to start small. 

He circled a little theatre right outside Oklahoma City, a nice rich place his family traveled to once. 

He had an ally there. 

[theirfool]

❛ you want me to make you some coffee? ❜ ^^

“ mm… ” akira has his phone in his hand, net loaded on an article on the recent bike thefts in yongen-jaya (something to pass the time in the quiet of goro’s apartment), and doesn’t lift his head until several seconds have passed. he blinks, languid, a cat’s moniker, and inclines his head; not a nod, but rather acknowledgement. “ that depends. do you have any cute mugs? ”

before he started going to school, the adults around him (his extended family, mostly— his parents never entertained it) had this game they liked to play where they pretended akira could read their minds. he never understood it then, couldn’t find the humor in it even as his aunties tucked spilling laughter behind the curtains of their palms like it was some big, elaborate undertaking, but he never particularly cared to, either. these days, whenever he catches his own gaze in any semi-clear reflection and lingers to examine it, their mean-spirited snickering from back then is much less of a mystery.

he meets goro’s eyes across the room from his seat on the couch and ponders the stories goro hasn’t told him yet; wonders if goro was able to hide himself away or if the adults around him looked at him like they used to look at akira. “ and can i watch you make it? i’m kind of curious about your technique. ”

[best24news]

Rewari Crime: पलक झपकते ही Bike चोरी, CCTV में कैद हुई फुटेज

Rewari Crime: पलक झपकते ही Bike चोरी, CCTV में कैद हुई फुटेज

रेवाडी: जिले में चोरियो पर अकुश नही लग पा रहा है। शहर के रामपुरा थाने से महज कुछ ही दूरी पर राव तुलाराम विहार गली नंबर 5 स्थित घर के सामने खड़ी पल्सर बाइक चोर ने पलक झपकते ही चुरा ले गए। ​Haryana News: 125 करोड लागत से हाईटेक बनेगा इस शहर का बस स्टेंड पुलिस को दी शिकायत में विनय अपने काम से लगभग 3:30 बजे घर पहुंचा तो, उन्होंने अपनी बाइक को घर के बिल्कुल सामने दरवाजे पर इसलिए खड़ा किया कि उसे कुछ…

[abbatoirablaze]

Teller Morrow Tragedy, Season 1, Chapter 6

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings:  sexual tension, taboo relationship, mentions of a breeding kink, implied blowjob, violence, drugging a dog, illegal drug use, guns/mentions of guns, stealing a truck/grand theft auto.

Mandy’s POV

"Ahhh," Jax said, arguing with dad, "gotta bring it in through here. Afraid the amped up carb's gonna throw too much heat on the line."

"Might," dad shrugged, "That new Graytex cable can take a shitload of heat though."

I saw as Tig pulled up on his bike, stopping it in the garage instead of at the rail. His face was serious as he turned towards Jax and dad, "we got trouble."

"Get everyone on the horn," dad replied to Tig. He looked at me, "go to the clubhouse. Wake up Juice and anyone else in there. Tell them church. 15 minutes."

I nodded and made my way over to the clubhouse. Bobby was sitting on the couch strumming his guitar. Jax came up behind me, and I heard him mutter it to Bobby and half sack who was behind the bar cleaning up.

"You tell Juice. Okay..." Jax said, "wake his ass up."

"Will do," I muttered. I walked back into the dorms and began to dread every step closer to his door.   When I got there, I felt my heart rate quicken.  

Knock.  

What's the worst he can do?  

I was about to knock, but I pulled my hand away.  

Fuck it.  This was my room too.  

I put my hand on the door and turned the handle.  

Juan Carlos was snoring lightly on the bed.  The shades were drawn, so it wasn't as light in the room as it was outside.  He was face down, in nothing but his boxers.  I closed the door lightly behind me.  I couldn't help but smile.

I missed those things about him.  The stupid little bullshit that was so mundane, but everything to me.

When I fell asleep in his arms, and woke up, me his personal teddy bear...him lightly snoring in my ear but pulling me closer if I shifted away.  I smiled a little more, wanting to get into the bed with him.  I slipped off my boots and locked the door before sliding my jeans off.  If I was going to cuddle up with him in bed again, I was going to be comfortable damn it.  

The bed creaked ever so slightly as I got in it.  I slipped under the blankets and before I could think of what to do next, he rolled over and wrapped his arms around me.  I felt myself melt into his warm chest.  His scent wrapped around me.  I could never place what kind of Axe he wore, but it drove me wild.  

Fuck.  

I really missed this.  

I forgot the original reason for coming into the room, and I closed my eyes, inhaling his scent again.  I felt goosebumps rise onto my skin.  My body wanted to react to him.  

"mmmm," he moaned as I shifted into him more.  I felt one of his hands slide down my waist, and to my ass, before cupping it.  He moaned again, "mmm Mandy...I'm not pulling out baby." 

That's when I felt him.  Fully hard against my thigh.  

And I wanted him.  

I opened my eyes, and I let my hand glide down his chest and to the v of where his boxers began.  The noticeable bulge twitched, and I felt myself getting wet.  I wrapped one of my legs around him so I could feel him between my legs.  

He twitched again, his hand grabbing my ass firmly, and he moaned.  I could feel him on my inner thigh.  

"Juan Carlos." 

"Baby," he whispered breathily, "fuck...Mandy." 

I closed my eyes and ran my hands along his head again.  His mohawk was starting to fill in, but the edges were starting to get stubbly.  I giggled.  The bed shifted.  

"Mandy?" 

I opened my eyes and saw Juan Carlos.  His grip around me hadn't loosened entirely, but it wasn't holding me tight against his frame now.  

"Sorry..." I whispered, "I just...I missed you." 

He blinked a few times.  Confusion was written across his face, and I knew why.  When I'd gotten to his house, I wouldn't let myself get out of my car.  I'd sped off as soon as he'd gotten out.  I hadn't had the courage to talk to him since then.

"We didn't get to talk two days ago." 

"I know." 

"You never even came in." 

"I was scared." 

"You think I wasn't?" he asked.  His hand stroked my cheek, "Mandy...I don't have a plan.  On any of this.  I'm god damned terrified about all of it.  But I still wanted to talk to you...I don't want you to hate me." 

"I could never hate you," I sighed, my hand copying the lines of his jaw, "Well never for long anyways." 

"I love you." 

"I love you too." 

"So where does this put us?" 

"I don't know...back at square one?" 

"We still can't have sex." 

"I know..." I admitted sadly, “but i…uh…can I ask you something?” 

He nodded, “anything.” 

“What were you dreaming about?” 

“You know I was dreaming about you,” he admitted, “don’t play ignorant.” 

“Well,” I giggled, “I knew something was up…but I didn’t know…you know…everything.” 

“I remember you telling me you saved yourself for me…” he admitted, “and well I’d been having these dreams lately.  Ever since you told me you wanted a baby…”

“Okay?” 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he admitted, meeting my gaze, “and lately, when I’ve been having those sex dreams about you…I uh…don’t pull out…on purpose.” 

“Oh.” 

He sucked his cheeks in, “yeah….” 

I pushed him so he laid on his back, and straddled him, before leaning down.  I pressed my body against his.  I watched as his eyes closed and he bit his lip, “Juan Carlos.” 

“Mandy,” he moaned, grabbing my hips.  I began to grind my hips against him.  He moaned again and I felt his nails begin to dig into my hips, “fuck…you make this so hard…” 

“JUICE!” Tig yelled from the other side of the door.  He began to pound on the door, “CHURCH.  GET YOUR FUCKIN ASS OUT HERE.” 

“Shit,” he hissed.  His hand brushed his mohawk, “2 minutes.” 

I smirked and slid down his body, pulling his boxers down with me. 

“Mandy, what are you doing?” 

“Got 2 minutes,” I giggled, getting ready to take him in my mouth, “gonna make it count.  And anyways, you only promised Alicia you wouldn’t fuck me…me blowing you is a different story.” 

“Fuck,” he moaned as I went down to work.  His hands quickly tangled in my hair, and he tried to quiet himself, “oh Mandy…fuck…” 

Clay’s POV

"You sent him into Nevada?" she asked angrily. I knew that tone. She wasn't asking a question.

"It was his idea," I said defensively, "it's club business."

"He has a 10-day-old kid," she replied, "he is distracted. You have to protect him."

"Protect him?" I asked, "From what?"

"Himself."

"He's fine. Relax."

"Now this one," she growled, pointing over To Tara. She was chatting Lowell up about the Cutlass she'd brought in. I wrapped an arm around her to try and calm her down, “Jesus.”

"What's she doing here?"

"Anything she can to get close to Jax," Mikey sneered. I looked at my granddaughter, then back to Tara. Mikey had a sour look on her face, "she's not right for Jax."

"That's your dad's business."

"What the baby said," Gemma sneered, "she's doing anything she can to get close to him."

"Maybe she just needs a tune up."

"Not funny dad," Mandy said, resting an arm on Mikey's shoulder, “the fuck is she doing here anyways?  Didn’t she have her fill of Jax before she left?”

"Didn't trust her then. Don't trust her now," Gemma replied, leaning towards me. I smiled and we kissed one another lightly. She began to walk to her car, “need anything while I’m out?”

“Nope.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, “watch the office, girls!”

"What are you two doing here?" I asked, coming between my daughter and granddaughter, "it's Friday. You should be in class. The both of you."

“Gramma told us to watch the office,” Mikey smirked, “weren’t you listening, grandpa?”

"No class on Friday dad," Mandy grinned, sticking her tongue out at me. I lead them both over to the office.

"What's your excuse?"

"Mom pulled me out for the trip North to Washington, remember?" she asked.

"Your mom didn't go with Chibs though." I laughed, "she's down at the station. I'm surprised she let you stay with her."

"Chibs has his hands full with the Irish and the boys."

"That's true," I laughed, "you kids are a handful, I’ll give you that.  So you’re going to stay in the office til your grandma gets back?”

"What about Mandy?"

"She's coming with me." I replied. We dropped Mikey off at the office door and headed into the garage, "you doing alright kiddo?"

She nodded, "why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been a little off since Fun Town," I said slowly. I watched her pale a little bit. I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head, "it's okay sweetheart. I won't ask you to do that again.  I shouldn’t have brought you in on that.  Maybe your brother was right."

"It's not that," she whispered. I pulled away from her and looked into her eyes.  She refused to look at me, “I just…”

"What is it?"

"I liked hurting him," she admitted, "I uh...I talked to Tig...I'm not asking to be in on any club business...but I uh...I liked doling out that pervert's punishment."

I took a step back from her and looked at her, "did you tell anyone else this? Your mother? Your sister?"

She shook her head and I nodded. I pulled her back to my side, and she smiled, "you still love me, right?  You don’t think I’m some kind of freak?"

"Of course I love you kiddo," I said, "We have to talk about this...but I know you've always had a special bond with Alex. I wouldn't be against him taking you under his wing to show you a few things."

"Thank you daddy," she smiled, kissing me on the cheek. I smiled and leaned against the black tool drawer set just as Tig and Half sack got into the shop, “I…just thank you.”

"I gotta admit..." Sack said slowly, "Clay's old lady gave me a serious milf chubby."

I could see Tig look through him at me. He looked scared for the kid. Sack turned around and he went pale, "Hey-I brought the car out of the garage. It's...Uh...It's clear now-If you need me to clear it out again I can-"

"Clip a truck from Unser tonight," I said to Tig, ignoring the prospect, "make it look like you stole it. Cancer boy wants deniability."

Tig nodded and I turned to go back to the office. Mandy was eyeing a blow torch.

"Down tiger," I laughed, knowing she'd heard Sack, "The prospect will learn. I'll get him back in good time...for now we've gotta work on your anger. Come on. We're going shooting." 

"What about me?" Mikey asked from the office. 

"Like I said," I laughed, "you're watching the shop today.  You sit your ass here all day, or I'll call the school myself and tell em you're skipping.  Then I'll call Chibs and tell him your mom let you stay home." 

"You wouldn't." 

"I would," I smirked, “wanna find out?”

She pouted and sat back at the desk, and I walked outside with Mandy, "alright kiddo.  We're gonna talk now...and really go over it...are you sure you're okay about what happened with that pervert?" 

She nodded, "yeah...I want to do more." 

"I nodded, "You're not going to be affiliated with the club though." 

"I know." 

"Have you ever gotten to talk to Happy?" I asked.  She shook her head. 

"No, Alicia usually told me to stay away from him." 

"Figures," I laughed, "she doesn't want to have a reason to talk to him.  She still hasn't forgiven him for the accident at Declan's baby shower." 

She smiled, "it was really funny...and anyways, he didn't mean to shoot the gender reveal balloon." 

"She'll just never get over the fact that he brought a gun to a baby shower and scared the hell out of Cain." 

She shrugged and I pulled out my cell phone.  I dialled Happy's number and put it up to my ear.  He answered on the second ring, "hey Clay." 

"Hap," I grinned, "you doin the run around here still?" 

"Yes sir," he replied quickly, "starts in about an hour.  Just hanging out a few hours north of you guys.  The club need something?" 

"Need help with my daughter." 

"Alicia in trouble?" 

I laughed.  I could hear the strain in his voice, "Alicia's fine.  Need ya to come down sometime to talk to Mandy...she's a soldier...like you and Tig." 

"Of course," he replied, "anything for the club." 

Juice’s POV

"Did you dose it?" he asked. I rolled my eyes at him, as we watched the dog down the snack.

"Triple dose."

"Patch over bash, man," he sighed, "makes Mardi Gras look like a sweet 16 party. With Jury's stable shit...nothing but young, tight perfect pussy."

"Mmm,"I groaned, my mind on anything but Jury's girls. I was thinking about Mandy...how she was, layin on our bed before I left. She was naked and touching herself...begging me to come back to bed and touch her. I wanted to give in, but I knew that if I did, I would have done more than just touch...I wouldn't let myself.

I watched as the dog trotted off, "well Fido's having his own party."

I grabbed the bolt cutters and cut the lock on the fence. Tig pushed the door from behind me, and I felt the lock graze my hand, "ow. Shit. Which one?"

"Unser said take the cargo truck," he replied, grabbing the bag and following me, "the keys should be in it. "

We heard a dog barking from behind us and we turned around. My eyes went wide, "holy shit."

"Run. Shit," Tig cursed, “FUCK!”

I began running towards the cargo truck, yelling at Tig to run too. I got into the truck first and Tig began to yell at me to open the door. His side was locked. I slammed my side shut and threw Tig's door open. He began screaming as he entered a battle with the dog. It'd bit his ass.

It began to whimper as he kicked it off, and slammed his door shut. "GOD DAMN IT. SHIT."

I leaned against my side of the truck, not entirely understanding how the dog managed to be alive at this point. Tig pulled his hand away from his ass and he looked at me, "I thought you said you drugged the meat."

"I did."

Tig turned towards the window, confused as all hell, "look at him, he's foaming at the mouth."

"That thing should be dead," I said shocked, "I dosed him with like, two grams!"

"Grams?" he asked, "Grams of what?"

"Crank!"

He looked at me, leaning in. His eyes got wide, "you fed crystal, to a killer Doberman. Are you retarded?"

"NO!" I reached into the back of my waistband on my jeans and pulled out my piece, "should I shoot him?"

Tig put his hand over mine, "No. Drive. Put it in.”

"Sorry," I muttered. I don't think he heard me. He just looked at the back of his jeans, “I-I didn’t mean-“

"Look at my ass?"

I muttered another apology and he told me to shut up and drive to the warehouse district so we could load up the barrels.  

"I didn't know it would happen like that," I said, trying to start up conversation again as we'd parked at the dock, “I thought it wou-“

"Shut up."

"You ever been to Ireland?" I asked, when we'd gotten to the first barrel.  

"I said shut up." 

"Look," I said slowly, "look.  It's not my fault you got bit.  Alright?  You didn't specify what kind of drug." 

He looked at me slowly and I knew I fucked up.  Maybe I can talk my way out of it. 

"I'm not happy about being here either, but at least you and I...you know, we can try to have a decent conversatio-"

"What?" He asked, "what do you want?  You want to bond?" 

I shrugged and nodded

"You think we got some great connection in common because you're fucking around with Clay's daughter?" 

"I'm n-" 

"Shut up," he growled, "I didn't say you could talk.  You want to get closer?  Fine." 

He began to unbuckle his pants and I got uncomfortable. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm going to dunk my balls in your mouth," he said slowly, "you're gonna gag.  I'm gonna laugh.  We'll be best friends forever." 

"Why you gotta be that way?" 

"You ever been to Attica" 

"Shut up," I said, taking the dolly, and loading the barrel onto the truck, "pull your pants up, fucking jerk." 

He narrowed his eyes at me before zipping his pants back up again.  He leaned against the barrels, "you better not be fucking with her head again." 

"I've never fucked with her head," I said defensively.  Tig shrugged.  I stopped what I was doing, "did she tell you that I did?" 

"No," he said simply, "but I love that girl with all my heart.  Just as much as I love my own two daughters.  If you hurt her, I'll fucking kill you, kid." 

"I wouldn't hurt her." 

"You don't have a choice." 

"And just so you know," I said, taking a step towards him, "her and I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone..." 

"Not my funeral," he laughed, "Mandy already made me promise when she was in the hospital the last time...she told me she almost went back to using heroin after your big fight...she bought it but flushed it last minute.  Got drunk instead." 

"Do you even know what that fight was about?" I asked. 

"Doesn't matter." 

"I wouldn't fuck her," I said quickly, taking another step towards him, "we'd been dating since she was 15, but she was upset because we'd never had sex.  She got mad and left.  That was not my fault.  I told her we couldn't.  I told her we only had to wait a few more months...then I would tell Clay myself, that I was dating her." 

"Bullshit," Tig said, lighting up a cigarette, "you can try and play hero all you want, but in the end, you wouldn't tell Clay.  He'd kill you.  You both know that.  Why else do you think she's been helping the club lately.”

"She's helping the club?" I asked, "how?" 

"That pervert at fun town...when Clay had you watching the road," he said, "she was the one that cut his junk off.  She was the one that made that pedophile a god damn Eunich." 

"You're lying." 

"I'm not lying for shit," he laughed, "you know what else though, "you turning her down...gave her that anger she needs to release.  She liked doing it.  She liked killing some guy.  So, congrats on waking her up you retard.  Because I know it...hell you know it.  There is no way of going back after you've killed someone." 

Chapter 7

@Lohnes16, @evyiione

[pinknerdpanda]

The Diner

Word Count: 3,623 (decidedly NOT a drabble...it got out of control and I won’t apologize.) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Angst, Theft, Fluff Beta’d By: @princessmisery666​ - thank you my love

A/N: This was requested (kind of?) by my amazing and wonderful Name Twin @amanda-teaches. I hope you like this babe! (And I promise I’m working on the other still) I know these are called “Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles” and literally NONE of them are Drabbles...but I’m lazy and haven’t changed it in the 4 years I’ve been doing these. So...Sorry? (I’m not, actually. I’m not even sorry a little bit.)

The bitter chill of winter air cut through the leather of Bucky’s jacket as he stepped out of the car. He’d briefly considered taking his bike for the evening but had thought better of it. Though now, he was grateful he’d spared himself that torture. Shivering, he wondered if getting out on this frigid night was even worth it at all. 

“Fuckin’ hate the cold,” he muttered, the words crystallizing in the air as he shoved the keys into his pocket and began making his way to the door. 

After Steve went back in time to return the stones - and himself - to their proper place, Bucky felt lost. He’d known Steve’s intentions - even supported them. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

He and Sam had gotten along better than Bucky would have guessed at the jump. They’d actually grown code enough, Bucky might even go as far as to call Sam a friend. Sure, they still had their moments of friction, but overall they worked well together. Sam was a damn hard worker and made him laugh, despite the obvious pain Bucky saw in his eyes. He missed Steve too. Whether they admitted it or not to themselves - certainly not out loud - they needed each other. 

