#I did attempt to add some death marks/bruises there and a bit of my own version of his messy golden hair XD

[muttsterion]

My Own Sketch of Kenny's Goodbye.

A little bit of a something from yours truly to pay homage to South Park BLU's 25th release anniversary as well as the 25th of Kenny's very first face reveal to the world and his big heroic sacrifice. I love this guy ok. XD

[moodymisty]

Hi! I'm brain rotting over here as I play Darksiders 2 and was just wondering how Death would be with a more battle type gender neutral mc? Maybe they met when mc accidentally ambushed him and he's been stuck with them ever since? Maybe a ton of scars on them,,,

Author's note: Omg I am so sorry anon, You got swamped in the bottom of my inbox;; Here, I hope these HC formatted thoughts and a little drabble is enough as forgiveness.

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really, other than a brief mention of bruises and scares

Given how Death seems to be a magnet for all sorts of people despite hating people, it probably wouldn't take too long for him to come across some sort of cornered human.

Be they in the remains of Earth, or hell, even taken as a 'pet' by a demon to Hell.

You won't be doing any sort of actual damage to him when you attempt to attack him, but he has to admit he admires the gusto.

Though in his younger years he would've found it insulting, as he'd still had a fair share of cockiness back then he's since rid himself off. Maybe you just didn't realize what you were attempting to attack wasn't human.

He'd probably like a taglaong, even if he denies it. He's so used to not having companionship during his countless outings, that having another soul beside him is odd. He habitually pushes it away.

He sees a bit of himself in you sometimes. The way you're so desperately clawing for your own life against all odds.

Just don't constantly be so twitchy and looking around every corner, it makes him on edge also and he hates it.

The soft remnants of a fire burning out, embers floating upward, Death looks over at you.

You're finally asleep; Laying on your side facing him. Your legs are curled up close to your body in an attempt to stay warm, without anything but your clothes to protect you from the frigid weather.

With just enough light, Death can spot your one arm that's lazily flopped outward, in the general direction of whats left of the fire. In it's glow, he can see the bruise around your wrist, once a deep purple now partly fading to a sickly green.

To think, he almost feels remorse about that now.

Death is well aware humans are more fragile, but not that fragile. He barely grabbed you to stop you from pulling a dumb stunt, and now your skin clearly shows the mark of where he'd nearly hurt you much worse.

You had flipped around the wall with your gun, only to have a hand gripped around your wrist so tight, you were forced to drop it. No matter how much you clawed at the hand, he refused to let go.

And you had very much wanted him to, once you had gotten a sight of what you attempted to protect yourself from.

"Are you dense?"

Your knees had wanted to buckled underneath you, and partly did, but his grip had held you so tight it kept you upright.

You weren't dense, he remembers, you were just trying to protect yourself. He'd without knowing cornered you in that room, and you had only known to fight.

You were surprisingly quick to forgive it, and even going so far as to shadow him, once you realized he wasn't going to eat you alive. Contrary to his appearance. But Death wasn't in the mood for tagalongs, and had only accepted under the guise that he was going to drop you off at the nearest group of humans he would come across.

But there was none. Death finds his mouth bitter at the realization that your race is all but gone. You're a fighter and have kept going this long, but sooner or later that luck will run out. The scars on your hands and arms have all but proven with as many close calls you've escaped, you don't have much favor with lady luck left.

The Ravaiim, The Nephilim, so many races trampled underfoot. Humanity is just another one to add to the list, Death solemnly thinks.

"Hngh," Death looks over and notices you shifting in your sleep, the arm he'd bruised sliding close to your body. Your knife is still on your person, but you'd laid your gun close to where your head is. Death reaches over and nudges it away, assuring you don't hit it in your sleep.

He looks away again, content to just ignore your mumbling and shifting. Even as it increases, and your face seems more distressed the next time he takes a glance.

When you end up shifting close enough to him that you bump into his leg, he sighs.

One hand grasps our shoulder with a gentle pressure- conscious now of being softer than he had with your wrist. It stops your shifting and the touch seems to quell your nightmare, and you still. He moves to brush a chunk of hair that fell into your face away. Death keeps his hand there until he feels you start to wake up hours later, and pulls away before you realize.

[cyraclove]

“I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital” with modern BotW Zelink would be amazing :') (you can choose who gets hit and who visits! it works very well both ways)

Link stared into the windows of the flower display, his eyes traversing the plethora of multicolored blooms for the hundredth time. He’d been standing there for a solid ten or fifteen minutes, the tinny muzak of the hospital’s gift shop threatening to drive him out of his mind. The furled petals of a bouquet of yellow roses shook softly as the refrigerated case’s motor kicked on, looking almost as though they were laughing at him.

He decided against those.

Swallowing hard, he absentmindedly rubbed his palms together as he took stock of his ribbon-bound options yet again.

Sweaty. Why was he so sweaty?

Just pick some, you idiot, barked a voice in his head.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a foreign female voice that startled him from his thoughts, “Do you need some help?”

He turned to see an older, brunette woman with the roundest eyeglasses he had ever seen smiling pleasantly at him, her hands clasped behind her back. ‘Alma’, her nametag read.

He shook his head, scrambling for words. “Oh, uh…no, ma’am,” he stammered, attempting a sorry excuse for a smile, “I’m just…browsing.”

“Are you looking for something specific?” She asked, peering into the cooler. “We have flowers for just about any occasion. Flowers can say a lot just on their own, you know.”

How about some that say, ‘Sorry that I hit you with my car, complete stranger,’ he thought to himself. Link chuckled uncomfortably, knowing that he was definitely going to have to lie to this woman. “I’m here to visit my, er, friend. She was…in a car accident.”

Read on AO3

Alma nodded solemnly, clucking her tongue. “Oh, how terrible. I’m very sorry to hear that. People really can be such careless drivers these days, can’t they?”

“Yes,” he said through his teeth, “they certainly can be.” His eyes were drawn to a bunch of sickeningly pink ‘It’s A Girl!’ balloons, a nearby oscillating fan causing them to bob violently every minute or so. The screech of the colliding mylar made his stomach churn, and he silently wished for death.

“Well,” Alma began, a cool burst of air escaping the display when she opened the door, “I’m sure that we can pick something perfectly lovely that’ll have your friend feeling better in no time.”

The woman pursed her lips as she surveyed the case, humming thoughtfully. She eventually gathered up a bouquet of light blue lilies, their pointed petals tipped with white.

“What do you think of these?” she asked, “We just got them in from Necluda. This variety is called the ‘Silent Princess’, I believe.”

Before he could answer, Link’s phone began to ring, the shrill tone making him jump a bit. He grinned sheepishly at Alma as he fished it from his pocket, groaning inwardly as soon as he glimpsed the screen. Tapping his thumb on the red ‘ignore’ button, he tucked it away.

“Those are great,” he replied, “I’ll take them.”  

Alma smiled brightly, motioning for him to follow her the checkout counter. “Excellent,” she chimed, “Can I put them in a vase for you?”

His phone rang again. Link felt his eye twitch.

“Uh, sure. I mean, yes, please.”

“Would you like to add anything else? We have these precious sand seal plushies that would be just ador—”

“Just the flowers will be fine, thank you,” he said, more hurriedly than he’d intended. Snatching his phone from his pocket, he turned away from the counter and held the cell to his ear.

“What do you want?” He hissed.

A jovial cackle came from the other end of the line.

“Well, if it isn’t CHU’s resident asshole.”  

Link pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he inhaled deeply. This was, decidedly, the last thing he needed right now.

“You called me, Revali,” he snapped, “Do you actually need something, or did you just want to be a dick?”

“You wound me, Link,” the other young man drawled, “Oh, no—wait. I’m not the one who’s wounded, am I?”

Link clenched his jaw, the snip of Alma’s scissors on the flowers’ stems suddenly and inordinately loud. He glanced up at the woman only to have her swiftly look away, feigning focus on her task.

“You’re quite the hot topic on campus,” he heard Revali sigh, “I’m almost envious, what with the way everyone’s got your name in their mouths.”

“Who’s talking about it?”

“Who isn’t talking about it? Link, you hit a woman with your car. In the quad, for the love of Hylia. How’d you even manage that, anyway?”

“Okay, look,” he nearly seethed, “It was not in the quad, it was the intersection next to the quad. And it was an accident! I had the right of way, I didn’t see her, and the—the walk sign wasn’t even on!”

“Was she on the crosswalk?”

Link balked as he conjured up the memory from the other day. It had all happened so fast; one minute he was putting on his turn signal, and the next a young blonde woman was sprawled out on the road in front of his car. “I mean…well, yeah, she was on the crosswalk.”

“Then she had the right of way. Pedestrians always have the right of way, genius.”

“I’m hanging up now,” he muttered, disconnecting the call to the sound of Revali’s raucous laughter in the background. His near equal on the university archery team, Revali and Link were self-proclaimed rivals; well-known ‘frenemies’ to the rest of their teammates. While Link undeniably respected him for his skill, he could also be a real pain in the ass.

Releasing a weighty sigh, he faced the counter again, only to be met with a piercing glare of disapproval from the woman standing behind it. His blood ran cold as he and Alma locked eyes, hers narrowed in wordless acknowledgment of his sin. Approaching the register, Link flipped his wallet open and removed his credit card before sliding it toward her across the grey acrylic.

“Ring up the seal.”

-

The ride up the elevator was gruelingly slow, the jarring ding! of the door opening on what seemed like every damned floor made Link’s head throb. The air inside the garishly carpeted box was stuffy and stagnant, the scent of antiseptic stinging his lungs with each inhale. He looked down at the overpriced stuffed animal in his arms and frowned, its judgmental button eyes boring into him. The sluggish chug of the ancient machinery as it whined to a stop was nauseating, jostling him just enough to make him dizzy.

He finally stepped off and onto the tenth floor, referring to the clumsy, smeared numbers written on his palm in red pen. Link wandered down a white linoleum hallway, the idle hum of incandescent lights buzzing overhead as he peered at room numbers; the water in the vase sloshed softly as he went. With the plush tucked under one arm and the flowers cradled in the other, he raised his fist to knock tentatively on a door marked 1003.  

“Come in,” responded a quiet voice from the other side. Link instinctively held his breath as he pressed down on the door handle, inching it open.

The room was cold and clinical, painted and furnished in subtle greens and dull blues. Aside from several dim wall sconces, a large westward-facing window adorned with heavy curtains was the only source of light. Pushed up against the center of the back wall was a slim hospital bed, and in it sat a woman that Link had seen only once before—unconscious on the asphalt in front of his sedan. Her eyes flickered up toward him as he entered, darkening with realization mere seconds afterward.

“What are you doing here?”

Link froze, his thoughts scrambling as both his legs and tongue refused to move. All he could do was stare at her, eyes trained on the clunky, neon-green cast that enveloped her left arm. A purply-green bruise around the size of golf ball sat just below one of her eyes, swallowing the tiny freckles that peppered her cheeks. Her bottom lip puffed out, an angry cut splitting it vertically down the middle.

She looked awful.

And she had somehow managed to be strikingly beautiful at the exact same time.

“Well, I came to, uh,” he started, his words leaving his mouth before he had time to appropriately process them, “I came to see…how you were feeling.”

The young woman scoffed, turning her head towards the window. It was then that Link noticed the sutures running along the underside of her collarbone. Guilt roiled in his stomach for the millionth time that day as she began to speak.

“Let’s see; I’ve got bruised ribs, a couple of chipped teeth, and a concussion. Oh—and my arm is broken,” she replied in a biting tone, “So, I’m not great. Thanks.”

After a moment, he took a few tentative steps nearer to her bedside. He watched her gaze gradually slide in his direction, meticulously studying his movement. Link sighed, looking down at his feet with a shake of his head. His chest felt suffocatingly tight, as though someone had his lungs trapped in an ever-tightening vise.

“Look, I know that nothing I say right now is going to make any of this less shitty,” he told her, “and I’m sure that I’m the last person that you wanted to see today. That being said, it would’ve been even shittier of me to not at least try and come apologize to you. Because I messed up, big time, and I’m really, really sorry.”

The young woman said nothing in response, absentmindedly picking at her fingernails as she considered his repentant declaration. Her brows knitted above her sea-like eyes, consternation marring her delicate features. Link’s resolve just about shattered when he saw the impending tears brimming at her waterline.

“And I brought you this seal,” he blurted out, placing the patchwork creature on the bed near her legs, “You just seemed like, uh…a seal person.”

To Link’s relieved surprise, the corner of her mouth quirked up as she looked at the stuffed animal. Picking it up and setting on her lap, a watery giggle burbled from her chest as tears slid down her cheeks. The chuckle soon morphed into a full-on laugh, a bright, contagious sound that filled the room. Unable to help himself, Link smiled, and was soon laughing with her despite not entirely knowing why.

“It’s cute,” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s really cute. Thank you.”

They smiled through the remnants of their laughter as it faded out, leaving the two in silence again. The setting sun bathed the room in rosy amber and cast fractured, pinkish shadows on the walls. Unsure of what else to do, Link set the bouquet on her curiously empty bedside table. It was then that he paused to take stock of the rest of the room, realizing that it did not resemble what he imagined the hospital room of someone who’d just been hit by a car to look like.

It was devoid of any other flowers save the ones that he had brought, and missing were cards and balloons from well-wishing friends. He furrowed his brow, and his heart sank when the most likely reason for the lack of gifts dawned on him. She must be in Central for school, he thought, and all of her friends and family were wherever home was. Or, even worse—they were around, but couldn’t be bothered to come and pay her a visit. Turning back to face her, he gestured to her plaster-clad arm.

“No one’s signed your cast,” he noted.

She gave him a queer look. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, that’s the thing to do isn’t it? Have your friends write their names on your cast? And put, uh, I don’t know…stickers on it.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never broken an arm before,” she replied, shooting him a sly look. “I haven’t got many friends, either, I guess,” she added under her breath, face falling.

“Do you have a Sharpie?”

“Oh, um, I think I have a few in my backpack. It’s just over there, on that chair. Should be in the little side pocket.”

Link made his way over to a grey pleather armchair and unzipped the pocket in question, reaching inside to pull out several permanent markers. Returning to the bedside, he held them out to the blonde, presenting her with her choice of color; black, red, or blue. She looked up at him from beneath delicate lashes, grinning as she selected the blue one. She extended her arm, and he sat on the edge on the bed as he gingerly braced it with his free hand. After popping the cap off with his teeth, he scrawled his name on the lime-colored cast as gently as possible.

“Link,” she murmured when he’d finished, “I just realized that I didn’t even know your name until now.”

It was true. He knew her name, simply because he’d had to ask for it at the front desk, but they had never been properly introduced. Not surprising, considering the circumstances under which they came to know one another in the first place. He’d never seen her around campus before the other day, leading him to assume that they must not run in the same circles. That had to be the case, because hers was not a face that he would’ve forgotten.

“My name is Zelda,” she said, “Even though you probably know that already.”

“I do,” he admitted, “but it’s nice to officially meet you. Zelda.”

Her eyes crinkled at their corners when he reached out to lightly shake her fingers that poked out of the cast. He stood up from the bed, shooting her a quick smile before crossing the room to return the markers to her bag.

“Thank you for the flowers,” he heard her say from behind him, “Oh, and for my seal.”

“It’s the least I could do, I think,” he responded, “I mean, considering.”

“Still,” Zelda went on, “It was kind of you to come. I just…I appreciate the company. It was getting a bit lonely here.”

Link stilled at that. So, she really was alone. He almost didn’t want to believe that not even her own parents had bothered to stop by, that not a single friend had sent a card. It had to be a mistake; there was no way that such an enchanting person had no one to call on.

“The, uh, food here must not be very good, huh?” He tried.

She cocked a brow at him. “What?”

“Hospital food. It’s notoriously bad,” he clarified, attempting to mentally signal to her that he was, in fact, going somewhere with this. “If you want, I could bring you something. Later, I mean, for dinner. I think I probably owe you that, don’t you?”

It could have been the sunset, but Link swore that a blush darkened her cheeks ever so slightly when she smiled at him, nodding. “That sounds great, actually.”

“Alright, it’s a date, then,” he announced without thinking, wincing immediately afterward, “I mean, uh, sounds like a plan.”

“Here, let me put my number in your phone,” she offered, holding out her good hand. He fished it from his pocket and handed it to her, watching as she tapped in her contact info with her only her index finger. After a short discussion about what kind of food she’d like to have, they said their goodbyes with the promise of seeing one another later that evening. Link closed to door carefully behind him, glancing back into the narrow window to see Zelda admiring her flowers.

He shuffled into the elevator, wedging himself in between a group of nurses and weary-looking man with a fussy toddler on his hip. It was humid and it was loud, and anyone else might have wanted nothing more than to go home and go to bed. Link stared at Zelda’s name in his phone as the elevator made its agonizingly long descent back down to the lobby, already counting the minutes until he’d get to ride back up again.

-

-

-

I adored this prompt so much, I made it its own thing on AO3. Thank you for the ask! This was so much fun!

[connorspiracy]

Fangs and Fries || Connor & Rio

Timing: Current Location: Rio’s hospital room Parties: @connorspiracy & @3starsquinn Content: References to violence, injuries, death and abuse Summary: Connor visits Rio in hospital after the werewolf attack and Rio opens up to him about things.

Rio hadn’t talked too much about the Winston situation or his parents’ death or much of his life at all, and now that he was living by himself, Connor was pretty worried about him, and not just because he’d been in a fight with a werewolf. He got a selection of burgers and chicken stuff and fries from McDonalds, skipping the deserts because he figured they’d melt and taste like arse before too long. “You alright mate?” he said by way of greeting as he walked in. “They’ve not got you on too many painkillers?” He put the bags of food on the little tray in front of Rio, pulling up a chair, then he took off and unzipped his backpack, pulling out some other stuff. “I also brought my Switch and some comics so you have something to do ‘til you can come home.” Hospitals were loud. Connor could hear the screaming from a room next door, someone who’d just left their body and was yelling at the doctors to please bring them back to life. He could hear crying and faint whispers, and he could feel the particular brand of heaviness in the air, but he needed to focus on Rio right now.

Orion had some preparation time when he heard Connor coming down the hallway. He had been occupied staring at the TV screen, waiting for news to break about another attack by the wolf. Nothing yet, but that hadn’t meant that nobody had been hurt. Connor had done Rio a service by not only bringing him food, but launching right into the conversation without too many questions regarding his wounds. The bruises across his face were bad enough, but add onto it the IV’s didn’t make it possible to wear his usual hoodies. He stuffed his arms under the blanket, then attempted to position them under the swinging table once Connor set the food down on it. He had no reason to hide it, but it still wasn’t his favorite conversation to bring up. “I’m fine. Probably not enough painkillers honestly,” Rio laughed, trying to sound convincing. Connor had brought an entire assortment of options, and even as Rio stared at the food and realized that he didn’t have much of an appetite, he still wanted to eat. He grabbed a handful of fries first, plopping them in his mouth one by one as Connor pulled the game system and comics out of his bag. “Woah! Thanks dude, that’s so nice holy crap. I appreciate it. I’ll be out of here in a couple days though probably. So not too much time to kill.”

Connor usually played it cool. He was a curious person, someone who liked to have all the answers and would do as much digging as it took to get to the bottom of them. There were some things you didn't ask questions about though, so while he knew not all of the scars on Rio's body could have come from the wolf attack, he didn't mention them. "Are you wearing one of those hospital gowns where your arse hangs out? Damn, if I knew, I'd have brought you some pyjamas too," he snickered. "And a couple of days sitting in a fucking hospital bed is more than enough. At least this way you'll have Pokemon and Mario." He helped himself to a serving of fries and a quarter pounder. "So," he said, after taking a copious bite. "Werewolf? Tell me about it. What'd it look like? Was it huge?"

If it wasn’t bad enough that the hospital gown was already embarrassing, Connor’s comment drug a blush out of Rio almost instantaneously. “Uh -” Rio started, a nervous laughter escaping his mouth, “Yes, but I have like underwear and stuff” Rio eventually found the words and mumbled them quickly. There was no way he’d ever be caught dead completely exposed out in public. He already felt naked enough without something long sleeve to cover his arms. “It’s fine, my sister brought some clothes to me. I just haven’t put them on yet because nurses keep coming in to check the claw and bite marks.” Connor was right, regardless of how long he was here a game or comic would do wonders to help pass the time. It may even distract him from watching the news so much. “Thanks. Seriously this is awesome. I really appreciate it.” He had certainly said that a lot recently. “The wolf? Uh-” Rio tried to think of the wolf in relation to the other werewolves that he had seen. His experience seeing them transformed in person wasn’t as high as many other hunters, but he had definitely seen his fair share by now, “I mean he’s definitely bigger than a normal wolf or a human. They weren’t the biggest one I’ve seen, but they were definitely the scariest.”

"What, it's not an arse out kinda look?" Connor teased gently, but he could tell Rio was embarrassed. Hopefully knowing Connor didn't take any of this seriously would help him feel better about the whole thing. "What'd you tell them?" he asked. "Do they think it was just an out of control dog or something? There's no actual wolf-wolves in Maine, right?" He remembered reading that. "I haven't seen a normal wolf in person. Or a werewolf," he said, chewing the inside of his cheek. "At least not a transformed one. Did it--are you--" His throat was dry. He took a sip of Diet Coke from one of those McDonalds cups that always made it taste like shit because it went flat so fast. There wasn’t really a polite way to phrase this. "Will you turn? Did it like, bite you?" 

“Nothing about me is an ‘arse out kinda look’” Orion laughed again, copying Connor’s statement and bubbling them around quotation marks that Rio made with his fingers. Rio’s own style was very much covered, for multiple reasons. The scars didn’t help, but they certainly weren’t the only thing contributing to Rio’s irrational fear of anyone seeing him shirtless. “I didn’t tell them anything, honestly.” Rio shrugged, taking a bite of a burger and chewing before speaking again, “I sort of played the whole traumatized victim card. I just sat outside the restaurant until I got in the ambulance. But I heard some others talking about a wolf. I’m sure the police report is just going to say it was a wild animal attack.” Connor’s next question baffled Rio for a moment. Admittedly, he had never even considered the possibility. He had known his entire life that he couldn’t turn, so the fear had never crossed his mind during the fight last night. But at the mention of it, Rio thought of the bite mark on his leg beneath the blanket. It would be easy to say that he hadn’t been, but Connor was one of the closest friends that Rio had. He was also one of the few that Rio hadn’t been forced to show his hunter heritage too. He had taken advantage of that blessing for too long it seemed. “Oh uh- I guess technically yes they did bite me. But I’m not going to turn.” Rio spoke slowly and carefully, unsure exactly how he wanted to word it, “I can’t turn, actually.”

"Oh, c'mon. You're proper cute. If you weren't taken, I'd flirt the heck out of you," Connor said, dipping a chicken nugget in some BBQ sauce and practically swallowing it whole, flashing Rio a big grin. "I thought you were massively hot that time I first met you when you broke a lock with your bare hands." He was sure that would make Rio blush a bit more, but he hoped the fact he was shoving McDonalds down his gullet with no concern about looking attractive reassured Rio that he just meant it as a compliment and wasn't looking to make a move. Connor watched Rio's face when he answered the question about being bitten. He'd had a few curiosities about him ever since Nell had insisted Rio come with them to apprehend moon-murder Adam. Like she knew something he didn't. "Ah," he said, simply nodding. "You're immune." Now the easy padlock breaking made sense. "Sick." 

“So I’m supposed to believe that the whole time we’ve been friends you haven’t been flirting with me?” Orion teased, fully aware that Connor couldn’t get through an entire conversation without flirting at least once. He was that way with most people. Rio didn’t feel the need to mention that he technically wasn’t taken anymore. Doing so might imply that he was anywhere near to being over Winston or ready to be in a relationship again. Neither were true. “You’re a natural flirt, dude. It’s very charming.” He knew that by now Connor was aware that any complement towards Rio would immediately result in blushing. By some miracle, none of those made Rio dizzy anymore. The two were clearly close enough to talk like that now. “Ha ha. Well, I wouldn’t say hot. But we had to get in somehow.” The fact that Connor even remembered that factored into what Rio was trying to tell Connor now. Connor’s specialty was ghosts, so Rio had no idea if telling Connor that he was immune to the bite meant anything to him. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, especially since only certain types of hunters were immune to it. It really only left Rio the option of just coming out and saying it. “Right. Yeah. Which uh- in case you aren’t aware… is because my genes carry certain abilities. That I got from my mom. Who was a werewolf hunter.” Talk about beating around the bush. He just didn’t want to claim that word for himself. Not out loud. “So I guess technically speaking, I have those genes. But I’m not a hunter. Just to be clear.”