But sometimes Bucky just needed some time to himself. 

That was how he’d wound up here the first time six months ago. It had been Steve’s birthday and even though Sam had invited him along to go see his old friend, he’d declined. He hadn’t been ready for the reminder of what kind of life he’d missed out on. So instead, he’d chosen to go for a drive with no real destination in mind. Not long into the trip however, he’d gotten hungry and stopped at the first place he saw. 

The diner was small; cramped and slightly dingy, with scuffed linoleum floors and cracked booth seats. The menus felt sticky and none of the dishes matched, but the coffee was perfect. Hot, dark and slightly burnt; just how he liked it.

If anyone had recognized him that first day, they didn’t say anything. He was used to his fair share of open stares and the odd murmuring of worried voices wherever he went. But not here. Here, he was just Bucky - cup of coffee, no cream.

Bucky fell in love with the place immediately and it soon became his little home away from home. A place of refuge he could escape to when things got too heavy or his thoughts got too loud. Or, like tonight, when he just really, really wanted some of that amazingly shitty diner coffee.

The cold air that enveloped Bucky sloughed off as the diner door shut behind him, quickly replaced by the warm scent of coffee and whatever Mel was frying in the kitchen. He’d been there less than a second and he could already feel himself begin to relax. 

A quick scan of the space showed no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Well - not really. A few weeks back, someone had decorated the counter top with a small, fiber-optic Christmas tree and a Santa figure that looked nearly as old as the place itself. Meager as it may be, it made the place feel festive. 

The old jukebox in the corner - usually churning out songs by Chuck Berry, Elvis and The Temptations - hummed holiday tunes and voices that made him remember Christmases long since past. Before the war, before HYDRA, before the snap...when he was just a charming blue eyed kid from Brooklyn, looking out for his sisters and his annoyingly stubborn best friend. Bing Crosby's soothing timbre always brought back fond memories of his ma's cooking and the squeals of delight from the girls when they woke Christmas morning.

His moment of reverie was broken, however, by the sound of another familiar voice. 

“Hey Bucky. Merry Christmas!” Y/n smiled and Bucky briefly thought of the prospect of making new Christmas memories to settle alongside those from so long ago.

Y/n followed him with a steaming pot of coffee as he took his seat at his usual booth. She filled the cup to the very brim before leaning against the back of the seat opposite of him.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” Bucky wrapped both hands around the chipped porcelain mug. “I figured you’d have the night off, bein’ the holidays and all.”

In all the months he’d been coming here, he’d only ever seen her face bright and full of joy. She was sweet and kind and always made a point to have a chat with him about anything and nothing when she had a moment to spare. If he was being honest, part of the pull he felt toward this place was because there was a good chance he’d get to bask in her glow, if only for an hour or two.

But now, the smile on her face drew tight and the light in her eyes dimmed. In an instant, Bucky was filled with a pang of regret. Before he could find the words to apologize, her features melted back into place. He wondered if the cheeriness she tended to exude was simply a mask that he’d failed to recognize. 

“Girl’s gotta make a buck somehow, right? Just the coffee tonight?”

Bucky paused, the cup halfway to his lips as he thought about it. 

“Actually, I think I’m craving pie.”

Y/n nodded approvingly. “Well lucky for you, we have lots to choose from. Pick your poison.” 

Savoring the delicious burn of the first sip of liquid gold, Bucky smacked his lips and tipped his head to one side. “How about you surprise me? Bring two slices of your favorite?”

“Coming right up!”

Bucky watched as y/n made her way behind the counter, setting the pot back on the warmer and moving to the fridge where they kept their pies. Propping a fist on one hip, y/n pursed her lips as she surveyed the options before her.

Bing's voice filled the comfortable silence as he crooned "White Christmas".

“Heya, Buck!” Mel’s voice drew his attention and he turned to find the greying head of the diner’s owner peeking out of the kitchen window. "Merry Christmas!"

“Merry Christmas yourself, Mel. Surprised you’re even open tonight.” 

“Everybody’s gotta eat, even on Christmas Eve.” Mel grinned. “Besides, who else is gonna let your ugly mug drink all their coffee for a buck and a half?”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “You oughta be grateful I even come in and pay for this sludge, Mel. I could just stay home and drink my own damn coffee.”

“And yet here you are,” Mel quipped back, his gaze flicking to y/n as she approached Bucky’s table with two slices of pie. Mel winked at Bucky before disappearing into the kitchen.

Bucky’s face flushed at the not so subtle implication. And yet, here I am, Bucky thought as y/n set the plate in front of him.

“Chocolate cream pie, huh?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow at her. “I woulda pegged you for a cherry kinda gal.” 

“Guess you woulda been wrong then, Sarge.” Y/n shrugged, a smug smile on her lips. “Enjoy!”

Y/n turned to head back to the counter, but Bucky caught her wrist gently. As she turned around, a spark of something between fear and confusion flashed across her face.

“Now where are you going?” Bucky let go of her wrist and motioned at the seat across from him as he continued. “Thought we were gonna have some pie?”

Confusion won over as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re gonna have some pie. I gotta get back to work.”

Bucky gestured around the nearly empty diner, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. Only one other table was occupied - a young couple, too giggly and twitterpated to notice anything other than each other. “I dunno. Looks to me like there’s not much work to be done at the moment. And besides, you really think I could eat all this by myself?”

Y/n planted her fist on her hip again and rolled her eyes. “Something tells me you definitely could.”

Gasping in mock offense, Bucky pressed his hand to his heart. “Even the notion! And on Christmas Eve, no less…”

Scoffing, y/n held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. Let me go get a cup of coffee and I’ll join you. But only because it’s Christmas.” Y/n shook her head warily as she walked back behind the counter.

He didn't even try to fight the pleased smile from his lips as he tapped the side of the mug with a vibranium finger. “Maybe just bring the pot?” Bucky called before draining the last of his cup.

A dull thunk against the warped tabletop nearly startled him and he looked up to find y/n already settled across from him, the coffee pot between them.

“Already ahead of you, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned and nudged a napkin wrapped fork in her direction as y/n poured a cup of coffee for herself and refilled his. 

“So…” he began, unfurling his fork and immediately scooping up a large bite of pie and jamming it into his mouth.

Y/n’s eyebrow quirked and she paused, fork poised midair as she responded - “So?” - before copying his action, albeit with a slightly smaller bite. 

“That’s some damn fine pie.” Bucky licked his lips and hummed in delight as he took another bite. “So, what’s the story?”

Y/n set her fork down and wiped her napkin over her mouth. Bracing her elbows on the table and wrapping her hands around her coffee, she tipped her head to one side.

“What’s what story?”

Bucky at least had the manners to swallow before taking a drink and leveling a measured gaze at her.

“Earlier, your face dropped when I mentioned you working tonight. What’s that about?”

Perhaps at some point in Bucky’s long, long life he’d have danced around the question. But lately he found himself growing more and more blunt. Why not just cut right to the chase without all the benign pleasantries?

Y/n blinked and cleared her throat. “I...uh...I don’t know what you mean.” She smiled at him, though her lips seemed forcibly stretched around her teeth.

Leaning forward, Bucky shook a gunmetal grey finger at her. “Nope. Not gonna cut it. Something’s bothering you, and I wanna help. If you’ll let me.” He sat back, running a hand through his recently shortened locks. “God knows you’ve listened to enough of my bullshit to last a lifetime.”

Tentative fingers wrapped around her fork as she began swirling the tines through the whipped cream of her mostly-uneaten pie. Bucky watched as she distracted herself with the sugary concoction. 

“It’s,” she cleared her throat, gaze still trailing the swirls made with her fork. “It’s my brother. He got himself in trouble with some pretty brutal bookies. He came around last week asking for cash; I guess he’s in pretty deep. I gave him the little bit of savings I had, but I guess it wasn’t enough.” 

Bucky’s body went rigid and he felt the anger building in his veins. He was thankful her gaze was still downcast, because he imagined the look in his eyes was pretty dark. 

Y/n swallowed, setting her fork down with a soft ‘clink’ against the plate. “I came home from work a few days ago and he’d come in and stolen anything he thought he could get some money out of. I dunno; guess he pawned it or something.”

Small whirs and barely audible clicks of metal on metal filled the silence between them as Bucky’s fist clenched nearly as tight as his jaw. He knew she probably didn’t hear it, but to his heightened senses, it sounded like a blaring siren. Schooling his features and relaxing as best he could, he took an extra moment to level the tone of his voice.

“Your brother robbed you to pay off some bookies?” 

Y/n eyes shot up, meeting his and widening suddenly as realization struck her. “Shit, I didn’t...please don’t…” She sucked in a shaky breath.

Bucky placed a hand over hers, surprising himself for a second before shaking his head. “Hey, hey. It’s ok.”

Hanging her head, she sighed. “Sometimes I forget who you are. You’re just Bucky, to me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to put you in any kind of awkward situation being an Avenger and all…”

Her rambling died as Bucky’s hand tightened around hers reassuringly. 

“I think knowing I’m ‘just Bucky’ here is one of my favorite things about coming here,” he offered her a lopsided grin as she met his gaze through watery lashes. “I’m just worried about you. You didn’t do anything wrong, darlin’.”

Releasing his hand, she sunk back into the faded pleather booth and wrapped her cardigan around herself.

“I know. I’m fine. Really.” She picked at an invisible thread on her sleeve. “I mean I can do without a TV or a computer, but he took all the presents I bought for the kids down at the rec center. I’d been saving all year to be able to do something nice for them.”

Bucky’s face flushed with renewed anger. How in the hell did someone so kind and generous and wonderful as y/n wind up with such an asshole for a brother?

“Excuse me, miss?”

Y/n looked as caught off guard as Bucky felt when the young couple from the other table called for her. They seemed hesitant to even disrupt the obviously tense situation. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’re gonna miss our train if we don’t leave soon.” 

“Oh no, no, no. You’re no bother.” Y/n sniffed and pasted on a smile as she slid out of the booth and met them at the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you sooner.”

Their conversation faded into the background as Bucky’s head buzzed with all the ways he wanted to make y/n’s brother pay for hurting her so badly. A voice in the back of his head - one that sounded entirely too much like Steve’s star-spangled-ass for his liking - told him to calm down. It was obvious y/n loved her brother, and anything Bucky’s scrambled mind could come up with to deal with him would definitely end up hurting her more. 

So, rather than plotting revenge, Bucky pulled out his phone instead. He began clicking away furiously and got so lost in his mission, he missed the sound of y/n’s footsteps as she neared. The feeling of a warm hand against his shoulder made him jump, the device thumping to the table, narrowly missing his now-cooled cup of coffee.

“At ease, Sarge. It’s just me.” Y/n chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was even possible to scare you.”

Bucky’s face twisted in smug defiance. “It’s not. I was just distracted, that’s all.” He snorted in derision. 

“Uh-huh.” Y/n’s lips pursed, clearly trying to fight a smile. Bucky wished she wouldn’t; he’d give just about anything to see her face light up again. “Well, I’ve gotta go clear their table and start getting things shut down for the night. I just wanted to thank you for listening to me and for always being so...well...you.”

The sound of Bucky’s heartbeat roared in his ears as she leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

----

A loud, almost violent-sounding banging on the front door woke Bucky up with a jerk. He scowled, eyes squinted against the faint golden rays of morning sun peeking through his curtains. The clock on his nightstand seemed to mock him with bright, bold, red numbers declaring the time to be 6:48 am.

The banging started again, somehow more violently. Muttering curses under his breath - mostly aimed at Sam for deciding to spend the holiday with his family down south, thereby leaving him to deal with whoever was currently trying to break down the front door - Bucky stumbled out of bed.

Another rapid series of knocks came to an abrupt stop as Bucky swung the door open. The venomous glare melted from his face as soon as his eyes met y/n’s.

“Y/n? What are you…”

His confused mumbling was cut off as y/n pushed inside and began pacing the length of the living room. She looked upset; angry even. Which Bucky could understand, at some level, as he, too, was none too pleased with being conscious at this god-forsaken hour. He watched her silent pacing with a sleepy sort of curiosity, expecting her to either start yelling or crying at any second. When a minute or so passed and she’d done neither, he tried again.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

The pacing stopped suddenly as she whirled to face him. The fire burning in her eyes was slightly off putting and not something he was used to seeing from her.

“What’s wrong?!” She stalked towards him. “What’s wrong is that I was woken this morning by a burly man named Carl - who smelled of cheese and tequila and told me he had a load of packages waiting for me in his truck. I was seconds away from calling the cops when he told me that it had all been paid for by someone named J. Barnes.”

Bucky’s head fell forward, a funny heat creeping up his face. A particular plank of flooring had suddenly become incredibly interesting.

Y/n scoffed. “I was confused at first, because I don’t know any J. Barnes, right? Except I do, don’t I James.” 

The sound of his given name fell from her lips in a sort of disdainful disbelief that made Bucky’s head snap up. 

“Y/n listen…”

“How did you even know where I lived? Are you some type of creepy stalker customer? I never asked for...I didn’t…” y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t tell you that story so I could be seen as some charity case!”

Bucky held his hands up and took a slow step towards her. When she didn’t step back, he continued to approach her cautiously.

“First off, I know you didn’t. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I was only trying to help.” He now stood only a foot away, and made no move to come closer as he continued. “I’m not a stalker, either. I only had EDITH look you up and send the address straight to the delivery company. I specifically told her not to give it to me.”

“Who the hell is Edith?”

Bucky sighed, “It’s not a who, it’s a what. It’s Stark’s AI. The narcissistic bastard called it EDITH - ‘Even Dead, I’m The Hero’.” Bucky rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the twinge of pain at the thought of Tony. One of Bucky’s biggest regrets was not being able to make peace with the man before he sacrificed himself against Thanos.

Y/n frowned, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Bucky took a chance and stepped forward, placing his hands gently on her elbows.

“I’m sorry, I swear I was just trying to help. When you said your brother stole all the gifts you’d bought for the kids at the rec center, it made me think of my sisters. There were a few Christmases when my ma couldn’t afford presents and it broke my heart for them. I was just a kid back then and I couldn’t do anything to help, but now I have the means and I just...I just want to help.” 

Without warning, Bucky found himself engulfed in y/n’s arms. Her face was warm against his bare chest and he blushed, just now realizing he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on. He pushed aside his own discomfort and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tighter when he felt her body begin to convulse with silent sobs.

They stayed that way for...well, Bucky wasn’t sure. It could have been a minute; it could have been an hour. But eventually, her tears subsided and she pulled back, wiping her face and not meeting his gaze.

“Thank you, Bucky” Her voice was so quiet when she spoke, Bucky wondered if he’d only been able to hear it because of his enhanced hearing. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much, I can’t ask you…”

“You didn’t. I wanted to. For you and for those kids. Every kid deserves a present at Christmas.”

Y/n shook her head, eyes still glossy, though her lips curved in a sweet smile. 

“You’re too precious for this world, you know that Sarge?” She sucked in a deep breath. “Ok, fine, but on one condition.”

Bucky frowned. “Condition?”

“Yes. You have to help me deliver them.” Y/n crossed her arms again, a challenging glint in her gaze. “But you should probably put a shirt on first.”

Bucky cringed. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Y/n’s eyes widened as though she hadn’t meant to speak the words out loud. 

Bucky fought the urge to make a smug remark and chose instead to ignore it and save her from any further embarrassment. Though he did catalogue that to contemplate later.

“Alright. Let me get changed and then we can get going.”

Bucky smiled and started toward his room, but stopped to face y/n again.

“Oh and y/n?”

Y/n looked at him and Bucky pretended not to notice the way her eyes trailed over his bare torso before she met his eyes.

“Hm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, Send me an ask with the list you’d like to be on. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​ @amanda-teaches​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @masksandtruths​ @princessmisery666​  @jamielea81​ @foxyjwls007​ @becs-bunker​ @super100012​ @shy-violet-soul​ @emoryhemsworth​ @impandagrl​ @donnaintx​

Heroes:

@arrowsandmixtapes​ @bethbabybaby​

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Can I request a fic for Onyx/MC involving Onyx's pregnancy cravings?

Brief warnings of past abuse.  Implied past miscarriage.  SPOILERS FOR ROUTE.

Written by: @evoedbd Craving

It was midday when Onyx emerged from her bedroom, all bright smiles and twinkling eyes. The sunlight played across her platinum hair, causing the soft, meadow green streaks to glisten like freshly growing life. Much like the life within her. Just a few months in and Onyx had taken to pregnancy as she took to everything. Gracefully. Beautifully. With the support of her family, the Assassins, Onyx was thus far cruising through the trimester. Sure, morning sickness was an absolute bitch, but with Cali holding her hair back every morning it wasn’t so bad. And not being able to drink copious amounts of alcohol was playing some havoc on her, but Wrath’s baking, Malakai’s uncanny ability to sniff out the best milkshakes, and Darius bringing home endless snacks and magazines from undisclosed locations more than made up for that. Even shopping with Ripley was fun, finding new clothes and materials to replace her dwindling wardrobe. Cal and Avi were horrible influences on her baby collection, both constantly accompanying her to the toy stores and bookshops. Cal had even bought a tiny little guitar, one which Avi was beginning to practice lullabies on. It was enough to melt Onyx’s heart.

She padded across the common area towards the kitchen, barefoot in a pair of shorts, swaddled in a signature Tie-Dyed hoodie. One which was not part of her usual wardrobe. She couldn’t help it. The moment her eyes had cracked open it was like a string between her and the hoodie, a magnet pulling at every sense in her body until she surrendered. She couldn’t feel at ease until the unnaturally soft material was wrapped around her until the scratchiness of worn armpits and elbows chafed at her. Until she was surrounded by that scent. Of bike oils and sand, mixed with an unnamed element that made her heart sing in contentment. It smelt so fucking good, enough that she turned her head in burrow her nose into the hood and sniffed, inhaling as much of that scent into her lungs as she could. A hint of cherry blossom sent her into a moment of sheer bliss. The hoodie was just so good. So perfect. She didn’t even feel guilty about her theft, about leaving the current Envy assassin without a jacket. It wasn’t like Cali actually needed it half the time, she was hot enough, visually and literally if you asked Onyx, as it was.

Before she could make it to the kitchen, a soft sound caught her ear. A breath. Then it played again, stemming from the couches. Onyx couldn’t help but smile, pulling the hoodie just a little tighter around her shoulders before stumbling upon the controlled chaos.

The table was a mess, covered in stacks upon stacks of hand-drawn diagrams and crisply written notes. Writing Onyx could barely understand. It didn’t take a genius to recognise Cali’s flowing concoction of lines which were meant to replicate letters, something that likely would have fit in a med school. Each stack of papers had a name at the top, one for every member of the troupe. It took a few moments before Onyx was able to make out the notes scribbled across the pages, which only made her heart swell with joy. Across them were personalised notes, each a set of instructions regarding pregnancy. Notes to Cal to watch his snark if he wanted to keep his tongue. Demands for Darius to never comment on Onyx’s growing belly under any circumstances if he wanted to remain able to act on his lust, along with a sloppy sketch of some scissors. A gentle reminder that Malakai wasn’t allowed to squish Onyx with hugs, nor take her to packed clubs. Ripley had a whole page explaining that adding honey to everything did not make it suddenly magically healthy.

Quietly, Onyx read them all, her cheeks flushed at the evident care and dedication Cali had put into them. She snickered at notes, warmings such as “Do not squish Onyx, Biceps-sarama.” Or “Do not encourage Onyx to underdress as much as you!”. Eventually, her eyes drifted back to Wraths, specifically to one page marred with blocky letters underlined thrice.

NO PUTTING RAW FISH AND/OR ALCOHOL IN CUPCAKES UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!!!

ALCOHOL + RAW FISH = NOT CUPCAKE FILLINGS

Onyx couldn’t help but laugh, dabbing at her eyes as delighted tears began to fall. Cali’s passive-aggressive notes and demanding were positively endearing, especially knowing how apologetic Cali was likely to be in person about them. Truthfully, the threats were comedic coming from the second shortest assassin. Especially for the vision laid out before Onyx.

There was Cali, sound asleep across the couch, twisted, exposed skin glowing a faint, washed-out brass in the sunlight.

Her bare feet were kicked out over the arm of the couch, a toe or two bent from repeated breaks, heel and balls of her feet callused from the blisters she’d earned riding the canyons. One chipped toenail, from a sparring accident, taunted Onyx’s inner fashionista. Made her itch to buff it out. It was only the blues and purples forming beneath the nail which gave her pause; colours which littered the fine skin across Cali’s shins, up to a spectacularly scuffed up knee. All the little sun worn scars mixed with the fresh graze, a tapestry of her determination. Mental and physical strength, which showed in the relaxed definition of her thighs. Legs which allowed Cali to balance her bike wheels upon the finest wires, let the woman flip with Onyx and play games of chase in the skies. The closest thing to wings a human could have. Twisted as she was, the waistband of her denim shorts rode low, hanging enough to expose the band of her underwear off a sharp hipbone. Low enough for Onyx to have a glimpse of strong core muscles before the simple grey shirt concealed Cali’s ribcage. Bones that could be felt, yet not actively seen. Onyx let her gaze travel slowly, taking in every bump and bruise across Cali’s muscled shoulders. That sent a bolt of pride through the dragon of the Envy Trio. Cali’s muscles had grown since they’d first met, and that growth was directly tied to Onyx’s training. To Cali wanting to stride alongside the small bombshell. Cali had grown stronger to support Onyx. To be there for Onyx. How could Onyx not let herself look? Even if it was for just a few moments? How could she feel anything but pride and admiration for the definition she was the reason for?

She didn’t even realise that she’d been literally purring until her rumbling seemed to wake the sleeping woman. Even before those deep, dark eyes opened, Cali’s lips peeled into a small smile; the meaning of radiance, like a beam of sunlight through the clouds.

“Onyx… you’re purring.” Cali noted softly, as if her sleep husky voice might disturb the quiet. Onyx swallowed. Shuddered. The rasp added to Cali’s usually sweet voice, the weight to the tones, it was unexpectedly appealing. A siren’s song calling Onyx to sleep. A tease. No… not a tease. A promise. An eventuality. An invitation. It was an invitation Onyx couldn’t resist. Cali had barely even moved her arms before they were full of a tie-dyed goddess, shielding her from the harsh world.

Onyx was a dragon, she had learned the depths of her fire in human death, thought she had understood warmth. Yet, Cali once more proved her a fool. The mystery of how Cali’s arms could accomplish a warmth that burning stone could not was beyond all science, magical and mortal. It was beyond reason and madness both. It consumed without destroying, converting fear and shame into courage and pride. It was love, a treasure beyond anything Onyx had comprehended feeling as a human, let alone as a Dragon. A simple hug, delivered in such a sleepy manner had Onyx cooing in bliss, wiggling her smaller frame into the scoop of Cali’s body. A perfect fit. Something written into the heavens, woven on looms of fate, carved by Hephaestus. Something so perfect couldn’t be an accident, no way in any hells could anything convince Onyx that Cali hadn’t been created for her. To protect and love, to offer that in return. Gods, Cali did that so well. This compassionate hurricane of a woman was a shield against the world when Onyx needed shelter. Water when Onyx had dehydrated herself shedding tears for a man who mistreated her. Yet, Cali was not immovable. She cried, she cowered and screamed in fear at times. She was fearless, showing every emotion so plainly, each a little slither of starlight Onyx greedily claimed. Cali, the saviour of Onyx’s soul, was also the greatest treasure to protect. It was befuddling how someone could be strong enough to not only need to protect, but admit they needed protecting.

“Are you hungry?” Cali questioned softly. Onyx simply let a content purr escape her, snuggling deeper into that unique warmth. Honestly, she could eat, but that wasn’t what she needed that very minute. Somehow the combined scent of oil, sweat and cherry blossom was making her entire world creep closer and closer to a standstill. Each blissful inhale had her senses settling, body relaxing in a way nothing could ever accomplish. Not a lovely bath. Not an exhausting night of lust, even with Lust’s friends. A hug. Her world boiled down to a hug… and that playful nudge to her cheek.

“I could probably fry some bacon in chocolate sauce. Maybe add some fried pickles in that Raspberry ice cream you’ve been loving the past few weeks.” This time, Cali’s suggestions earned an actual groan. Whether delight or disgust, even Onyx didn’t know. Her face had screwed up, nostrils flaring as she burrowed her forehead into side of Cali’s neck. Warm. Soothing. Dragging her back towards a land of bliss… disrupted bliss.

Onyx almost whined in frustration, comfort turning overbearing within a blink of an eye. That voice. Cali’s goddamn voice. Onyx couldn’t tell if she wanted to fall asleep to the melody, stay awake to listen as she ate every ungodly concoction her body craved or try to make Cali’s voice break with less wholesome things than snuggling. It was pulling at her, dragging her in a thousand directions until she was more frayed than the hem of Cali’s jean shorts. Loose threads Onyx realised she was twirling her fingers though. Each movement had her fingers brushing across Cali’s rich skin, dancing across the defined grooves of muscle… another realisation. Cali was flexing. No, not just flexing. She was giggling. Laughing. Shoulders shaking beneath Onyx’s torso.

“If you want to be ready to tell the others, I’m not on the menu.” She teased; her voice disappointingly clearer. Sleep had lifted, taking that romanticised rasp. Even without the gravely nature to her voice, Cali’s voice was a Siren’s song. One luring Onyx’s focus from one appetite to another. Touch reminded her of her warmed body, then voice lured her out of the beginnings of lust, back towards practicality.

“We could order Sushi.” Onyx finally suggested, cursing how her cheeks flared at the twitch of Cali’s lips. Indulgent. Admiring. Again, Onyx sighed blissfully, letting herself sink back into the welcomed embrace. Her fingers wove through Cali’s, thumb skimming the ring Cali proudly wore. The layers of twisted metal.

“The chocolate sauce is in the fridge. Or I could melt some dark chocolate.” Cali’s offer was so genuine, so utterly casual Onyx almost forgot how disgusting fish and chocolate was to anybody who wasn’t pregnant or deranged. When Onyx paused to think on it, she was sure even the most dangerous of lunatics would flee the usually vile combination. Not Cali. Every single time, Cali braved it. With a bright smile, she’d bathe her shrimp or raw fish in chocolate sauce right alongside Onyx. When the stares became too much, there was Cali, loudly proclaiming her love for the combination. Making such a spectacle of herself that Onyx’s weird cravings were forgotten.

Cali was so different to Dorran. Cali was there, eating every lunatic concoction fearlessly, ensuring it wasn’t lethal. Even going as far as to make the other trope members taste test everything before allowing Onyx to eat it. Where Dorran had tried to drown it out, Cali drowned in Onyx’s pregnancy. She made Onyx the centre of her world, of her galaxy even. Everything had Cali’s support, her enthusiasm. Even the rare arguments when Onyx felt a little too babied, which never lasted long when she heard the genuine fear in Cali’s voice. The agony held within two little words. One single line.

You died.

In that line, Onyx saw how broken Cali could become. Just how deeply their bond ran in their veins. That. Perhaps it was that intimacy Onyx craved the most. Cali, no matter how, was the only constant Onyx clung to. From her scent, to her warmth, to her voice. Her touch. Onyx never realised that cravings could be more than food, could be so consuming and subtle. Contradicting and complimentary. For so long, validation had been her desire. For somebody, anybody, to care for her as if she was worthy of it. When she’d kissed that girl in the Casino to distract a crowd, she’d never believed her deepest cravings would be sated. Yet here she was. Here they were. Just beginning to learn the true meaning of craving.

[alma-berry]

Timeless Horizons

A sweet little Kitty fic, with a special surprise! This is a collaboration with the amazing @toka-sketch​, who made two beautiful illustrations for this story. 

Here’s a little sneak peek of Dru and Ty! You can see the full illustrations of them and Kit down at the bottom, as they are filled with spoilers!

Enjoy ❤

Dru is hiding.

Yes, it’s practically comical by now. She’d spent far too much time trying to avoid closing herself from her family and be more present, but today… she can’t help herself. The institute is just swamped with people, with preparations, with the shadow of old ghosts. The only ghost she actually wished to see was Livvy, who by all means should have been present for her brother’s engagement party. Instead, she dreads of meeting the more corporal ghosts of her past… plenty of whom was invited.

Hens, the hiding. Dru wasn’t stupid enough to do it inside the institute, where early guests and the battalion of her siblings were probably itching to make her fold napkins or whatever if any of them laid eyes on her. She was hiding outside the sanctuary, running her bare toes over the sandy concrete stairs that lead to a road connecting the highway.

In a mundane scenario, this wouldn’t have been the brightest choice for a hiding spot, but everyone uses portals these days anyway… it’s not like Magnus Bane would make a road trip out of it and drive all the way from New York to Los Angeles. Dru was sure he doesn’t even drive to the grocery store, not that he even needed to when he could just snap his fingers and voila!

Dru sighed in frustration, she would have loved to be able to summon up some Carmel corn right about now… hiding is dull work.

A loud sound of something like crackling grew closer to where she sat.

Dru sprang to her feet, not intending to be caught in a welcoming party of any sort. But when she started to head back into the institute, a single dark figure became visible right in front of her.

It was a man, climbing down off his motorcycle. There was something familiar about the fluid movement of his body that made her stop in her place and stare.

Long, strong thighs wrapped in tight dark gear stretched as they lifted themselves off the massive bike. Dru arched her eyebrows and let her gaze linger over the soft leather of the rider’s jacket with quiet appreciation, and latched onto the strands of fair hair that peaked out of the helmet that still lay on his head.

A ring of recognition went through her, and it wasn’t long before she connected the dots. This was Jace Herondale.

She ran towards him, avoiding the questions that his abrupt appearance brought up - where was Clary? How did he bring his motorcycle from New York? And most importantly, was it the one that could fly?

Before she could call for him, the man lifted his helmet and a curtain of long, golden curls fell on his neck. Dru’s breath caught in her throat as long, elegant fingers pushed back the tangle of hair and made way for two lucid blue eyes.  

This was not Jace Herondale. This, Dru realized with a sharp pang in her chest, was Kit.

“What,” her voice pitched, “the hell are you doing here?”

The shock made her words sharp and shrill. She blushed with sudden guilt, and it was a moment until she remembered she was more than entitled to be upset to see Kit Herondale.

Dru wasn’t supposed to be so surprised to see him. Jem, Tessa, and their cute little peanut, Mina, were already there, but when they said Kit would probably be joining them later, Dru assumed it was just an excuse for Kit to bail on them. Again. She was angry with him, for leaving them, for lying to her. And above all, for leaving Ty.

She cleared her throat and sharpened her gaze on his eye, but the look she found in them silenced her. Kit looked at her like he was afraid she’ll put a blade between his teeth. He also looked like he would have let her. Maybe that look, of a convicted criminal, was what made her soften her expression… and when she did, Kit visibly relaxed, but kept his distance from her all the same.

“I was invited,” Kit said. His voice was husky, hard, but his body was all discomfort. He looked at his boots, his hands twisting down his front like a complicated pretzel.

“I didn’t want to come, I know you probably don’t want to see me,” Dru could feel the acid, eating away the iron of his voice. “But Emma threatened to shave my head while I sleep if I missed this, so… yeah. I didn’t have much choice.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Said Dru.

Kit’s brows rose alarmingly high, his body closing in on itself. Dru knew animals from years of watching her older brother bringing all sorts of creatures inside the institute, so she had seen her fair share of cornered animals. Kit looked like one, so Dru schooled her face into a soft, neutral expression.

“Listen I’m, I’m sorry about-“ He was panting, fighting so hard to get the words out. From his expression, every syllable was a knife to the chest.

Dru silently took back every bad thought she had about Kit. If even after all of this time he reacted like this to the mere sight of her, he couldn’t have been so cold and indifferent like she convinced herself he must be. She hated the times when she caught herself doing the things she criticized most in others, like twisting the truth into an opinion. Like ignoring facts, knowledge, experience, and boxing them into a mold born of hurt.

Searching Kit’s half-shut eyes, Dru let herself remember the boy who lied to her only to keep her brother’s secret safe. The boy who lied only because he had to, not because he wanted to.  

“I’m sorry I ditched you and-“, Kit’s voice was small and his face was a patchwork of pale and blotchy. Dru couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s okay, Kit. I know why you left, it’s…” Dru swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“You do?” Kit paled. He looked honestly startled before his face settled into a frozen non-reaction.

“Yeah… I know about Livvy, and how it, umm, didn’t work out.”

Kit’s blank expression didn’t change, it was as empty as the desert’s sky. Something pulled up Dru’s stomach. She opened her mouth, but between one blink of an eye to another, Kit’s stone face washed under by a strange reservation, and he mumbled “Yeah, okay. Umm, thank you.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was scanning the institute behind them so intensely she wondered for a minute if someone was approaching, and then she realized - he must be thinking about Ty.

Kit radiated with coiled-up energy, tense and unforgiving. Dru wasn’t sure if he was afraid, expectant, or both.

“He’s not here.” She said in a small, soothing voice.

Kit stayed still, but Dru detected a slight tightness in his jaw. Was he disappointed? It must be confusing for him, being here after so long, in his hometown, in the first place he learned about being a Shadowhunter. He must be completely overwhelmed. She remembered how pained Kit seemed to be when he tried to apologize to her just a minute ago, and it was just her. He probably would’ve had a fit if it was Ty here in her place.

“He’s still at the Scholomance.” She said into the silence. “They have this super-secret, highly sensitive, just for elected few stupid mission.” Dru let out the exasperated mixture of pride and annoyance her brother’s stories usually made her feel, and although Kit has just nodded once, she was sure his lips had twitched upwards a tiny bit.

“So... a motorcycle, huh?” She smiled at him. “Very Herondale of you.”

Kit let out a full-fledged smirk at her comment, and Dru felt a familiar tap on her heart. This was the Kit she remembered, and the feeling made her push a little more. “I knew they called it Grand Theft Auto for a reason. I can’t wait to hear what else you managed to steal from the head of the New York institute.”

Her taunt was a downright success. Kit barked a laugh so genuine, Dru felt thirteen all over again. She would poke him some more if it made him this cheerful. “It’s not considered theft if it was given you freely... just don’t tell that to anyone. I don’t want people to think I lost my touch.”

Dru felt her eyes widen in surprise. “So it is Jace’s motorcycle? I knew it!”

“Yeah…” Kit rocked on his heels and glanced over at his bike lovingly. ”He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”

That is one legendary gift, Dru concluded. She wouldn’t mind a cousin that gifts sexy automobiles, but the thought of Julian approving to let her near a thing like that was less likely than her becoming the youngest consul in Shadowhunters history.

“So... how did you get it here?” Dru asked. “It’s not exactly a short ride from New York or Devon.”

“Magnus,” Kit answered with a shrug. “He portaled us and then just... did that thing he does where he poofs things out of thin air, like chocolate-chip cookies or... tents. Magic is so...”

“Yeah.” Dru sighed in agreement, thinking about that caramel corn.

“So where were you?” They began to trail back towards the institute. She could feel Kit tensing up with every step. She didn’t know if it was just because it brought up memories, or if it was something else. She still debated herself whether to pry into that subject, while she pried into others.

“Umm... I just,” Kit’s fingers roamed through his long curls in a somewhat nervous gesture. “I thought I’d check out my dad’s old place. See if there was anything left.” His sky blue eyes seemed clouded with memories, and from the little she knew or remembered, they weren’t all good. “I didn’t really get a chance last time, after, umm,” Kit cleared his voice. “After he died.”

He sounded stiff, and a bit drained. She almost forgot he was an orphan, like her. Of course, she had Julian, which was an amazing brother-father, and Kit has Jem and Tessa. She didn’t know Johnny Rook at all, but from what she heard, the Carstairs were definitely an improvement.

“And did you find anything?” She asked, carefully.

Kit took a long moment to answer her. They were already at the sanctuary’s doors when he finally answered.

“No. There was nothing left.”

*

Kit’s appearance didn’t make her want to join the herd of party planners all of a sudden, and by the looks of him, Kit wasn’t up to a large reunion yet. So she offered him to go practice in the training room and was pleasantly surprised when he agreed.

Kit wasn’t a regular Shadowhunter, in the way that he didn’t have to endure rigorous training for his entire life the way Dru was. So when she picked up her favorite misericord and gotten into a fighting stance, she felt rather confident that she could give Kit a run for his money, even with all of his bulging muscles and chiseled arms.

She was absolutely, painfully, wrong.

Kit might not have been raised as a Shadowhunter, but whatever it was they were feeding him in Devon, it made him a beast in a fight. Well, maybe not so savage as it sounded, but he whooped her ass in a matter of seconds, flipping her on her back without breaking a sweat.

“Damn it, Herondale.” She gasped. “Aren’t you supposed to be inexperienced? Why are you so good at this?”

Kit’s face lit up like a campfire. “Am I?”

Dru blew out a whine. “Don’t get all modest on me, you’re ruining your brand.”

There was nothing modest in the grin Kit shot her back. He flashed his teeth wide, like a Cheshire cat, and ran up to climb the training room’s pitched roof until he balanced himself lightly on the highest of the rafters. He didn’t pause to look at her and just jumped gracefully, somersaulting in the air like he was a goddamned acrobat.

Right before he straightened up, his black shirt, which had a Deadpool logo, a fact that made her enormously happy, having it being another thing that looked like the Kit she knew, rose up a little and flashed the tip of a black pattern that was inked into his lower back. Dru wondered which rune it was, and who put it on him. It was such a strange location for a rune, not somewhere you can mark yourself. It must have been Jace, but that left the question of which rune Kit needed Jace to mark him with, that he couldn’t do himself?

“Was that sufficiently Herondale?”

She stared at him, completely dumbfounded until she caught herself and shut her gaping mouth. “I’d say so… yeah. You caught in quickly, haven’t you?”

Kit brushed the dust off his gear pants and shrugged.

“Jace. That man is… relentless.” Kit flopped on one of the training mats, making a loud poof when he did. “You know, he almost threw me off a tree once, when I refused to jump? Twisted my ankle three times. He said if I won’t make it, he’d disown me. Still not sure what I was supposed to be disowned off, his rusty collection in the armoire?”

He had a British lilt to his voice. The way he pronounced certain words, round and elongated, was something he didn’t used to do back then. It was charming, Dru thought. He was charming. A bit self-conscious, still, with the way he occasionally tugged down his shirt or bite his lower lip, scrunching it to one side.

Dru always thought that if she ever met Kit again, she’d let him have a piece of her mind. But he was so… Kit. Quiet, sarcastic, familiar. The things about him that felt foreign to her weren’t really foreign, but more of an enhancement of what he used to be. There was something bright about him, almost luminous. He wasn’t particularly happy at the moment, so she couldn’t blame it on his mood. But there was something in his features… they were fine, delicate. He was all muscle, but the way his hair fell on his skin, gold on gold, felt fragile, almost monochromatic.

Kit must have sensed her staring, and his eyes narrowed at her in a silent question.

She put the misericord back on its hanging and placed her hands over her hips.

“So, wanna sneak down to the beach?”

*

The infinite stretch of water in front of her was shining bright like there was a blanket of diamonds spread all across it. The sun was low, and every ray hugged the waves with bright whispers.

They weren’t so sneaky as she hoped. Giving Kit a sideways glance, she hid a smile, remembering how Emma crushed him in a tight embrace.