"Trust me mate, if I was flirting with you, you'd know about it," Connor teased. He usually sounded a lot less confident when he was actually trying to flirt and not just... flirting as a friend. "Yeah, but it's just me being English and charming. Not actually trying to get into your trousers." He chuckled softly, flashing Rio a wink. "Cute as you are in that hospital gown." He stopped joking around for just a moment, listening to Rio talk. "Yeah, I know about people with abilities. Not a lot, but... enough. Adam talked to me about it too." Adam was no secret. They'd all seen his powers with their own eyes. It made him feel better that Rio was so quick to clarify that he wasn't a hunter. Connor gave him a small smile, nodding. "I know. You're a librarian."

Despite Orion’s lack of an appetite, he found himself eating far more than he had originally intended as he got lost in the conversation with Connor. Soon he had downed a burger, most of a ten piece nugget and the entire thing of fries. Maybe he had been hungrier than his stomach was letting him acknowledge. “Yeah, well I sure hope you’re not. Because I’m not even wearing any trousers.” Rio used an appallingly awful british accent for the last word. It was good being able to have talks like this. Even after what he had seen inside that restaurant. He needed the distractions. “Right. Makes sense. Was it after that night?” Rio wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know. The less he had to talk about Adam right now the better. Those feelings were far too confusing to add on top of everything else he had going on. “Adam and I are similar. Sort of. We both come from hunter families, but mine is a bit more focused. It gives me certain advantages that typical humans don’t have.” At least Connor was willing to move past it quickly and acknowledge that Rio wasn’t using the title for himself. “Yeah, a librarian. I guess it is something like that in a way.”

Connor laughed as Rio said trousers. “I know, right? Hospital gown's just a bit lacking on the sex appeal, mate." He finished the burger he'd been working on and started on some mozzarella bites. He nodded. One thing about White Crest was that it made you pretty bloody good at switching between jokes and serious topics. That Gallows humor came in strong. "It was, yeah. After the Moon Murder Spree. Which... that was a bloody hell of a time." Literally. Connor was still trying to process it. It wasn't that he didn't trust Adam. He didn't feel that Adam would ever hurt anyone maliciously when in his right mind. It was just still a bit weird. "Good genes but none of the murder," he said with a little smile, offering Rio some fries. "Sounds good to me." 

As far as Orion was concerned, everything about himself was lacking in sex appeal. But knowing Connor’s all too charming way with words, he wasn’t about to mention that. He preoccupied himself by staring at the uneaten food. He couldn’t believe Connor had grabbed all of this just to make sure Rio had something he liked. It was really nice. “Yeah. It was something like that. I’m just glad he’s back to his normal self.” Or at least the self that he presented to others. Rio still wasn’t convinced he was as easy going as he liked to claim. But he also couldn’t pretend to have spoken to him much recently. Ironically, Adam had been the first person that Rio had wanted to talk about the wolf attack with. “Right.” Rio agreed with Connor. He had discussed the hunter heritage, but he wasn’t exactly ready to break the news to him about his parent’s death. That might elicit a slightly different response. “I’ve never been much of a fighter, honestly. I definitely prefer safety.”

Connor continued to blank out the surrounding ghosts. They were growing a little louder now, as if beginning to realise that he was here. “I’m sorry, mate.” He paused sips of his coke and trying to decide whether he should even ask about this or just leave it to Rio to bring things up when he was ready. He had never been very good at holding in questions though. “So, what’s up with you and Winston? You never like, said very much about it. I know you were together at least since I moved here. They left town and you guys are… maybe broken up, or maybe not?” There was no blame in Connor’s voice, no judgement against Winston for what they’d felt they had to do. He just wanted to get Rio’s side of it. “I reckon that’s the hardest bit. The not knowing. That’d drive me nuts.” 

Figuring that eventually it would come up, Orion managed a grin when Connor mentioned Winston. Looking back, making a dramatic and sappy post about heartbreak may have been a bit more melodramatic than needed. Though he felt the pain of Winston’s absence, the breakup itself had hardly been the source of his anguish. It barely constituted being considered a breakup at all. “Great question. I don’t exactly know for sure. But I don’t think it’s that bad of a thing. At least I don’t think so.” Rio shrugged. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. “When they left town, we talked about me going with. I thought about it. But eventually I decided that I couldn’t leave yet. So we left things open ended. That someday Winston might come back and the two of us will see where we are at in our lives and if we still make sense. And if anything has changed than that’s fine too.” At the time, the conversation had made sense. Rio was happy with how they had chatted. Rio had gone to sleep crying, but overall he had been content. Now, Rio stressed about what that future may hold when Winston got back. The wolf attack definitely hasn’t helped anything. “Overall, I’m really freaking sad. But I’m okay too? If that makes sense.” 

"Not a bad thing?" Connor posed, expression quietly curious. He was pretty full now. He'd been casually picking away at his food the majority of this conversation. "The person you love leaving town isn't a bad thing?" He sipped his Diet Coke, shrugging. "I haven't really had a proper relationship before, but it sounds like a bad thing. They have to do what's best for them though. I don't hold it against them." You couldn't really blame anyone for wanting to leave White Crest with all the awful things that happened here, especially when someone close to you was killed in the awful circumstances Todd had died in. "Did you talk about if you can date other people?"

Orion shrugged as an answer. He couldn’t answer that question with any certainty because he wasn’t sure about his own feelings. “It’s hard to explain.” Another nervous laugh that Rio calmed by taking a drink from his cup. “They needed to go. I needed to stay. I hate not being with them, sure. That part is very bad. But I think they needed this. That makes me happy.” And it truly did. He hoped that Winston got everything needed out of their time away from town. No matter what that meant for their relationship. Winston’s happiness was the priority. “I’d say technically yes. We decided to leave things up to life.” Rio spoke slowly and carefully, “But I’m not sure it matters. I don’t really see myself dating anytime soon. It took a long time for Winston and I to even DTR.”

"That makes sense," Connor answered. “Well, last date I had, we were starting to get down to business and there was a fucking monster beaver eating my bed, so, even with this set-back, your love life’s probably better than mine,” he said with a laugh. Connor and Winston didn't know each other pretty much at all, and if Connor had a dog in this fight, it'd be Rio, but it didn't sound like there were any hard feelings. "Alright bro. I don't do relationship advice, so, stop me from eating the rest of these bloody chicken nuggets, and pleeeease tell me all the cool shit about your super powers?" 

“Oh god. That’s so awkward. I can’t believe I actually feel second hand embarrassment for you about a relationship. That’s supposed to be my thing.” Orion was full on cackling now, every single breath stinging his side. He didn’t care though, because it felt so good to not be so sad. “I think we could probably battle back and forth on that one. Did I ever tell you that my sister slept with Winston? I never even did that.” He wasn’t saying it for sympathy. He wasn’t even saying it angrily. He had moved past that long ago. This was simply matter of fact, a way for Rio to tell Connor more about his life. Connor was one of the closest friends that Rio had, it was time to start being a bit more open. “Deal. I’ll stuff my face some more. I’ll even tell you about the time I got fireballed through a window.”

[novelnerdqueers]

Tell Me To Stay - Chapter 3

Summary :  Roman and Logan work on another case together, but this one doesn't seem so black and white. Roman begins to get a little more comfortable with Logan, throwing some friendly conversation his way and Logan isn't totally sure how to feel about it.

CW: talk of murder cases 

Previous chapter  Next chapter  From the beginning Read on ao3 

Chapter 3 - Personal Attachments 

The next morning Roman woke up early. He made some breakfast and as he ate, the theatrical man began to internally plan his day for himself. Today they were going down to the crime scene for a new case , which wasn't his favourite thing. They tended to always come back to haunt him, especially when the victim was young. He drove to work and was sitting in the office, however, Logan was nowhere to be seen. He thought it was strange and he was a little disappointed but he got to work, nonetheless.

Logan walked into the office and tried his best to offer a warm greeting. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "They needed me back in the archives, my old department, they just needed help organizing stuff that hadn’t been finalized from back before I left.” He sat down and looked at Roman, primed and ready for the day. "So what are we up to today?"

"We have to examine the crime scene. It's about a twenty-minute drive but I want to start early so let’s get going, hun," he smirked at Logan, throwing him an experimental wink. He then briskly and gracefully walked out of the office with a neat folder of notes and files under his arm. "You can look at these on the drive over, it's good intel."

Logan followed Roman feeling rather bewildered. Was Roman flirting with him or was that just his sense of humour? Logan couldn't tell and it made him slightly uneasy. Now they were alone in a small vehicle together and he could feel the faint whisper of gay panic™ in the back of his mind. Get a grip man, he thought to himself as he attempted to read through the file Roman had given him.

"It talks about the body in the file, mainly specific details, but they had to remove it from the scene. We are working on a 100-metre radius from where the body was found. We have to look for anything that seems suspicious or like it might help with the case or give us a potential lead," Roman explained as he drove. They arrived at the scene and got out of the car to join the others who had already started working. Early morning sun highlighted the more acute features on Roman's face, his long eyelashes, defined cheekbones and honey freckles.

Logan tried not to stare, he really did. But the breeze playing with Roman's hair in the soft morning light made it hard not to. They were on the side of a highway off-ramp and behind them, the city rose up high with buildings. Before them, down beyond the ramp, a path led to a small wooded area where the body had been found. Logan had never been on an actual crime scene yet, so this was new to him . "I'm thinking that those woods might hold some interesting information," he said as he headed slowly towards the trees, Roman following right behind.

Logan was quickly feeling more confident and even if he'd never admit it, Roman was happy he was adjusting so well. "The body was found near the woods, by the treeline. It was in pretty bad condition too. The cause of death was blunt force trauma and it was recorded to be on the temple, also marks and bruises on the arms and a few hits to the back and abdomen. We think it was a bat, but we haven't found the weapon yet."

Logan entered the forest path and wandered a bit, looking for anything that could be a clue. He stepped beyond the path and saw a tree that seemed oddly damaged. "You said you guys thought the weapon might have been a bat right?" Roman nodded to him, obviously curious to see where Logan was going with this. "The branches on this tree look like they supported a lot of unexpected weight. Kind of as if someone was trying to climb and then suddenly fell. A tumble from the top would definitely cause multiple contusions and the size of the branches could very well match our victim's injuries."

Roman gave a small thoughtful look in consideration. He walked around the tree, circling around the base as he scanned the bark. "You know? It does add up. It's definitely possible." Roman turned to where a few people were rushing about, busily scanning at places of interest. "Jane? I want forensics on this area, specifically the tree, we need to place where the victim was before she died," Roman yelled over at a smaller woman who quickly turned at hearing her name, then gave Roman a nod in acknowledgement. He then turned to Logan. "That's a pretty good theory, you want to keep looking?"

Logan hadn't heard that last comment, he was deep in thought, trying to connect the dots. "Why would she have climbed the tree though?" he mused out loud. "I mean sure to escape would be the immediate idea, but it's really not the best place to hide or getaway. There's nowhere to go from up there if she did end up getting caught." Logan approached the tree and looked up through the branches. "Is it just me or does it look like there might be a hole in the side of the trunk up there?"

Roman followed Logan's line of sight and saw that on the side of the tree there did seem to be a hollow compartment, just past the thick, brown bark.  "I think you're right, it seems almost hollow." He frowned, "Don't touch it, we need the forensic team." He jogged over to where the forensics team was and went to speak to Jane, leaving Logan briefly on his own.

Logan scanned the ground around the tree. He walked around a bit, still keeping his eyes on the forest floor. He suddenly stopped and knelt by a patch of leaves. Something was glinting on the ground. "Hey Roman," Logan called, pointing out the section of leaves. "What do you think that might be?" he asked once Roman was back next to him

Roman's face screwed up in confusion, "I'm not sure, Logan, but I bet you know." He smirked semi-sarcastically, waiting for Logan to continue.

"Well, it looks like some form of precious or semi-precious stone. My theory is that this is a remnant of whatever loot was stashed in that tree." Logan was really starting to enjoy himself. He was usually quite good at coming up with theories and having accurate conclusions. It was nice that for once his ideas were being taken seriously in a work-related environment.

"Could it also be shards of glass? Some form of metal, perhaps?" Roman suggested.

"I mean maybe... guess we'll have to see what forensic says." Logan felt like he was maybe getting a little too ahead of himself.

"Exactly, though it wasn't an outlandish theory, it was getting a little off track." Roman patted Logan's shoulder and then promptly refocused his attention on the case. "Do you want me to show you the area where the body was found? It's a lot of blood, just for the fair warning," he winced as he seemed to be thinking about it.

"Yeah if it's okay, I’d like to go see. This is my first crime scene so I'd like to take the full experience to see if I can actually handle it." Logan got back up and followed Roman to where it was obvious the girl's body was found. He felt a little queasy at the sight of it all, but mostly he was intrigued.

He was glad he wasn't too squeamish and didn't end up making a fool of himself in front of the others. It hadn't rained since the incident so the blood marks were still visible on the ground. Logan looked up and saw that Roman’s face held a pained expression. He couldn't help but wonder why. Roman had to be somewhat used to it at this point.

As Roman stood there, he couldn’t help but think about how no matter how many times he saw it, he would never get used to seeing bodies or blood. It was heart-breaking, she was so young too... He stood there for a while, quiet as he watched Logan observe the scene. It helped to have him there. Roman felt that little bit safer, which he definitely needed at a scene like this. He had stayed quiet as Logan walked around the scene, the usually boisterous man not making any kind of remark, his movements were anxious and delicate. He was acting the opposite of...well, Roman. Logan had never seen him freaked out like this. He wasn't sure why yet, he didn't know if he wanted to know either.

As Logan analyzed the scene, he made an effort to take in every detail. He had an eidetic memory so whatever he noticed now he knew he would be able to remember later if need be. He was ready to head back and update his notes on the case. He looked at Roman. "So are we done here? Are we heading back to the office or..?"

For a second, Roman didn't acknowledge that he'd said anything. He stared at the bloody floor, like it had a soul, and glared before he opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated as nothing came out. He tried again, "....Y-Yeah, we should, we can type up our...observations," he sighed, shakily turning to the car and walking in that direction.

Logan wondered if he should be worried about Roman. He wasn't all that good at deciphering emotions and his empathy wasn't the best. Still, he had the feeling something was off. Roman was quiet as they drove back. Even being generally one for silence, Logan suddenly couldn't help himself anymore. "Hey um... I don't know if you mind my asking but... are you okay?"

Roman blinked slightly, seemingly stuck between shocked and scared. He bit down on his lower lip and sighed, "I'm-...I'm fine, it's just with...those sorts of scenes...I've seen some shit, Logan...that doesn't mean it's any easier to look at. That was a person, one we failed to save, one I failed to save..."

"Woah where did that come from?" exclaimed Logan. He was shocked by what he had just heard. "You sound like you knew her... did... did you?" Logan was afraid he'd gone too far but the fire and pain burning in Roman's eyes concerned him greatly.

"Not...not properly, I mean, somewhat....she is-...was a regular at my brother's café. It's a youth café, a safe space for people to just relax, no pressure, she was there a lot. A few times I drove her home because she used to stay past closing time. God, Patton, my brother, was heartbroken. His boyfriend has barely gotten him to move this week, but Virgil is acting like practically a saint. So yes, I did know her. She was...a wonderful person."

Logan couldn't speak. He was flabbergasted by Roman's confession. He had really misjudged him that first morning. Roman now looked on the verge of tears. Logan felt a knot in his stomach as he tried to take it all in. "Wow...I.. just... wow..." There really wasn't much to be said after something like that.

"D-...Don't even think about pitying me... I don't want pity, I want justice, this girl was innocent, and now...she's gone. I need to put it right, to fix it." He rubbed at his face.

"Look I find it admirable what you're doing, but aren't you putting a lot on yourself?" Logan was genuinely concerned at this point. "Like you seem a bit too emotionally invested in this for it to be mentally healthy no?" He really hoped he wasn't overstepping his bounds, but he didn't like the way Roman seemed to blame himself for something that clearly was not his fault.

Roman's hands tightened slightly on the wheel and he tensed up, "I just want her to be given the justice she deserves. I'm sure I'll be fine, I've dealt with a lot more work and a lot of worse cases before. So what if this one just happens to be someone I know?" Why does he care so much? I just don't understand it, though it's nice to have someone care about me again, I don't really understand why he does. "I appreciate the concern, but I've been fine, aside from the occasional nightmare and feeling a little more stressed than usual."

Logan's eyes widened at this point. He wasn't sure if he should be telling anyone about this or not. He definitely didn't want to be the snitch to tattle but he didn't think this was following department code. Then again what did he know? He also didn't dare betray Roman's trust. "Okay then..." Logan replied, "You and I will do our very best to get to the bottom of this."

Roman seemed to relax ever so slightly at this. They sat in silence for the rest of the way. Logan tried to not let this bother him too much, but he had an odd suspicion about the case after what they had seen today. He didn't tell Roman, not after what he had just heard, but he had a feeling that the girl might not have been as completely innocent as Roman believed.

…...

They got back to the station, and Roman was regretting telling Logan about knowing her. He just needed to tell someone and Logan was, or at least seemed to be trustworthy. He sat at his desk and wrote up his notes, watching as Logan sat at his own desk and the steady tapping of keyboards slowly fell in time with one another. "Hey, Logan? I'm sorry if I put a lot on you, back in the car. I don't think this is my fault, I know it's not. But it's my job to find them, the people who did this..."

Logan nodded slowly at this. "I get that I guess." So Roman was at the very least partially disillusioned in regards to his personal investment in the case and his heart was in the right place. That comforted him a bit. "Well, sorry if I seemed insensitive earlier, I tend to do that unwillingly.." Logan really wanted this partnership to go well. Not only for the sake of his new job but because he genuinely was starting to enjoy working with Roman.

Roman stared for a second, seeming to be considering something. "No, it's fine, I understand. I wouldn't really know how to react to something like that either. The captain knows that I knew her and how I knew her, just not in detail." Roman smiled at Logan meaningfully, taking a deep breath and starting to speak again. "I don't usually talk about anything, especially to people I don’t know very well , but you seem...trustworthy. I like you, Logan, you aren't as...unpredictable as others can be. It feels safer." He smiled nervously and then went back to his typing.

"I... I think that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time." Logan immediately blushed at hearing himself. Out loud always sounded different than in his head. He turned to his own screen and tried to look busy, which wasn't too hard since he was trying to reorganize all their current information. But it was true. Logan was used to being teased for being so tame, so unspontaneous. It wasn't that his old coworkers didn't have nice things to say, but it was always about the job and the things he did. Who he was as a person always seemed to be the butt of every joke.

Roman looked up from his work, pushing his fears down as they bubbled fiercely in the pit of his stomach. "You don't get many compliments?" He asked, a slight smirk picking upon his face as he immediately took the opportunity presented to him "That's surprising. I would have thought you'd get compliments all the time, especially with a face like that."

Now Logan knew his face had to be bright red and for the sake of not being completely embarrassed, he ignored the second half of that compliment. "Well I mean I'd receive praise in regards to my work ethic, getting the job done and being able to deliver. But I don't really get... how can I say this... I'm not used to... personal compliments." He looked up at Roman, hoping he understood what he meant. "It's funny... with you, I realise I don't feel like I have to feel bad about being myself." Logan swallowed, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this honest with anyone.

"Well, they clearly didn't see what I see." Before he could even think about it, the words had already left his lips. Roman was internally freaking out, but on the outside, he looked at Logan with such care and honesty. Logan is getting flustered, maybe tone it down a bit, don't scare him off, he thought to himself. Watching as Logan stuttered and hesitated while trying to form a coherent response, he really doesn't get that many compliments.

Now Logan was in full panic mode. The kindness and sincerity in Roman's eyes were jarring to him. He desperately tried to answer something, but at the moment his thoughts just would not form sentences. Is this guy flirting with me or I am reading way too much into this? Logan thought nervously. "Well... I.. thank you.. it means a lot coming from someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Roman beamed, watching the other officer as he quickly got more and more flustered. He got up and walked over to Logan's desk, sitting on the desk chair next to him. "What do you mean by that?"

He looked annoyingly casual the whole time, not even slightly bothered, aside from the light blush against his freckled cheeks. Other than that, he looked slightly amused and still had the most infuriating and weirdly attractive smirk on his face.

Oh gosh, what did he mean by that? Logan felt cornered. He was afraid of what he might say or how it might be perceived. "It's just... you're experienced here... you've probably worked with a bunch of other people before so you know what you're talking about." Gosh, that sounded lame and impersonal. "I'd heard a lot about you before coming here. You're rather well known in the precinct. No one knows who I am unless they need me."

"Oh right, yes, of course. I've got quite the reputation, yes. Nonetheless, I appreciate the compliment, thank you." He got up and walked back over to his own desk, typing at his keyboard once again. He was rather disappointed. Of course, Logan was talking about his career and his reputation. He rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. "How long do you think you'll need to finish up  your notes?"

"Oh um I'm just about finished here. 2 more minutes and I think this should cover everything for now." Logan had thought he’d felt a shift in Roman's mood and he was pretty sure he’d somehow messed up . Maybe Roman had actually been flirting with him. But now it was too late and Logan didn't know how to fix his blunder. He just wanted to finish and go home where he could try to wrap his head around everything.

"Good, I'm just about done, so I'll see you tomorrow?" Roman picked up his bag and tried to hide his disappointment with a smile as he rushed out to get to his car. He knew his mind was probably being a little hard on him, he should think it over and not let it change anything. He liked Logan and a silly crush wouldn't get in the way of that. He drove home and collapsed on his couch, extremely tired and a little upset.

Logan finished up and headed home, his head was throbbing by the time he got back. What had just happened back there? Logan wasn’t entirely sure. Roman was unlike anyone he'd ever met. Sure he'd had the odd crush here and there, but he wasn’t exactly sure what this was, it felt different somehow.

** Tag list (let us know if you would like to be added or removed): @crossiantgay

[peakysabrina]

Dark Horse: chapter 8

Warnings for: attempted murder unfortunately sorry

V fluffly and v gay babes

We stan dramatic first kisses and we stan Ada and Gigi 

Polly lit a cigarette (a good, French one, not the crap she usually asked someone to buy from the shop around the corner), and paced around, her steps making marks on the smooth carpet. In her mind, there was the issue o Ada and Gigi, and nothing else. There had been a time when she couldn't get out of bed, but now she couldn't even sit still. Why were the two of them making everything so damn hard? Certainly it wasn't difficult at all, was it? Polly had yet to talk to Ada and get a clear answer, but her intuition had never been wrong before.

"Aunt Polly? Polly, it's me" someone called from the door, making Polly herself look back, her face opening up in a smile when she saw her only niece. If there was no such thing as coincidences, how come Ada was standing at the door, exactly when Polly was thinking about her? It was honestly quite remarkable how fate seemed to intervene when something was simply meant to be. 

"Didn't expect you to visit today" Polly replied, opening the door and allowing Ada to come in. She seemed to be in a state of anxiety, her hair being massacred by relentless hands. "What's the matter?" 

"Nothing's wrong, I just... I need to... I need to talk to you. And you need to talk to Gigi. Get her to go away, aunt Polly, get her to leave before she delivers what she promised you" Ada begged, unable to keep herself from crying any longer. 

"How do you know about that? And what's happened?" Polly asked, taking Ada by the arm and urging her to sit down on the sofa. The first question, although vital, paled in comparison to the second. It was beyond obvious that Ada was in distress. "I thought you had an agreement with her, there's still a week before the time runs out..." 

"Polly, she needs to go" Ada cried, so distraught she couldn't even sob. "She needs to leave, today! Oh god, oh my god, it's my fault. We need to leave now, you have to come with me, she'll only listen to you"

"Ada, you need to tell me what the hell is going on, why does Gigi have to leave?" Polly asked, as her niece forced her out the door, and into her car. How she could drive, Polly didn't really know, given the way her hands were shaking. The vehicle's suspension creaked every time they hit a bump at the speed they were going, and there still wasn't an answer. 

"Tommy. Tommy is going to kill her". He might even be there already, he didn't say when it was going to happen" Ada finally responded, going over yet another bump. "It's my fault, Pol, it's all my fault..." 

Needless to say, Ada's driving ability and considerable speed got them to Gigi's camp in just under ten minutes. There didn't seem to be any disturbance, which was hopefully a good sign. Without even waiting for Polly to accompany her, Ada ran to Gigi's vardo, punching the door with her fists. To her terror, there was no answer, but the smell of smoke was quite overpowering. 

"Oh no, oh heavens no..." Polly sighed, not knowing what to do, and frozen in fear of what Ada would find once the door gave in. Her decision ended up being to go and help Ada, and it took the combination of their strengths to kick down the door, releasing a cloud of toxic-smelling grey cloud.

Guided by something no one else could see, Ada charged forward, hitting furniture on her way, but not caring one bit about the bruises that were bound to form. She knew what she needed, she knew there was the tiniest window of oportunity, the smallest chance of her being able to undo the wrong she'd done. Put simply, Ada needed to feel Georgia Gold, she had to find her, to feel her heart beating and the whisper of a breath coming from her mouth. And she needed it to make sure she hadn't given Tommy information that would lead to death, but she needed it to make sure her brother hadn't killed the owner of the eyes Ada saw when she tried to sleep, or the stubborn, yet fair soul with whom she'd reached an agreement, whom she understood, being understood in return. 

Gigi really was there, on her bed, as if she had been asleep, and hadn't noticed the smoke around her. Ada shook her with all her strength, but she didn't wake up, didn't open her eyes, nothing. In hindsight, she wouldn't know how she had been able to drag Gigi out of her wagon and out into the fresh air, but Ada did know one thing: she would never forget the moment she was able to find a pulse. 

"Is she..." Polly asked, having failed to get a response from the other wagons, which were either empty or occupied by people who were no longer among the living. 

"No, no there's a pulse. Shit, I didn't remember to call the police, or an ambulance, or..." Ada whined, helplessly brushing the hair away from Gigi's face, rubbing her own sleeve on her cheeks, not knowing what else to do, but wanting to get rid of the soot and the dust.

Polly seemed to have gone away, to where Ada couldn't tell. She'd started crying at some point, because there were tears on Gigi's face, and the girl's head was now on her lap, but it was all a blur, a hazey nightmare. How could it happen like this, how could Tommy take away so many lives, how dare he go after Gigi, how dare he try to undermine their agreement, and how dare he lay a hand on Georgia Gold, who understood, who knew, who listened, who... 

"Wake up, damn it! Wake the fuck up, Georgia! I mean it, please wake up, wake up, let me look at you, let me look at you again, please... Please, don't leave me here, not yet. Let me look at you, let me talk to you, there is so much I need to tell you, that I need to ask you, you can't go" Ada cried, trying to get Gigi to wake up, to give a sign of life. Then, the only sound that could be heardfor miles on end were her sobs, as she came to the realisation that whatever it was that she felt for Gigi Gold, the promise of what could be, had slipped through her fingers, and it hurt so bad she sad red. 

"What? What do you need to tell me?" the smallest whisper was all Gigi could manage, her lungs full of smoke and debris. However, and even though every bit of her hurt when she spoke, she needed to know, and she needed to know before whatever was happening to her won their fight. "Please don't make me beg, I can hardly breathe right now" 

"I'm falling in love with you, Georgia Gold" Ada said, simply, with nothing else to add, with nothing else to hide. There simply was no time, nothing could be left unsaid, and as unfair as it was, it was the truth, and it couldn't be erased. 

"Oh well... I already love you, Ada Thorne" Gigi sighed, chuckling silently, almost as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. 

The last thing Gigi remembered once she woke up in a strange bedroom was Ada's lips touching down on hers, a kiss so antecipated and needed it saved her life. 

[alleiradayne]

Hurt So Good

Summary: During the examination of a body, Natalie challenges Sam’s belief in bite mark analysis. Square Filled: Biting Warnings/Tags: Biting, rough sex, dirty talk, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, sex in a bathroom, torn clothing, dirty talk Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester/Natalie Murphy (OC) Word Count: 1,707 A/N: For @spnkinkbingo this fills the Biting square. And as always, thank you @atc74 for your wonderful beta’ing. Song: Hurt So Good by John Mellencamp

“The only thing notable about the victim is a bite pattern.”

Natalie adjusted her suit jacket as she leaned over the corpse. The fifth body in as many weeks had turned up in the small town of Waupaca and submerged the community in a wave of terror. Dean and Elizabeth had offered to interview locals. So, when Sam had suggested he and Natalie interview the coroner and examine the most recent victim, she agreed. The opportunity to work with Sam alone—in her best FBI pencil skirt, fitted jacket, and deep v-neck blouse—would not go squandered.

They had arrived at the coroner’s office and were shown back without question, their badges more than passable. When the coroner, a woman about the same age as herself, withdrew the victim from the freezer, Natalie noticed a distinct lack of evidence. But the coroner pointed out the hematomas on the shoulders, arms and legs of the victim as her job dictated. “The weird part about these marks is that the patterns are identical. Not just on this body but across all of them.”

“Then it’s the same perpetrator.”

Natalie’s glare snapped to Sam and found a furrowed brow. His stare narrowed as he studied the body, scrutinizing everything but the most important and obvious fact staring right back at him. She tempered her impatience with a deep breath and said, “Agent Astin, could you step outside with me for a minute?”

Sam’s eyes widened as he considered her, glanced at the coroner, then returned to Natalie. “Uh… sure, Agent Wood,” he stuttered. To the coroner, he said, “Excuse us.”

Once in the hallway, Natalie tore the gloves from her hands and rounded on Sam. “Bite marks? That’s all we’ve got?”

Sam nodded as he, too, removed his gloves and withdrew his phone from his pocket. “Yeah, the bite pattern is the same across all the victims,” he said as he scrolled.

He had to be joking. “Bite mark analysis is bullshit. You know that, right?”

“What?”

She folded her arms across her chest as she planted her feet. “Bite mark analysis has been debunked. It’s junk science.”

Sam scratched his head. “Not if it’s some sort of monster. Werewolf and vampires have pretty distinct bite patterns.”

“Those bites,” she said as she pointed at the coroner’s office, “were not made by a werewolf or a vampire. They looked like human bite marks. They definitely were not the cause of death. This coroner is a damn joke.”

Sam smirked at that. “How do you know what human bite marks look like?”

Natalie opened her mouth to retort but failed to think of anything pithy enough. The dark look in Sam’s eyes as he towered over her, broad shoulders framed by his trim suit, obliterated any coherent thought she might have had. She knew that look, intimately familiar with the subtle, crooked smirk, the half-lidded gaze, the hungry bob of his throat as he swallowed. A worthy comeback finally bubbled up from the depths of her perversions as she stepped into his space and dropped her arms.

“Bite marks distort in human flesh,” she stated. “Whether the person bitten is alive or dead, over time, a bite mark changes. That’s why you can’t match it to any other bite mark or set of teeth.” She ran her tongue over her teeth as she parted her lips to add, “But there’s something to be said about the psychology of a person that bites another. And even more about a person that requests to be bitten.” She checked the window of the coroner’s office to find the woman with her back to the door. Another step pressed Natalie flush to Sam where she found his erection straining against his pants. “Some psychologists suggest that biting is a form of marking, claiming ownership. Others say it's about power. And others yet claim it’s about pain and brutalization.”

Sam’s chest heaved as ragged breaths dragged from his lungs. “Which uh… which psychologists are right?”

Natalie shrugged as she bit her bottom lip. “Don’t know. Depends on the person. Depends on consent. Depends on the situation. Personally, though? I think it’s a combination of all three. Marked, dominated, and bruised. Sounds like a good time. What do you think?”

The massive grip of his hand enveloped her entire upper arm as Sam grabbed her. Perfect. He thought he’d have the upper hand. But she had goaded him into action. Sometimes, Natalie had learned, he needed a little shove in the right direction. Sometimes a little teasing was all it took. But once provoked, the best side of Sam’s intently buried perversions escaped their prison. Not that his tender, loving, and careful nature was ever sacrificed. But Natalie enjoyed sex with Sam the most when he let loose.

He hauled her to the nearest bathroom where, with the hallway clear, he forced her through the door and followed her. A rough shove of the door slammed it shut and he threw the deadbolt to ensure their privacy. He wasted no time bearing down on her, massive hands grasping her ass, picking her up, and pinning her to the wall. Her skirt tore at the slit in the back, rent to her ass and shoved to her hips as her legs wrapped around his hips.

Shit, but he was serious. All dark and brooding, Sam growled as his teeth found purchase on the crook of her neck, sinking in for the perfect sting. Moans and gasps and seething breaths filled the bathroom as Sam feasted on her flesh, bites and nips along her neck, her collar, her cleavage leaving her dizzy with want. When he tore aside her underwear, she parted his pants and reached into his boxers to withdraw his throbbing cock, swollen and already dripping precum.

“Biting me turns you on?” she sighed.

“You turn me on, period,” he muttered against her skin. As she angled his cock to her pussy, he groaned. “Seems like I could ask you the same question. God damn, you’re fucking soaked.”

“Yeah, you turn me on, too,” she started. “But the thought of you marking me drives me crazy. Dominating me sounds even better. Bruising? The best. Think you can—”

Sam thrust into her, completely sheathed in one pump of his hips. Her thought clipped short with a cry, and Sam clamped a hand over her mouth.

“You want them to hear you?” he hissed.

Natalie wanted to reply. She wanted to say all manner of lewd, disgusting things. Yeah, she wanted them to hear her. She wanted everyone to know just how amazing Sam fucked her, how much she loved the feeling of his thick cock spreading her pussy and pounding into her. But with his rough grip over her mouth, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, and his thrusting hips, the only thing she could do was moan. God bless his hand. The entire building would have heard her otherwise.

Sam devoured her as he fucked her, teeth clenching, nipping, and pinching wherever he could find purchase. Natalie lost track of time after a mere minute, uncaring and far more focused on everything he did to her. When he snapped his hips back from her and set her on her feet, she protested with a cry until he grabbed her by the shoulders, jerked her around to face the wall, and pinned her to it once more. He slammed his hips into her, his cock bottoming out as he penetrated her again, and that time, Natalie did scream before Sam could get his hand over her mouth.

“Shit, baby, you are such a slut for me,” he whispered in her ear. Hard and fast thrusts slapped against her ass, and Natalie whimpered into his hand as she nodded, delirium spinning the room. “God, I love fucking you like this, when you're so desperate for my cock. When you’re begging me to mark you. Dominate you. Bruise you.”

Sam wrenched the collar of her suit over her shoulder, tearing her shirt, and sank his teeth into the crook of her neck. Another pathetic scream died in her mouth, kept quiet by his hand. That perfect sting of pain and pleasure overpowered her senses, and her orgasm surged wildly out of control. Her entire body seized as she came so hard, her knees buckled. Sam held her upright, his hand slipping from his mouth and under to grip her by the throat. Repeated whispers begging for him to stop went unheard—or ignored—but that was a part of the rules. Only a safe word would get Sam to stop.

And Natalie has no intention of making him stop. She enjoyed the submission, the disobedience and punishment far too pleasurable to tap out. Instead, she struggled. She whimpered her pathetic cries behind his hand, begging for him to stop. Tears spilled over her cheeks, so overstimulated she couldn't help herself as Sam relentlessly pounded her cunt until his own orgasm emptied his load into her accompanied by his deep growl muted against her neck.

He soothed the last bite with his suckling lips and moaned such a sigh of relief into her, a thought occurred to Natalie. “That was a lot of pent up rage,” she said over her shoulder.

“I’m… I’d say I’m sorry, but I get the distinct feeling you enjoyed it,” he said as he attempted to right her ruined shit. “Although, I’m definitely sorry about your suit.”

“It’s just a suit,” Natalie excused, “and I don’t think it’ll help our investigation much if anyone sees me like this. We should come back tomorrow.”

A forceful grip held her in place as Sam planted his lips on hers, sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and nibbled. He pulled back until it slipped from his mouth with a wet slurp, then rose up to his full height as he spoke. “After I buy you a new suit.”

“And with what money are you gonna do that?” Natalie asked.

A thoughtful look contorted his too pretty face as Sam righted his pants. “Want to run our hustle at the dive bar in town?”

Natalie did her best to adjust her ruined clothes as she laughed.

“It’s a date.”

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN KINK BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74  @hannahindie @bevans87  @meganwinchester1999  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus  @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox@wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm  @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs  @seenashwrite @canadianspnhunter  @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78@staycejo1 @hobby27  @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44@4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx@blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99 @mrswhozeewhatsis

Sam’s Sasstresses:

@morganas-pendragons

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Where the Moonlight Shines (Part Two)

Summary:  You’re a junior deputy in Hope County, Montana when things go to hell in a handbasket with the local cult. It’s months before help arrives in the form of the Avengers, taking you down a road you never expected.

Features: Violence; Depiction of torture; Murder; Mind control

Pairing: TBD

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence; depictions/mentions of torture; depictions/mentions of brainwashing; will add more as they become relevant

Notes: This part contains the death of a minor, mentions and depictions of torture, discussion of mind control, and canon typical violence

We meet the Avengers in the part while exploring a little bit of what Rook has gone through

This is a crossover between Far Cry 5 and the MCU

Word Count: 4302

You lost count of the days. They all blurred together. You had been taken by John first when you were stirring things up in the region. John Seed, the baptist, the one meant to make you confess your sins. You had refused time and time again, until one day you didn’t. It was torture, literal torture. While you healed at an accelerated rate compared to others, you refused to heal yourself, refused to reveal what they already knew. You had sacrificed yourself for Joey, day in and day out. You didn’t want her to suffer, not when you knew you could handle it, handle the pain.

“Are you ready to confess, Deputy? Ready to say yes, to be freed from your sins?” John asked, his tone calm. You glared at him. You hated him, hated how he drew out the word ‘deputy’ every time he spoke to you. It had become a routine. You had bruises still healing from where he hit you, cuts that were still bleeding, in spite of your accelerated healing.

“Confess what? That I was just living my life, doing my job until you and your family came in and fucked everything up?” you asked. You knew that would enrage him. You were past caring. You were chained to a chair and your words were your only available weapon.

“Your hubris, your pride, your wrath. I know what your sins are, my dear. But do you? I don’t enjoy hurting you. No, no. But I must. Because, you. Must. Confess. You must atone, and the path to atonement is paved with pain,” he said as he paced around. He went to his toolbox. You loathed it. You craved the sunlight, the fresh air, anything other than the dark bunker that stank of blood and death. You refused to flinch as he moved toward you with the ice pick. He had figured out you healed fast. As far as you knew, it was the one thing keeping you alive, the one thing that kept him from killing you outright aside from whatever orders he had been given.

You refused to scream as he drove the ice pick into your leg. He knew how to maximize the pain without causing you to bleed out. You refused to give in until he threatened Joey again. In the end, he marked you after you said yes to save Joey once more, ‘wrath’ had been tattooed across your chest before the flesh was ripped from you. You had forced yourself not to react as he did it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. It took everything you had not to scream out.

The day you broke, the day you said yes, was burned into your memory like no other experience through all of the things that had happened since the night of the attempted arrest. It plagued your dreams when you managed to sleep. The scene twisting into something more horrific each time.

You almost wished to be back in the bunker now. You had figured you had been there for a month, maybe a little longer, before you ended up breaking out and getting away. You had spent time in John’s region stirring up trouble as a ‘fuck you’ to the man before crossing the Henbane River to deal with Faith and her bliss. Bliss. You hated the stuff. It was a potent hallucinogen.

She had ensnared you in it. You had almost lost yourself in it before Tracey found you. An adrenaline shot was the only way to get you out of it. Faith had shown you destruction, had shown you Joseph’s supposed vision. You still hadn’t been able to get Burke away. Part of you wasn’t sure you wanted to. You blamed him for lighting the powder keg that set it all in motion while Joseph insisted it was you, always you. You were the harbinger, the one who set it in motion with one simple action. You headed for the Whitetails after being pulled from the Bliss. You knew torture awaited you in Holland Valley and you didn’t want to know what would happen if you ended up deep in the Bliss again.

You met the Whitetail Militia when you made it to the Whitetails. You knew Tammy Barnes didn’t trust you one bit. Not at first. Not until you and Jess Black killed the Cook.

“That didn’t feel like I thought it would,” Jess admitted as the two of you scavenged the site where the Cook had set up shop. He had killed her family. Jess had suffered at his hand. You placed a hand on her shoulder and she turned toward you, not meeting your gaze.

“Look at me Jess,” you said. For a moment you thought she wasn’t going to, until she lifted her head up, her eyes meeting yours.

“I don’t know what I expected,” she said.

“Revenge rarely does what we think it will. You think you’ll feel stronger, that you’ll feel vindicated, that the suffering you went through, it won’t matter anymore because the boogeyman who hurt you is gone and can’t hurt anyone anymore. Truth is, revenge doesn’t change shit. You still went through hell, kid. You still have to heal. Maybe it’ll be a bit easier now. Maybe it won’t be. But he won’t hurt anyone ever again,” you said.

“I won’t rest easy at night until the son of a bitch responsible for this all is dead and buried,” she said.

“Which one?” you asked.

“All of them,” she said.

Jess was young. She was strong. She had seen far too much for her age. She was there when you had been caught by Jacob’s Chosen the second time. You had told her to run after Jacob’s warning came over your radio. For once, she listened to you. You had felt an arrow pierce your leg and the next thing you fully remembered was waking up to see bodies around you, blood on the ground at the bottom of a steep drop. It was the game Jacob played. You weren’t sure what it was then, but he triggered something in you, and after that things went blank. You never remembered what it was, not until you’d been in the Whitetails for long enough that it became clear. He let you go. You knew that. Of the three Seeds who ran the regions while Joseph hid away on his  island, Jacob was the scariest.

For the past three months, you had been at the mercy of Jacob. It had been five months since the botched arrest. He was your nightmares in human form. You dreaded seeing that music box. You dreaded hearing the opening notes of ‘Only You’. Whatever he had done to you, that song triggered it. You had learned to comply before he needed to use it. It was easier that way and you hated it. Absolutely hated it. He had toyed with you, letting you escape after each trial before bringing you back. He still used it when he had a specific task for you, one he didn’t want to risk your non-compliance on.

Eli was one of those tasks. Eli led the Whitetail Militia. The militia were a key part of the Resistance in Hope County. Jacob had intended to kill you after you killed Eli, but he had changed his mind. He had called Eli your sacrifice. But he wasn’t. You were a means to an end. The only one in his mind who could kill Eli. What better way to demoralize the Whitetails than to lose their leader, demoralize the Resistance than to have their savior, their leader be the one to pull the trigger.

The real test came with Ryan. Sweet Ryan. Your baby cousin, the son of your aunt, Rae-Rae. You wondered if having you kill Ryan was some sort of sick retribution. You swore you’d die to protect Ryan. He had been holed up safely with some Resistance members after the death of Rae-Rae at the hand of some Peggies who wanted Boomer, their dog.

Ryan was barely a teenager. Where Eli was a sacrifice, Ryan was the true test once Jacob decided he still had a use for you, that your purpose hadn’t just been to demoralize the Whitetail Militia, that you were not as weak as he had thought once Eli was out of the picture. And that was a dangerous thing for you.

“Cull the herd,” Jacob said. You stood, your body not your own. The only thing you saw was a faceless body, almost like a mannequin. A target. You didn’t hear the screams. You didn’t hear Ryan’s happiness at seeing you turn into horror as you turned your gun on him. One shot.

As he hit the ground the red haze receded. Your eyes widened when you saw him. You ran toward him, tears stinging your eyes.

“Good job, pup. I’ll be calling for you soon,” Jacob’s voice came over your radio. You sobbed as you held Ryan, his breathing slowing to a stop.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you cried, his blood staining your clothes and your hands. You found a shovel by the garage. You had swung by Rae-Rae’s on your way from checking in on the Rye’s. Kim was pregnant and you worried about her, especially when they decided to stay in Hope County. Rae-Rae’s had become a have for you. Your haven now became your hell, a reminder of what you did. You buried Ryan next to his mother, moving a heavy rock to mark it,  along with a piece of wood you carved his name into with your knife. Boomer found you there, along with Sharky Boshaw, who was one of your closest allies.

“Shit Dep, what happened?” Sharky asked, kneeling beside you. You just shook your head as he pulled you into a hug.

You knew you could no longer go to the militia after that day. They understood it wasn’t your fault, but you knew your continued association would only put them at risk. Tammy had tried to talk you out of it, mentioning her distant cousin, that despite what had been done to him, he was still a hero. For all the suspicions she’d had about you at the start, Tammy Barnes trusted you, even after everything. But you didn’t trust yourself.

You stopped trying to escape, trying to run. You had learned the consequences after the first few times you attempted escape, attempted to assert yourself. It had taken weeks for the bruises to fade and the injuries to heal. Your accelerated healing could only do so much, especially when you were being starved. No food meant little energy, and it took a lot of energy to heal.

Jacob knew what your powers were and you were always by his side. You hated it, hated him. A few run ins with the Resistance had you healing him, even if it was the last thing you wanted to do. You were determined to make it out of this, no matter the cost. Jacob had you go with a patrol that morning and you took your chance to run after wrestling a weapon away from one of his Chosen, his most trusted soldiers. You found a car that worked and sped off to Rye Aviation.

You felt relief as you saw the familiar sign. You pulled up and parked the car. The sound of you arriving had drawn someone out of the house.

“Dep? Oh my god, Dep it’s really you!” Nick said as he approached the car with a gun drawn. Nick Rye was an ally, a friend. He owned the airfield and provided air support for you, when you weren’t being held captive by the Seeds. You knew it wasn’t a fluke that let you get away. If you had managed to get away, it was because Jacob let you. The realization didn’t sit well with you.

“It’s me. I’m home,” you said softly. You knew you looked beat up and broken. There was no way you didn’t. It seemed like everyone was there. Kim was there, looking like she was going to give birth any day now. Hurk was there with Sharky Boshaw. Sharky. One of your favorite people since everything started. Even if he was a wanted pyromaniac before everything kicked off, he was a useful ally, funny too. Grace Armstrong, the army sniper you’d helped out. Adelaide, who was Hurk’s mom stood with her favored boytoy of the moment.

“Good to see you Rook,” Grace said.

“Good to see you too,” you said. You found yourself pulled into hugs, saying hello to the people you hadn’t seen in so long. You were home.

“Had me real worried for a second amiga,” Sharky said.

“Yeah. I know,” you said, taking a sip of the beer that had been handed to you once everything settled. It may have been the end of the world, but damn, if there wasn’t a stockpile of alcohol to throw a party at the end of it.

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

One month later, Upstate New York

The Avengers were gathered in a conference room. Fury had arrived at the compound that morning with an urgent briefing.

“We’ve received word from the US Marshals that one of their agents, Cameron Burke, has been reported missing. He was meant to arrest Joseph Seed six months ago,” Fury said.

“Five months and they haven’t heard from him? Why are they only now doing something about it?” Natasha asked.

“That’s where things get strange. The Marshals received his resignation two days after the arrest was supposed to happen. Burke had been insistent on bringing this Joseph Seed in and then wanted to drop all charges and resign. The Marshals office is such a mess and Seed considered such a low level threat that they brushed it off. Until now. New information has cropped up,” Fury said. The team looked at the information in front of them. Profiles on the brothers, on people associated with the Project.

“Where do we come in?” Steve asked, arms crossed. This didn’t seem like something that warranted the Avengers involvement.

“Records show Hope County has become a dark zone. No communications in or out of the county except by specific encoded communications locations in four different locations. After the Marshals requested the help of the Avengers, we tapped into the communications and we’ve been able to intercept radio traffic. There’s a war going on in that county and Joseph Seed is determined to win it. Project at Eden’s Gate is a doomsday cult with Joseph Seed as their prophet. We have reason to believe he has gotten his hands on weapons of mass destruction with alien origin,” Fury said.

“There’s a catch, there has to be,” Tony said.

“From what we’ve gathered, Joseph’s brothers are his so called heralds, along with a young woman by the name of Rachel Jessop, who now goes by Faith Seed. According to intercepted transmissions, youngest brother John is called the Baptist and is responsible for getting confessions out of converts, whether they’re willing or not. We don’t know what that entails.

Oldest brother Jacob is former army, served in the Gulf War. He runs their defense and we have reason to believe he’s using some kind of mental conditioning.

This so called Faith is manufacturing a potent drug called Bliss. We have no idea what it’s effects are. When you enter the region, you will need to proceed with caution. Radio chatter indicates they have an enhanced individual in the region. They call her Rook. We don’t know much, whether she’s working for the Project or the Resistance. The messages are confusing. But treat this Rook with caution,” Maria said. The team sat in silence, contemplating what they had just been told.