“You are so big, Kit! I haven’t seen you in a year and you became Godzilla. I do not approve, Jem. He’s not allowed to be stronger than me.”

Kit choked out a bruised laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that, Em. Just… lay off with the hugging, you’ll crack a rib if you won’t let go of me.”

Mina’s answering giggle was more than enough to break the two apart. She reached her arms for Kit and he tugged her to him without a second’s hesitation.

He reminded her of Jules so much, of how he used to hold Tavvy when he was her age, nuzzling his baby hair and murmuring soft words to his ear.

There was something so vulnerable about this Kit, but when he was with his baby sister, she could see how he simply glowed. The love that he felt for that little girl was so evident, so undeniable, it made Dru’s heart play a low, painful beat.

He seemed troubled now, his brows screwed together, as he stared into the sunbathed horizon.

“How is he?”

It was almost a whisper, but Dru heard.

“Alright.” She answered. “Tall. Taller than Julian.”

Kit’s shoulders hunched inwards, and the grip on his arms was so tight, she could see his knuckles whitening.

“But, how is he? With Livvy, and,” he choked on the last word. “With everything.”

Of course he wanted to know about that. She almost forgot he knew at all. Dru was so accustomed to having to keep the slight shifts of Ty’s attention to herself, knowing he must interact with Livvy in a way that was reserved to them alone, even after death.

“He’s okay, she’s… okay.” She said. “Not that I could really say for myself. He doesn’t say much about her. He’s better now, with me.”

Dru loved her brother fiercely. All of her siblings, but Ty… Ty was something else. She didn’t love him more, but she loved him differently. In him, she could sometimes see her Livvy, and wondered whether it’s a twin thing, or was it just her presence, revealed and kept only by him. They were better, now. There were things he only said to Dru, like the story of how they found his Lynx.

“Oh, he has a cat! Well, she’s not really a cat. She’s a Carpathian lynx. Scary as hell, doesn’t like anyone other than Ty.” Dru said with her nose screwed. She liked cats and didn’t appreciate Irene’s snobby attitude, even if she gave her the creeps.

Kit muffled a laugh. “Sounds like Church. That cat gives all other cats bad reputation, devil creature.”

Dru’s hands flew to her mouth. “Church! Awww I miss that furball!”

Kit snorted. “You can have him.”

Dru let herself look at Kit’s eyes. The smirk on his lips didn’t reach them.

“And you? How are you, Kit?”

Kit seemed startled by the question. For a second, the guard he kept up slid off him, and an endless sorrow spilled away from him like ink, staining his face with shadows. It didn’t linger, but it didn’t really keep away.

“I’m okay, Drusilla.” He put a calloused hand on her arm and squeezed. “So are you, it seems. I’m happy to see you again.”

The smile Dru gave him was wide, silently trying to convey that so was she.

She patted his arm and rose to her feet, dusting sand off her black velvet overalls, which were an unfortunate choice for the beach.

“I’ll head up to see if they need some last-minute help. Can’t pull the hostess trick for much longer, I suppose.”

Kit only nodded and fixed his gaze back onto the sinking sun.

*

When Dru was halfway to the institute’s doors, she noticed a tall, dark figure headed her way. Her breath caught in her chest, and she ran towards him, blessing the sand for muffling the sound of her feet.

It wasn’t long until she reached him, her eyes tingling with excitement and apprehension. Ty reached for her shoulder, grabbing hard. He didn’t even look at her, her face set ahead, on the black and gold figure sitting a breath from the water.

“Ty! When did you get here? I thought you weren’t coming, Jules and Em almost called this thing off!” She was jabbering, she knew it, but she wanted to distract Ty so she could wage his mood, see if he could handle Kit’s presence.

“The mission was over,” Ty answered. “I texted Julian a few hours ago. When did he get here?”

Dru stared at her brother until she realized he was talking about Kit.  “Oh! Umm, a few hours ago? We trained together a bit and then we just… hung out here. I was just heading back, do you…” she hesitated, “do you wanna come with me?”

Ty averted his gaze to his left hand, which was when Dru noticed the agitated movement.

“No.” He said. “Did he, umm,” Dru wasn’t used to seeing her brother so hesitant, one of his hands fluttering, one clutching her shoulder in an iron grip. “How is he?”

His tone, his words, the exact mirror to what Kit had asked her moments ago. Ty didn’t try to mask his feelings, Dru guessed he wasn’t aware enough of her presence to try.

So she weighed her words carefully, before answering. “Sad. I think he’s sad.”

Ty’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought it was a reaction to her words. But when she looked into his stormy eyes, she saw that he was looking down at the waters again. At Kit.

Dru turned to see Kit has risen to his feet. He was chucking his jacket away, unbuckling his pants. She’d never seen him swim when he was staying with them, but the salty smell of the ocean and the light breeze was intoxicating enough for her to understand the urge to plunge inside the ocean.

Kit reached for the hem of his shirt and started to lift his shirt up. Dru tensed, suddenly remembering the rune she glimpsed back at the training room. She straightened her back, readying her eyes to catch the mark from the large distance. But when Kit’s shirt rose up over his neck and his fair hair slid sideways, she could hear the air escaping her lungs, echoed in the stunned gasp that came from Ty’s direction.

Kit’s entire back was inked with an intricate pattern, looping from the nape of his neck, down his shoulder blades, and all the way to his lower back. A beautiful arrangement of vines, tracing the dips and ridges of his muscled back, the black, thin shapes draping his skin like skeleton feathers. It wasn’t a rune at all, it was a tattoo.

“Thorns.” She whispered, disbelief marking every syllable.

“Blackthorns.”

She turned back to look at her older brother and was startled to find a fierce smile blazing through his lips.

His hand left her shoulder, and he was walking slowly towards Kit, who had already lost his gear pants and was paddling through shallow waters.

Dru just stood there, her thoughts an incoherent tangle inside her head. She watched Ty making his way towards Kit, and found that her heart understood before her mind did. It was unexpected, to say the least, but it also wasn’t.

Memories washed over Dru as she watched Ty closing the distance between them, three years worth of distance, and felt the past washing over her at once. It was the way it was always supposed to be, the two of them together.

With one last glance towards the strange painting of past and future, Dru turned her back to the sunset and headed back home.

[kittyspring-creates]

Yan boys war.

A story for my senpai @killemwithkawaii from the prov of a genderless s/o. Warning for kidnapping mild sexual content, don’t interact if under 18 please.

Dear diary this is a story of how my ordinary life became not so ordinary. It begins with two separate kidnappings. One in the day behind the laundromat and one at night during, guiltily a midnight snack run.

I remember the day starting out like any other, coffee, smoke, one egg like I like it. And glaring at my basket of laundry over flowing. Laundry day was always the worst. Having to lug that thing three blocks over to the closest public laundromat cause the washing machine in the building is busted. It was always embarrassing having everyone staring at my clothes as I separate my delicates.

I was blushing and trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on me as I threw stuff into the washer, boxers, old panties and new ones. I tried not to look around but I couldn't help it. When I looked around no one was looking at me. I do remember seeing a flash of blue though but I thought it was light spots from turning my head to quickly. I turned back to my basket, It still felt like someone was watching me.

I did my best to finish up and start the machine. Sitting in front of the washer so I could watch it go and no one would have a chance to take my things. I always had that weird fear. Watching was boring so I listened to the semi quiet place. There was machines whirling, peoples foot steps, and a radio playing in the background. As the noises blended I noticed an odd one. A weird muring coming from the back door. No one else seems to hear it. But now that I noticed it I couldn't unhear it. The sound became louder then anything else. I couldn't ignore it so I got up and fallowed it, cautiously to the back door. It said employee exit only but the sound made me worried. It sounded like an animal. I looked around the place before turning the nob and slowly walking out into the ally. It smelt like garbage and piss. As soon as I stepped out the noise stopped.

It was weird, I looked around but I didn't see anything. So I turned back to the door to find it locked. I sighed in annoyance then a large hand covered my face and all I could smell was chemicals. I reached back at who ever and managed to grab something and tug. But it didn't do anything other then make the person groan. It was the last thing I remember before everything blurred together and became dark.

I woke up in a dark room with a very loud fan. My mind was kind of hazy but when I felt my arms restrained behind me with...Ya that felt like duck tape. Even smelt like it. The room reminded me of all those movies about survival choices and no I didn't wanna play a game. I sat up as best as I could. "Murder room I'm in a murder room" I shouted, the sound echoing off the walls.

My capture appeared seemingly our of nowhere, his blue pigtails bouncing around as he popped up. "Murder? oh angel never, your to precious- oof" the man was quick to come near me and he tripped over himself. Falling on me and lodging something across the room. I looked over to see this thing laying there with black straps on it. But I didn't get a chance to really look at the object as the man began to move. I looked down at him as my heart jumped. He looked up at me with the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. His face looked like an open wound with red skin and white scars scattered everywhere, no nose and pieces of his brow missing. I swallowed hard at the sight and uttered something without thinking. "My god your gorgeous."

He blinked at me for a second then smiled wide almost splitting his face. And heaven help me I thought it was adorable. "Really" he asked and all I could do was nod. He got closer, basically sitting in my lap. "I don't scare you" he asked and all I could do was squeak. I mean ya he scares me, he kidnapped me and now I don't know what he's gonna do. He chuckled though, so deeply it made my face heat up. "My angel, you don't know what that does to me" he whispered with a shaky voice against my ear. Again heaven help me cause instead of my fear spiking those words went down south. I felt his lips move from my ear to my neck, feeling the rough scar tissue as he kissed me. I whimpered and he seemed to purr. "Wh-what-" I tried to ask but my voice was suck in my throat.

I got my answer though when he bit me. Sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he grinded closer. I tensed when I felt something hard against my lap. I clinched my teeth, trying not to make a noise cause for some insane reason I sorta liked it. The man pulled back from the mark he left on me. He was so flushed with this desire in his eyes so intense, I swear his pupils were hearts. He sighed with a large smile on his face "you set me on fire (y/n)." He sounded so happy by it "o-Oh sorry" I stuttered like an idiot. But he chuckled then smashed our lips together. So that's why he didn't gag me.

That's the first story. I passed out from I don't know what and woke up at home, covered in hickeys. With my laundry basket placed neatly in my room. It scared me cause that meant the man knew where I lived and knew how to get in. But what scared me even more was how arousing that fact was.

******

About a week after the kidnapping and possible theft cause I swear some of my underwear is missing. I was nervous/ frightened, I had barely slept all week. So I did the one thing I knew would calm me down, Smoked a joint and took a sleeping pill. And that always made me hungry so I left, on shaky legs to grab some snacks. The store next door had the best subs at midnight and some how the milk tasted better to. So before it all kicked in I got my sub and milk then left. Now I was pretty high but I remember this bike alone in the parking lot. And laughing cause there was this sticker on it from watchman. I started laughing cause that movie was just the best. As I was laughed I felt a strong hand on my neck and I was pulled. I sorta clunked out for a second but I opened my eyes to see the ground moving. Then I blinked and The cement was now dirt, blinking again all I saw was bent wood.

I blinked again and this time I actually took in my surroundings. Just hazy brown, till I started noticing a fire place. I moved to try and rub my eyes but I felt my arms being pulled back. I looked up to see my arms were ducked taped to a support beam of wherever I was. My head hurt like hell. I groaned as I tugged at the tape, to no avail for escape. Then a sharp noise reached my ears and I looked around. There sitting on the other side of the cabin in an old chair was a man. He was tall, spilled out of the chair. He had ripped jeans and a leather jacket full of pins and patches. He smiled, more of a smirk actually, showing off a space between his front teeth. Ok I'd be lying if it wasn't totally hot in a Stockholm syndrome kind of way. He slowly stood up from the chair and I noticed the knife in his hand. Oh fuck, I panicked.

He looked me over, hungerly as he licked his lips. His boots echoed through out the room as he walked over to me. Playing with his knife he began to talk. "You slept for awhile my dear. naughty, naughty taking those sleeping pills. But it did make this much easier" he chuckled darkly. His voice wasn't as deep as the other mans but it was raspier. I swallowed as I shook, This man wasn't clumsy or over zealous like the other I realized. I tried again to get out of he restraints. But the man didn't seem to care, He kicked away my legs and settled in between them. His long brown hair spilling over his shoulders as he leaned closer to me. I stopped squirming when I felt the cold blade touch my skin. Oh god he was gonna stab me. His smile grew "I love that look in your eyes, so afraid." He dragged the knife across my shoulder, only cutting my shirt. He gripped my thigh hard, really hard "It makes me wild" he finished. Then slammed our lips together, actually slammed my head hit the support beam.  

He leaned back seeming satisfied but I was more afraid then ever, This man was so rough. "So afraid, you never looked more beautiful my love...heh well maybe covered in my marks you will" and with that he tore my shirt with the knife completely exposing my shoulder and neck. He leaned down to do as he said but stopped. He stared at my shoulder, which still had the healing bruises from the other guy that kidnapped me. The mans smile was gone "So Sally made a move did he, heh he can be so possessive" the man smiled as he moved the knife down my body. He settled the blade against my inner thigh, what a time to be wearing pj shorts. Blasted comfort the size of boxers. "But here's a secret so can I"

My heart jumped as the tall man moved down, he pushed my leg down and raised my other one. Wait what happened to the knife he had just a second ago. "I bet he never touched you here did he, such a gentleman" the man chuckled as he squeezed my thigh. I watched as he turned that wicked smile away from me and bit into my thigh. I gasped, loudly. Truthfully I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. How rough the man was with me as he pushed my limbs around, biting and squeezing. Leaving his own marks all over my thighs. I know I was beat red from the attention and my throat hurt from how much I was trying to keep my voice down.

The man sat up and spread my legs more, marveling at his work. "So beautiful" he told. I wondered if he'd go any further then this, the other guy didn't I don't think. "Makes me want to fuck you sore" I gulped as he leaned closer to my face. "But the times not right, I want to make you beg for it" I'd be lying if my genitals didn't scream right there and then. Stupid hormones. The man kissed me again, knocking my head back against the beam again. He was really rough. He pulled back with a satisfied smirk on his lips "I can't wait for him to see these, I wonder how violent he'll get". He chuckled as he pressed his thumbs into the sensitive area of my thighs. I didn't even know his name. But now I knew the other guys, Sally.

Of course I woke up at home safe and puzzled on how I got there. So this is my two kidnapping stories and one by one these boys will either abduct me or break into my place. Surprisingly not at the same time but I know they know each other and this is a competition.

[yeoldontknow]

Joyride & Finesse | Chapter 1: Network-King | M

Author’s Note: part of the EXO Customs collaboration with @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart @fairyyeols @kyungseokie @suhoerections @skjdln @kpop---scenarios @kimjongdaely | this story features dark themes, including but not limited to: weapons trafficking, gang activity, use of a child for weapons transporting (this is based on the very real activities that occurred in the late 80s/early 90s in Manhattan and the Bronx), PTSD, and graphic depictions of death. Do not read if these topics make you uncomfortable and take the warnings seriously. Pairing: Yixing x Reader (oc; female; eventual) Summary: A brief history of Yixing’s life - if, that is, you can call it a life. | please see series summary for full context Genre: gang!au; action; suspense; drama; smut; au Rating: NC-17 Warnings: weapons trafficking; use of a child for weapons transport; gang activity; car theft; arson; gun use; graphic depictions of blood; graphic depictions of death; explicit sex; unprotected sex; creampie; mentions of pimping; references to PTSD - please take these warnings seriously and do not read if uncomfortable. Word Count: 6,405

Six days after Yixing’s ninth birthday, a man with calloused hands and blood beneath his fingernails promises him a large sum of money. 

Outside his grandfather’s restaurant, the fry cook scrawls an address on an order book, grease stains dotting the paper and smearing the ink. Slung over his left arm, a black backpack, the thick straps adjusted short enough for a child to keep their balance, swings haphazardly, weighted and slow; ominous, but Yixing assumes this is because the pendulum of the clock in his grandmother’s den swings just as slowly, and the swing reminds him he is idle and therefore of not much value. 

The man smiles as he hands him the paper, a slow pull of his cheek loaded with promises and secrets, though not altogether comforting. But Yixing feels the thrill of inclusion as he slides the backpack over his shoulders, grinning alongside these men who tower over him, glad that he has been given a sense of purpose. Beneath the neon green of the restaurant sign, the ruddy brown of blood is highlighted in the crevices of the cook’s fingers, and he wonders if by the end of the night he too will be stained. 

This, he decides, is the colour of initiation, and he feels a sudden thrill in the anticipation of being painted. 

Six blocks down, and the straps begin to rub into his shoulders, irritated as the weigh slides the neck of his shirt down. As he walks, he wonders if it’s books - chef books or recipes from the old land, as his grandmother calls it, secrets that she won’t even tell his mother because she was not from their village. Or, perhaps, he carries wrapped meats, provisions for the restaurant written on the paper, supporting their community the way a family does. 

Thirteen blocks down, and the sting from the backpack is matched only by the intensity of his curiosity. He pauses, leaning against a real estate office that has recently gone up for sale, windows shattered and building looted. Stretching his neck, he debates opening the pack and redistributing the weight, but the note in his hand says to deliver sealed and the way the fry cooks’ arms bulged as he wrote the words reminds him of the heavy way his cleaver never misses a slice, and so he decides to let it be.

The marks, he knows, are probably red, and the longer he walks, the darker they will be. Ruddy and red and powerful. 

When he reaches the back delivery door of the address, sweat has gathered on his brow, and he wipes it quickly away with the back of his wrist. If he appears weak, it is likely the money he receives will be less than promised - he isn’t exactly sure why he thinks this, only that his grandmother has told him weak men buckle when they’re offered opportunity, and he doesn’t want to be deemed anything less. 

Yixing knocks three times on the door before a woman with a severe brow stands in the entryway, eyes glancing through the alley before falling on his face. Mute, she cocks an eyebrow at him as he hands her the order slip, and almost immediately she pulls at the backpack. Her hands do not touch him, expertly sliding it off as though she’s done it before, has had this done to her, and she gestures for him to leave, yelling at him to go home to his mother. 

Confused, he turns to leave before she grabs his hand and slips a folded wad of money into his palm, eyes refusing to meet his before she shuts the door. 

Feeling small and bewildered and utterly insignificant, though not entirely disappointed, Yixing lingers behind the restaurant for a moment before a light in a basement window turns on. From where he stands, he can see the top of the woman’s head as she moves quickly. He shuffles closer, kneeling amongst the bushes for a better look as her hands tug at the zipper of the bag. 

Three black bags, taped closed, are pulled from the pack before it’s thrown to the floor, and Yixing can see the irregular heavy shape the bags take, glad that he was not as weak as he once thought he was. The bags are large, and loaded generously, and he feels proud for carrying such a heavy load so quickly.

She rips open the plastic as another man joins her, taking a bag and doing the same. Yixing blinks, unsure what he’s seeing is true, before he realizes there is no trick of the light and no film crew around him to tell him what he sees is fake.

From the bags, they pull pistols - several pistols - which they line neatly in a row and count, nodding and talking as though negotiating, but Yixing cannot hear them. His eyes fall to the guns, their sleek barrels and the way they gleam in the low light, catching all that is bright and good and absorbing it, without giving anything back. He’s never seen a gun before, only in the movies he watches at night when its past his bedtime, and something about their elegance makes him decide this shade of black is his favourite colour. 

Yixing looks to his palm and counts fifty dollars, exactly the amount he was promised. 

Delighted, he sneaks away from the window and walks with a happy bounce he does his best to contain. He’ll be able to eat for three weeks with this money, and hopes he will soon be given more. 

When Yixing is eleven, he is certain there has never been a girl more beautiful than Baozhai.

She is unafraid to laugh loudly, to beat the boys at sports, to fight for what she believes in, and to smile widely even though her teeth are not entirely straight. Her calligraphy is not the best, neither elegant nor clean, but it is committed and diligent, and he supposes these are her most important traits. From across the room during Sunday Chinese school, he watches and wonders what it would be like to sit next to her.