“Do we know if Hydra is involved?” Natasha asked.

“We don’t know for sure. They had to get those weapons from somewhere. If not Hydra then there is another threat we need to be on alert for,” Fury said. The team sat in contemplation for a moment.

“What do we need to prepare for? Do we have a contact?” Steve asked.

“Be prepared for anything. You leave in three hours. We have a contact in the region, Hurk Drubman Junior. He’s a little...rough around the edges but he’ll be able to give you a run down if you can find him,” Maria said. Bucky’s head snapped up. Drubman, why did that name sound so familiar? A photo of the man in question was brought up on the screen. Bucky squinted at it. He cursed under his breath when he made the connection. Of course it was him.

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

The Avengers touched down at an airfield. A man greeted them with a gun that he lowered once he saw who they were. He still kept his guard up as the group approached. Steve introduced himself and the team.

“Nick, Nick Rye,” the man said.

“Do you know where we can find Hurk--,” Steve was cut off by the sound of an explosion and laughter.

“Drubman? Yeah, he and his cousin are here. What’re you looking for him for?” Nick asked as they walked toward the house.

“We were told Mr. Drubman would be able to assist us,” Natasha said. She was taking in the surroundings. Smoke rose in the distance as a statue stood smoldering. They were led into the house. It seemed like a party was going on.

“Some might says it’s distasteful to celebrate the death of someone, but they’ve never met those damn Seeds,” Nick said.

“They’re dead?” Natasha asked.

“John is, the so called baptist. Dep killed him today after...anyway, the important thing is that fucker is dead as dead can be and the people he was keepin’ prisoner are free. Joey Hudson is restin’ up. Damn Peggies had her for months,” he said.

“Peggies?” Wanda asked.

“S’what we call members of the Project. Project at Eden’s Gate, PEG, Peggies,” Nick said. The group looked at Steve. Realization seemed to cross Nick’s face.

“Aw hell, your lady back in the 40s was--” Nick started to say before Natasha cut him off.

“Agent Carter was named Peggy yes. And she was a hell of a lot more than the Captain’s lady,” Natasha said.

“Right, right, sorry,” Nick said, looking properly admonished. He led them to where everyone was gathered and made introductions. It was time to plan.

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

You excused yourself from the room, feeling overwhelmed by how many people were there. You knew it was only a matter of time before Jacob was going to call you back. He was bound to be furious. You knew when he let you go he didn’t think you’d get that far, didn’t think you’d kill his baby brother. You may have escaped but you knew it was because he let you, a sick game of cat and mouse. You jumped when you heard a floorboard creek on the porch. It was Wanda Maximoff.

“Sorry, I did not realize someone was out here,” she said.

“It’s fine, you’re fine. It was just...overwhelming in there,” you said. She nodded.

“You...you are not okay,” she said.

“My home is under siege by a murderous doomsday cult. I’ve been tortured, shot at, almost killed, and held captive by them and I’m currently engaged in a cat and mouse game with the Project. Yeah. I’d say I’m not okay,” you snapped. You took a breath. She had nothing to do with it. Guilt set in.

“Sorry...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” you said. She touched your arm and you flinched. Touch that wasn’t inflicting pain was something you were adjusting to.

“You are dealing with a lot,” she said. You nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a bit. Your thoughts drifted to that morning. John had crossed the line and you made your final move against him. You had hoped you could subdue him, take him alive, make him face justice for what he’d done. But that wasn’t how things went.

“Face it, Deputy. Joseph is right. You cannot change that,” John taunted over the radio. You were chasing him down in a plane. You knew it was only going to end one way.

“Want to bet?” you asked. You managed to damage the wing of his plane enough that it went careening out of the sky. You hadn’t anticipated him having a parachute. You landed Carmina and took off on foot in the direction you’d seen John descending in. A firefight ensued and he was leaning against a car while sat on the ground.

“I never thought it would go this far, you know,” he said, his breathing labored.

“Is this your deathbed confession?” you asked, your gun trained on him.

“We both know...if you wanted to save me right now...you could Deputy. You’re just...as much of a monster...as I am. At least I acknowledge my sins,” he said.

Wanda sat beside you, a comforting hand on your back, rubbing circles as you lost yourself in your thoughts. You glanced at her.

“What if, what if there are no winners here? What if we’re all just monsters masquerading as heros?” you asked her. She tilted her head to the side.

“You worry about the destruction and pain caused by your hand,” she said. You nodded. She sighed.

“I’ve been there too. If we don’t do what we do, the outcome may be worse than if we do something. It isn’t you’re fault you’re in this position,” she said. You nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a while longer before standing up to go back in the house.

You walked into the house to see an interesting scene. Bucky Barnes and Hurk were stood in opposite corners. Bucky had a gun aimed at Hurk, who just had a wide smile on his face. Clint Barton had a bowl of popcorn he was sharing with Nick, Jess, and Grace. Kim was glaring at both men. Steve had stepped between them while Natasha and Tony seemed to be taking bets on what would happen.

“I knew it! I knew the Winter Soldier was after me!” Hurk yelled. You wondered what you had missed while you were outside talking with Wanda.

“What the hell is going on in here?” you asked. Everyone turned toward you.

“Hurk being Hurk,” Kim said. You sighed.

“Hurk go...blow something up with Sharky. Stop agitating someone who probably knows five hundred different ways to kill you without using a gun,” you snapped. You loved your friends, you did, but god, did they do stupid things sometimes. You smiled a little to yourself. A small shred of normalcy in the chaos.

After getting the Avengers set up and settled, you gathered the Resistance core around the fire outside. The Avengers were surely resting or making their own preparations. You’d be discussing a game plan come morning.

“What’re you thinking Dep?” Nick asked.

“We need a contingency plan. There’s no way Jacob doesn’t call me back. Sooner rather than later. For our sake, I hope it’s before we make any plans with the Avengers. I don’t know what I’m like when I’m under, not fully. I remember bits and pieces,” you said.

“What are you getting at Dep?” Grace asked.

“If it comes down to it, you need to take me out. I won’t be in control. I try to fight it, but it’s hard. I haven’t been able to snap myself out of it,” you told them.

“No, not happening amiga. We’re not killing ya,” Sharky said.

“Sharky. You may not have a choice,” you snapped.

“There’s always a choice!” Jess yelled.

“Would you keep it down? We don’t need to be alerting our guests to our plans here. Not this one,” you said, glaring at her.

“Rook, what you’re asking us to do,” Nick said.

“It’s a sacrifice. I’m a weakness. You need to cull the herd,” you explained.

“Cull the herd? Sacrifice? Weakness? For fucks sake Rook, do you hear yourself? You’re spouting off Jacob’s rhetoric!” Jess said. You ran a hand through your hair and started pacing, unaware of the person listening in to the conversation going on. Bucky Barnes lurked in the shadow, eavesdropping on what was going on. It wasn’t that the Avengers didn’t trust the Resistance. They wanted all the information they could get to plan their attack. They knew there was no keeping the Resistance out of the fight. This was their fight, not the Avengers. They had been the ones keeping hope alive for six months.

“It doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me out...I don’t see people, Jess. I see targets. I see targets I need to take out. I don’t...I can’t hurt you, any of you. And if you don’t take me out the first chance you get if I���m not in control, I will hurt you, or worse kill you,” you said, your voice breaking.

“I’ll do it,” Grace said.

“Grace,” Nick said sharply. She held her hand up.

“I’m the best shot we have. I don’t want to kill Dep. But if we have to take her out. We have to take her out. She’s right. You have all seen and heard what Jacob does to people. Once he hooks his claws into her, getting her back will be damn near impossible if she can’t fight it off,” Grace said.

Later that night when you were patrolling the perimeter when you heard it. The opening of ‘Only You’ before you heard Jacob telling you to return to the Whitetails. You had no choice but to listen, finding another car and driving to where Jacob was waiting.

[theashofwkm]

Dinner of Rats

Summary: In which Mark adds a little spice to his dinner, and finally takes the sleeping pills he keeps forgetting.

Prompt: Goretober, Poisoned

Warnings: poison, self-poisoning, suicide attempt, stabbing mention, the f word, I say shitty once, description of wounds/stabs, self-hate, mention of starving oneself, longing for death, overdose, death description, downward spiral, cheating mention, betrayal, this ones pretty dark guys.

Note: day three!!! this might also be counted as the suicide prompt, but idk yet. We’ll see if my motivation can keep up with this and if I have another idea for it.

———

Walking through the halls, body sore and colored with harsh red and circles of blooming purpled-blue, Mark wanders around lost in the home he’s lived in his entire life.

He’s in his home, walking though it’s halls. It’s impossible, he shouldn’t still be here, with legs and lungs in a body that still breathes. The stabs littering his torso should have killed him, he should be dead dozens of times over, but he’s not.

He’s not.

Still here, walking, breathing, thinking, against his will. He’d made a choice, committed to it nearly forty times and it didn’t stick. Just left him with missing time and a body that was a little more broken.

Foolishly, desperately, he thinks it’s the method that’s the problem.

It’s not and he knows that, but he needs to be wrong. He needs the voices to be wrong. He needs to be dead.

Sorrow lives his bones, a compliment to the grief of his blood and the guilt tanning his skin. There’s no reason anymore.

It’s hard and every breath feels like a punch in the gut, a rope looped around his neck. If he’s not in some agonizing emotional pain turned physical, he’s numb. Devoid of any feeling, of the sense of touch entirely. Living hurts and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore.

Not over her. She didn’t deserve to hold this power over him. Not now. Not after what she did.

He decides to try a new method. There’s bleach on the cupboard in the bathroom, rat poison in the kitchen. He’d taint his own drink, add the spice to his food and pray that that was enough.

It’s funny, before she left, he wasn’t a religious man, but he prays so often now. Daily, at least. Begging for the same thing like a broken record. Hands clasped and knees bruised, he asks and begs and pleads but he doesn’t receive.

Broken heart, bleeding lungs, self-hate littering his torso, he asks for the pain to stop. It gets worse.

It only ever gets worse.

Every time it does, he feels a modicum of relief along with the new wave of pain, believing it to be the last, the new worst. Then the ocean swells and another wave comes and he’s proven wrong. He hit rock bottom a long time ago, weeks ago. That was supposed to be the worst, that is what everyone said was the worst. ‘There’s nowhere to go but up,’ they’d said. Wrong.

He’s falling. Screaming to wind that swallows his voice and whips his flailing limbs. He can’t see the sky anymore, no sun or moon, just endless black.

Endless, pitch, encompassing black. The place he’s come to call The Nothing flashes through his mind. The starving ground of the whispers, the place where their sound echoes as they try to tear him apart. To lead him down a different path.

Whispering words that tug at his heart, that weaken his resolve, momentarily. Whispering justice, whispering revenge, whispering it’s not fair, is it?

No. None of this was fucking fair.

It would never be fair. What she did was vile and repulsive and downright cold. He’d loved her, had given her everything he could, everything that she asked and she took his willingness to please her, his devoted love and used it to stab him where it hurts. Figuratively. He did the actual stabbing himself.

Her betrayal had hurt more. He suspects that it always would.

And William. It boggles Mark’s mind, what he’d done. They’d been so much more then friends, had been brothers, and he’d gone after the one woman Mark had cared for, the one he’d marked as taken. He’d stolen his wife and cleared the joint bank account he shared with her and Mark hopes he suffers.

Because if the situation was reversed, if William had married the girl he loved, he doesn’t think he’d stoop so low as to steal her. It was a cheap, below the belt move and it wasn’t fair.

He scoffs a laugh as he veers into the bathroom. He thinks of the empty bank account. Cleared entirely by the girl he loved and the man he trusted.

In the end, now, he doesn’t much care for the missing money. It’s just another shitty thing, another mountain he doesn’t have the energy to climb. Just another thing that reduces the percentage of oxygen in his air to leave him gasping.

Thankfully, the bleach is labeled as so. He grabs it, tugging it towards him and wondering why the jug needs to be so big. It’s fine, though, he’d prepared for it. Sneaking the empty flask from his pocket, he messily pours the bleach in before capping it and shoving it back in.

Some of it had dropped onto the floor, splashed onto his robe. It stings against his hand. He welcomes the burn, he’s been through much worse lately. This is nothing.

Everything was nothing. He was searching for the thing that would be last. He wonders if death hurts, or just the process. Would he feel peace, once the deed was done? He hopes so, but he also doesn’t much care. If he wasn’t in pain, mentally ripping at his skin and tearing out his hair, then it was better.

Better was a low bar nowadays, but somehow it was still out of reach. Still too high for him to reach up and grasp. There’s an endless amount of betters, but somehow he keeps finding the limited worsts.

The flask doesn’t sit heavy in his pocket. The first few times he’d tried to off himself, the knife had been heavy, his grip slippery. It had been hard, the first few times. It’s become easy now, easier then breathing.

He wonders what that means, that an attempt to end his life is easier then drawing air into his lungs. Probably nothing good. But he’s not surprised. There’s nothing good left about him.

He’s everything but a walking corpse.

At the last moment, he grabs a bottle of pills. To help him sleep, pills he hasn’t been taking. Pills that could actually help him sleep, now that it crosses his mind. He pockets it next to the flask.

Leaving the bathroom, he makes his way downstairs. This is the hard part, the first hiccup he could experience. Chef doesn’t like people in the kitchen. That is where the poison lies.

Summoning Ben, he concocts some nonsense reason for him to disturb Chef and leave the kitchen free for a moment. There’s a moment of hesitation, where Ben eyes Mark with something close to pity, but it only lasts a moment before Ben goes off to do as requested.

Chef steps out of his kitchen in a huff of anger and Mark slips in through the other entrance. He slips in the cupboard, grabbing the bottle, and quickly retreating.

Skull and crossbones are plastered on the label, beside the no rodent sign. He smiles. Finally. It was in his grasp, again. Hopefully for the last time.

In his bedroom, he goes on his knees and prays for this to work until Ben fetches him for dinner. He grinds the sleeping pills into gravely dust. He prays some more.

Ben pulls out his chair in silence. Mark sits and he expects something about this time to feel different, but it doesn’t. It’s the same as any other meal he’s had over the past weeks.

Except this time he’s planning to actually eat it.

Pockets full of things he shouldn’t ingest, he has something of an appetite. This will be his first good meal in a while.

Ben places the plate before him, bowing and muttering an obedient “master.”

“Ben.” Mark stops him. This death will be slow, probably. He didn’t want any interruptions, anything that could get in the way. “Go to your rooms for the night and tell Chef to do the same.”

The butler turns, shocked. “But master—”

“Now.”

Nodding shakily, Ben follows orders. Chef yells in the kitchen, but follows them too. He’s alone now.

He takes out the flask first, uncapping it and dribbling the clear cleaning fluid into his wine. He dumps the entirety of the rat poison — somewhere between half and three quarters — onto his plate. He mixes it into his potatoes while sprinkling the dust of pills over everything like it’s salt and pepper. After a moment of thought, he adds a bit of powder to the wine.

He begins to eat.

Wine doesn’t taste all that different. There’s an unpleasant sting to it, and it burns like fire going down his throat, but he manages to sip at the glass the whole time. The pills are bitter. Harder to ignore and pretend it’s not there, but he tries. Self-made salt is sour, almost, unpleasant in the way medicine is. It’s not horrible, though.

He tells himself that this is the last time. The last attempt. After this, there will be no Mark Fischbach.

Vision blurring, limbs numbing, heart rate slowing, he’s happy. Relieved and happy and so, so close to peaceful. Slumped on the table, spilling out of his chair onto the floor, he no longer hurts.

He opens his eyes and screams.

———

Masterlist

Welp, that happened. Not a huge, huge fan of this one, but there are some bits I really like, so maybe it evens out.

TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open)

[darkling-er]

7 years ( Joseph Seed x Female Deputy ) | Part 1 

Summary: The Deputy and the Father has to spend their days in Dutch’s bunker, for who knows how long. Brook only wants to have her own grief and guilt in peace, but Joseph is not helping with his insane ramblings about the Voice. Aka how the deputy and Joseph will either end up killing or smashing each other.

Pairings: Joseph Seed/Fem!Deputy, Joseph Seed/OC

Warnings: mild language, violence, manipulation, use of drugs ( Bliss ), dubcon!!,  smut, slow burn, mentioned suicide attempts, basically a lot of triggers

Word Counter: 2907

Parts Masterpost

I can’t recall how long I’ve been sitting here, chained to the bedframe. It could have been a couple of hours, maybe days. I’ve been in and out of consciousness, since the first time I woke up in Dutch’s bunker. Since then his body has been dragged out, looking at the dark marks that  colored the cement floor.

That first time I woke up I was the most confused, as I did not recall how I got there or what happened prior to it. Blissfully unaware of the events that took outside.. at least for a second. Until I looked around to find my mentor and my friend since the beginning of the so called Holy War between the Seeds and the Resistance, now laid on the ground and however I wanted to think he was just unconscious, his chest didn’t rise or fall. He was dead.

What happened after, what ramblings did Joseph Seed, my “savior” said to me didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I was fueled with rage at first and shouted at him, though later I couldn’t say exactly what I said to him. He left me then, with that rightous smirk on his face, and I let myself cry back to sleep.

As it happened I slept a lot. And now, after who knows how much time I can’t sleep anymore. Though I wish I could go back to the lands of dreams, I’m afraid my body won’t let me anymore.

So I sit here, watching the formed bruises around my wrists, thanks to the handcuffs. My own handcuffs, if I recall rightly. He probably took it from me, just like he took everything else that I could hurt him - or myself- with. Possibly locked it to the armory, that Dutch kept locked.

My stomach growls at me, breaking the silence and my own thoughts. Not for the first time either, I didn’t eat since we got here. But I didn’t shout out for him, my pride wouldn’t let me. I would rather die before asking Joseph fucking Seed to give me something to eat.

I scoff to myself as I let go my hands to fall to the floor. Of course Dutch kept the beds nailed to the floor for some reason. And no matter how long I try I know these won’t let me go, until someone with the key opens them. I lay my head against the cold metal, closing my eyes, praying to God that this is just a bad nightmare.

And at that moment, God making fun of my silent prayers probably, the man himself comes into the room. I didn’t hear him coming, because of course he has to move so silently between the rooms. Or maybe because he’s not wearing any shoes for some reason, I think as I open my eyes and sligthly turn me head towards him, looking at his feet approaching me.

“I see you’re finally awake. Good.” He says, his voice harsh to my ears after so much silence.

I don’t have to look at his face to know, that he’s own eyes are looking at me. I can feel the intensity of it, like before, whenever I had to look at him and hear him out. Always drugged out or deprived of food.

After a moment, when I don’t say anything to him he sighs, disappointed.

“It’s been four days Deputy. You need to eat something.”

I want to spit back that I don’t need anything from him, but my own body fails me as my stomach growls again at the mention of food. He crouches next to me, so there’s no way I can turn away from him and now I can see the bowl in his hands. It smells good as well, and I hate myself for almost ending up crying when I see the food. It’s just some rice and some kind of meat... Meat...

Because of the bad memories I look him in the eyes. His face is full of bruises, but it’s a bit better since I last saw him. Although he’s not wearing his glasses, which probably got destroyed outside. What I hate in him the most that he looks so calm, so friendly even. When he should look at me like I’m the cause of this whole situation, like he said before, a Snake in the Garden.

But I don’t actually care about him as I open my mouth to ask him the important question, eyeing him and the food.

“Where is Dutch?” I ask, my voice hoarse from not speaking or drinking and it causes me to cough a little, before asking again a bit more angrier, seeing his confused face. “What the fuck did you do with him?!”

Finally he knows what I’m asking as the confusion turns into slight amusement, a smile lingering on his lips.

“This is just some chicken, my child.”

He fucking dares to even laugh a little and I kick out at him, which ends up with my leg moving a bit up and down, before falling back again in place, not even close to damaging the man. I’m weak, my body is failing me when I would need my strenght my most, but I’m trying to stay strong, still fighting against him with my words.

“I don’t need shit from you...” I say, and as to strenghten my words I turn my head back towards the bedframe.

It’s silence again, and I can still feel his gaze at me, when he moves. I think that he’ll leave me alone, maybe to finally let me die in peace, but I don’t expect his hand grabbing my hair and yanking me to face him again.

I yelp in surprise and fear, as I look at his wild eyes, no kindness left behind on his face. He snarls at me, but his voice is still, not shouting. I try to break out of his grip, but with my hands cuffed down I can’t do anything.

“I sacrificed everything to be here and the Voice told me, I need to keep you alive. So I won’t let your pride be in the way of His plan.” He says before grabbing my jaw and slamming it to the wall forcefully.

I shout out in pain, before going limp, not squirming anymore. And as if nothing happened, he lets go of my head and grabs the fork that he brought with the bowl, he puts some chicken and rice on it and waits as he holds it out for me to eat.

Still taken back from his outburst, I fight back the tears that well up in my eyes and I eye him and the fork. I still can’t make myself to move or to give him the satisfaction by eating. I know it’s my own downfall, that he could hurt me even worse, than just seconds ago, or he could leave me here without food, letting me die slowly. I want that, but at the same time, I know I can’t let that happen. Not with the chances of others being out there. Because I have a family, and if there’s even just a sligh chance of them being alive, I want to see them again.

Joseph sighs again, letting the fork fall back to the bowl. He looks away from me, then down at his hands. Eyeing the marks on them. At one his sin, Wrath, the other the tattoo of his wife. Then he looks back at me, his face no longer showing any sings of his sudden anger from before, and replaced with calmness again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know you need some time to get used to this new situation... As I do as well.” He looks away again, like he’s ashamed of his acts. “But until then we have to survive, and for that I need you to eat.”

I can’t help thinking that this man is insane and his moodswings will probably kill me any day now, but I hear him out and I know he’s right. Another growl leaves my stomach and that convinces me in the end, putting my pride aside as I say.

“What happened to Dutch?” My voice is a lot calmer, though there’s still suspicion in it. Joseph looks back at me, and now doesn’t smile as he answers.

“I let him go.”

I quirk up at that, and hoping that somehow the old man survived I almost ask it, before Joseph corrects himself, slowly.

“I mean... I let his body go... it’s outside the bunker.”

I try not to imagine my friend’s dead body outside the metal doors, eaten by flames or wild animals, if any survived. Then I selfishly think how I don’t want to end up the same way as him.

“I see....” I answer sadly, then look at the bowl of food still in his hands. “I’ll eat.”

I watch him grabbing the bowl quicky, trying to hide his smile, but I still notice the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Thank you.” He says as he lifts the fork to my lips, as if I was the one giving him the permission to eat after days without it.

---

When I finish eating - quiet sloppily, I might add, because the entire time Joseph was holding the fork, not letting my hands out of the cuffs yet - he leaves to bring the now empty bowl to the kitchen, then he returns to me with a glass full of water. I don’t fight him this time, because I’ve been feeling thirsty since the minute I woke up. When I finish gulping down the water, some drops dripping down my chin he smiles at me, glad that I finally let him take care of me, before he sits down the cup and says:

“Now, let’s get you changed.”

I look up at him with wide eyes, because it’s one thing letting someone feed you and give you a drink when you’re on the brink of death, but it’s another letting that man, an insane cultist at that change you out of your clothes.

“There’s no need for that!” I say a bit more scared than I intended to.

He looks down at me again, with sad disappointment, but hope still in his voice.

“Your clothes are contaminated enough Deputy, we have to get rid of them. You change into some new once, after we washed you from the dirt and blood.”

I shake my head, even bringing my knees up toward my chest.

“No, I don’t want to.”

I hate how I sound like a scared child, even so, because he’ll use that against me and treat me like one.

“Deputy...” He says paitently. “Now is not the time to be prude around each other. It’s not like I haven’t seen a naked woman before.”

“Yeah, is that supposed to reassure me?!” I snap back at him, trying to back away more, as he steps closer, but there’s nowhere to go when a person is tied up to a place.

“No, I guess not.” He answers, before he puts his arms on my wrists. “My intentions are clean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” I answer angrily, trying to headbutt him, but he steps back before I could cause any damage.

He sighs again, watching me like I’m just a disobidient child.

“I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

He says, grabbing something from his pocket. I look at him angry and confused, before I could register the item in his hands. So there’s no time for me to react before the contents of a small bag hits my face. The too familiar feeling of Bliss hits me, causing me to first sneeze, then my arms and legs start to go limp.

I can still register the things around me, and I try to tell Joseph to fuck off, but it only comes out like:

“Fuuughh.... oppphhhhh.”

I can feel my hands getting free from the uncomfortable cuffs after days of being chained, but not like I could use the opportunity to try and fight him. Joseph lifts me off the ground before we pass a couple of doors. I see the familiar blue light coming from one of the rooms, with the fish tank. Something I told Dutch was cute, for a man waiting for the apocalpyse. I can almost hear his voice in the distance saying.

“Laugh all you want, but once you’re down here long enough, you would want another creature with you, rather than yourself.”

“Thaaatsss suuupid...” I say back to the memory of the old man, not realizing I’m not back there with him, talking about fish tanks, and I don’t exactly register when or how I get out of my clothes, I just know that suddenly I’m freezing in the cold air, as it reaches my naked skin. I try to hide from it, got somewhere else, but I’m greeted with a stone wall. I try to turn around, but then there’s another person blocking my way.

“We’ll finish quick, then I’ll return you to your room.” The voice of the body promises, before I’m hit with a cold blast of water. I yelp out in surprise and from slight pain as the water slides to my fresher wounds. I also try to hide myself from the person, but his hands make me return my arms on the stone wall. He guides me to turn around a bunch of times, making sure that I’m all clean, before turning off the water.

At least my head starts clean up a bit from the drug, and I look more aware at Joseph, but still drugged enough to make my words into a bunch of nonsense, but I wish he understands, that by:

“I ope youv ead enough you erve...” He knows I mean ‘I hope you had enough, you perv.’

My teeth clatter together as the cold air makes my wet skin shiver even more than before, and I try to hide my private parts from him, but at least he doesn’t look really interested in me. He rather turns around, trusting the Bliss that I can’t attack him before he turns back to me with a towel. I try to snap it out of his hand, but I end up going for nothing but air, and I almost trip down on the wet floor, but he cathes me. Joseph puts the towel around my body, trying to rub along my skin to try me, but I weakly push against him. Though it’s not enough to make him stop, he decides to at least let me do this by myself.

As I shake my head slightly, trying to clear my thoughts from the Bliss I dry myself while watching Joseph gather some clothes and hand it to me after I finished. I wait for him to turn around, but he doesn’t budge. I scoff at him, turning around, to at least try to have some privacy before quickly putting up the oversized shirt and pajama shorts. I know that during the Holy War Jess came back to the bunker for her stuff, but the fact that she left the only shorts here, that had unicorns in it just makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

It’s either this or wearing nothing, I think, but it’s still humiliating enough, to wear stuff that has childish symbols on it. Not like Joseph seems to care, with him still wearing nothing but his jeans. No, I correct myself when I turn back to him, looking at his jeans... rather Dutch’s pants, as it’s slightly big for him and it’s only kept on his waist by a belt.

“Do you want to go to the bathroom as well?” He asks with a calm voice.

I can’t help myself but fight back again.

“Wha? You wanna waccch et as well?” My words returning back to almost normal, making more sense than before.

He just looks me dead in the eyes, because of course I was only joking, but he seems to be taking it seriously.

---

After going to the bathroom as well, because he insisted on not taking back to my room, until I did, I felt all my dignity leave me as I set foot in my room again, as he called it. He stops me before going any further.

“I won’t chain you to the floor again, but I insist on you wearing these still.” He says, holding the cuffs out to me.

“Fuck you.” Is all I say in return, before he snaps one of the cuffs on my wrists, then the other on the bedframe, but now so I can actually lay down on the bed.

He starts to leave the room, and before I could stop myself, I call out to him, stopping him in his tracks. This question has been bugging me since I first saw the bombs fell, and him saying all this prophetic shit, it made me wonder what he thinks:

“How long will we be down here?”

He turns his head to me, no smile or kindness on his face:

“Seven years... So I would try to be complient with me quick, if I were you. That way it’ll be better for the both of us.”

----

A/N: I’m trying to get back to writing, so yeah, this sucks :’) I hope someone out there liked it at least, and thanks for reading ♥♥

tag: @onl-you

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

I’m thinking of axing this

Wary over Krolia’s presence, Lance loathed his stupid anxieties. They’d had a fight. They’d had a fight because they were both scared for Keith. It’d happened something like 10 movements ago? He wasn’t completely sure. Stomach wise, he was sure he’d had to have grown a foot since then. Whenever it’d been, it’d been long enough that he should be over it. He didn’t want Keith fighting with Krolia, nor did he want Korra having a front row view to her mother and brother bickering. She may not remember, but there were precious memories for his husband. Keith, who never believed he’d have a sibling deserved every moment bonding with her. Her presence made him long for Marco and his Mami. He loved Keith to death, so he felt a little selfish also wanting the familiar contact of his sibling and mother. Keith insisted on remaking him lunch, despite Lance giving the pasta dish his husband had made a try. With a rich tomato sauce, Curtis clearly wasn’t remembering his allergies, leading him to suspect that Curtis felt on edge with Krolia in the house. He knew they’d fought. He knew Lance understood why Krolia had acted out of fear, yet he also understood what anxiety could be like. It wasn’t fair when it popped its ugly head up. Nursing Korra in the living space, Lance hung out in the kitchen, enjoying watching Keith get flustered as he tried to make him scrambled eggs. His husband remembered not to add too much milk, Lance proud of him for that fact. He had a little a trouble when it came to letting the egg sit a moment in the pan to thicken so it didn’t turn into split granules, then realised his mistake on his own. Concentrating on Keith allowed him to keep himself in check, and self calm as he adjusted to Krolia’s presence. Sitting at the dining table, Lance ate slowly. Keith was by his side again “Is it any good? We’ve got eggs. I can try again” They had eggs because Curtis made the effort to go to town and down the shopping. Lance had tried to offer him money, but Curtis wouldn’t hear of it. Too bad for him that he knew the two greatest techsperts in the universe, allowing him to send money to Curtis. Curtis got the notice of the deposit immediately, shocked and a little annoyed with him, he’d reiterated that he was there with him because he wanted to be, not for the money. It helped Lance’s mental health to contribute. He felt more independent and human when everything wasn’t being handed to him. His survival kind of relied on Curtis, sure, Curtis could land a small pod near the cabin if it was absolutely necessary, yet he always walked the distance, ferrying things around with the help of a hover trolley “They’re good. You don’t need to remake them” “Are you sure?” He’d hit shell twice and they were on the salty side... “Yeah, babe. I’m sure” Keith beamed with pride. His husband seemed so much more relaxed these days. Lance wasn’t longing for the days of the tour, nor was he longing for his time on Daibazaal, however, he did wonder if Keith did. The exercises Curtis had him do were light, barely raising his heart rate, he worried that his husband missed the time he could have spent training alone if he didn’t feel obligated to stay by his side. He was grateful to have his husband there. More than grateful, despite his need for reassurance over his body. When Krolia has been waiting for them, he’d been so sure she’d make a comment over them having sex in the forest. Initially he hadn’t been in the mood, but his hormones were a mess, blood flooding south as he’d peed and that’d been that. Lance was sure he might had died from shame if she had made a comment, her attempts at conversation had been bad enough with anxieties telling him she was deeply disappointed by their closeness. Eating until his indigestion grew too uncomfortable, Keith kissed the top of his head as he took his plate. Rewarding him for making the attempt to eat. They both knew that was exactly what the kiss was. He may have issues with food and scents, eggs in particular stank, but his husband had gone to too much effort not to at least try his creation. That Keith was willing to learn was more than effort. He really didn’t deserve his husband. He needed to try harder for Keith. He didn’t know how try harder. Everything hurt from being pregnant. For movements now the strongest desire he’d held was for sleep. Sleeping with Keith didn’t come easy initially. His husband’s snoring would jolt him awake, or he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes out of fear of it being a hallucination. The only way he could try harder for his husband right now, was to swallow his fear as far down as he could, then stomp on it some more. He held the advantage here. He knew the cabin. This was basically his second home. Krolia would be leaving tomorrow, unless she spent the full day with Keith on his birthday which he couldn’t exactly say no to... No. Nope. No. He was an adult. His wrist didn’t actually hurt. She wasn’t holding him in that bruising grip, and there was no way that Keith would allow it. Coming back to him after rinsing the plate off, Keith took his hand, supporting Lance as he forced himself up. With the love of his husband, and Curtis not treating him like a freak, he felt more hopeful about the pregnancy, rather than going along or arguing himself out of hurting himself for their sake. As they continued to grow, he felt worse about getting high. But when it’d been his crutch for so long, and he was so desperate to be seen as normal, he really should have cut himself a break. It was just... it was just so hard to hold love for himself. Settling down on the sofa, Kosmo decided that he needed to climb up on Lance’s legs, attempting to fit into the sliver of space between his calves and the sofa back. Keith went to scold the space wolf, where Lance went to pat him. He couldn’t sleep without the heavy weight of something pressed against him. He’d slept next to Curtis a few times, not in a sexual way or anything, more in a “I need to feel someone human against me so I don’t think the world outside my bedroom and ended” kind of way. There’d also been a few times when he was so sick that Curtis kept him on schedule of medication and fluid intake. He appreciated the times that Curtis made space for him, but if he couldn’t have Keith than he preferred Kosmo. Laying himself down, Kosmo placed paws on Lance’s hip, head nestled between as he stared up at him. Why couldn’t dealing with Krolia be as simple as it was when it came to Kosmo? “How was your nap?” A simple question shouldn’t have made his chest feel so tight. Krolia was every bit the proud mother as she burped Korra over her shoulder. Her words shouldn’t feel like a tiny rain of spiked barbs landing around him and trapping him with no idea where was safe to step. They’d bonded. They’d talked. They’d spent vargas together. Under the blanket his right hand went to his left wrist, starting to scratch at the soft skin on the inside “It was good. I’m sorry I was so tired” “Keith said you had a long walk in the forest” That was for his husband’s sake. The sex part hadn’t been planned... Taking two deep breaths, Lance nodded as he replied “We did. We took a break to talk. The forest is nice” “That’s good. That you’re talking. Do you go for many walks?” Lance felt a vague sense of déjà vu. He had to have talked to Krolia earlier, yet the particulars of the conversation were starting to slip away as he tried to reclaim them. Had Krolia asked about the walk thing? Why couldn’t he remember? “Mainly in the cabin or around. A few times out in the woods. Curtis has an exercise plan he likes to try and keep us on” Krolia swapped Korra to her other shoulder, nuzzling and kissing her chubby little cheek “Staying active is important. Keeping your muscles loose will help with the birth” “I’m having a caesarean” “That’s right. Miriam mentioned that the other day. She wanted to come visit, but wasn’t sure of the terrain. She sends her love to both of you” That piece of him craving his mother felt crushed. Calls were hard. He preferred messaging, while his mother preferred calling. He couldn’t go home like this... not to Luis, Lisa and Rachel... He wanted his Mami, and his papi. Even if it was his papi pottering around the farm, he wanted to see him. Quiznak. He was getting teary. Grabbing his right arm, Keith pulled his hand away from his left wrist, then slid his hand down to hold his “Babe?” “I’m ok. I was thinking how nice it’d be to see Mami. But I know when I go to hospital she’ll be there” “Yeah, babe. We can call her tomorrow” “She’ll probably call us. Your birthday’s marked on the family calendar” “She said she’s got a present for you when she sees you next. Shiro also sends his regards. He can’t get time off at the moment, but I expect he’ll also call” Lance blinked, trying to clear his eyes. Catching him in the act, Keith wiped at his tears “He doesn’t have to call. I mean, we can’t exactly get into a whole lot of trouble here. He doesn’t need to check up on me” Kissing his temple, Keith was being way too kind to him. Krolia was Keith’s mother. They couldn’t have this distance between them, because it wasn’t fair on Keith. They already weren’t having a huge celebration, nor were they going out to dinner for Keith’s birthday. He and Curtis both had gifts for Keith, as did the twins and Kosmo. Then there was the cake and Keith’s choice in what they watched on TV. Pidge and Hunk would probably call... and that was about all the excitement that’d happen. He wanted more for his husband’s birthday, his own still stung a little each time he thought of it. They’d recovered towards the end of the night, but until then, it’d been as awful as his mind had told him it would be. He didn’t want that for Keith. Wanted his husband to have every bit the happy day he deserved. “You know, Shiro. He loves you. I’m sure Curtis keeps him up to date, but it’s not the same as talking on a video call, or in person” Curtis checked in with Shiro nightly. He messaged him during the day, then they’d talk at night. Sometimes, before Keith came to stay, Curtis would cuddle up to him and they’d both talk to Shiro. Lance knew how much Curtis missed Shiro, it was like how he’d missed Keith, only not the same because Shiro was still conscious and the only reason they couldn’t be together was him. Even on the nights Lance wanted to cry his eyes out, Curtis would bring his comms into Lance’s room, letting him simply listen to the pair of them talking until he fell asleep “I’m fine. I mean we’re fine. We have adult supervision, don’t we, babe?” Lance didn’t want to be dragged into this. “Mmm. Not sure if Curtis is an adult though. I’ve seen him eat cereal for dinner, in his pyjamas” Krolia cleared her throat, the noise causing him to flinch. He had to get a grip. Keith was watching him too closely. Almost as if he was waiting for a reason to kick his mother out. Getting out of bed had been such a bad idea “That’s understandable. Caring for people can be quite draining, even in such a tranquil setting” “Mum!” Keith sounded angry, Lance tensing beside him. This wasn’t what he wanted... “I’m saying that when caring for someone, sometimes emotions run while mood runs low. There were times when you were young that I did the same thing” “You didn’t have to say it the way you did” Lance closed his eyes. Panic was spreading through his mind like tendrils of an invasive vine “I wasn’t intending to imply anything. I simply meant sometimes we all have days like that, adult or not” Krolia wasn’t taking a stab at him. He didn’t have to be stupid over it “We talked about this” “I was attempting to make conversation...” “You’re...” “I think that’s enough from both of you” Using a tone he’d heard a hundred times from his Mami, Curtis brought the budding argument to a stop. Breathing was getting harder, his stomach rolling ominously. No. He wasn’t going to do this right here and now. He wasn’t going to make a bigger scene. It was Krolia. It was Korlia. He needed to focus on his breathing and forget the other things until he had it back under control. In through the nose, out through the mouth “That’s it, babe. That’s it. Keep breathing” “I know how to breathe!” Snapping at his husband only served to make him feel shitty. Detangling himself, he missed the contact of Keith’s anchoring form as he pushed himself up to sit properly, Kosmo evicted to sulk off “Ok. Ok... It’s ok...” “It’s not ok!” Quiznak. Why? Why was he snapping? He’d been so good. He’d told himself he could do this... he was trying... shit... he could hear himself crying now. When had he lost his rhythm? A panicked whine escaped, followed by a harsh sob. He was showing Krolia an even uglier side of him “Babe, it’s ok” “It’s not!” “Whatever it is, it’s ok” Ignoring the way he’d tried to sit up, Keith wrapped his arms around his upper chest, his husband’s chin digging in slightly as he rubbed his arm. Clutching Keith’s arm with both hands, he hid himself against Keith’s shoulder “It’s not... it’s not... I don’t want you fighting with her... she’s your mum...” “We’re not fighting, babe. We’re not... it’s ok. You’re ok. You’re ok... shhh. Shhh... we’re not fighting” “I’m sorry I left... I’m sorry... I don’t want to fight... I don’t want you to keep hating me. I just want Keith to be happy...” His mouth was running away on him. He was babbling as he continued to spiral. He wanted Keith and he wanted his Mami... but most of all, he wanted to be stronger than this “Babe, shhh... I’m happy here. We’re not fighting. Krolia doesn’t hate you. She was scared too. You know that. You told me... You know that, babe. Krolia felt bad about the fight too. She’s... not that great with apologies” Lance was certain that she hadn’t been going to. She shouldn’t have to. He was the nutcase, not her “It’s all my fault... I can’t do anything right. I don’t want to fight... I don’t want to fight, Mami” * Rocking Lance against him, his husband’s heartbreak was in the air. Krolia was teary, Korra squirming against her shoulder, while Curtis was poised on the edge of his seat. Kissing his husband’s hair was the only comfort he could offer. Lance wasn’t listening. Actually, it was more like Lance wasn’t able to listen. Keith chest felt tight, he wanted to take Lance’s distress from him, however, he didn’t have the right words. He wasn’t able to pull Lance into lap. He couldn’t bury Lance’s face against the curve of his neck, holding him until he regained control of his breathing or passed out. He also wasn’t Miriam. He wasn’t sure what Lance was referring too when he “I don’t want to fight Mami”. Making up her mind, Krolia got to her feet, passing Korra to Curtis, his mother moved around the coffee table then crouching down in front of Lance, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Baring his teeth with a low growl, his mother shot him a scowl “Lance, I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I don’t hate you. I simply don’t know how to get past the distance between us. I was, am, angered you left his side. For he wouldn’t have left yours. But I do support Keith and his decision. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you that night” “Mum, he can’t understand you right now” “Then what do I do?” “You need to give him space. His nose is sensitive, and his anxiety is equating you with pain. He was rubbing at his wrist before” “That was movements ago” “You know PTSD doesn’t work like that. I told you he was scared... I haven’t seen him have an attack this bad in a long time” Lance wasn’t able to control his breathing, it’d be a mercy if his husband was to faint. Tilting her head slightly, his mother drew her brow “He’s saying something” Keith couldn’t tell. Lance was all sobs and pants as he tried to catch his breath around his tears “Can you make it out?” “Red? I think he’s saying “red”” “Red is stop word. When his head is too busy or he can’t figure out what it is he wants to say. Alright, babe. You’re ok. Krolia’s going to take her hand off you now. You’re not in trouble. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re safe. You’re safe, babe...” Lance didn’t pass out, his husband fought his hardest to come back from his panic attack. Though it made it semi-awkward to hold him close, Curtis’s suggestion to let him sit up properly helped with Lance’s breathing. With a gentle smile and Korra cuddled up on his shoulder, Curtis had brought the roll of paper towels from the kitchen. Keith wiping Lance’s runny nose, as his husband trembled with exhaustion, catching Curtis’s eye, Keith tried to silently thank him, only Curtis cocked his head slightly and then decided to tell him that Lance’s attacks had pretty much been this bad before Keith had come to join them. Keith felt like quiznak to hear that. The stupid coma he’d been in had robbed Lance of his stability. Not that the tour had been all that stable, but there were times when he’d catch Lance laughing or smiling and Keith’d find himself falling in love with Lance all over again. No one ever warned you how hard being in love could be. How taxing it was when your lover suffered and you couldn’t kiss the pain away. Had Lance not been out of it from his attack, his husband would have been gushing over how natural Curtis looked with Korra on his shoulder. He was a natural, or perhaps had had practice somewhere along the line that Keith didn’t know about. It resolidified in his mind that Curtis and Shiro were truly the best choice to be the godparents of their boys. Curtis held far more patience for their antics than Shiro did... and far more patience for him than Adam. At the time Adam had been important to him simply because Shiro was his whole world. Now he evolving and seeing Adam as human being, understanding his family dynamic and able to process some of the decisions Adam had made through examination of Curtis. He’d truly been a snot-nose brat until Shiro took him, then Lance taught him the true meaning of love. There was a good hour between Lance sitting up and his husband moving. Mumbling “bathroom”, Keith supported him there and back. His husband then sitting on the very edge of the sofa, rubbing his gravid belly in an almost absentminded way. Not wanting it to be awkward, none of them had spoken much, the TV playing softly in the background as they all focused on all. With a hard sniffle, Lance cast his gaze to Krolia “Do you really not hate me?” His husband’s bottom lip trembled, Lance looking like a wreck in all the worst ways. His cheeks were flushed, but complexion otherwise drained. His eyes were so red and swollen they were barely open, he’d chewed into his lip at some point leaving a small smear blood from where Keith had wiped his nose “No, Lance. I don’t hate you” “I’m sorry... I tried to be so good for all you, but I couldn’t be what you all wanted” “We thought you were doing well, then you suddenly decided to leave” “None of you would tell me anything! Only Kolivan told me! I didn’t know about my babies. I didn’t know anything technical about Keith’s condition. Everyone told me to rest when I asked... I just wanted to know... you were all scared... but I wanted to know... I can’t cope not knowing...” “Why didn’t you tell us?” “Because it’s my fault Keith was in a coma... I begged him not to leave me... if he’d gone after Shiro sooner... it never would have happened” Krolia softened immediately, his mother looked as if she’d been doused in understanding, while Keith was biting the inside of his cheek. Lance was venting, he obviously needed it, with his input likely to silence his husband “Keith chose to protect you when the wall exploded. He made that choice. He couldn’t predict the wall would explode outwards and both of you would be sent sliding across the terrace” “But... if I hadn’t held him back... if I hadn’t been in so much pain... if I hadn’t been so scared...” “You fell. You were bleeding internally and would have lost your twins if you hadn’t been placed into a pod within the varga. You did not control Keith’s actions. He was going to find Shiro as he was the most mobile of our group. You conducted yourself well after your initial desire to shoot Krystaal” Lance shook his head, sometimes his husband had far too much fight for his heart “But I did it wrong... I made you all mad... you held my wrist so hard it bruised... I love him...” “I’m sorry. I was angry that you’d leave him. You’d been so calm, then I found you’d taken my comms and was fleeing. I didn’t think you’d betray my trust like that” His mother was an idiot if she didn’t think Lance was that resourceful. They should all fear how resourceful Lance could be “I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen to me. You thought I wanted Krystaal... I just wanted someone to be honest with me about Keith’s babies... I just wanted to be okay...” Lance was getting far too worked up again, Keith nuzzling into the spot just below Lance’s ear “I think that’s enough for now, babe. Mum doesn’t hate you. We don’t hate you... no one hates you, baby. Here, come on, let’s lay down” At a guess it was late afternoon, Lance had lunch roughly around 3. With how badly his attacks affected him, his husband would most likely sleep through until 8 to 9 “I don’t want... want to be... I want to talk to Mami...” Oh... oh... oh. Lance wanted his mother. “Mami” had had nothing to do with Krolia. He wanted Miriam. He wanted that maternal love. The love Keith and Korra were getting from Krolia “We can do that. We can call Mami” “We can?” “Of course. Come on, babe. Let’s get settled in our bed and we’ll call Mami together?” “Ok... I’m... sorry” “Shhh, it’s alright. It’s ok, babe. You don’t need to be sorry” Curtis followed them down the hall, calling to Krolia that he was moving her bag to his room. Making the side trip to the bathroom, keith got Lance settled in their bed, his husband half laying on him, stomach across his with his face half buried against Keith’s chest. Keith could feel their sons kicking up a storm, their constant movement a soothing contrast to Lance’s sour scent. Calling Miriam, he didn’t get through until his second call, his mother-in-law smiling brightly at the pair of them “Keith! Mijo...! Oh, is that Lance? Hola. mi mijo” “Hola, Mami” Miriam raised an eyebrow at Lance’s soft mumble “Hey, Mami. Sorry for randomly calling” “No worries, my love. How are you both? How’s things at the cabin?” “Things are good here. Krolia arrived today with Korra. Lance wanted to talk to you. He’s had a bit of a bad day. We didn’t know Krolia was coming” “Ah. Yes. I see. Krolia did mention she was going to visit you. I was hoping she and Lance would have talked...” Nuzzling into him, Lance didn’t bother telling him not to tell her “He has a big morning, we went for a walk in the woods not expecting to come home to her. His nerves were too much. He got to thinking Krolia hated him. Mum didn’t exactly make it easy for him” Miriam’s expression clouded, Miriam then sighing before brightening. Lance was so much like his mother that it was laughable “I’ll be having a word with her about that. She knows how emotional pregnancy is. How is he now? How are my twins? How are you? How’s your recovery going?” “We’re in bed, relaxing. He’s had a nap today, so aiming for a second one now. The twins are... they’re so amazing, Mami. You can see them moving, and they’ve been kicking up a storm. We’re both going good. Curtis makes us do all these stu... all these exercises for strength and balance” “And if I was to ask Curtis, what would he tell me?” “That we’ve been behaving. How’s things on the farm?” “Oh, Keith. You know what Jorge is like. Yesterday he decided he didn’t have the right lighting in the barn. He thought he could get away with bringing the petrol filter from the tractor... “ Miriam glanced back over her shoulder at something offscreen, Keith turning his attention to Lance who’s eyes had drifted closed, his lips parted slightly as he let out a soft warm breath. His husband hadn’t had a chance to speak to his mother. He really should call back when Lance was awake again “...Ah! Rachel’s home! Rachel! Come say hello to your brothers!” Rachel yelled out something, then appeared in the corner of the screen “Hi, Keith. Hi, Lance. Mami, he’s not even awake. Bye, Keith” Keith blinked as Rachel disappeared again, Miriam’s eyes focused on what would be the bottom corner of the screen for her “Oh, he is asleep...” “Yeah, I’m sorry. He seemed like he really needed to talk to you. He’s had a big day” “You know what he’s like. I’m sure he’s been stressing too. You remember how he was at Christmas, stressing over everything being perfect. Krolia had planned as a surprise, but she invited a few of your friends for your birthday. Maybe you should warn him? I’m sure he’s already made plans with Curtis, Krolia wouldn’t know if he did...” “Do you know who she’s invited?” “Coran. Hunk, Shay, Pidge. Your team” Fuck... Whatever Lance had planned would be ruined “Thanks, Mami. I really don’t think he’s up to anything too big. Personally I was hoping for something small” “Now, now. This time next year you’ll be the father of two little boys. Relax and enjoy yourself while you’re still young” “Lance is the one doing all the hard work here. You should see him, Mami. He can’t possibly be comfortable” “My poor baby boy. Do you have a due date? He is going to have a cesarean, correct?” “We don’t yet. We have some time left, but... we touched on names today. He’s... he’s so strong. Today’s the first real bad day he’s had since I arrived” “I’m relieved he has you there. Marco was worrying himself sick wanting to help him. He said all Lance wanted was to work or to spend time with him, then he shut down. Wouldn’t eat, wasn’t sleeping well... I didn’t want to upset him. I asked him to come home. He’s so stubborn...” “He wasn’t... oh. Curtis didn’t tell you? He had oral thrust apparently it was pretty bad. He’s doing better. Eating more, sleeping well, other than the bathroom trips” “I remember those too well. I’ll let you go, and I’ll talk to you both tomorrow for your birthday. Take care and stay safe, mijos. My love to both to you” Keith gave Miriam as smile as he nodded “You too. Hopefully he’ll be awake tomorrow” “Hopefully. Don’t force it if he isn’t. Say hello to Curtis too” “Will do”

[mdelpin]

Shadowlight Week 2019 Prompt: Command AO3 | FF.Net

This follows the events after High Hopes (Day 2: Symbols) and A Scent Like No Other (Day 1: Scents)

His Own Destiny

Summary: Sting and Rogue had no control. They were told when to sleep, when to rise and when to eat. Even their showers were monitored and were done as quickly as possible to avoid looking at the guild mark that had been placed on their left shoulders. A symbol that marked them the property of a man they abhorred. 