Would they talk about her father, and the deliveries he makes for him? Would they talk about his calligraphy, and the way he can never seem to get his strokes at the correct angle? Would they talk about the flowers she wears in her hair, a different one for everyday, and how he thinks she is always in bloom? Yixing is eleven, and is already happy to surrender the topic of conversation to keep her happy, assuming this is real love because he simply wants to keep her close. 

The first words she ever says to him make his blood run hot, mouth running dry and stopping him from formulating a coherent reply. 

‘I went to your family’s restaurant the other night,’ she says, walking home beside him after class because Meixing got a ride home and she lingered a little too long by the bike rack looking for her friends and Yixing smiled, a sign of companionship. ‘It was really good.’

Yixing stares at her, wide eyed as a blush creeps into his cheeks. In the cold winter of the sunlight, he’s sure it’s obvious he is not warm, that it is she who has turned him pink, but he does not care. He can’t care, because she giggles, and he’s glad he is the reason she made any sound at all. 

‘Next time I go, you should be there,’ she continues, watching her feet as she walks, tip of her shoes kicking at upturned stones. ‘We can study together.’ 

Yixing nods, amazed that luck smiles on boys who move guns from place to place for money, and who learned their fractions by helping their fry cook weigh cocaine. When she smiles, Yixing doesn’t have time to feel badly he wasn’t there the first night she went, only excited that he will get to be there the next time and the next time, sitting in his favourite booth towards the back and showing her the way he learned the calligraphy for flower just because of her.

‘I’d like that a lot,’ he manages, sounding small and childish and very unlike the man he feels he is between the hours of 9PM and midnight. ‘Name the day and I’ll be there.’

Baozhai turns the corner after letting her hand rest on his shoulder, her fingers giving a light squeeze full of hope and expectation and affirmation, and Yixing feels it all the way home. The child in the air bites at his cheeks, but still cannot take the warmth from her palm. 

And he feels it the rest of the night, as he walks in the foreboding darkness towards her father’s woodworking shop, backpack slung over his shoulders. He feels it as he sits with her father, counting the guns - revolvers, this time - and learns the fastest way to remove serial numbers from the metal. He feels it as the joints in his fingers burn from the effort of scratching and scratching and scratching, the muscles in his face aching just as much from the effort of wearing his smile.

He feels it even as she walks into her father’s shop, eyes falling on Yixing before going wide and skin taking on the ashen pallor of shock. 

Glancing from Yixing to her father and back again, she lingers in the doorway, knowledge and understanding narrowing her eyes and her expression into one of disgust. He wants to speak, wants to call her name and say he only does it for the money, only does it because it’s something to do, but she turns from him, back full of steel and posture straight as she leaves the shop and shuts the door. 

He doesn’t feel it after that, can hardly even remember the thrill of it. 

Baozhi never talks to him again, and he supposes luck, for boys like him is a fleeting, brief experience, one he was never meant to carry. 

Yixing is thirteen when he learns how to drive in a stolen car. 

His cousin, Longwei, sits beside him in the passenger seat, laughing and laughing until his eyes become crescent moons, as Yixing’s harsh right turns leave donut scars in the empty parking lot. Hands gripping the wheel tightly, letting the vibration of the steering wheel turn his knuckles white, Yixing does not ask where or how or why Longwei has delivered him this Porsche, but he assumes it does not matter. Longwei has no intention of keeping it, anyway.

It took years for Yixing to get his calligraphy right, years for him to master the art of stealing from his mother without her noticing, and weeks, if he’s being generous, to learn how to pickpocket without his fingers moving the air. But in driving, he realizes, he is a natural. Here, he does not need to take his time or take instructions twice. Here, he does not have to be shy, no longer hiding the fact that he flourishes so quickly at something; even though he is not yet tall enough and must sit on a pile of his school books; even though his foot only just touches the pedals; even though he revs the engine and does not bother to quiet the shrill yell of pleasure that reverberates in his chest. 

He’s being foolish, but in this moment he realizes he makes his own rules. And here, in the driver’s seat of a car that will soon disappear - gutted clean or shipped away or simply just vanishing - he understands the difference between being granted a purpose and finally making your way <i>home.</i>

‘I knew you would like this,’ Longwei tells him over the roar of the engine, and the joints in Yixing’s fingers become sore, lips curling into a smile he’s certain appears savage. ‘I did this for you.’

Yixing’s smile falls. People don’t do things for him. People, he knows, don’t do things unless it benefits them in some way, unless they get safety or satisfaction or a piece of your spirit to carry with them, and he slows down, cautious - not of the road, but of his cousin. It’s the first time he notices the gleam in Longwei’s eyes, how vindictive a sparkle can truly be when motive is misplaced from kindness. 

Longwei is family. Longwei will not hurt him. But already, he feels things being taken from him, feels the brief essence of boyhood slipping away from his grasp before he’s even put the car in park. 

One year later, in a parking lot not unlike the one in which he learned how to drive, Yixing watches his cousin die.

It’s the first time he’s seen a gun being pointed at a body, and it alarms him to realize the first thing he notices - beyond the fact that it is being pointed at Longwei; beyond the fact that the stranger in front of them states, calmly and altogether too gently, that he will not leave until he sees blood - is the serial number has been scratched off. Idly, he wonders if he’s touched this gun, if it was his hand that removed the details - the only thing that could trace this moment back to the man whose confidence in the hold of the gun dictates that he has done this before. 

‘Do you know what happens to tigers when they take things that don’t belong to them?’ the man says, reaching through the car window and gripping Longwei’s shirt.

He presses the gun against Longwei’s stomach, and Yixing waits, unflinching, expecting his cousin to fight, to flip this scenario around, to do something other than whimper and tremble, but he does not. “I did this for you,” Longwei’s voice echoes from the back of Yixing’s mind. A full year under his cousin’s wing, and Yixing has lost count of all the things they’ve done together - all the things Longwei has shown and given and delivered, without price or consequence. 

Five years older than Yixing, and Longwei has gone through a great deal to ensure Yixing could remain at his side - losing friends and permanently in the state of earning trust; keeping one eye on him and one eye on the road in front of him; bringing him home first even if, through the chill of the air and the hairs that stood on end along their arms, they knew they were being followed. He stole cars and money and bags full of things he would never let Yixing see, but in surviving, he did not put forth any effort. 

His cousin shakes his head. ‘Please, he’s just a kid -’

It’s the last thing he ever hears Longwei say, and in that moment Yixing is unsure if he’s ever heard his cousin say the word please. He’s still mulling over the sound, the shock and the unusual cadence of it, before the echo of the word is cut off and severed.

‘They get poached.’

He’s familiar with the barrel of a pistol, has touched and cradled and scratched into them, but never has he heard them. Longwei screams, he’s sure of it, but still he does not hear it. Yixing thinks he may never hear anything ever again. 

Four gunshots ring out and the noise of it makes his blood run cold, ears taking on a ring that turns his vision fuzzy. Longwei falls limp, eyes glassy and staring straight ahead, empty and unfocused and gone. Yixing waits for him to move, for Longwei to smile and say this was a moment for him to learn - a reminder never to leave your window down, to never let your guard down. But he does not move. 

Beside him, the door is ripped open, though Yixing does not remember leaving it unlocked. Hands grab him, pull him out of the passenger seat and drag him into the parking lot. His arms are held behind his back while the man smiles and cocks his head to the side, smiling and smiling, while Yixing breathes through his open mouth, unwilling to smell his cousin’s blood on the air. The symbol of a dragon is stitched into the man’s beanie, and Yixing’s eyes trace the pattern over and over, hoping to erase everything but the caricature and the symbolism from this moment. 

‘Put his hands all over it.’

The command hardly moves the craters in his face, scars and red marks turning his skin tight and waxy. At this angle, he almost appears to be burning alive from beneath his flesh, consumed by wrath and rage. 

Yixing is thrust forward, his left arm extended against his will and he fights the hold, yelling and battling, suddenly awake and aware. Laugher surrounds him, but the ringing in his ears only warps this sound into a painful resonance, one that makes Yixing scream in the hopes of forcing the world into silence. The gun is placed into his ungloved hand, fingers wrapped around its glossy metal and stained with his prints. 

He’s pushed forward again, his right hand dragged over the handle of the passenger door before a hair - several hairs - are ripped from his head and dropped into the seat. They are framing him for this, placing traces of him everywhere, ensuring that - even if it took weeks, or months, or years - he would be found, and found guilty. 

They abandon him not long after, leaving him alone with the smell of piss and shit and blood and bullet casings. The sun has just begun to set when Yixing finds the energy to move, away from the car and towards a gas station he spots on the side of the road half a mile away. Face expressionless, he uses the last of the cash in his wallet to buy a container of gasoline and a lighter, turning briskly on his feet without accepting his change.

He knows this looks suspicious.

He does not care.

As he pours the gas over the floor, the seats, his cousin - opening the hood and the trunk and pouring a generous amount there, too - he considers how much the burn of his closeness to this inferno will hurt. He wonders if he will hear it - he hasn’t heard anything in the hours it took him to walk away and back again, gladdened that he’s gone completely numb to existence, and hoping that the sensuousness of existence never returns again. 

He’s clear headed this way. Nothing, he thinks, has ever been so linear.

He tosses the lighter into the car and walks just far enough to be out of arm's reach of the heat before turning around and watching, with little awe or emotion, the car sizzle and smoke not unlike a bonfire. Even from this distance, the smell of burning flesh eats at his nose hairs, burning his sinuses with its sourness, but he breathes it in deep. 

Unsure how long he remains, eventually he walks away, long before the fire has a chance to reach the full tank of gas, long before any residual explosion gives away the history of this night, and long before he has the opportunity to consider joining his cousin.

“I did this for you,” Longwei had said.

Yixing wonders if it was worth it.

It is raining the day they bury his grandmother. 

It is raining and he is sixteen, anxiously standing on the precipice of becoming a man and wholly unprepared to be gifted a crown. 

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground, regarding hole in the earth that swallows the remains of her body and the barren waste he considers his memories of her body with a dry mouth and a shallow grimace. Occasionally, he finds himself distracted by the black umbrellas that blot the sea of white clothing, glad for their contrast against the flower arrangements that surround them.

Digging his feet into the squelching grass, hoping to break the silence of the grief that wallows in the overcast clouds, he feels, neither reassuringly nor supportively, the eyes of Kyungsoo as they bore into his spine, an announcement that someone is there for him and not for the woman who taught men to fear. He does not turn around, aware that the distance Kyungsoo keeps is crucial to maintaining the delicate pretense of peace, but he is glad for someone, anyone, he could consider a friend after everyone excluding family - a loose, vague term that made him chew at his tongue - was denied visitation. 

But Kyungsoo remains, standing across the street and on an entirely different plot of land, silently threatening a war just by witnessing their pain, an Yixing is glad for the danger of it. 

Yixing’s mother weeps when they return home, settling on the couch beside his father as her empty eyes scan the room, aware she is being greeted without greeting anyone in return. Her posture remains rigid and his father’s hand holds hers as if posing for a portrait, conscious of the eyes on their bodies and holding her against him in an awkward show of companionship, mimicking the affection he has witnessed in the threads of humanity he has bothered to notice.

Yixing settles against a hard, wooden chair in the kitchen, eyeing the food that has been brought for them from family, and family, and family, without feeling any appetite, wishing instead he could be somewhere he did not have to feign anguish or loss. The white of his shirt is still dotted with rain when three men approach him, and he studies the yellowed marks they leave in the fabric, choosing to ignore the imposing figures he assumes are loitering to extend, once again, their condolences.

Instead, they sit before him, dragging stools from the bartop counter and placing themselves directly in his vision. They tell him a lot of things - a lot of dark, and terrible, and horrible things he imagines other sixteen year old boys would struggle to stomach. But he’s held guns; and burned a body; and learned not to cry at the sound of a bullet tearing organs; and lost the will to love freely, and he supposes these things are harder for anyone to hear than the fact that their grandmother was the leader of a Triad group from Shanghai, the Tiger of the blackmarket, and her throne belongs to him.

‘You’re going to be in charge of a lot of money, kid,’ one of them says, envy evident behind his speech. 

He would later learn this man’s name is Bing Wen, and he is not incorrect. A large sum of money, much larger than he can comprehend, will soon be transferred to his name. And, at the shock and awe of the sheer magnitude of it, he will go to his grandmother’s grave and curse her for keeping his family so poor. 

But not yet. 

In this moment, Yixing only looks at them, eyeing them suspiciously as he dips his finger into a plate of peppered chicken, collecting the oil and rubbing it over his bottom lip. It stings against his skin, tiny tingles of pain grounding him to this reality as his mind remains empty, the scent of incense mixing with pepper and the implication of their words. He likes money, and he likes power, but most of all he likes the look on people’s faces when he stands before them unafraid to die and absolutely unafraid to watch them die. 

Yixing is sixteen, and he decides this kind of authority could be fun.

Yixing is sixteen. And at sixteen, he becomes a king. 

Yixing’s network makes nine thousand dollars on his eighteenth birthday, which is coincidentally the day he learns it is easier to chase pleasure between a woman’s thighs than it is to chase money. The start of this day looks absolutely nothing like the way it ends, and he is glad to be a chameleon, fitting into whatever shape the world requires of him.

Today, a knife was held to someone’s throat because Yixing demanded it. Today, a shipment as organized back to Shanghai - a warning and a threat for anyone who dares challenge him again. Today, he pressed cocaine against his gums, celebrating his good fortune with a brief bump, and got paid in crisp bills for the quality of his product.

And tonight, he recognizes the way women smile when he speaks, aware that he is someone worthy of being noticed.

There’s something addictive about the feeling of money in his pocket, a sense of power and pride rooting itself in the base of his spine. He stands taller, walks faster, shoulders rolled back and expecting the air to part for him. Weeks before his coming of age, he noticed women would smile when he spoke, heads cocking to the side as if bewildered by the sound of his voice, and now he decides to use the magic of beautiful boyhood to his advantage.

He is honey, and he knows it, an aphrodisiac hit that makes women lick their lips as they spread their legs - only slightly in the hopes that he will see it and, better yet, want it - as they recline in their chairs, waiting to be taken. It’s no different tonight, and, perhaps, the money and the manhood he carries amplifies his transcendence. A thin lipped woman lounges against the couch, puffing her chest to ensure he notices the perky roundness of her breasts beneath her tube top, skin warm and shimmering from the summer heat. 

Across from her, Yixing eyes the length of her body, cock stirring to a semi-hard state as he regards the yellow undertones of her lips. He wonders if her pussy looks just as golden, if it would part with the same ease as the air if he spread her with his thumbs, and his tongue runs dry, wanting to suck her clean. 

Sensing his arousal, she rises to a stand and does not bother to straighten her skirt, letting the smooth length of her thighs remain on display. Tying her hair back, Yixing watches with a placid expression as her breasts lift with the effort, top moving with them to expose her midriff, unashamed of letting him look before he tastes her against his teeth. 

They disappear into a bedroom, the bed full of coats and boxes which he pushes to the floor as he bites languidly at the tendons in her neck. She steps out of his arms, pushing her skirt down to her feet before removing her top, cocking her head to the side when she stands, naked and refusing blush, and notices Yixing remains fully clothed.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she smirks. ‘Are you scared, pretty boy?’

It’s the first time he’s been asked this question, and he almost falters. Even when he was nine years old and men with murder on their lips handed him a backpack, they did not bother to ask if he felt fear - up until this moment, he did not think he had a choice. 

‘I’m not sure I know how that feels,’ he replies, honestly, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

She shrugs, turning to lay down on the bed and spreads her legs, idly rubbing a finger over her clit to keep herself wet. ‘Man’s first inhibition is always being naked in front of a pretty girl.’ 

Yixing chuckles, letting his expression darken at her confidence. ‘You have a high opinion of yourself.’

‘You’re here because you want to feel like a man,’ she reasons, arching her back as she slips the tip of her middle finger between her folds. ‘I’m allowed to interpret that however I want to make sure we both get off.’

‘Looks like it’s just you,’ he counters, licking his lips as her eyes flutter closed momentarily, and nodding in the direction of her wet cunt.

‘I’ve never seen you with a woman.’ Her words are carried on a high pitched breath, her own mouth curved into a blissful smile. ‘Word is you’ve never done this and I want to make sure I can come. It’ll be over quick.’

Yixing undresses slowly, hypnotized by the movements of her fingers and studying the motions. She maintains a steady rhythm with two fingers, and he wonders how much better she would feel if it was his hand, if those were his long fingers - he wonders how he would feel, how much pride he would take in filling her with himself. 

When he settles between her thighs, she wraps her small hand around his cock and guides him to her entrance. He braces himself above her, unsure what to do with his weight, but the feel of her hand around his girth and the silky entrance rubbing wetness over his tip is enough to have his thighs already shaking. Now, he understands what she meant by saying this will be over quick. 

‘Stay like that,’ she commands, releasing her hand from his cock and the base of her palm against her clit as she fingers herself. The spread and movement of her folds makes Yixing’s arms shake, and he latches his mouth around one of her nipples to distract himself. Arching into him, she holds his hip with her free hand, keeping him still as she lets her sensitive nipple be teased to a hardened nub, bringing herself closer and closer to release. 

Eventually, she moves both her hands to the flesh of his ass, and nods as she pushes him inside. 

The tight warmth of her walls around his cock has his eyes rolling back, biceps trembling as he thrusts messily into her. It takes only a few thrusts before he comes, spilling into her as he chokes back a moan and keeps himself quiet. She laughs as she comes, slightly and vaguely, not nearly enough to be satisfied. Even as he collapses against her, she writhes beneath him, weaseling her hand between their bodies and guides herself to the full bloom of an orgasm. Her walls clench rapidly around his softening cock, and he relishes the sensation of the pleasure mixing with discomfort. 

It feels, he supposes, much the same as knowing men die for the money he earns. 

‘You’ll be a natural,’ she says, pulling her hand away from her wetness and running them over his lips. He sucks at the tips, brow furrowing at the slight bitterness of her flavor. ‘You didn’t crush me with your weight. Most guys are shit at that the first time.’

Yixing says nothing, thinking on sex and pleasure, driving and working, the market he runs and the sensation of his come dripping from her cunt. 

He’s a natural at a lot of things, a lot of grim and horrific things, and he’s glad sex is just as messy as money. 

It means he doesn’t have to learn to be careful. In this, he is just as natural as driving.

You buy your freedom on the night Yixing leases his first McLaren Coupe. He does this with money, credit if he’s being honest, fully intending never to give the car back. You do this with a knife to the stomach of your pimp - a knife to his stomach, his chest, and his dick - fully intending never to go back. 

He turns off Main Street, driving along the river and expecting to run into Baekhyun, hoping to watch as jealousy seeps into his irises and to pull away before his palms can mark the hood with his prints. Tonight, he wants to pretend - pretend that this is his car to keep, that his life is as simple as expensive metal and carbon put together with the sole purpose of moving fast. He’d like a life like that, existing without thought and without care, he thinks, and he wants the pink and passionate smile that always forms on Baekhyun’s lips when he teases to help him along with the fantasy.

Instead, he sees you. 

He’s unsure how you’ve made it so far, but given the state of you he imagines that the people who have seen you have given you a wide berth. Pulling up ahead, Yixing parks the car and watches you approach in his side mirror. He recognizes you from high school, neither popular nor an outcast you were merely someone quiet, another face in the crowd that did not bother to make themselves known. You kept to yourself, and now he wonders what crowd wound up keeping you.

The blood smears on your thighs have dried, turning a muddy brown beneath the ripped denim of your shorts, and splotches on your neck mean you have witnessed something messy. Arms crossed over your chest, your eyes remain empty as you walk, neither looking around you nor in front of you, seeing through space as you walk and walk, jaw set like iron in the effort of keeping yourself moving.