Sting woke up in a strange room. He'd been placed on a bed, and he immediately scanned the dark room for Rogue, but he was alone. Sitting up almost defeated him as wave after wave of pain crashed into his body, alerting him to the fact that a healer might be needed. Sting remembered the loud crack he'd heard at Jiemma's last blow and worried he might actually have broken something.

How was he going to get out of this, and where was Rogue? Sting worried about his mate, remembering the man's words to the other boy who had helped him take out Rogue. He needed to get out of there and find him, then they could both attempt to escape. Ignoring his pain, Sting managed to get on his feet, holding his side and being careful to keep his breathing shallow. He stumbled towards the only door in the room. He used his senses to try to listen for anyone nearby, and when he was satisfied there was no one, he attempted to turn the knob slowly.

The door was locked from the outside. Sting tried to break it down, but all that managed was to cause him even more pain. He felt himself fading into darkness.

o-o

Rogue woke up in a dark room. His body ached from the initial attack, but he was otherwise unhurt. Getting up from the bed and looking around, Rogue noted that there was nothing else in the room but the bed, which seemed to be bolted to the floor.

As he made his way towards the door, Rogue used his enhanced senses to determine if there were others nearby. Finding no one, he courageously tried the door, turning the knob and walking out into a dimly lit hall. Rogue used it to his advantage and hid in the shadows as he explored, trying to make sense of his new surroundings.

Where was Sting? Rogue sniffed the air around him, trying to catch a whiff of his mate’s scent. After a few minutes, he was able to detect it and still hiding in the shadows he moved in that direction slowly, keeping his senses on alert for any others that might be around.

Rogue found another hallway similar to the one he'd just come from and following Sting's scent, he stood in front of the last room. He tried turning the knob to open the door but found it locked.

Rogue used his magic to turn into his shadow form and managed to slip underneath the door and into the room, finding Sting slumped over on the other side. Rogue solidified and panicked when he saw the bruises that covered the majority of Sting's skin.

He picked Sting up as best he could and moved him back to the bed, pulling the covers over him and standing next to him, with no idea as to what to do next. So he stood there and kept watch over him.

Sting began to stir, eyes snapping open as he smelled Rogue in the room.

“Rogue, you’re okay!” Sting exclaimed happily and somewhat loudly.

“Quiet!” Rogue hissed.

“But I was so worried,” Sting revealed a bit more quietly, “How did you get in here?”

“Shadows.”

Sting nodded feeling a bit dumb for asking such an obvious question.

“Where are we?” Rogue asked, “What happened?”

“You were right, that guy you tried to warn me about jumped us,” Sting stared at Rogue intently, wanting to make sure he wasn’t upset with him. Rogue sat on the bed and patted his shoulder soothingly.

“He had a kid with him, that’s who attacked you,” Sting explained, “Then he challenged me to a fight, said if I lost we had to join his guild.” Sting closed his eyes, still not willing to believe this wasn’t some kind of nightmare.

“So we’ve joined a guild?”

Sting nodded, “Sabertooth.”

Rogue sighed, he didn’t like this at all but looking at Sting’s body he knew that his mate had fought as hard as he could. They’d just have to play along until they could find a way out.

They heard someone coming and glanced at each other nervously. “Maybe we can overpower them and escape…” Sting whispered.

“Even if we did, you’re in no shape to run,” Rogue pointed out, “I’ll hide for now, but if they try to hurt you I’ll come at them with everything I’ve got,” Rogue warned before brushing his mate’s lips with his as he disappeared into the room’s shadows.

Sting watched the door open and immediately recognized the boy who had attacked Rogue. He growled at him.

“Calm down, I’m not here to hurt you. I brought you food,” The boy showed him the tray he was holding. Sting glanced at the food, sniffing to ensure it hadn’t been tampered with.

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about your friend, I had to do it, but I took no pleasure in it."

Sting continued to glare at him but relaxed a bit when the boy handed him the tray.

“Where’s my friend?” Sting asked, quickly realizing it would be suspicious if he didn’t ask about Rogue right away.

“He’s fine, he’s in another room. He should be waking up soon. I’m Orga,” the boy introduced himself.

“Why am I here, what does that man want with us?”

"Master Jiemma is determined to have the strongest guild in Fiore," Orga explained, "He watched you fight for a few weeks, and you impressed him. When he saw you reject all the other guild's offers, he decided to take you by force. He knew no one would look for you."

“So everyone else is here because they want to?” Sting muttered, not really understanding how anyone could be here of their own free will.

Orga turned to leave without answering, placing his hand on the doorknob hesitantly before adding, “Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but I saw you and your friend in your hotel room when Master Jiemma sent me to spy on you.”

When Orga saw the rage in Sting's eyes, he was quick to add, "I didn't tell him anything! But I wanted to warn you, if Master Jiemma finds out he'll beat both of you for sure, and as you already know, he won't hold back."

“Are you trying to be my friend?”

“There are no friends in Sabertooth,” Orga quickly clarified, “I’m only telling you this because I feel bad for what I did to your friend. Now we’re even.”

Sting could hear Rogue’s breathing hitch at Orga’s words and winced, what had he gotten them into?

o-o

“Get up!” Master Jiemma snarled at Sting, who lay on the ground bleeding as his sparring partner watched disinterestedly.

When Sting made no move to follow his orders, Jiemma got up from his chair and yelled, "Either get up and continue fighting, or I'll have to take it out on your friend. A Sabertooth wizard shows no weakness."

Sting struggled to get up, getting on his knees and fighting off the wave of pain as best he could. He couldn't bear to watch Rogue get beaten again. Even though Jiemma had determined Rogue strong enough to be a part of his guild he still wasn't above using him to keep Sting under control.

Rogue bore the beatings as well as he could, holding Sting’s gaze throughout as they tried to feed each other enough strength to endure the hell they’d been thrust into. As far as they could tell they’d been members of Sabertooth for about three months.

Jiemma pitted all the members against each other, and they'd already seen one death from a spar that had gone too far. Little by little, Sting and Rogue found themselves changing, the severity of their situation demanding they distance themselves from their emotions as much as possible to not go crazy. Even their feelings towards each other had needed an adjustment, the real fear that Jiemma would somehow find out about their relationship and use it against them making it necessary. So although they loved each other no less, they had to pretend to be no more than friends.

This included sparring against each other violently, nothing at all like the fun they used to have when they trained together. Every move was a concerted effort to please the Master enough so that he’d focus on other members for a while.

They were miserable, both longing for the carefree life they'd had before. Even when they hadn't had much, they'd still had each other. At Sabertooth, they had no one, they were back to having only their cats for company, and even that was dangerous. Rogue had to remind them to stay in the shadows at all times, afraid that if Jiemma noticed, he would do something terrible to them.

Everything was controlled for them. Sting and Rogue were told when to sleep, when to rise and when to eat. Even their showers were monitored and were done as quickly as possible to avoid looking at the guild mark that had been placed on their left shoulders. That mark hurt most of all, instead of bearing a symbol they were proud of, it marked them as the property of a man they abhorred.

Most of their days were spent training, doing anything and everything they could to be seen as strong in Jiemma’s eyes. The worst part was, to their disgust, they could feel themselves actively trying to curry Jiemma’s favor. That was the only time they were ever left to their own devices. Even then they were watched.

At night Sting longed to hold Rogue against him like he was used to, missing his mate's comforting warmth and the way his breath left a pleasant tickle on Sting's chest as he'd drifted off to sleep. When they'd shared a bed, it kept their nightmares mostly at bay, but now they were constant and in many ways hard to distinguish from their reality. Their biggest one was waking up to find the other gone forever, taken by the cruel hands of their Master. It was something they were determined to avoid at all costs.

After a year of this treatment, they were finally deemed trustworthy enough to take jobs representing the guild, but not together. One of them had to always remain under Jiemma’s watchful eye.

One day Jiemma sent Rogue, along with his daughter Minerva, on an errand. They were given a satchel full of money and instructions to retrieve a parcel. Under no circumstances were they to open the package and they were threatened with being beaten within an inch of their life if they returned without it.

They’d arrived at the train station, and Rogue sat on a bench, carefully guarding the satchel while staring at the oncoming train with dread.

“What if we just got on a different train?” Minerva who had been sitting quietly next to him proposed suddenly.

“What?” Rogue startled as he stared at her in horror, “Are you serious? He’d kill us.”

“Not if he can’t find us,” Minerva begged, “Just think about it Rogue, we could start a brand new life, leave this hellhole behind.”

Rogue knew that even though Minerva was the guild master’s daughter she got no preferential treatment. In fact, in some ways, she got it worse, but even so, he couldn’t tell if this was some sort of bizarre loyalty test or if she was desperate enough to do what she was saying.

He let the temptation wash over him, there was no way he could leave Sting alone while he ran off with someone else, even if Minerva had been the only person in the guild to be slightly friendly to him.

“I can’t,” Rogue said honestly, “If I were to leave, he wouldn’t think twice about killing Sting.”

Minerva bit her lip but had to agree.

They got on the correct train, but even through his horrible motion sickness, he could hear Minerva crying quietly beside him as she tried to keep his hair out of his face in case he had to vomit. She could have run out on him at any time, but she stayed and took care of him while he was weak. The guilt tore at his heart, there was an opportunity for one of them to break free from their chains, and he was selfishly keeping her leashed to protect his mate. He began to try to distract himself by thinking of ways he could help her escape.

They arrived at the station where they would have to change trains for the next leg of their journey. After Rogue had recovered, they went to get some food while they waited. He brought up his scheme then.

"What if we were to just take the parcel?" Rogue suggested carefully, "Help me get it and then I can return to Sabertooth with what he wants, and you can disappear."

“I can’t let you do that,” Minerva was already shaking her head, “He’d punish you.”

Rogue shrugged, “He’s punished me before, you might never get this chance again.”

Minerva bit her lip, he could tell that she really wanted to do what he was suggesting, but her guilt at what might happen to him was holding her back.

“I’ll be okay,” Rogue assured her with a nervous smile, “I’m a dragon slayer, remember? Tough as they come.”

"I don't know," Minerva hedged, but he could tell she was weakening. The train arrived then, and Minerva once again held his hair away from his face, finally looking through her travel bag and putting his hair up in a ponytail with a smile.

“You should show your face more often,” Minerva smiled, “You’re very handsome.”

Rogue blushed to the roots of his hair, not even Sting had ever called him that.

Minerva laughed good-naturedly. “Sting is very lucky.”

Rogue quickly tried to deny it, the blood rushing to his heart as he panicked at their secret being discovered. "We're just friends."

Minerva laughed again, “Yeah, right. I’ve seen the way you look at each other when you think no one’s looking. Don’t worry, I’ve never told anyone. It’s none of my business.”

Rogue's motion sickness kicked in again, and he remained quiet for the rest of the ride as Minerva talked about her mother and how she'd like to see her again. Once they got off this second train, they found an inn to stay overnight.

As they were getting ready for bed Rogue brought up the topic again. “Have you thought about what I said?”

“Yeah, I’ll decide after we get the parcel,” Minerva said before turning on her side and going to sleep.

They held on to each other as they slept, seeking the comfort they’d both been denied for so long.

In the morning they checked out of the inn and spoke only of how they were going to get the parcel from the person holding it for Jiemma. They stopped at the train station to buy tickets, trying to ensure a quick getaway. If they hurried they should have just enough time to get on the next train out. They walked to the address her father had given them and examined the building.

It was a store of some kind, the objects it sold not recognizable by either of them, but it had a large display window. They decided Rogue would go inside and ask for the parcel, then when he had it in his hand, he would go into his shadow form and disappear with the object. Minerva would be hiding outside but keeping track of the situation through the window, in case her help was needed. When Rogue came out, she would teleport them both back to the train station. They only hoped the object was not too big.

They ran the plan over in their minds a few times looking for weaknesses and when they were satisfied Rogue walked into the building. He was thankfully given a small box, and he wasted no time putting their plan into action. As soon as Rogue felt the object in his hand, he used his shadows to escape. He'd heard several men running outside of the store, but they hadn't been able to see him. He remained in his shadow until he saw Minerva waiting for him and once he reached her they were immediately teleported behind the building of the station house.

"Did they come after you?" Minerva tried to look calm, but it was obvious she was scared. They were defying her father, and both knew the stakes were high. Rogue shook his head, and she relaxed somewhat.

They could hear their train being announced and Rogue once again went into his shadow form before boarding the train as an extra precaution, since they were pretty sure Minerva hadn’t been seen. As far as they could tell no one was looking for Rogue and they weren’t sure what that could mean.

He materialized in the seat next to Minerva, and he quickly stowed the box they had stolen safely in his pack. She once again put his hair up, and they sat in tense silence, both realizing there was no turning back at this point. Minerva was deep in thought the whole train ride, not speaking until they had reached the station.

"Have you decided?" Rogue asked once his stomach had settled. They were running ahead of schedule, and there were lots of trains she could take to get away.

“I have to try, I might never get this chance again,” Minerva muttered almost as if she were trying to convince herself more than Rogue.

Rogue gulped, the enormity of what they were about to do already overwhelming him. “Don’t tell me where you’re going, that way I can’t tell him anything.”

Minerva nodded, her eyes teary as she thought of what would await Rogue when he arrived at the guild. “You should let me attack you. That way you can say I surprised you and got away. and you thought it more important to return with the package than to chase after me.”

Rogue thought that sounded like a good idea, he wasn't afraid of pain. He'd been Jiemma's punching bag enough times. He took a shaky breath and nodded to Minerva that he was ready. She got in a few good hits, and he made sure to get some defensive wounds, so it looked more believable. When they were both satisfied they said goodbye.

Minerva touched his face gently before leaving and gave him the first real smile he’d ever seen from the girl, “Thank you, I’ll never be able to repay you for this. I hope you and Sting can get away from my father soon.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him before teleporting away.

It wasn't until boarding the train back to the guild, he steadfastly refused to call it home, that he realized a few problems with their plan. They'd never considered how Master Jiemma communicated with the man they had stolen from. If they used lacrima, he was screwed. He wasn't looking forward to the beating he would get, but he could take it as long as it wasn't Sting who was beaten in his place. With mounting panic, he realized he hadn't considered that as an actual possibility until now, and he really should have. Rogue began to sweat profusely even before the movement of the train had a chance to make him sick and this time he did vomit.

He could only hope the fact that he had the package would buy him some level of leniency from his insane Master.

o-o

Jiemma got off the lacrima confused about what he’d been told, but no less furious that Minerva and Rogue had tried to make a fool out of him. How dare they steal not only from the dealer that he’d had to work so hard to get in with, but also from him?

Sting had been walking by on his way to eat when Jiemma grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into a wall. He was no stranger to Jiemma's abuse, but there was usually a reason and as far as he knew he hadn't done anything.

"Think they can make a fool out of me do they?" Jiemma roared, confusing Sting even further, but he had no time to think about it as he was once again grabbed, this time by the hair, and thrown even harder against the unyielding wall. He heard a sickening crunch as he hit, and howled in pain as his nose began to bleed.

"ORGA!" Jiemma bellowed, knowing that the large boy would use his magic to get there as quickly as possible. He wasn't disappointed, as moments later Orga was standing in front of him. Pointing at Sting's body, he commanded, "Prepare him," before storming off to the train station to await Minerva and Rogue's arrival.

o-o

Rogue wobbled out of the train slowly, stopping on the platform for a moment as he waited for his motion sickness to fade. He smelled Jiemma before he saw him, looking up quickly, Rogue spotted him and instantly knew he was screwed. There was a visible red aura surrounding the Sabertooth Guild Master, and he looked angrier than Rogue had ever seen him.

He took an unsteady breath and resigned himself to his fate, Rogue knew he'd get hurt, and he'd accepted it to aid in Minerva's escape. He hoped his regeneration had not kicked in too much since the injuries he had were the only evidence that his words might be true. He hurried over to his Master.

Jiemma looked around him and frowned. “Boy, where is Minerva?”

Rogue swallowed thickly, and after bowing his head slightly in a sign of deference, he began to recite what he'd rehearsed in his head. "Master, Sir, I tried to stop her, but she overpowered me." He showed Jiemma his injuries.

“Not here, you’re making a scene,” Jiemma hissed, before grabbing Rogue by the arm and roughly pulling him toward the guild.

In the time he had before they reached their destination Rogue prayed that Sting would be okay, that Jiemma would be so angry that he would decide to take his anger directly out on him, instead of his mate. He was shoved inside the guild, almost crashing into Orga who moved out of the way and gave him a look he wasn’t sure how to interpret. Rogue thought it had almost looked like pity.

Rufus appeared and told the Master they were ready and Rogue was led into a room he’d never been in before. Inside that room, a bloodied Sting was strung up. His arms were splayed out and held to the wall by handcuffs.

Rogue knew better than to show his dismay, Sabertooth wizards showed no weakness after all, but he was confused when Sting sniffed the air and glared at him accusingly. Why was Sting looking at him like that?

"Are you okay? " Rogue whispered low enough that only Sting would hear him, but his mate wouldn't even look at him.

Jiemma wasted no time, battering Sting relentlessly with his blast magic. Sting's body fought against his restraints as he convulsed from the impact, but he remained stubbornly silent.

“I’m only going to ask you this one last time, and you’d be wise to answer honestly,” Jiemma cautioned in a voice too calm to be interpreted as anything but dangerous. “Where is my daughter?”

“I don’t know, she attacked me and teleported away,” Rogue replied evenly, trying to appear braver than he felt.

"Well no matter, she'll be found soon enough, and she'd better not have spent any of my jewels," Although Jiemma still looked angry, he studied Rogue as if seeing him for the first time, "You know, I always thought it would be Sting who would betray me."

Rogue thought he detected a twinge of respect in the Master's voice and was immediately disgusted with himself for feeling pleased at the thought. What had happened to him in these last few months? He'd changed so much he barely recognized himself, and although Rogue knew some of it had been necessary to survive, he didn't like who he was becoming.

“It looks like I underestimated you. A mistake I won’t be making again. Where is the parcel?” Jiemma demanded.

Rogue had been staring at Sting worriedly, but he heard his Master and quickly grabbed the box from his bag and handed it over. Jiemma snatched it and opened it carefully, examining its contents.

He rubbed his chin with his fingers and looked over at Sting with a thoughtful expression before smiling in a way that froze all of Rogue's blood. He had a horrible feeling about what was going to happen next.

Jiemma turned the box around and showed the contents to Rogue and Sting. “Do you have any idea what these are?”

There were two crystals in the box, each about the size of the palms of their hands. They shook their heads.

"These are dragon lacrima, very expensive, very hard to get," Jiemma declared as he touched the lacrimas reverently. He gave them a moment to look at them before continuing, "You see boys, I learned something exciting after you joined our little guild. Apparently implanting one of these inside a person can give them the same abilities that you two already possess."

"Now, I'd planned to use them on Orga and Rufus so that we could have four dragon slayers in our ranks, but a thought occurs to me," Jiemma kept talking, and it was eerie, Rogue had never heard him say so many words in one day before.

“What do you think would happen if you implanted a lacrima on someone who already has dragon slaying magic?” He let the question hang in the air and when neither of them said anything he continued.

"My guess is it would make you stronger, but then again it could kill you. What do you say, boys, shall we find out? It’s never been done before." Jiemma proposed in an overly jovial tone.

Rufus came into the room and handed Jiemma some handcuffs, "The item you requested." He studied Sting and Rogue dispassionately before looking away.

Jiemma grunted in acknowledgment and handed the box to Rufus to hold as he walked over to Rogue. In a series of quick movements, the Sabertooth Master had grabbed Rogue's arm and clicked the cuffs shut, effectively separating him from his magic before hanging him up on the wall next to Sting. It was an extra measure he liked to take given Rogue's magic.

“I’ll be back soon to get started,” Jiemma declared as he left the room.

o-o

Sting had no idea what had happened or why he was being punished, but he'd been worried that something had happened to his mate, so when Rogue had walked in safely, Sting had felt nothing but relief. He'd immediately sniffed the air around Rogue trying to derive some comfort no matter how small from his arrival, and that's when he'd smelled it.

The scent he’d been accustomed to since the day they’d found each other had changed. It was now contaminated by the strong smell of Minerva and Sting had never felt more betrayed in his life. He wasn’t prepared for the blitz of feelings that assaulted him, much more painful than any beating Jiemma could ever administer. Sting’s world suddenly felt smaller than it ever had as he realized that the only reason he was being punished was that his mate had chosen another over him.

From the moment they'd been shanghaied into Sabertooth everything Sting had done had been for the sole purpose of keeping Rogue safe, to try to make up for his horrible mistake and to bide his time until they could escape together. He'd gone past his limits countless times when he'd wanted nothing more than to give up, just to keep Jiemma from devising new ways to torture his love. To keep Rogue safe, he would have gladly fought to his dying breath.

Sting felt his body react to the onslaught of blasts pummeling him, but he felt no pain. He listened to the words Jiemma and Rogue exchanged and watched as Rogue was placed next to him, and still, he could feel nothing but despair.

“Sting, why won’t you look at me?” Rogue’s voice was quiet enough that it could only be heard by another dragon slayer and though Sting heard the quiver of fear in it, it wasn’t enough to douse his doubts.

“You reek of Minerva,” Sting growled finally, lifting his head to confront his mate.

“What are you talking about?”

“You let her touch you,” Sting’s lips curled in disgust, “ And you chose her over me.”

"I would never do that!" Rogue denied, and Sting could smell the tears the other was trying to keep hidden, and he almost let himself think that maybe he was overreacting, there was no reason for him not to trust in Rogue after everything they had been through together. Almost, but then he got another whiff of Minerva’s scent, strong on his mate in a way only his scent should ever be. It wasn’t right, not when he hadn’t even been able to touch Rogue in any way that wasn’t violent for months.

“Sting no, I would never betray you,” Rogue swore urgently, “She asked me to go with her and I refused. I knew Jiemma would kill you!”

“Was that the only reason?” Sting challenged, “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

“What?! No! Sting, you don’t understand,” Rogue launched into a desperate explanation of what had happened during his mission but Sting was done listening.

He was furious, and he let that fury take him over, it was better than wallowing in the hurt of Rogue’s betrayal. He heard Weisslogia’s words in his mind, almost like the dragon was pleading with him to reconsider:

There is someone out there the universe made just for you, a soulmate. ...once you find each other, you will want for nothing

What bullshit! Sting refused to heed words whose only purpose was to give him false comfort. Like a fool, he'd believed everything Weisslogia had told him. But he’d been young then.

Gazing deeply into his mate’s eyes, he feigned indifference as he spat the most hurtful thing he’d ever said, “I was wrong before, the only person I can truly depend on is myself.”

Sting watched Rogue crumble at his words and although he wanted not to feel anything, he knew he crumbled a bit too.

All he wanted at this point was to take back command of his life. If he were forced to be in this hellhole of a guild, he'd become its star. He would become stronger than Jiemma himself. It was the only way they would ever be able to get out.

The old man might see the implantation of a lacrima as some sort of deranged punishment but if there were any chance it could lead to him achieving his goal Sting would welcome the intrusion to his body. He would cast childish notions of love aside and strive to fulfill his new goal.

As he heard the door of the room opening he welcomed it. Sting was finally ready to become the Master of his own destiny.

A/N:This will continue on Sunday in It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn for the prompt Dusk/Dawn which may or may not be broken up into two parts. Not sure yet, it’s a work in progress!

[vamillepudding]

Bad Bargains Part 2

Everyone’s reactions to this were so incredibly flattering, thank you so much !! This is part 2 and what I hope to be a semi-satisfying ending to this story. (Again: Also up on Ao3) I tried writing comfort, but it ended up being angst, because I’m a moron

Enjoy !

**

Before the doctors take Tommy into the emergency surgery, his hand catches Alfie’s wrist. The drugs haven’t taken effect yet, but his mind feels fuzzy anyway as he asks: “Will you be there when I-“ He catches himself before he can actually finish that question, already regretting that he opened his mouth in the first place. It would seem that two – three? – days in captivity were already enough to lower his defences, to make him careless. Fuck. Hopefully Alfie hasn’t even heard him right.

Or he’ll blame it on the morphium that he can now feel slowing down his thoughts. Is Alfie saying something? He can’t make out the words. But if Alfie doesn’t want to stay, then that’s fine, he decides, and gives in to the sweet promise of nothingness for the next hours.

**

The sun has set by the time Alfie is done dealing with the immediate aftermath of that rescue mission. Ollie has disappeared off to god knows where (if God were in the habit of knowing such trivial things or, indeed, things in general, which in Alfie’s experience he isn’t) and everyone else has finally gone home.

It turns out that Jon Bailey owned a couple of Birmingham race tracks that are now Alfie’s race tracks. He doesn’t feel bad about this. If he hadn’t taken this opportunity to expand, someone else would have.

Now that all is over and done with, he just wants to go home. Home means London, means Camden Town, but at some point along the line, it has also begun to mean Tommy. So if that means spending some time in Birmingham, so be it. His people can handle things on their own for a few days.

To make good on that decision, he goes straight to the Shelbys’ house where he lets himself in with the key John foolishly left lying on the kitchen table yesterday, and enters Tommy’s room before anyone can spot him and complain. Tommy is reading the newspaper, because of course he is. Probably reckons that the worst thing about his capture is that he’s no longer up to date on which politician screwed up again.

But then he lowers the paper to look at the intruder, and Alfie thinks that no, not even Tommy can be that casual about what happened, not with a bruised face like that, not with that look in his eyes.

“And suddenly there came a tapping. Did Arthur let you in?” His speech isn’t slurred. Alfie doesn’t know why he thought it might be, after the surgery that would have taken care of that cheekbone. Tommy’s words are as clear as ever, able to tear a man to shreds if he isn’t careful.

“’Tis the wind and nothing more, except it’s also me, coming to check that you haven’t ripped those stitches out yet and gone back to work.”

“Not just yet,” Tommy says. “Don’t suppose you’d agree to bring me a glass of that whiskey over there? – No, didn’t think so” he adds when Alfie instead takes the bottle from the table in the corner and pours its content onto the floor.

“So,” says Alfie, sitting down on the chair next to the bed and leaning his cane against the wall, “how are you feeling?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know perfectly well. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not particularly,” Tommy says coldly. “Maybe you should go, eh? Been here far too long.”

“Fucking hell. That’s a nice way of saying thank you, that is. Better get some more sleep, this perpetual state of wakefulness can’t be good for you. Or the people around you, for that matter.” The chair isn’t very comfortable, but it’ll have to do. Alfie makes sure to take off the hat and his overcoat before making himself at home.  

“I think I asked you to go.” Tommy is doing his best impression of a man ready to kill someone with his bare hands. Alfie is overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him, but has a feeling that any attempt to get close to him would result in a fist to the face. Not entirely undeservedly, perhaps. So instead he just props up his feet on the edge of the bed.

“Can’t go while it’s cold outside, mate. I’ll fucking freeze to death in this weather.”

“It’s summer.”

“Oh, I’m cold-blooded. You don’t want to send me into my own personal damnation, do you, Thomas?” Alfie asks as he takes off his waistcoat, too, and pointedly closes his eyes.

Later that night, he is woken by a scream, and promptly falls off his chair.

Tommy is thrashing and turning. It’ll only be a matter of time until he opens the gunshot wound if he carries on like that, so Alfie gets up and does the first thing he can think of, which is to physically hold Tommy down and force him to cease his movements. At first, it seems to work: Tommy goes still instantly. But then the shaking starts, and now Alfie is starting to think that maybe his method wasn’t the best course of action after all.

“Tommy,” he tries. “Wake up, love.” More shaking. He almost wishes that it really were winter, that he could blame this on the cold. Tommy’s eyes snap open after a few more agonising moments of waiting. “You weren’t there, earlier,” he says, the words barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I asked if you’d be there, and you weren’t. I thought-“ He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Alfie to know exactly what he thought. This isn’t a conversation either of them need to have right now, though.

“Go back to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Fuck it, Alfie thinks, and gets into bed with Tommy.

When Arthur comes in the next morning to check in on his brother, he finds him still asleep, tightly wrapped into Alfie’s arms.

**

When he woke up in the hospital, the first thing he noticed was that Alfie wasn’t there. He didn’t even have time to time to panic about that, though, because then he noticed who was there instead.

Aunt and nephew looked at each other. It was Polly who spoke first.

“I wasn’t going to pay.”

“I know,” Tommy said.

“Arthur wanted to. But Shelbys don’t pay ransoms.”

“I know” he repeated, because he did know. Because he agreed. Because this was what Polly herself had taught him, once upon a time.

She moved to leave then, having delivered her message, but turned around one more time. “Don’t die. This family needs you.”

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Nothing of what Polly told him is news to him. He knew it when he was 10 years old, he knew it when he was beaten up by a bunch of men in a dark room, and he knows it now, two days after the rescue, when he’s lying awake next to Alfie.

No point in postponing it any longer. Might as well get it over with. After all, this is what Tommy has spent almost 48 hours working up his nerve for.

He reaches over and gives Alfie’s shoulder a shake, then another one until the other man grunts: “For fuck’s sake, don’t you ever sleep?”

“Alfie.”

There must be something in the way he said it, because the owner of that name now sits up, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“You spoke to my family, planned to break into that warehouse. You needed them to do it. You must’ve spoken to them.”

“I did,” Alfie agrees, his wariness detectable even from the other side of the bed, every part of his body radiating vigilance.

“They told you the situation, but you must’ve already known about that. They told you the demands, but you must have had that figured out already, too.”

“What can I say? I’m a smart bloke. Always did get top marks in school, I did. Bet you did, too, eh? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You’re a smart lad, too.”

He doesn’t allow himself to get distracted. Not now. Not with this. “Polly told you that they wouldn’t agree to anything Bailey wanted,” he guesses. “She told you they would try a rescue if the benefits outweighed the risks, but otherwise, you’d be on your own.” It’s a shot in the dark, but just like Alfie believes he can read Tommy’s eyes, his own eyes, too, tell a story. “You have a business to run too. You knew she was right. So my question is, Alfie – what were the benefits of all this? What did you get out of it, eh?”

For once, Alfie doesn’t immediately answer. Then, slowly, like the words are being forced out of him:

“I did take over his racetracks, but-“

And just like that, he’s not in any pain anymore. He stopped taking the prescribed pills immediately and spent the past two days hurting practically all the time. Now he’s just numb. To test this, Tommy absently touches his cheek where they remodelled his cheekbone. Nothing. What a curious sensation. He pokes harder still and discovers that he appears to have lost the ability to feel anything at all.

“-stop that,” Alfie snaps. “As I was saying, if you’d fucking bothered to listen, I may have benefited a tiny bit, but really if you look at the grand scheme of things, it is absolutely fucking clear to any man who’s not a fucking moron that I did not come looking for you to gain some fucking tracks.”

“Of course not. You rescued me out of love, eh? The great Alfie Solomons, rushing to the rescue of the love of his life.”

“And what if I did?”

“Then I’d say you’re a liar on top of everything else.”

Alfie stands up so fast that his cane hits the floor with a loud thud. “Yeah, you know what, Tommy? Fuck you, mate.” And just like that, Tommy is alone again, thinking, absurdly and against all reason, that Alfie has never seemed more attractive than in this moment.

**

Sometimes Alfie wishes he’d drink. Everyone else in his life does (which isn’t that surprising, considering his place of work), and from what he can gather, it seems to be everyone’s favourite way of escape. Well, that, or sex, but neither of those are options.

So because Alfie isn’t in the habit of drinking or fucking people that aren’t Tommy, he just wanders through the depressingly bleak streets of Small Heath, thinking of the way Tommy cried out when the bullet hit him. It was a necessary move, and he’s always had good aim, but he keeps thinking of the What If – what if the bullet had struck just a few inches to the left, what if Bailey had moved in the last second, what if Tommy will now forever associate that scar with Alfie.

It's not a nice thought, but if Alfie doesn’t wallow in self-pity he’ll surely think of their last conversation instead, and then he’ll get angry.

He's trying so hard not to get angry.

They didn’t break up. It wasn’t a breakup. If Tommy thinks it is, well, then he is clearly wrong, isn’t he? Because if their relationship ever did end, it – alright. It would be exactly like this, wouldn’t it, seeing as Tommy is one manipulative son of a bitch and Alfie allows himself to be provoked way too easily. It would appear that even after more than a year, he still hasn’t learned his lesson.

Neither, apparently, has Tommy.

If he did drink, Alfie thinks this would be the moment where he’d down his glass of rum to prepare for the confrontation lying ahead. Things being the way they are, he’ll just have to choose the less dramatic route of simply walking back to the house.

That’s alright, though. For Tommy, he’d walk a lot longer if he had to.

He'd walk to the edge of the world and beyond.

**

Tommy ruins things. Usually with neither purpose nor malicious intent, but that doesn’t change the inevitable results. He ruins things, and one day soon he’ll have everyone whom he ever meant anything to pushed away. He’ll be all alone with his thoughts then, no one to distract him from them for even a minute, which is perhaps the worst kind of punishment there is.

When that happens, he’s not going to last very long at all.

In retrospect, he probably should have known that his relationship with Alfie wouldn’t last either. He did know, knew it from the very beginning. But then the occasional fuck turned into a weekly one, turned into spending whole weekends together, turned into surprise visits and late-night phonecalls and games of chess and taking walks and trying to figure out when Alfie’s birthday is and then spending a couple of weeks silently panicking about whether a gift would be inappropriate or appreciated.

Falling in love was never the plan, but then, neither were most things in Tommy’s life. And like most things, this, too, has turned into a monumental fuckup.

Alfie is probably on his way to London by now. He has half a mind to call Ollie. Just to inform him that his boss might be in a bit of a mood when he gets home. Then again, that would presuppose any hurt feelings on Alfie’s part, which Tommy isn’t too sure about. Annoyed that he lost a quick screw, maybe.

Maybe he’ll send a card soon. Just let Alfie know that their business partnership still stands. Or should he offer something more? Alfie did save him. Granted, he did it for his own advantage, but Tommy still owes him, and he can’t stand the thought of owing anyone anything. Perhaps he can give Alfie a better deal on the rum trade he has with the Peaky Blinders. Well, he’ll see. Next week will be soon enough.

He feels better now, his mind clearer. He has a plan, and plans are good. It’s almost like he’s finally regained control – over himself, his love life, the business, the whole fucking world.

All of this crumples to pieces when Alfie walks back in.

“Shut up.” As far as conversation starters go, this was one of his nicer ones. “I can look into that pretty face and know exactly what you’re going to say next, because I have recently acquired the power of mind reading. Funny business, that. So if you were going to tell me that you expected me to have hit the road by now, you can just shut your fucking mouth and listen.” Tommy, faintly embarrassed, stops himself from saying that exact same thing, and raises an expectant eyebrow instead.

Maybe this is where -

For once he doesn’t have a pessimistic prediction on what’s going to happen next. Whatever Alfie is going to say – there is no way it can make things worse somehow.

“I got you a gift,” Tommy blurts out, and Alfie stops dead in his tracks.

“You what?”

“A gift. For your birthday. I know it was in May, and that we don’t do this sort of thing, but Ollie told me, so I got you a gift.”

“It’s August,” Alfie says, dazedly, like the conversation has gotten away from him. Maybe it has, for the first time in his life.

“I know.” He’s had it since April, actually, but then on the day of Alfie’s actual birthday Alfie didn’t say anything, so Tommy didn’t say anything. He’s had half a mind to dump it inside the river a number of times. But he never did get around to it.

And then, something odd happens. Alfie starts to laugh. It’s the laugh of a man who feared he lost everything and discovered that this, indeed, is not the case. He laughs, and laughs, and when he’s done he comes to the bed to kiss Tommy on the mouth.

In the first moment, it’s like he’s back in that room, like this is one of Bailey’s goons taking liberties.

But there is no force and no blood, no bugs crawling under his skin at the mere notion of it.

Alfie, clearly noticing him freezing up, stops and pulls back a little in order to properly look at Tommy. He doesn’t ask if he’s alright, which somehow helps.

Is he alright? Tommy isn’t sure. During the whole time he was captured, it didn't seem like the situation was worth getting truly upset over. There were other things to do, like trying to escape and trying not to die.

Now, he’s achieved both of those. In a few days he’ll take up the paperwork again, and as soon as he can walk without keeling over, he’ll be back on the streets.

There is no question about this, no counterargument to be made. Tommy can move on, so he will.

And really, isn’t that what it’s all about?

So he buries his fingers in Alfie’s hair and succumbs to the kiss, and finally feels like he’s left that room behind.

**

Arthur knows that historically, he’s not been a great brother. One time, back in school, an older boy beat Tommy up. Just caught him after class, beat the shit out of him, left him lying in the mud. It should have been Arthur’s job to take care of this. He didn’t. Never got the chance to, seeing as the following day, Tommy took a razor with him to school and made that boy regret ever laying a finger on him. Said boy never did it again. Didn’t have any fingers left, did he?

The point is that Arthur wants nothing more than to keep his family safe. And ever since his mum let Arthur hold the bundle of blankets that was his brand-new little brother, the latter has been a part of that family.

Him getting kidnapped is unacceptable. And yet again, there is nothing Arthur could do about it. Again. This time, Tommy didn’t have a razor, but he had that insane guard dog also known as Alfie Solomons, who is just as deadly.

He knows, too, that Tommy would never blame him for his lack of action. Somehow, that makes things worse. Tommy should be angry, should be absolutely fucking livid about his big brother’s failure. But he isn’t, and hell if that doesn’t make Arthur feel even guiltier.

He hovers in the house until he hears Alfie leave Tommy’s room, waits until the other man has gone down the stairs, then puts his hand on the door handle – and hesitates.

He goes to the Garrison to have a drink instead.

**

On Christmas Eve, an old lady named Catherine Bailey opens the door to find a bouquet of flowers delivered to her.  

[royallyanxious]

Fingerprints. Chapter 4 (The End)

Ship: Prinxiety

Word Count: 3400ish

Trigger warnings (read triggers goddamnit):  mentions of abusive, toxic relationship, implications of rape, mentions of sexual assult

AO3 LINK

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Roman looked at himself in the mirror, scanning every inch of his body and either smiling with love or frowning in disgust. Firstly, he affectively caressed the fingerprints around his wrist. The ones that he loved more than anything else in himself, the ones that he had to hide from the person who made them, so carelessly. Then, with the unmarked hand, he scratched marks on his hips. Despite being much fainter than few years ago, they remained same radiant to Roman. Every day, every morning and evening he checked if they were still there. He impatiently was waiting for the day when he would wake up and see that they are gone. They still reminded him more of bruises than blessed soulmate marks.

Sighing, Roman slipped into his pajama, making sure that the sleeves tug his wrists tightly and once again looked at his reflection in the mirror. He felt stupid for caring so much but he couldn’t help it. He would disrespect fingerprints Virgil unknowingly gave him, if he wouldn’t try to look at least decent. His brows furrowed under his own critical gaze. His skin was fairly clear, hair, that now was dangling loosely around his slim shoulders reminded stylishly of a bird’s nest. He always wanted to grow his hair a little bit longer but never dared to try while living with Felix. Roman shook his head and gently pinched his cheeks, trying to add some natural, healthy color to his skin tone.

It was one of these warm evenings that Roman grew to fell in love it. On evenings like this, Virgil and him usually sat outside the house and admired the garden coated with the silver shade of the moon and the dark wall of trees behind the fence. At the beginning the sight of black, irreconcilable forest in the night used to make Roman uneasy and revealed but the more time he spent in Virgil’s little house in the middle of nowhere, the better he understood how to appreciate the great mystery of nature living around them.

Drawing the fresh scent of pine needles into his lungs, Roman walked outside the house. As expected, Virgil was already sitting on the garden sofa, the newest purchase Roman himself insisted on. Turned out it was so comfortable that it made them spend even more time outside and, though it was not Roman’s primary intention, he had to admit that he highly cherished that perk. Virgil had his legs crossed, blanket carelessly wrapped around his shoulders. His skin seemed to reflect the white light of the moon, making it shine like it was made out of thousands of diamonds.

Roman stopped for a second to admire the view he was given.

He wished that his life had always looked like that. But there’s no calm without a storm. He regretted what he had with Felix, he regretted every minute of that suffocating, toxic relationship, but at the same time he knew that it was this hardship that eventually made him meet Virgil. And he strongly believed that it was the best event of his life.

Stroked with a blow of wind, forest rustled around them, breaking the spell of silence. Virgil’s attentive, dark eyes travelled to Roman, sending a shiver down his spine.

“What are you waiting for? Sit down.” Virgil said. He patted the place next to him and moved a little bit to the side, leaving more space for Roman.

Encouraged with the gesture, Roman flopped on the couch, loudly breathing out the air and stretching out his limbs. He wanted to move closer, to feel Virgil’s warmth beside him but he fought off that urge.

“What a lovely evening.” Roman whispered, looking at the stars above them. He knew that it was cliche but under all these crumbled layers of shattered psychic, broken dreams and long-forgotten hopes, there was still a romantic, that once looked for his soulmate so eagerly. His heart was aching in attempt of reaching for the man sitting next to him. The fanciful whispers were singing soft ballands in his head. Roman bit his lips, trying to stop himself from smiling. He could see it through the eyes of his loving, dreamy soul- it was a perfect night for love-sick confessions.

“Indeed.” agreed Virgil, pulling Roman out of his fantasies.

No, there was no perfect time for that. Where Virgil and him were right now, had to be enough. It was enough. He had already tasted more happiness than he did with Felix. Roman didn’t dare to ask for more.

They were sitting for a while saying no words, breathing and thinking with sweet feelings only. Tangled into subtle game initiated by the wind, moon disappeared behind the clouds. Its cold, but pleasant white light yield from the sky, letting stars have their moment to shine. They were winking at each other from the bare, navy patches of the sky. Each of them held stories of life and death, but had no one to tell them to. The play of thousand actors, the prophecy of million fortune tellers. Roman, with his eyes wide opened, marveled at the performance spreading above his head. He recalled reading somewhere that one could never comprehend the beauty of the firmament before watching it with their beloved one. With that thought in his heart, he glanced at Virgil. Their eyes met in a longing stare and Roman suddenly saw the galaxies that he was vainly looking for at the sky. Moon peeked behind the cloud. The world came back to its usual rhythm.

“I thought I would never find a person that would like to sit in the eternal darkness with me.” Virgil chuckled softly “Most of people I know find it creepy.”

“It’s not scary at all if the company is nice.” smiled Roman softly.

“Well, most people I know don’t find my companion nice either.” Virgil laughed.

Roman gulped, forcing the words through his throat.

“Well, how about your soulmate? Didn’t you think about sitting with her like that after you met her? I bet that she would appreciate being here with you...” he curled his legs up to his chest and rested head on the knees, tilting it so he could have a good view at Virgil.

“Chelsea?” asked Virgil, more himself than Roman. He rarely talked about her, mentioning her name only once or twice when Roman had directly asked about that “She was… Actually, I didn’t get to meet her well. Who knows maybe we wouldn’t click.” he hummed to himself.

“But she was your soulmate!” squeaked Roman, almost offended.

“Sometimes soulmates clearly aren’t a good match.” Virgil answered, his voice vicious and poisonous, glancing at Roman. Some wild animal squeaked in the bushes, surprised with the aggressive response. Virgil clenched his teeth, fingers gripping on the blanket as though he wanted to tear it apart. “Sorry I shouldn’t have said that.” he apologized after a moment, shaking his head.

“No, no... It’s fine now.” smiled Roman reassuringly. “You’re right anyway, Felix and I were… Well, let’s just say that it seems that sometimes fate makes mistakes.”

“It wasn’t a mere mistake, it was a massive pile of shit that was thrown at completely innocent person!” exclaimed Virgil passionately. Roman had rarely seen him so fired up, but it took only few seconds before he regained his usual peacefulness by taking few deep breaths. Roman with curiosity watched Virgil’s chest synchronize with the sound of silence. Safe, secure and steady. “You see, Ro, it’s easy for me to say things like that because… Before meeting Chelsea I didn’t believe in soulmates. I mean, I knew that they existed of course but the whole idea... It just seemed… naive and stupid to me.” he sighed eventually.

“How about now?” asked Roman, staring at Virgil intensively. Their eyes met again, obsidian and amber, but the other man quickly turned his gaze back at the forest.

“Now, it’s different.” he whispered, voice quiet and low as if he was exposing one of the secrets of the universe.

Roman wanted to ask what was different but swallowed this question quickly.

Cicadas were singing in the distance. The noise they made was soothing nerves of both of the men. Coming from the south wind brought a smell of grass and wild berries. Roman inhaled the scent deeply. He wished he could stop the world and live in this moment forever. He needed time to remember every detail, from the stars on the sky, through the shape of the clouds, to sound of the wind in his hair. He wanted to secure this pure feeling in his heart and never lose it. Not again. It was too precious to let it slip into the past. Virgil pulled down the sleeves of his shirt, making small, black cat-paws. Time moved on, not waiting for Roman.

“Hey, Virge?” asked Roman quietly, slightly dazed with the atmosphere of the night.

“Mhm…?” humed Virgil absently.

Putting his feet back on the cold ground, Roman sighed heavily. He could drop the conversation here and now and he knew that Virgil wouldn’t mind. But how could he do that if everything around him was telling him to latch on to the feeling in his chest. It was warm, summer night. A midsummer’s night dream. He could hear the fairies dancing in the distance, their melodic laughter was echoing in the forest. Roman looked up in the sky. The moon was full this night. It felt as though it was sending the lost time back on the earth. Seconds, minutes, hours... If Roman caught them, could he live forever? Something cut the sky in the half and for a split of a second he thought that everything behind the firmament would spill at earth. But it didn’t. It wasn’t even a star. Just a glow-warm. Roman opened his mouth in awe and the moonlight slipped down his throat, tickling his vocal cords. He could ask now. Fairies stopped singing.

“Remember when I told you…I mean… when we talked about Felix doing drugs… Few months ago...?” he asked finally in a hushed voice, shifting uncomfortably. Virgil turned to face him and Roman bit his lips.

“I do, but we don’t have to talk about it.” he assured, putting his hand on Roman’s knee, making him shiver “Like, we don’t have to mention him ever again.”

“No, it’s not that.” Roman shook his head “I want to…” he huffed out his breath, hesitation lingering his words thickly. Virgil lightly squished his knee, trying to boost his confidence. Roman smiled weakly. He wanted Virgil to know the truth. “Umm… Have you ever seen my marks, Virge?”