Resting his head against the seat, he closes his eyes and hums, conflicted. This is breaking every rule he has ever sent for himself and for his team - you never pull over for someone, you never stop, you always move, and you never give pause. But he knows you, and he knows how it looks to have seen someone die. He recognizes the features of his fourteen year old self in yours, sees Junmyeon's hollowed expression in your unfocused vision, and he knows that death will always catch up to those who face it alone.

And so, he gets out, leaving the door open and calling your name.

'Y/N.'

You pause in front of him, looking around for others to follow close behind, and when they don't you fix your gaze back on him, the fierce heat of it enough to make him bite his tongue.

'Get in the car,' he offers, keeping his voice calm. 'I can keep you safe.'

He's not sure why you comply, but you do, wringing the blood stained slickness of your fingers together. Yixing's eyes follow the movements as he cats glances away from the road to your trembling hands, and when he stops at a light he reaches to the glove compartment and pulls out a rag. It's meant to clean his prints from the wheel before he sells this car off to some unassuming, overexcited college student, turning a profit and turning away from the situation altogether, but he supposes you need it more. And you certainly need it to not stain the interior.

'That's not my name anymore,' you mumble, wiping and wiping at your skin.

Yixing keeps his eyes trained on the road, knowing not to look at someone who feels raw enough to take a life.

'No?' is all he says, accepting your truth for what you need it to be.

'It's Eve.'

Yixing nods, turning the corner to take you to his house, still unsure why he chose to do this at all.

'Did he decide that for you?' he questions, noticing the purple bruises on your arms as you press the cloth into your skin.

'No.' It's the loudest you've been, the full richness of your voice catching him off guard. 'I did, right after I watched the life fade from his eyes.'

Yixing nods, rebranding you at the same time he considers the sheer consequence of you. You are a bad idea - all of you, from the death and the mess and the baggage are a thing that runs the risk of weighing him down. But he knows, inherently, that you won't.

However long you spent under the wing of a man who pressed himself against your body in the hopes of breaking your soul was not enough to ruin you, choosing instead to break his flesh with your bare hands. You are resourceful. You are smart - uncoordinated and full of risk, but smart enough to know the only person anyone can fully trust is themselves. And you are unafraid, prepared to burn the world so long as it ensures your survival.

You are a bad idea.

At twenty, Yixing is addicted to bad ideas, and the idea of you is full of promise.

It’s a cloudless night towards the end of August when Yixing finds himself, twenty-one and standing on Junmyeon's porch, preparing to make promises. The chill in the breeze ensures summer's end, the oncoming storm of September and plans and change carried with the wind, and he grits his teeth as he considers his assets. 

Dongkyu’s death is an unspeakable loss, the kind that puts tangible grief in the air and reminds Yixing of the ash he tasted when he burned his cousin’s body, and he wonders how he’d be now if someone had promised to help with revenge. He knows how that feels, the fire it puts in your veins and seemingly endless drive that pushes and pushes and pushes until you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror anymore. You felt it too, still feel it sometimes when you wake up screaming and scratching at your skin, remembering the way men pushed themselves inside you and demanded that you feel them. 

Yixing thinks if there’s anyone who understands Junmyeon, its you and him. 

It takes a long while for Junmyeon to answer the door after he rings the doorbell, and he’s surprised that he’s the first one here. Sun set hours ago, his first stop of the night a shipping container by the airport where he picked up guns and drugs and a car he gutted with Huang. But his eyes do not droop with tiredness. He wanted the adrenaline push of the job to lead him here, ready and wired and feeling in control before the details of death turn him cold. 

When Junmyeon opens the door, he doesn’t need to say anything - he doesn’t even extend his arms for a hug or extend his condolences, Junmyeon simply knows. He’s ragged and hollow, but alight just the same, blood boiling with a vengeance that Yixing feels against his skin like electricity. 

The air burns with change, and they - eyeing one another wholly aware and wholly prepared to tear the world down - burn with a rage that will set their futures in motion. 

Yixing is twenty-one when he crosses the threshold into Junmyeon’s house, already a king, and a man, and a god, and finds himself becoming a brother.

[yellowsugarwords]

Ericson Kids’ s/o whos a criminal and has a criminal past

omg here we goooo I’m really happy with how this one turned out!!!

Clementine: “What for?” Clem asked plainly,. As though the news didn’t phase her slightly. “Destruction of property and theft.” Clem hummed in response to their statement, shrugging again, distracted by something else. “Cool. Thanks for sharing with me.” “You don’t care?” “Why would I?” She asked, turning to them with a smirk. “As long as you don’t break my stuff, who knows.”

Marlon: Marlon would smirk, crossing his arms in amusement. “Seriously? You have a criminal record?” he’d chuckle. “What for? Who did you kill?” “I stole a bike from a kid on my street.” Marlon scoffed, turning away and dropping his arms. He couldn’t help but chuckle, wiping a hand over his face. “You’re unreal.” He said softly. “That’s insanely funny. I can’t believe that’s what you have on you.”

Louis: Louis turned to them, studying them to see if they were being serious. “For real? You have a criminal record?” He crossed his arms, leaning back. “What did you do?” “I stole cigarettes for my Dad when I was a kid because I couldn’t afford a birthday gift for him.” Louis’s jaw parted, eyes wide and shoulders relaxed. “Wow,” he hushed, “that is so oddly sweet and pure.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m with the right person, that’s for sure.”

Violet: Violet snorted. “What did you do? Steal someone’s lollipop?” “I committed arson.” Violet choked on her spit, heaving forward in shock. She coughed and spat before flipping around to face them, eyes wide and shoulders rigid. “Are you being serious?” She gawked. “You? Committed arson?” They nodded and shrugged. She paused, then thought, then laughed. “I can’t fucking believe that. No way.” It was mind boggling to her. Hard to fathom.

Mitch: Mitch would honestly love it. He thought it was badass, and frankly it made him love them even more. “What were you arrested for?” He asked. “Arson.” They said. E scoffed, then laughed so hard he threw his head back. “Same here!” He’d pull them in for a teasing, fun hug. “We’re a match made in heaven.”

Aasim: Aasim would tense, arms crossed and eyes wide. “Wait, what?” His partner would shrug, hugging their arms. “It’s just petty theft. Some charges for starting fights.” Aasim’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” Y/N nodded, shrugging impishly. Aasim chewed on his lower lip, rocking on his heels. “Well, at least you’re on our side.” Aasim said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and turning away. He just couldn’t believe it.

Ruby: Ruby would raised a brow. “Really? You? A criminal?” She’d cross her arms, skeptical. “What did you do?” Learning that it was for fist fighting, she frowned and swatted their arm. “That’s bad, Y/N. You know that.” “I don’t do it anymore!” “Good!” Ruby scoffed. “Because if you wanna start a fight, I won’t stand for it.” Ruby, above all, was definitely a mama bear. She’d whip Y/N into shape if she needed to.

Omar: Omar’s jaw dropped. “Woah, seriously?” He blinked, suddenly hesitant and skeptical. “What for?” Learning that it was due to petty theft, he relaxed slightly. Only slightly. “Really?” He shifted awkwardly. “Do you do that stuff still?” Deep down, he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from them first. Did he still trust them? Of course. The new information would just take getting used to.

Brody: Brody would tense up. “Seriously?” She said, body tense and close. She was hesitant, confused, she didn’t think her partner was even capable of such a thing. “What do you have a history of?” “Theft.” They said plainly, shrugging. “No biggie.” Brody, while thankful it wasn’t anything more intense, still felt on edge. At least she knew they’d do what they needed to do to keep her alive. Still, she wasn’t sure if she liked that.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I ended the week in a very different financial state than what I’ve been used to.  To talk about stocks anymore on this blog would further pivot my move from musician to late night financial pundit.  I’m more of an amateur economist myself.  I’ve used the auction house in World of Warcraft enough to be dangerous.   But really there’s much more to the story than investing or job hunting.  More so my ambivalence to feeling completely invisible in the process.  Of course there are tons of jobs out there.  I found a Department of Defense job in Information Security.  The fine print being that males had to be registered for selective service.  I often like to remind myself and the government that I’m a registered Conscientious Objector.  My parents were tired of military recruiters hounding me in high school as was I.  I wrote a statement and filed it with a local church at the time in the presence of pastor.  I’m not extremely a fan of organized religion at all.  But this specific instance was about peace above all else.  One of my only contacts on LinkedIn was someone I managed years ago as a student worker.  They just so happen to work for such a job.  It is ironic as it is disheartening.  And as I scan and participate on LinkedIn as more of a social media platform than a headhunting site it becomes painfully apparent.  There are a lot of jobs out there but not a lot that respect my value as a human being outside of human capital.  The most important thing about the platform has been knowing what I’m worth.  The salary estimates are on point for the times.  I was undervalued at my old place of employment.  As of last week, the years of debt accrued trying to network overseas was finally paid off.  I tried everything to get away from this situation.  I played shows in Tokyo.  I travelled alone to Korea and China.  I connected with my extended family in Hong Kong.   And nothing else in terms of opportunities materialized.  Years later as I send the final payments to zero out the balances, it seems like it never happened.  You would think a person like myself would have a place to go from here.  And largely I do right now.  Sitting at my new laptop writing these as always.  Wrapping my brain around the tax law unique to my particular situation.  Listening to the news and realizing nobody really cares about me or my predicament.  Awaiting the final puzzle piece to my old life come September.  Wondering what really happened to all the shit in my old office.  Wondering if I really care at all about any of it anymore as the voice over my headphones announces the horrible truth.  That we’re about to get pummeled violently by a well known streamer and the developer of the game we are playing.  For a company that was at my doorstep a day ago inquiring about an uptick in package theft.  If I really needed a job right now I’d just ask if they were hiring.

The grand spoiler alert of my life at the moment is that I do not need a job right now.  My life is a work in progress.  One that I haven’t really lived or been allowed to live without constant critique.  Truth be told I have never had the opportunity to be back at zero.  There are things that are stable in my life that don’t really have a numerical value on the time investment.  I’m not on any social media here to look for a job.  But stranger things have happened.  I am out there and searchable.  Just not on anything like Facebook.  My bandcamp lately has been generating sales out of nowhere.  Nothing substantial.  But if people really wanted to find me they could.  The internet is a special place if you stay accountable.  The real world is far from that.  And I’ve spent a considerable amount of time lately in the real world navigating the change in my life.  There is a lot of cognitive dissonance when I think about my own value.  The way everything blinked out and disappeared is still puzzling.  I had no warning.  Or I was so antisocial that people were afraid to drop hints.  People drop hints all the time that I’m expected to read into.  Those are far easier to read now that it’s just me.  Part of being employable is that you are a valuable addition to an organization.  When you spend twenty years of your life growing to be just that it is a little jarring to realize you weren’t.  These days I’m very fearful of just being looked at as another productive body to slide into place.  Much of what I understand of salaried employment now is horrifying especially when it comes to working for a non profit.  You do get stability.  And some of the grandfathered benefits I reaped upon exit are unheard of in modern times.  A pension being one of them.  How someone like me deals with these unique circumstances is unprecedented.  Nobody has any advice for me.  Nobody even acknowledges I have a situation.  I always feel like people are just assuming I’d be ok without even knowing what I’ve done.  That’s a lot of mental baggage to sort through even beyond the finances.  The good news is I don’t really get depressed about it.  I feel free.  Free enough to start planning things out comfortably.  Free enough to wait for the job opportunity that values me instead of freaking out and taking the first thing.  Free enough to evaluate how much money I need to make versus how much money the job hunting site tells me I should be making.  Free enough to just sit here and opt out.  Pay my health insurance premiums and keep the future open for awhile.  Play games and enjoy them.  Ride my bike and lower my blood pressure.  Spend less money without thinking.  Plan where and when money is available in the future.  Be an adult and enjoy it for once without having to defend myself.  At the same time being just as vigilant and unstoppable as I always am effortlessly.  Because I no longer really worry about what my job, the community, society, or the internet thinks.  And I see the value of myself and my money beyond the American dream of freedom it seems that I’ve been exiled from.

It is a mindfuck for sure.  Like maybe the last three years over the course of time were too.  But what I still have is worth more to me than any history or resolution.  I just cut loose.  Five weeks later I’m sitting in a very different state of mind on paper.  My credit score went up.  I can lucidly explain my financial liquidity and plans for the next six months to a year if worst comes to worse.  But really the thing I can’t answer is this.  Why after all of this time am I so invisible outside of these small pockets of hope on the internet?  Why am I even bothering taking a conventional approach to my future other than my own logic?  One week I’m down.  The next week I’m up.  The next a little higher.  I start to think to myself when I look in the mirror.  I feel better about myself.  I feel sexier without having to project it.  I can imagine things outside of the box I was trapped in.  And there’s no real judgement as to why I stayed so long.  The end result was that twenty years was time to move on.  And while no one had the answers for me it all worked out.  The time spent with a financial advisor worth much more than sitting down with a therapist.  But what does it really mean for me?  When will I have my revenge!  When will I have my justice?  I mean I thought I already had it.  I never lost the things I cared about.  They just got amplified.  Nobody needs to know how deep it goes.  But everyone knows what motivates me deep inside my heart without me even having to say it.  I feel comfortable around people.  I’m open to talk and be present.  I’m not locked in a defensive posture fearing the inevitable.  I lost my job.  It will never be replaced.  The position is gone completely.  Nobody really remembers me or the position it seems at all.  And this isn’t something we should revisit five weeks later after my suffering in complete isolation outside of video games, tumblr and my secret desires.  Honestly I’m far more happy to be where I am now.  I can actually see a clear path to where I need to be.  And all I ever wanted to be was connected to people like myself.  We all desire that to varying degrees.  And after years of typing it out here I believe people understand me.  And it has become far more than that.  It’s special enough that it follows me wherever I go in my heart and out in the streets.  And it’s still a delicate balance that requires me to think for myself and maintain my identity above all.  That’s the freedom I have for myself.  The freedom I want to share with another person I love someday.  And that’s the freedom I’ve built up around me that isn’t beholden to anyone but me now.  Until I get hired by either TikTok, Microsoft, or Amazon.  Self employed taxes are the only nightmare I’m subjecting myself to for the rest of this year.  That and being on the wrong team in Closed Beta.  I’m on the right team in terms of keeping a secret.  It’s not a secret I care very much about all of you.  You particularly as always.  And I’d be more worried if I somehow jeopardized that future.  Which is still bright ass pink as far as the eye can see.  So I’ll be ok.  <3 Tim

[snarky-badger]

Prompt: Please do a continuation of this! (It’s Going Sideways)

Part 3 of ‘Moral Compass’ and ‘It’s Going Sideways’

And I’ve written this so there’s gonna be Part 4! (Honestly, what the hell am I doing to myself, haha)

This ‘series’ was started BEFORE the movie came out. All I had to go on were the trailers, so it’s movie-based, but not movie compatible. If that makes sense. ONWARDS!

And, if you like these prompts of mine, please consider buying me a coffee over on Ko-Fi!

You frowned as you stared down at the phone in your hands, Venom’s low growling from the doorway the only sound in the room.

Obviously Drake suspected that you knew were the symbiote was, which, duh, doorway. Drake was smart, very smart. Probably had a contingent of security on their way in the guise of ‘keeping you safe’, not that you trusted Drake. Not one damned bit.

Thoughts whirling, you spun around. “We leave in five minutes,” you announced, seeing Venom’s opalescent eyes widen a little at the order in your voice before you closed your bedroom door in his face.

It took only two minutes for you to change into something more appropriate than your PJs. Honestly, you were still hopping into your jeans when you exited the room, rushing over to the hallway closet and pulling out the ‘bug out’ bag that you’d put together after Drake had ‘insisted’ that he post security to ‘protect you’.

It was Eddie that was standing awkwardly in the kitchen, eyes taking in your frazzled form as you tugged your sneakers on, then grabbed a black blazer off a hook, pulling it on over your tee shirt.

“You’re prepared,” he commented, blinking when you shoved the bag into his arms.

“I’ve been dealing with aliens and a megalomaniac. Of course I’m prepared,” you shot back as you went to rifle through your purse, pulling out your wallet. It got shoved into the backpack, before you pulled your phone out of your jeans and, mournfully, dropped it onto the floor and smashed your foot down onto it. You’d backed up all your photos and contacts, of course, but still, it hurt to do it.

Couldn’t take the chance that you could be tracked through it though. “Okay, let’s go.”

“What’s the plan?” Eddie frowned as he followed you out the door and over to the stairwell.

“I have nothing beyond ‘get the fuck out of dodge before Drake shows up’. Was thinking of heading to the University. Lots of people, lots of witnesses. But...”

“But there’s lots of innocent victims if Drake’s goons go gun happy. Yeah.” Eddie was silent for a moment as the two of you hurried down the steps. “The Park? It’s bigger. There’s people, yeah, but lots of hiding places too.”

“Might work.” You hit the ground floor’s stairwell door in a rush, then skid to a stop, grunting when Eddie ran into you from behind. “Shit.”

He was taller by a few inches, which allowed him to see over the top of your head and spot the black SUV that pulled up in front of the building. “Back door?”

“Yup,” was all you said as you grabbed his wrist and headed for the side entrance. “Think you can kick the door open? The Super keeps it locked.”

You’d barely gotten the last syllable out before blackness in the form of three stalks of symbiote shot out from Eddie’s torso, hitting the nearby door with enough force that the metal dented, the door shooting off it’s hinges and clattering against the opposite building’s wall.

Eddie smirked at you when you turned to look at him. “Ladies first.”

Rolling your eyes, you poked your head out into the alley to make sure it was clear, then led the way out, heading for the opposite end, away from the ominous SUV. “We need a car.”

“Told you we should have taken the bike,” Eddie grumbled to himself, and you huffed as the two of you stepped out onto the sidewalk proper. It was past the time where people were rushing to work, so it was sparsely occupied, only a few people heading to where ever they were going.

Two steps ahead, you idled over to a parked car and tried the driver’s door, frowning when you found it locked. The next two cars were the same, and Eddie gave you a look that plainly said he knew you were thinking of stealing a ride and was waffling over whether to be mad about it or not.

That look vanished when a black SUV turned the corner.

Your lucky number was ‘six’ apparently, and you grinned as you slid into the driver’s seat. Eddie frowned, but didn’t comment, merely circled the car and got into the passenger seat, his gazed locked on the SUV that was slowly approaching from behind. His expression wavered a bit when you ducked low and started to hotwire the little Sedan.

“Seriously?”

You glanced up at him. “What? I was a teenager once. Snuck out of the house a lot. Needed a ride.” You twisted some wires together, smirking when the engine rumbled to life. “Seriously, Eddie, you’re hosting an alien and we’re being hunted by wackos. This cannot the the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen.”

His lips quirked a little. “I just didn’t take you for...”

“The grand theft auto type?” You belted yourself in, then tried to drive ‘nonchalantly’, calmly pulling out of the parking spot and heading down the street.

The SUV behind you didn’t speed up, didn’t do anything but continue it’s slow drive down the street, the occupants clearly interested in the people walking on the sidewalk.

You thought, that, maybe, you and Eddie were in the clear as you neared an intersection.

You were wrong.

Something bashed into the back of the sedan, blowing out the rear window, pulling a startled shriek from you as glass imploded into the car. Eddie snarled something as Venom’s tendrils shot out of him, blackness like a living wall expanding to block the bullets that followed.

You floored it. Cleared the intersection going fifty and climbing, barely avoiding a truck. Saw something odd flitter in the side-view mirror, eyes narrowing when your brain finally put the image to a word. “Drones! They have drones!”

“Go, go, go!”

“No shit!” You swerved around a slow Mazda, clipping the bumper of a parked car as you did so. Got the little sedan up to sixty before you were forced to slow down at another intersection to avoid ploughing into a slow moving bus.

Eddie meanwhile, had one foot braced on the dashboard, left hand braced against the roof, and his right hand closed tight on the ‘oh shit’ bar of the door. His head swiveled, trying to keep track of the drones that whizzed overhead.

When he suddenly shouted “Left!”, left you went, scraping paint with a Nissan as a drone dive-bombed itself to death against the pavement where you had been seconds before. Debris and bits of asphalt peppered the car, sounding like rain against the windshield, and you reflexively ducked a little. “They explode?! What the fuck!”

“We need to get out of the city!” Eddie shouted over your semi-hysterical shriek. “Head right! If we can get to the Bridge we can--”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the blare of a delivery truck as it nearly t-boned the car. You shrieked a little, jerked on the steering wheel, and screeched across two lanes of traffic into the on-coming lane. Another drone exploded against the roof of the car, and you got the unwelcome view of an oncoming pickup truck’s terrified driver before you swerved back into the proper lane.

“So much for subtle, we might as well be blaring Ride of the fucking Valkyries,” you snarled as the roar of a black SUV preceded the lurch of something ramming into the rear bumper of the car.

“Just keep driving!” Eddie yelled as he rolled down the passenger window and started to climb out of it, blackness beginning to cover him.

You drove with one hand and reached out to grab his jacket with the other, cursing when the bit of material just escaped your fingers. “Get back in the fucking car you idiot!”

“JUST DRIVE, MORSEL!”

“I’m with idiots, I’m escaping with idiots,” left you in a mutter as the roof dented inwards a little from Venom’s bulk crouching atop it. Some black tendrils curled over the frames of the open windows, which was probably for the better, because the maneuver you had to do to dodge another SUV that came head-on at you would have knocked Venom off the car had he not been anchored to it.

There was a blockade of cops at the next intersection. Obviously someone had called the insanity in. You grit your teeth at the sight, then screamed ‘Hold on!’ out the driver’s side window, cranked the parking break, and did a drift into an alleyway.

The sedan’s right side scraped brick as you ploughed through garbage and  motored over someone’s bicycle. Debris and a bike wheel preceded your emergence onto the other street, people screaming as you did another sideways side onto the pavement.

Really, for a beige sedan, the little car handled rather well. Though the people that were eyeing you as you wove your way through traffic obviously thought otherwise.

Might be because it took corners like the wheels were on sideways. Might have been Venom atop the roof like a demented ornament, using a manhole cover he’d snatched off the ground like a shield to stop exploding, kamikaze, drones. Either way, people were looking at you as if you were the anti-christ come to town.

You’d started to think that you might get away. Right up until yet another black SUV slammed into the right rear panel of the car in a pit move that sent the sedan spinning.

Naturally, you screamed. Heard Venom’s roar and felt the bounce of him leaping off the car’s roof before the sedan came to a stop by side checking a parked car. You sat there, hyperventilating, hands clenched so tight on the wheel that your knuckles were white, for a long moment.

And then the air bag deployed and smacked you in the face hard enough that you saw stars.

Dimly, over the pounding of your heart in your ears and the tirade of curses in your brain, you heard the sounds of gunfire and shouting, followed by a roar and some high pitched screaming that had no business coming out of a male throat.

You fought with the airbag until it finally deflated, then looked out the rear-view mirror, eyes widening when you saw Venom grab yet another menacing black SUV by it’s front bumper and upend it, leaving it to crash onto it’s roof as he threw himself at a man dressed in black with a ‘Life Foundation’ logo on his vest that was unloading a shotgun into him.

Gritting your teeth, you revved the engine, relief welling up in you. The sedan wasn’t new enough that the engine and ignition cut out when an air bag deployed.

You threw the little car into reverse, slamming the rear bumper into the upside down SUV and sending it spinning a little. Then leaned over and screamed out the open passenger window. “Venom! Get in the fucking car!”

He turned to glare at you at the same time that two more SUVs and three police cars that were chasing them careened around the intersection behind you. He hesitated - and you hoped that Eddie was yelling at him too - before ripping off the sedan’s back door and jamming himself into the backseat.

You were now driving something that looked like it had gone three rounds in a demolition derby. Which, added to the burnt rubber that you left behind when you threw the car into drive, probably painted quite a picture for the looky-loos.

All five pursuing cars hit the upside-down SUV out of their way as they took chase, the sounds of loud engines and the blare of police sirens echoing in the cab of the sedan as you took another corner at twice the recommended speed, careening dangerously close to a parked canteen truck.

And finally, up ahead, you spotted a chance.

“Venom!”

“WHAT?”

“Up ahead, there’s some empty scaffolding on the side of the building. If I swerve close, think you can grab it and send it falling into the street behind us?”

There came a pleased rumble as the large form shifted in the backseat and leaned out of the open space where the car door used to be. “WE LIKE HOW YOU THINK, MORSEL!”

A grin that was a bit more of a snarl settled onto your face as you swerved again, bypassing a slower car and moving as close as you could to the blocked off sidewalk and the mess of scaffolding on the side of a building. Prayed to any Gods that were listening that no bystanders would get hurt as Venom leaned out some more, three thick tendrils lashing out to grab onto the supports and ripping them free.

The impact of all that metal and wood hitting the street rumbled up through the tires of the car, and you watched via the rear-view mirror as the SUVs and the cops tried to screech to a stop before ploughing into the mess blocking the road and, inevitably, each other.

Another drone exploded against the roof of the car as you sped away, a bit of sunlight now appearing from the dented and burnt roof of the car.

“He’ll never stop,” you lamented as you sped through the city. “Drake will never stop.”

“HE WILL WHEN WE RIP HIS BEATING HEART OUT OF HIS CHEST,” Venom snarled from the backseat.

And then, you had a stupid, so, incredibly, stupid, idea.

“What if we take the fight to him?”

[masterweaverx]

The Purchase

 Atlas was many things. Elegant. Educated. Exemplary. Enormous.

It was not, however, evenhanded.

Blake had of course known this. She’d never been to Atlas herself, but she’d heard plenty of stories from the other members of the White Fang. Back when she’d been in the White Fang... back when it had existed. Of course, knowing something and experiencing it were far different things. Even when she kept close to her human friends, she couldn’t help but notice the eyes that shifted suspiciously toward her. The parents, oh so gently, nudging their children closer. The quick double-check of pockets and purses, just in case something went ‘missing.’

It wasn’t blatant. It didn’t last very long. The people always seemed to reassure themselves, within seconds--oh, she couldn’t have been there if she wasn’t a Huntress. Ironwood would have arrested her on the spot, if she wasn’t clean. She wasn’t one of Those Faunus.

The discomfort built up, though. The knowledge that, at one point in her life, she had been one of Those Faunus... even if she never took it as far as Adam--

--the haze cleared, and he was gone, fallen to the river, and she had done it, blade tainted with blood, red like his sword, forever--

She shook her head, swallowing back the bile. That... wasn’t the point. She hadn’t gone out alone since they arrived.

She couldn’t go out alone.

Maybe it was wrong, but... well. It was what it was.

Which meant, unfortunately, she would need the help of somebody else if she was going to accomplish her goal. Somebody to go out with her.

The fact that this somebody might actually have a clue where to go and cut down her wandering to a minimum was a thankful bonus.

“And you’re sure this is the way?”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Yes, Blake. I’m sure. For the fifth time, I’m sure."

“I’m sorry.” Blake rubbed her arm, ears folding back. “I’m just... nervous.”

Weiss glanced at her sympathetically. “...you know, I could--”

“No,” Blake said firmly. “I... it has to be me. My money.”

“I wasn’t going to offer to pay. Just... negotiate a better deal, if--”

“No. I appreciate it, but...”

She trailed off, not quite meeting Weiss’s gaze.

“...right.” The other girl nodded, eyes forward. “Anyway, my chauffeur used to speak highly of this shop. Back when... when I was younger. I hope it hasn’t changed too much since then.”

Blake chuckled. “A shop for limos. Do you really think they’ll sell--?”

“Even if they don’t, I’m sure they can point us in the right direction.” Weiss reached for the door, but paused for a moment.

“Weiss?”

“...I’m sorry, the irony of this entire situation just hit me. The ex-heiress of the SDC is about to open the door for the princess of Menagerie.”

Blake snorted. “I’m not a princess.”

“Better princess than I would have been. You’ve actually fought for your people.”

“So have you,” she reminded her quietly.

Weiss smiled faintly for a moment. “Mmm.” With a flourish, she took the door’s handle and opened it. “Shall we, lady Belladonna?”

Blake huffed in amusement. “Don’t do that.”

She stepped into the shop, and instantly took note of the gazes pointed at her. Discerning gazes, from store clerks and shops, taking in her appearance. They didn’t change, even when they took in who stood next to her.

The message was clear. This place wasn’t for her. She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. She’d be leaving soon enough.

“Is it like this everywhere?” Weiss murmured quietly.

“...only in some places. One neighborhood in Vale... the Mistral midslums.” Blake cleared her throat. “This is actually... moderate.”

Weiss took her hand. “Alright. Let’s make this quick, and get out of here fast.”

Blake nodded, striding to the information desk. The clerk behind it lowered her glasses, as if to check to make sure they weren’t broken.

“Hello,” Blake said politely. “I was wondering... do you know where I could buy a motorcycle?”

“There was no need for them to be so rude,” Weiss huffed as they left another store.

Blake shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

“They were brusque, dismissive, and utterly unhelpful!”

“A vehicular hobby shop isn’t exactly a place to buy performance motorcycles. The models they have are for rebellious rich teenagers, not cross-country huntresses, and when they realized we wouldn’t buy anything...”

Weiss gave her a flat look. “Are you making excuses for that poor example of a salesman?”

Blake’s ears folded back. “...Weiss... I don’t want to cause a scene.”

The girl opened her mouth, paused, and sighed. “...I’m still leaving them a two-star scroll review.”

“Oh, by all means.”

“Honestly, I knew Atlas was bad, but... I never saw this before.” Weiss's voice dropped. “Then again, I was always the Schnee heiress before... Maybe if I had more, ah, faunus friends growing up... I would have seen more of this.”

Blake looked over her, taking in her despondent expression. “...I don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means... it means, there are a lot of humans who have faunus friends, and still don’t see this. It’s never directed at them, and they don’t like thinking that there are bad people in their town, serving their coffee. So they don’t... notice.”

“They deliberately ignore--?”

“No, it’s that they don’t notice in the first place. The cues aren’t obvious. Even the sympathetic ones...” Blake bit her lip. “Even... well, you know when Cardin was pulling on Velvet’s ears? Back at Beacon?”

Weiss nodded. “It seems like so long ago, now...”

“Yeah. Pyrrha said she was disgusted by people like him. Yang said it... had to be difficult, to be a faunus. But... neither of them got up to help.” She held up a hand, forestalling Weiss’s protest. “I’m not blaming them. They just didn’t know what to do. But that’s the issue, not knowing what to do... not knowing what’s going on, not knowing what to look for. That’s how stuff like this persists, even when people acknowledge it’s wrong.”

“...I suppose,” Weiss murmured, her face still unsure.

“What I’m saying is...” Blake paused, considering her next words with great care. “What... I’m saying is, even if you did have faunus friends, if they weren’t willing to call this out for you, you can’t be entirely blamed for missing it. Now you do have people who will, and that means that you’re more aware. Which means you can be better.”

“Hmm.” Weiss said nothing more for a while, simply walking down the road. After a bit, she cleared her throat and pulled out her scroll. “Well. While I’m composing my scathing review of that shop, why don’t you check the tram schedule? I have a feeling that we may want to go to the rimward districts for our little excursion.”

Blake smiled wryly. “Maybe even all the way down to Mantle.”

“I hope not, honestly. Getting a motorcycle into a cable car would be a hassle...”

Thankfully enough, there was a motorcycle shop two blocks coreward of the airdocks. The owner looked up at them and groaned. “Oh, gods, not another Weisser...”

“I’m...” Blake blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Not you, her.” He waved his wrench at Weiss. “Look, having a celebrity crush is fine, but dressing up like her is just kind of nuts. Look at you, you even have the eye scar makeup!”

Weiss scowled. “This scar is real!”

“It’s off-center, girl, don’t try to fool me.” He turned to Blake. “Sorry about that, crazy people in this shop sometimes. You know how it is.”

Blake quirked a brow. She turned to Weiss, who was looking indignant, and back to him. “...Sure. Anyway, you sell motorcycles here?”

“Sell, buy, repair, make, whatever. Let me guess, your Weisser friend tried to take you to the high-falutin’ shops first?” The man shook his head with a wry laugh. “Yeah, coregineers are all about the flash. Tech’s great, man, but they just stick together in whatever way looks coolest without thinking about performance. I mean, have you seen the specs for the Colossus?”

“Actually,” Weiss said, “we’ve seen it in person.”

“Riiiiiight. Point is, that thing has a number of design flaws. The cannon alone... yeesh.” The man shrugged. “Showpiece. Does its job and looks great while doing it, but pit it against anything that’s not a Leviathan and it’d probably go to pieces in, what, twenty minutes?”

“Sounds about right,” Weiss said, her tone somewhat proud.

Blake rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, you have bikes built for performance that I’d like to look at?”

“Yeah, maybe we don’t have all the bells and whistles, but you know what we’ve got? Reliability. Endurance. Efficiency.” The man walked over to a door and opened it. “Come on, let me take you back.”

Blake’s nose crinkled as they entered the garage, rubber and oil assaulting it before just as quickly fading to background scents. Weiss momentarily halted behind them, before exhaling and stepping quickly afterward.

“What,” the man deadpanned, “place too dirty for ya?”

“...Just unexpected,” Weiss replied flatly. “Then again, so’s finding desiccated corpses in an abandoned farmhouse.”

“Yeah, horror stories are the worst.”

“No,” Blake clarified, “that actually happened.”

The man looked at her incredulously. “...what, you serious?”

“Yes. We’ve led an interesting life.”

“Huh.” After a moment, the man shrugged. “Whatever, must have sucked, you’re alive now though. Anyway, here we go!” He gestured at a small squad of cycles, all lined up and parked together. “Now, these girls don’t have fuel in the tanks--anti-theft measure, you understand--but apart from that, they’re all ready to go. Specs and prices on the tags. Anything specific you’re looking for?”

“Cross-country,” Blake replied. “Maneuverable through forests... maybe sand and ice traction, now that I think about it.”

“What, you planning a world tour?”

“Something like that.”

“In that case, you’ll want something with multiple gears. And a place to put a bag, if I’m reading you correctly. Lissee...” He started walking down the line. “No, no, no, hell no, how do you feel about sidecars?”

Blake considered for a moment. “...If we need room for more riders, I think an open trailer is better than a single chair.”

“So not that one, maybe this one, maybe, hmm... no, not that one, that’s a maybe, this is a maybe, maybe, maybe, may--”

“Wait.” Blake pointed. “What about that one?”

“Huh?” The man followed her finger. “Oh yeah! That’s a classic. I mean, you can get more power with later engines, but that model’s been around for a while. Heck, I think they even got some in Vale! You know, before the fall of Beacon.” He checked the tag. “And what do you know, this is a souped-up girl. Little less runtime between refuels, but turns like a bee.”

Blake nodded, putting a hand on the bar. “This one. Definitely.” She considered it. “Quick question: how much to have you paint it yellow?”

“What,” Blake teased, “not five stars?”

“He mistook me for one of my fans,” Weiss grumbled. “He called my scar fake!”

“Hey, if your fan club is big enough to have a name...”

“Weissers. This wasn’t a thing back when I left... what on Remnant happened?” Weiss took in her grin and sighed. “Alright, alright, four and a half stars. But only because he was to the point!”

Blake’s amused hum caught in her throat when they turned the corner. There, waiting for them in front of their current residence, were Ruby and Yang. Yang had her arms crossed, but the glower on her face melted away when she saw what the two of them were rolling between them.

“...what?”

“I, uh...” Blake cleared her throat. “I... went shopping.” She let go of the bike’s handlebar, stepping aside. “After what happened, I thought... you know, since Bumblebee was important to you, that maybe--I mean, I don’t know if it was a gift, or...”

“You...” Yang stepped forward, hand reaching out. “You bought me a new bike.”

“Yes she did,” Weiss confirmed, backing up. “All her money. Not one Schnee-earned card.”

"Hold on, you just up and bought a motorcycle?” Ruby put her hands on her hips. “Have you been holding out on us?”

Blake rubbed the back of her head. “Well, when I told my parents I was coming with you, they... maaaaaaay have given me a small stipend of Lien to make a few purchases here and there... and, well, Menagerie might be a small place, but Dad is kind of the chieftain, so...”

“Well... alright,” Ruby said reluctantly. “I guess we can forgive you sneaking out without telling us this ONCE. I mean you remember when Oscar vanished? This was like, the same but worse! Seriously, we were worried sick!”

Weiss winced. “I suppose it was a little spur-of-the-moment.”

“Don’t do it again. Team order: If you want surprise gifts, you at LEAST say ‘I’m going out to get a surprise gift, don’t follow me.’” Ruby smiled. “That said, this is one great surprise, Blake, good thinking.”

Yang ran her hand over the handlebars gently. “I... wow. I thought it’d take a month or two, if we even had the time...” She looked up. “Thank you.”

“It’s... it’s nothing,” Blake managed. “I mean, after all you’ve done for me... It really doesn’t match up.”

Yang smiled gently. “It’s not about being even, Blake. It’s... this is perfect. I mean it.”

Blake smiled back. “Well... I try my best.”

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Camp BeaverBrook | 018

READ FROM THE START | AO3 LINK

Emily’s grasp was thick and domineering. Bloodied fingers dug into her side hard enough to leave little purple moons against clammy skin. Aubrey didn’t mind too much- she figured that was a good sign. Maybe she hadn’t lost too much blood. Maybe the fact that she was so cold wasn’t due to a slowly flickering flame- maybe it was just the frigid weather.

The moonlight leads the way, she can’t decide if that’s a God sent or not. They can see what’s in front of them as clear as day: The way little crystals of ice form on Beca’s ice-cold hair. The way A bruise wraps its deathly hand around Chloe’s neck. The wet blood that dripped around Emily’s lips. Who deserved justice more?

There was an eerie calm that had fallen over the camp. The campers had left- the counselors that were smart enough to follow were probably sitting in a warm diner right about now, or one of the darkened hotels that presented itself along the interstate. None of the name brand stuff that offered breakfast, the places where you would be lucky enough to find a room without a switch that made the beds vibrate.

She couldn’t hear any crickets, though. None of them could. That was a sign of danger and everyone knew it.

When she was younger, the house two blocks over caught on fire. Plumes of toxic smoke floated into the sky and the decaying scent of rotting wood being enflamed filled Aubrey’s lungs as she rode her bike around the corner and stopped just short of getting hit by an ambulance with roaring sirens.

She noticed a lot that day, a lot of noise that was impossible to drown out. But one thing that did hit her was the silence of the morning birds that sat on the powerlines and watched a family home destroyed in utter silence. Maybe it was out of respect, or maybe it was out of fear.

She hugged Emily closer at the memory and adjusted her fingers against her hip. Chloe held wordlessly onto the other side While Beca walked ahead of them all, her fingers on a trigger that she probably didn’t even know how to shoot. It made Aubrey feel uneasy.

Every time she blinked; she swore she felt it. Felt the wood under her fingertips as she pushed into the cabin that she had signed her final paperwork in. But it wasn’t just a cabin, it was Gail’s home. She braved the winters up here- felt safe up here. Until someone, Beca, maybe, stormed in and shot her between the eyes. A mercy killing. The blood dripped from her nose like cherry syrup.

“She couldn’t have been in two places at once.” Emily’s voice carried with the wind.

“Huh?”

“Beca… fuck, she uh, she was with Chloe and me. It’s not humanly possible for her to get across the camp in that amount of time. To blow up the shed… to strangle Chloe. She’s right, there are two of them and she’s not either.”

Aubrey frowned. She nearly failed statistics in her junior year. Not due to lack of trying, just because the logic of it all would throw her off from the equation. It was hard for her to admit that she was wrong, even harder when it was some snot-nosed counselor that pushed her buttons every single chance she got. She decided to focus on the old car in front of them instead. Its doors closed and something of a dummy leaning against the driver side window.

He almost looked fake and blue under the full moon. His eyes were closed, and that same dried brown liquid was spilled from his throat. Beca let out something like a grunt as she pressed her shirt sleeve against her lips with her free hand. Aubrey could smell it too. The blood and tobacco.

“Someone help me here,” Beca said, pulling open the door with conviction. Hesitation if not for survival. “He’s a heavy dude.”

Aubrey wordlessly leaned Emily against the hood of the car. Chloe instantly kneeling to adjust the strip of fabric that was keeping the young girl from fading out completely. It was soaked to the point of being pitch, like the sky.

“What was he like?” She nearly choked on the laden air as she grasped the other side of the fallen officer. His badge was luminescent in the moonlight. Beca edged herself around him, letting him crash to the ground in a heap of weight.

“He was a dick. A real pain in my ass who smoked enough to make up for a textile. But now I can see why he did it.” Beca placed her knee against the now empty drivers’ seat, the leather cold as she searched around in the scare visibility for something, anything, that resembled keys. “They’re not here.”

“What?” Aubrey asked.

“You heard me, they’re not here. I swear to god I left them in the center consul when I grabbed the gun but-“

“Don’t you know how to like… hop a car or something?” Emily asked from the front of the hood.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I went from tagging walls to Grand Theft Auto, Emily.”

Chloe shot a deathly glare from her perch next to the wounded camper and Beca slightly coward under it before she dragged her fingertips around the console once more. No keys with a fuzzy white rabbits’ foot on it. Nothing but ash that stained the grooves in her fingertips a dark grey.

“Do you need some light?”

Aubrey’s chest seized, her heart in the throat and a cold sweat instantly beading against her skin. that voice, a voice, that she recognized whole-heartedly but never expected to become privy to while they searched a dead man’s car for a set of keys that may or may not start an El Dorado whose gas tank was probably on empty.

Beca Mitchell apparently held the same affinity for the situation. Her hand quickly wrapped around the weapon with a dull click as she whipped around and pointed the weapon dead in the direction of the newcomer: Jesse Swanson.

Brown eyes were wide, and fingers twitched in the cold of the night. He wore a dark flannel over his yellow camp shirt. That stupid little green beaver glared at them, almost mocked them. “Whoa, Jesus Maverick, I thought you had never seen Top Gun.”

Beca glanced sparingly at the other girls as she adjusted her stance, shoving the weapon back into the hem of her pants. “You can’t sneak up on a someone like that dude. Not now. What are you even doing here? I thought you would have left by now?”

“And miss the genuine chance to be a part of something this big? Haven’t you ever seen Sleepaway Camp?” He said excitedly. Almost with pure glee. “there’s no way I’m passing up that chance… where’d you get a gun anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got that light?”

Jesse nodded and rounded the other side of the car before he pulled the door open with a long creak. Aubrey stepped to the side, her arms crossed over her chest, part of her wanted to pull the warmth in. The other part thought that if she held tight enough maybe it would keep her bones from falling into a pile on the soft grassy floor like an old Steamboat Mickey cartoon.

He flipped open his chrome zippo and it gave an instant orange glow to the car. Beca could see now that it had more to offer than just ash. There was a half-smoked cigar and a few ketchup packets that had yet to be unopened. She never took Wilken’s as the one to get fast food, but she couldn’t’ blame him.

She glanced up, frowning as the hot glow shaded half of her face in ghostly shadows that screamed in the night. “I don’t see them.”

She hadn’t noticed it before. The night dark and her heart echoing in her ears like a steel drum. The brown scratches against the edge of his cheek. Cutting across clear skin that was beading with cool moisture. A bruise stretched around them like a marking- a brand. A dead give-away.

Beca mumbled a few profanities before she stumbled back from the car altogether. It was useless anyway. The keys were gone, probably shoved into someone’s pocket. It was nothing but a barrier. Aubrey nearly caught her, but Beca was quick, once again grasping for the gun- breath thick with the scent of blood that seeped into the soil like water. She didn’t pull it, not just yet.

“What happened to your face?” She asked, the girls watching from the hood.

He laughed, scoffed really. “What?”

“Your cheek. It’s scratched. What happened?”

Jesse glanced around; four blinking eyes boring into his. His fingers reached up to the welt, barely noticeable when the light from the zippo vanished in his movements. “I work in a kitchen, Beca. I nicked it is all, no big deal.”

Beca tightened her grip around the gun. She was fast. It was somewhat natural of her now, to pull it- to have the adrenaline rush through her veins. Fast was something she had always been: Fast with excuses and fast when it came to dodging the local law enforcement through city streets.

Jesse was faster. Her pulled Chloe flush against his body as she let out a sharp scream, as much as she could muster. He moved her arm against her chest, keeping her in one place with the tip of a hunting knife against the edge of her throat- once more in peril. The steel blinding against a browning bruise. Emily stumbled into Aubrey, pressing her fingers against her lips.

“It was you at the lake-“She said, voice tight. “You tried to drown me!”

“Yeah, I did. And maybe if I had you’d have a better chance at finding your keys.”

“Why?!” Beca yelled over his last words. Tears were threatening to boil over. They were dripping down Chloe’s muddied cheeks in clean lines. Her fingers dug into Jesse’s arm, struggling to keep it from pressing too hard. “Why are you doing this? Tell me or I’ll shoot!”

“You’re not that good of a shot, Mitchell, don’t fool yourself.” He hissed; words reaped with poison. “I’ll shove this blade into her carotid artery before you even have a chance. She’ll bleed out just like your mall cop did.”

Beca sniffed, pulling in as much oxygen she could as she pushed the base of her palms against her forehead out of frustration, the gun pointed to the sky for just a moment before it was aimed back at its target. Her eyes were red, the tears finally spilling over and dripping past her chin.

“Do it,” Chloe choked out. “Beca, it has… it has to stop. It’s okay, look at me.”

She struggled, swallowed in a gulp of cold forest air. Chloe’s eyes looked bluer than they ever had before. Maybe it was the dull moonlight or the darkness of Jesse shielding her from the rest of the world. But there was honesty there. It was warm. The only warmth she had felt all night.

Her voice was one with the camp, a demand. “Do it.”

Beca let out a scream of frustration, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

[postapocalyptic-narnia]

Any Way the Wind Blows

Chapter 2, part 1 Word Count: 686

Shasta awoke to disorienting afternoon sun. He was laying on sand, hair salt-stiff, ratty towel under his head like a pillow and a low rusted dome over him like a roof. He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Memories from the night before clicked into place like cogs: splashing down the flooded highway, winding his way up the cliffs, crawling into the dilapidated shell of a half-buried pre-Fever car. He rolled over, the back of his shirt caked with sand, and saw the bike wedged between the remains of the back seat and the empty window frame.

His back hurt from sleeping on uneven ground instead of his hammock. His knees were bruised from tipping off the bike on the curves of the road the night before. He didn’t even know why his neck was so sore. But waking undiscovered, safe, and far from home was more than he had expected, and his spirits were light as he rolled over and patted the bike’s dark nav screen. It flickered to life. “Fingerprints accepted. Hello, Shasta.”

“What’s the plan for today?” he yawned.

“Planning in progress. How much food and water did you bring?”

Shasta rifled through the little cargo rack, blinking. “Maybe… two days’ worth? But I have the ration stamp book, so I think we can get more food and fuel at outposts along the way.”

“Until your name and description are distributed for arrest.”

“What?!” He sat up hard, denting the roof of the car and then wincing, rubbing his scalp.

“You do realize that you just stole a valuable piece of imperial loot, don’t you?”

He groaned. “You mean I’m a thief now?”

“You took a stolen item with the intent of returning it to its rightful owner. I would call that noble,” the AI pointed out. “But yes, in the eyes of the empire, you are a criminal.”

Shasta exhaled, blowing his hair from his eyes. “So how are we going to get to the embassy without being caught?”

“The speeder’s communication system was lost in the storm. If you are correct in saying that the fisherman’s radio doesn’t function, it should take a day or two before word reaches a speeder outpost of the theft. After that, it’ll take another day or two for word to spread past Bithersee. That gives us two to four days before outpost officials will know to look out for us.”

Shasta lay back down, interlacing his fingers over his stomach. His legs stuck out through the window of the half-buried car. “The first place they’ll look for me is Bithersee. It’s the closest town, and the only one I’ve been to.” That he remembered, at least. This whole friend-of-Narnia business was stirring up questions of his birthplace that he thought he’d put to rest long ago.

“Will you be recognized if you go into Bithersee, then?”

Shasta considered. “Probably not-- the fisherman never let me actually get off the boat. What are you thinking?”

“You know the empire as well as I do, Shasta,” it said. Shasta snorted. By all accounts his ignorance was hard to match. “Help me puzzle through this. You need a disguise that discourages questions, but that explains rapid travel.”

“A speeder, then,” Shasta said immediately. The AI buzzed, processing. “No one questions speeders on imperial business. And that would explain the bike, too.”

“Could you convincingly pretend to be a speeder?”

Shasta closed his eyes, picturing the speeders that travelled the highway over the sunken city. Most were old, with grey-speckled hair and fierce eyes, but he’d seen some young speeders. They had the same air about them-- a haughtiness, an awareness of both their surroundings and their importance. And then of course he’d need the scarlet uniform… and boots, and maybe a helmet or headscarf to keep out dust. He imagined himself in speeder robes, shoulders thrown back, chin high. It was all glittering seaspray, a mirage in his mind, of course. But that certainly looked like someone who would get the job done. Someone other people would listen to.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I think I could.”

Tag list:

@lasaraleen

[ifeveristoday]

Buffy Summers’s Diary (III)

[insert Dawn’s lament here]

My silly little thing has gotten a bit less sillier in this part. Carry on.

1 Lyft carpool with Anya

3 missing pens

1 maybe date

7 outfit options, all terrible

100 years of rain

 When I was little and it rained, my mom would bring me to the living room and watch the rain splash against our bay windows. Sometimes she would get out her box of cassettes and we’d listen to “It Never Rains in Southern California.” Of course, I would point out that the singer was wrong, because what was happening outside then?

She would just laugh, and shake her head. ‘Baby, it’s not that it doesn’t rain, it’s the feeling that LA is always sunny even when it rains.’

I didn’t understand back then.

Watching the sun stream into the street and shine on perfect rectangles of manicured lawns while I peeked through blinds – I understood a little better. LA carries on even when darkness surrounds you, is in you.

 Anyway, it rained today, a deluge even. Kendra arranged for Lyft carpools for the employees and I shared mine with Anya. She lives only twenty minutes away from my apartment, but she drives while I take the bus. I like Anya, but it’s impossible to make small talk with her. She doesn’t understand the concept and launches into whatever she’s thinking with no segues whatsoever. I need a mental crash helmet whenever I talk to her.

She asked me if I used her gift certificate – ‘It expires soon, Buffy. There’s a special sale going on this weekend, I really think you would find some helpful aids there.’

Before I can even respond, she’s off talking about the new vibrator line that’s come in, and the importance of using essential oils in the bedroom.

The backseat of a car never collapses into a black hole when you want it to.

She managed to ask a question about Xander among all the updates from the Magic Box and I guess my expression tipped her off. Her mouth thinned out and she crossed her arms across her chest.

‘What? I can’t ask about Xander?’

I’m just surprised that she wants to. Their romance was pretty volatile at the end.

‘No, you can. He’s fine – sent me a postcard from Cape Town. He seems happy.’

She slumped a little. ‘Oh. That’s nice.’

I’m going to regret this – like in five minutes, I’m sure of it – but I ask her anyway.

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine. I’m the one who broke it off. I’m very happy, I’m busy, my jobs are going great, I found a decent hairstylist in this town – I’m fantastic,’ she babbled.

She straightened up again and looked out the window.

‘I’m happy that he’s happy,’ she said. ‘We’re almost there.’

The driver pulled up to our building five minutes later. He smirked at us as we got out.

 Anya works in a different part of the building than I do and our goodbyes were awkward as I got out of the elevator. ‘Remember the sale, Buffy,’ she said as the doors slid shut.

I’m just not in the mood for that kind of self-care.

 There is an office supply thief on this floor and they are stealing my purple pens. I had four and now I have one. This is ridiculous, we are all adults and surely we can use the office supply cabinet instead of just lifting pens from other people’s desks like thieves in the night.

Why would they even take my pens? Everyone in the office knows I use purple to revise my notes – I know everything is digital but there’s something comforting about the way a pen can glide over the paper. I like the weight of the pen against my palm and it seems more permanent than a blinking cursor on a screen.

  I moved a PR box and found my pens wedged underneath my monitor stand.

Good thing I didn’t write that email to HR complaining about pen theft and being known as the most uptight person on this floor.

I need a cup of coffee but I’m going to make tea instead.

William is lounging in the break room when I come in. He has a rapt audience, the temps and Harmony are there, hanging onto his every word.

I roll my eyes and head for the tea station. Just because a man has good bone structure, an accent, and a leather jacket doesn’t mean he’s the most interesting person in the room.

Okay, maybe in the top five.

 I sit at the lone unoccupied table and hear snatches of the conversation. William is doing research for his next novel. He reached out to several publications and my CEO accepted his request along with the offer of a guest column in the magazine. He’s going to be writing about his travels and whatever else interests him.

It sounds like a dream assignment but I remember my blog is important too. Kendra told me not to read the comments though.

 One by one the admirers flutter out of the break room as editors appear in the doorway, meaningfully clearing their throats. I’m still sipping my tea when William walks over to me and sits down.

 ‘So, Summers. I have a gift for you.’

‘Yeah?’ I say, playing it cool. I am a cool glacial woman of substance.

‘I do,’ he smiles and then reaches into his messenger bag. ‘Freshly autographed.��

He slides Saturday and The Chosen across the table to me. His fingers skim the covers carefully as if he’s touching something precious.

Saturday’s cover shows a picture of a black woman, her gaze defiant and steely. The Chosen has a more generic cover, its title picked out in shades of gold and bronze.

‘Thanks,’ I say as I turn The Chosen over and read the blurb on its dust jacket. ‘Oh. Fantasy’s never really been my thing.’

Except for the period Dawn and I would read Harry Potter to each other under the covers with a flashlight, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He lifts one eyebrow and I notice the thin white scar cutting it into two imperfect halves. ‘Try it, you never know. Or maybe Saturday is more your type.’

‘This the one with your lone female character?’ I lean back and gaze at him over my cup.

He laughs and rubs his chest. ‘Ouch. But fair – I’m going to be writing more female leads in my novels. Nikki won’t be the last.’

‘That’s her name?’ I nod at Saturday’s cover.

‘Yeah. Nikki Danger.’

I choke on my tea. ‘Her name is Nikki Danger? Are you writing the next Bond novel?’

His smile has a hint of teeth. ‘Says the girl named Buffy Summers.’

‘My mom gave me that name, and it’s after a famous singer, you Philistine.’

I heard Will use that once, during debate class in high school. It sounded cool then even though I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

‘I know. And love, I’m in the arts, not exactly a Philistine. Do you want to borrow a dictionary for next time?’

This asshole.

Then I realize what he said. ‘What do you mean next time?’

Full on smile, and is that dimple? ‘How about dinner after work – does tonight sound good?’

He stands up and leaves before I can complete my thought.

I open Saturday. He’s scrawled his phone number on the front page.

  So it’s not a date. It’s a friendly dinner. I’ve done that before. It’ll be like riding a bike.

I have an uncomfortable vision of William riding a motorcycle and I decide that I need some advice.

Willow’s answering machine picks up when I call, so I just tell her I’m looking forward to our weekend brunch.

Andrew screeches when I call him. Literally, I had to hold my phone away from my ears.

‘You’re going on a date with the Spike Pratt?’

‘It’s just dinner,’ I say, fumbling for my apartment keys. ‘I’m going to meet him at some bistro after work.’

‘Are you going home to change?’ Andrew demands.

‘Well, of course.’

‘Then it’s a date,’ Andrew says triumphantly. ‘If you didn’t care, you’d just wear your work clothes.’

‘My hair got wet this morning and it’s sort of frizzy,’ I say. ‘It’s not that big of a deal. And his name is William.’

‘Eh, Spike sounds sexier,’ Andrew says. ‘William sounds like an accountant.’

‘It’s a maybe date,’ I say. ‘I don’t know. I made fun of him this morning, maybe he’s just returning the favor.’

Andrew sighs.

‘Girl, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?’

‘Not that long,’ I scan my desk to make sure I haven’t left anything important behind. ‘There was Owen and Parker…’ I trail off.

‘Ew, ew and ew,’ Andrew says dismissively. ‘A poet and a day trader? Buffy, Parker was gross, and Owen writes gay erotica on the internet. He hasn’t written a poem since leaving college.’

‘You’ve read some of it,’ I say. ‘And you’ve dated some highly questionable people yourself.’

‘Yes, both the poems and the erotica were terrible. And you can’t hold Warren over my head all the time.’

‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool of me. But he really was the worst.’

‘He really was,’ Andrew agrees. ‘Just go on the date. You never know until you try, right? You told me that once.’

‘Okay. Maybe it won’t be completely terrible.’

  It was completely terrible.

All of my clothes weren’t right. I have exactly three types of clothes – athleisure, work clothes, and clothes that are too big for me. I haven’t had the chance to donate them yet or buy clothes that fit properly.

It took me seven tries until I settled on something that wasn’t too much or too little for a casual dinner with a handsome man.

Okay, I admit it. He’s a good looking man.

 I called him on the way to the bistro. He didn’t answer until the third ring. He sounded strange as if he forgot that he asked me out to dinner in the first place.

‘I’m glad you called actually – I was about to call. I’m sorry, Buffy. Something came up and I can’t make it to dinner after all. Can I have a raincheck?’

‘What?’

‘You have every right to be angry at me, but I just can’t get out of this commitment. I’ll call you, love. All right?’

The dial tone rings in my ear.

 I ended up getting takeout from the bistro – it seemed stupid to go all the way there and not get dinner. The ride back to my apartment gave me time to sort out what exactly I was feeling.

It was a tornado of emotions. First, sheer relief. Then, a flush of anger prickling against my skin. Who does he think he is, I muttered to myself. Then seething resentment followed by an aching emptiness. He must have googled me.

 I don’t do that anymore. The last time I checked for myself was right when I got out of the clinic. All the headlines were some variations of ‘Fallen Olympian completes rehab’ or ‘Buffy Summers – where is she now?’

Even the Sunnydale Post had something about me and I only trained there for three summers. ‘Ex-Olympic Gold Medalist in Recovery for Eating Disorder.’

Simple and to the point – though skipping all the reasons why I got there. The byline was a familiar name – Freddie Iverson. He was one of the first people to interview me when I won my medal.

 ‘How does it feel being a champion?’

It feels wonderful. It feels like flying and your feet don’t touch the ground. It feels like nothing can hurt you.

 How does it feel to be washed up at nineteen?

Ten years later and I’m still trying to answer that question.

It starts raining as I clean up the rest of the takeout. I made myself eat every last bite.

 It never rains in California, but girl, don't they warn ya? It pours, man, it pours

 the lyrics are from “It Never Rains in Southern California” by Albert Hammond

and I’m working from the fancanon (in exalted circles) that Buffy is named after Buffy Sainte Marie who would have been very popular during Joyce’s time because you just know Joyce was a hippie.

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