Virgil shook his head. He had to admit that he had been wondering where were Roman’s tattoos for a while now. The man wasn’t the first one to reveal his body but still, Virgil thought, he should have had caught a glimpse of these fingerprints at some point, right? He even had a theory that maybe actually Felix wasn’t his soulmate- that in reality it was Virgil himself. He knew that it was wishful thinking but he couldn’t help himself especially on evenings like today when Roman tried so hard to open himself on the world. Eventually, to Virgil’s utter surprise, Roman got up, shaking a little bit.

“Don’t get freaked out.” he whispered before gently pulling up his shirt, revealing pale hip bones.

Virgil gasped loudly, putting a hand over his mouth.

The green, faint marks on Roman’s hips seemed to radiate under the moonlight, decorating the skin with ten, dark tattoos shaped into fingerprints. Roman turned around, making sure that Virgil had seen them from each side before pulling the shirt down.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” stuttered Virgil as Roman sat back next to him.

“You don't have to say anything. It’s not that every day you meet a person, whose first contact with their soulmate was a sexual assault.” he said, trying to hide the trembling in his voice.

“I’m sorry.” Virgil whispered finally and before Roman knew what was going on he was pulled into a tight hug. The heart in his chest was hammering and he was pretty sure that Virgil could feel that but he couldn't care less. A little bit unsure if he wouldn’t be pushed away, Roman hesitantly wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist. It was different than any other hug Roman had shared with Felix, if any of those even could be called a hug. Virgil was warm under his touch, uneven breath tickling Roman’s neck, hands holding him protectively. It felt… it felt nice.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, it’s not your fault.” murmured Roman after a while, hum vibrating through Virgil’s body.

“You’re my… I mean…” Virgil sighed “I’m your friend, I wish I could be there for you.” He said, pang of pain stinging his heart.

Roman’s heart skipped a beat once again. Yes, friend. They were friends, that’s for sure. And he knew that he was a foolish dreamer to hope for more but... friends should be honest with themselves, shouldn’t they? Roman could feel how exposed his wrists were behind Virgil’s back. If he could only see them, if only it was so easy, if only Felix was never there… Roman pressed himself even more to Virgil, one more time before reluctantly moving away. The sleeves of his shirt covered his wrists again. He was breathless, thinking about what he was about to do. He was afraid for the first time in a months. Afraid of rejection and overwhelmed with truth growing in and on him for months now.

“When I first saw them… Felix’s soulmarks...” Roman started again “I thought that they were bruises. Even though the lines were clear, I still wanted to believe that these were actual bruises. And I waited for them to fade away for days, weeks and months. They never did.” he uncovered his right hip bone a little bit, three fingerprints peeking beneath the shirt. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins. Roman knew that they were fainter now, he knew exactly when and why they started fading but he didn’t know if Virgil was going to believe him. Roman was more than sure that his confession may sound like a whining of hurt, broken soul but he had to give it a chance. The fingerprints around his wrist were pulsating, pouring more and more hope into his heart. Roman gulped “Until few months ago.” he looked straight into Virgil’s eyes “They started fading few months ago.”

“Few months ago…” repeated Virgil after him, his eyes empty “Do you know why? Why did they start fading?” Virgil asked and Roman didn’t know if the shaking of his voice was just an illusion or happened in reality.

“I suspect…” Roman whispered.

“You do?” Virgil’s voice was equally quiet, almost muffled.

Roman nodded, not trusting his own vocal cords and slowly rolled up the sleeve of his shirt revealing five clear, purple tattooed fingerprints. The air and fear of disappointment felt cold on his skin. Virgil carefully, as if Roman was made out of glass, took the hand and moved it closer to his eyes. Roman’s breath hitched.

I was wrong. Echoed in Roman’s head like a mantra. I’m the only one.

Finally, Virgil shifted his fingers, trying to touch the wrist in the same way he held it when his fingerprints printed into Roman’s skin. They matched perfectly and pleasant, warm shiver ran down Roman’s spine.

“They match.” Virgil declared, staring at the tattoos, as though he didn’t want to lose them out of his sight. “These are my fingerprints.” he said slowly “On your skin.” he added, blinking rapidly.

His touch was gentle and caring and Roman wanted nothing more than to move closer, especially now that he felt as if he was losing ground under his feet. But as much as he craved that, he much more cared about what Virgil thought about it. Roman knew that he shouldn’t had given himself hope, and yet the reaction hurt him. It was only him. So be it. Roman was determined not to show the tears and disappointment. Not here and not now. He was an idiot to believe in the second chance to begin with. Seeing how desperate and ungrateful he was, fate must had decided to make him even more miserable. Roman closed his eyes tightly. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. As long as he could stay by Virgil’s side, everything was going to be alright.

“Look, don’t mind it. It shouldn’t happen at the first place” Roman said finally, opening his eyes and taking his hand back, to cuddle it to his chest “I get that you… don’t have it…” his voice was starting to break. He lightly poked his wrist. “It’s not even your choice, I-” Once again he was cut in the middle of sentence. Virgil’s finger on his lips, pressing lightly, dark eyes glaring into Roman’s golden ones. He couldn’t make himself look away. The thread between them was already tied.

With the other hand Virgil brushed the hair behind his ear and rubbed the place beneath it showing first little mark. And then another and another. All of them were delicate, merely tattoos, but there was no doubt in what they were.

“Oh.” escaped Roman’s parted lips. “M-may I?” he asked and, receiving a nod, carefully touched the fingerprints. Virgil shivered under his touch, causing Roman to move his hand away quickly. The marks were in the shade of dark burgundy, similar to those Felix had on his collarbones.

“The marks that Chelsea left started fading few months ago. That’s why I started wearing only long-sleeved shirts.” explained Virgil, staring at his hands. The blush that flushed his face was visible even under that moonlight, perfectly matching the tattoo behind his ear. “I was afraid that it would freak you out. As soon as they appeared…” He touched the place behind his ear. “I knew who made them, even if it wasn’t our first touch.”

“Yeah, I guess that not many people play with your hair like that.” chuckled Roman.

“They’re usually intimidated with my hissing.” laughed Virgil in reply, glancing at Roman. “So… I guess we are soulmates. Somehow.”

There were no words that could describe how soft these words felt finally being spoken out loud. A single shooting star crossed the night sky but neither of them noticed.

“Somehow.” echoed Roman. The news, still fresh, was sinking into his mind. He had another soulmate. The man he dreamt of. The soul that wasn’t meant for him at first but yet here they were. Roman looked at Virgil sitting in front of him. Stress and uncertainty were well-visible on his face and in his eyes.

“Oh! I-I mean… We can totally stay platonic! Or we can absolutely ignore that! I don’t really mind it the way it is! It was... general note…” Virgil reassured frantically, waving his hand off. There was a beat of silence before Roman wrapped his arms around his neck, bringing Virgil closer, almost sitting on his lap, breathing in his smell, enjoying his warmth against the chest.

“We can…” he started carefully, trying not too sound to excited. His breath tickled Virgil’s ear. The one that was partly hiding Roman’s fingerprints. “Or we can give it a try and…”

“I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t deserve another shitty soulmate.” mumbled Virgil, against his neck.

Roman moved away and firmly grabbed Virgil’s chin with his hand.

“You’re nothing like Felix. I know you won’t hurt me. You are… a gift from heavens, an answer to all my prayers, a person that I dreamed of and-”

Before he had a chance to finish, Virgil’s lips covered his own and he couldn’t do nothing more than pour the rest of his speech into the kiss. It was warm, gentle and made Roman’s stomach spin in the way, it never did. Neither with Felix, nor with anyone else. His fingers tangled into Virgil’s dark, silky hair, bringing the male closer.

And suddenly Roman felt the touch on his hips. Cold hands slipping under his shirt, caressing his bare hip bones, the part of body that he hated the most about himself. The touch was careful, delicate like butterflies wings. Loving. It didn’t feel wrong for the first time in his life. Roman smiled into the kiss.

So what if they weren’t soulmates chosen by fate?

They were soulmates chosen by love.

The end.

if you liked it you can buy me coffee

GENERAL TAGLIST: @depressed-alone​​ ​ @changeling-ash​​ @dear-lover-dearest​ @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2​​ @calmingthoughtsinyourhead​ @zo-geeky​​ @fandomfreak-19​​ @thegnatnat​​ @inha-led​​ @tree4life25​​ @panic-at-theeverywhere​​ @reallyanextrovertipromise  @shit-happens-bitchachos @pastel-patton123​​ @pinkeasteregg​​ @greymane902​​ @princeyssash​​ @ilovemygaydad​​ @musicphanpie-b​​ @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @birosezz​ @winged-outlaw @anxious-fander-talian-bean​ @lizaelsparrow @moonstonefox12 @pastelnerd101  somecrappyclone mysticalstrawberryface @ninjago2020​  donteatmyassghostie toriwithacamera moxiety--sanders101 confinesofpersonalknowledge xxladystarlightxx wheeitsvee a-very-optimistic-realist narniasfinestavengingsociopath  thequeensqueer allycat31415 rileys-main-blog-spotroman-is-a-dramatic-prince virgil-my-diamond justanotherproblem faacethefacts  beautifully-terribly  logical-but-anxious queen-of-all-things-snuggly seabellart   @generalfandomfabulousness @quietlypondering @punk-and-flowers

FINGERPRINTS TAGLIST: faacethefacts ab-artist fricksonsticks la-fandom-freak the-psycho-pie applecannibal  supremestoverlord da-simi rejectedathena jordan6803 pridefox authordrawingmusic candiukas @sanderssidesvp iirobynhoodii hamilin-manuel-miranda lightningbug04 vanitasequilibrium 6tick6tock6 snowcherri sanderssides-things romanpizza harrygivememywand bibbidi-bobbity-booyah brikcsandbones fandomsofrandom llamaly your-username-is-unavailable entpscarleharrrr justanotherpurplebutterfly musikasworld @ipaniceverywherenotjustthedisco @madly-handsome  dennithekit  blue-wolfbane  sillysandersides @the-incedible-sulk

[dragonnan]

Whump Snippets

A selection of whumpy moments from several of my stories with links if you’d like to read more! (warnings will be included)

Psych:

Better Off Decapitated No warnings

“It’s just a headache.”

“Sure Shawn. It could also be Swine flu. I’m taking you to your dad’s. And don’t breathe on me either.”

A challenge was it? Intending to do just that, Shawn turned his head, and abruptly hacked, causing Gus to lurch sideways in a frantic and fruitless attempt to dodge the spray. “Gah! Dude, mouth!” The wild action threw the little car into the next lane, thankfully free of traffic, before Gus managed to wrench it back- proceeding to lock his eyes on the highway while somehow bouncing a glare from the rearview mirror directly into Shawn’s forehead. “You could have killed us you idiot!”

Shawn rolled his eyes while rubbing at the spot where he swore he could feel a small burn mark forming from his friend’s laser sights. That or his headache was merely responding to the heightened levels of bitchy that was clouding the space around him like boiled egg flatulence.

Closing his eyes was better than blinking cow-like at Mr. Faces of Death. “Man this stinks.” he moaned while trying to rest the side of his skull against the passenger window. Several hard raps as the tires found every rut in the road and he was back to cradling his cranium in his cupped hands.

“I better not get sick Shawn. You know I can’t afford to take any more days off this month; Ogletree's been threatening furlough if I don't run my route according to his personal schedule.”

“What, like in between sending Haversham secret messages with his carrier pigeons?” Shawn chuckled but then gasped, immediately clutching his skull. Gus pressed his lips together while glancing at his friend once more.

“It’s just a migraine.” Shawn whined, trying and immediately discarding head massage as a technique for easing pain.

A disbelieving snort with the decibel level of a seven forty-seven drilled through his left cornea and started a minor brain bleed.

“Two minutes ago it was just a headache.”

Choosing to ignore the snidery of the comment, Shawn just folded down towards his lap, his fingers winding around to the back of his head. If he squeezed hard enough he could crack through the thick outer shell and release some of the pressure. Gus might be irritated by blood and brain matter on his dash, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made in the name of friendship.

“You okay?”

Did his vision just go blurry there for a second? That couldn’t be good. Maybe he needed to squeeze harder. “As you confirmed in your booming announcer voice, two minutes ago I told you it was just a headache.”

“And now?”

“Still a headache.”

The avenue of palm trees lining the road made intermittent stripes across the vehicle- brief shadows of fleeting coolness that only increased the drum of heat and light in the spaces between. The blast of air from the vents simply wasn’t enough to comfort his throbbing temples and he was ready for extreme measures involving tire irons and chloroform by the time Gus turned down the last street at the end of the block. Still hadn’t fixed that pothole he noted as the car jounced across the crater at the top of the driveway. Normally something Gus would drive through a lawn to avoid, the Grand Canyon of road hazards could not be bypassed except by vehicles equipped with wings. They both groaned as the Echo clawed back to smoother tar- though his friend’s distress had more to do with insurance premiums than his companion’s agony.

“Looks like your dad is gone…”

“Good, now you have no reason to leave me here. Just take me back to my apartment.”

“You’re the one that was crying about a burst water pipe and contacting FEMA.”

Shawn curled his fingers into the hair on the back of his head and slowly began to pull. “Yeah well… I think my couch… floats…”

Sherlock:

The Tiger and the Shark  Warnings for rape/non-con and violence

“Breathing is good – no sounds of blockage.” John tapped across Sherlock's chest, checked pulse and pupil response. No sign of concussion, either. That, too, was good. He clung to the very, very little that was good about any of this. Palpation of his belly gave no indication of internal bleeding but he'd want a scan, just the same.

Shoulder was a mess – skin dark with bruising and stretched taut over the dislocated joint. While John wanted to ease the associated pain, there was no telling if Sherlock had also sustained a fracture so he felt it best to immobilize as best as he could and move on to more pressing injuries.

The agents Mycroft had employed were useless in medical treatment – no surprise. Singularly focused on Sherlock's rescue, they now sat about the helicopter like so much luggage. Sherlock's reactions had been minimal – a few slow blinks before his pupils had rolled back behind his lids. Once back to a facility with proper equipment, they'd need to test his blood to determine if he'd been given anything. Of course he'd been given something. Probably a lot of something.

The medical kit available to him was well stocked but a surgery bay this wasn't. And by well stocked, John could patch up a bee sting, postpone anaphylactic shock, and stitch a few minor lacerations. Still, he dug free one of the ice packs and gave it a shake – mixing the chemicals that started to freeze the pouch in his hand. Laying a thin cloth over the worst of the bruising on Sherlock's chest, he snapped fingers towards one of the agents propping up the sides of the helicopter. A hesitation, just a moment, before the young man angled across the sloping floor to kneel beside John.

“What's your name?”

“Uh, Dowd. Bastian Dowd.”

“Bastian. Hold this, here.” John grasped the man's hand and pushed it firm against the ice pack – keeping the frozen product against the darkening contusion.

Sherlock's eyes rolled open again – a bit less foggy then before.

“Hey – hey, you with us?” John pressed a folded square of gauze against the deep gash on the right side of Sherlock's abdomen. He noted the five circular bruises, already deep purple, just above Sherlock's hip – knowing there would be a matching set on the other side. His face twisted and he sucked his lips between his teeth – throat gulping as he worked though his reserves of composure until he could prop himself up enough to get through this.

“C...co...”

“You're cold?” John pointed to another agent – not bothering with a name this time. “You, find me a blanket!”

He turned back to Sherlock – whose lips had turned down in what John, could swear, was an aggravated frown.

“Co... coat...”

John blinked. “You... want your coat?” Of all the... He shook his head – accepting the blanket handed to him and draping it over Sherlock's body; forcing Dowd to sit back out of the way. “I didn't see your coat. Sorry, mate, I was a little distracted by my half-dead friend at the time.”

Now it definitely was a frown. “C-cut... it.”

Less attention on the stuttered words, John only nodded as he found a thermometer and pressed it into Sherlock's ear. Not as accurate as the sort taken under the tongue but, then, he'd never had any luck with getting Sherlock to keep one in his mouth long enough for a reading anyhow.

“He... cut it...” Still struggling with speech. John nodded again; removing the device after a soft beep and frowning at the readout. 35c. Not so good. John, without looking, gestured for another blanket. Without a thorough exam he couldn't be certain what had triggered the drop in body temp. The room had been chilly but not freezing and, given the approximate drive time to reach Appledore, Sherlock wouldn't have been there longer than an hour, at most. Shock was the most likely culprit so, until they could reach hospital, the best that could be done would to be to keep Sherlock warm.

A hard wind struck their transportation – rocking the helicopter. Sherlock lashed out a hand – clamping iron fingers around John's sleeve. He didn't make a sound but his breath sucked in rough gasps – eyes flinching tight.

“It's alright – it's alright...” Nothing much left but to monitor until they arrived, John slipped into a stereotype of comfort – trying to shove his thoughts far away from what he'd seen – only to find them snapping back into that room...

Even in this state, however, Sherlock was less than accepting of the pat words that rolled too easily from his lips.

“...sss'not al...right...”

Chastised, John covered Sherlock's fingers with his own – feeling their tremor. “No.” He pushed out a breath filled with all of the things burning in his chest... but had nothing more to add but repetition – as his friend never accepted lies; not even ones meant as comfort. “It's not,” his mind supplying the rest of the words – unspoken, 'but it is what it is...'

MCU:

Not the Hero Type  No warnings

Half his age and twice his height, Stuart Little and Tiny Tim were pawing the trinkets they'd collected from his person after that yellow flag moment minutes ago. They'd gone all out on their little urban Robin Hood cliché too. Their mothers and/or parole officers would be so proud. In addition to the tire iron they'd also managed a suitably dark and litter infested alley. All that was missing were the ra... oh, never-mind. One of the cat sized squeakers was just crawling from the dumpster about six feet downstream.

“Where's the cash?”

Tony lolled his leaking skull left-wise; bringing himself up to speed that one of the fine young gentlemen had wandered back to his side of the alley sometime in the last few... hours? Yeah, that was a concussion.

“That's the-green stuff, right?” Slurring. Kinda took the edge off his response but hopefully the all teeth grin helped it along.

Yup, sure did. Helped it right into a fist planted somewhere to the right of his appendix.

“Umph! Mmm... stellar delivery.” He coughed, noting the flavor of freshly diced liver on his palette. “No, really,” he wheezed, pushing slightly more vertical against his wall. “Watch a lot of Lamont Peterson?” He cocked his head. “Nah, you strike me as more of a Butterbean fan...”

Strike – got it in one as the second wallop emptied lungs and sarcasm but had the satisfaction of a yelp and gouged knuckles as his assailant stumbled backward, staring. Not just a glorified pacemaker and dream chaser, it also slices and dices. Though smoothed and polished for that nonabrasive comfort and style, the casing of his arc reactor was still metal. Very hard and very undentable by human knuckles no matter how large they were. Maybe still lacking in verbal comebacks, Tony still managed a wincing wink through his scrambled gasps.

The other guy stashed the Patek Philippe, no doubt dazzled with the notion of raking in a couple hundred for that bit of wrist gadgetry at the closest pawn shop in spite of the original sticker price. Tony didn't even know the original sticker price. Could care less about the sticker price and would be content with a hunk of plastic dressed up with Mickey Mouse so long as it alluded to the time. It didn't necessarily have to keep the right time either. An approximation... really. At least within a twelve hour window.

“That some kinda vest?” Big bad and angry grappled with complete sentences around the mouthful of scraped flesh. His buddy, still going through their recent windfall, was back to picking through the wallet that had yet to disgorge anything more than plastic.

He watched both young men while evaluating his own limits. Scruffy, oversized clothes in spite of their height. Easy enough to overpower them both. Even with him injured it wouldn't honestly be a fair fight. He'd gotten his breath back, now. Still dizzy and blinking hard but he could work with that. Wouldn't pass up a glass of Scotch. He'd even be happy with a stick of Juicy Fruit.

Or a... rock.

Good enough. His fingers crawled towards the... huh... not rock. Pitted, carbon black, the outer curved edge held a slight sheen. A tooth. Not even a whole tooth – just the sheared off tip from one of those... flying eel... things. The kid currently engaged with his wallet suddenly called for his buddy, giving Tony the chance to tuck the tooth into his palm as Clockwork Orange turned away.

Advantage him in those seconds, both with their backs turned and enough adrenaline to overcome the wobble, he pulled to his feet with barely a scrape of his heels, tooth dropping into his palm. Taking in a single breath to gather himself, he...

Legs. Funny time they chose not to work. Not funny hilarious but more like funny 'Oh Shit!'

“...oh fuck, dude, check out the name on the card! Dude, we just beat up Iro-KEVIN, LOOK OUT!”

Doctor Strange:

The High Cost of Dying No warnings

He felt a ripple travel from shoulders to waist – the cloth encasing his torso constricting – shivering mild panic through his chest and he fought not to tear the not-a-cardigan from his body – god, he couldn't breathe! Trying to push himself up, he trembled at the stiff ache throbbing through his midsection. His brain analyzed the symptoms even as he struggled to understand why... he was going into shock. His arms folded beneath him; dropping him to his side and he felt the first real bloom of heat in his back. He couldn't reach it with his hands but he could feel another sensation – wet – and understood, suddenly, what had happened... just not

“How... h-ho-how... what...?”

A shaking, terrified voice responded. “I'm sorry – God I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn-I didn-I didn't m-mean – please, oh my God, don't die – please don't die – oh my God!”

The clerk – babbling – sneakers squeaking as he, apparently, made several running steps back and forth. And then a sob – a metallic clank as something heavy dropped on the counter.

“Please – you have to come quick! He's bleeding – I think he... he's been shot and I think he's dying!”

Stephen tuned out the 911 call in the background. The kid wasn't wrong. Though he wasn't, yet, feeling the pain that he knew would hit once the adrenaline faded, he knew, roughly, where he'd been shot. Large intestine and possibly the right kidney were compromised – no exit wound so the bullet likely struck bone – angle suggesting slight upward path and... Stephen gasped – tasting blood... probable lung involvement.

Weakness was rapidly stripping away his ability to move – his fingers splayed – shaking. His vision was started to go unfocused – a darkening grey at the edges. Color had already begun to leech from his sight.

Everything stopped in his next breath – grey brightening to silver and everything tunneled to a single pinprick...

He burst free; his body left behind with the shade of his astral form lifting above – evaluating the damage from an outsider's perspective. Literally. Moving closer, he slipped his fingers past the layers of cloth and skin. A warm glow lit the interior – highlighting veins and bone and organs...

A clatter and startled shout reminded him of the clerk – the young man standing just behind him and currently staring at the light show with his jaw slack. In another moment, he swallowed – rubbing his head and muttering.

“Oh my God... that isn't normal...”

Interesting... Terrified but he hadn't run away, yet. Stephen pushed his head and shoulders into the physical world. “It also isn't normal to stand around gaping while a man bleeds out on the floor – no thanks to you.”

“Holy shit! Ohhhh holy shit!!” Backpedaling into an end cap of Hostess snack cakes, the young man pointed a shaking hand at the ghost apparently haunting the cracker aisle.

“Holy shit, you're dead – you're dead – are you dead?? Oh, God, don't kill me!”

“Okay, calm down, I'm not going to kill you... Wayne.”

Wayne wrapped his arms around himself, half bending at the waist – long dreadlocks swinging into his eyes. “How- how- how...?”

Forgoing the cliché of pointing out the prominent name tag, Stephen frowned. “Because I'm a powerful sorcerer and I can read your mind.” At Wayne's already ashy face losing yet more color, Stephen rolled his eyes. “I read your name tag. Now, do you mind?” He gestured to the widening blood pool.

[crownoyami]

Archangel - Chapter 9

Title:  Archangel

Pairing: Gabriel/Sam Rating: E Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Warnings/Tags:  Drinking, Frottage, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Killing, Hitman Gabriel, Feet, Switching, Bottom Gabriel, Bottom Sam, Top Gabriel (Supernatural), Top Sam Winchester, Rimming, Oral Sex, Public Display of Affection, Rough Sex, Marking, Violence, Minor Character Death, Mentions of Rape, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting Summary: Secrets had a way of being discovered. For hitman Gabriel, his biggest secret may just cost him the only person he ever loved.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16273952/chapters/38828795

Author’s Note: Well here we are at the last chapter! I hope you all enjoy! I will have 3 full length stories posted this month with the Reverse J2 Bang and I hope you give them a shot! Cause seriously the art is amazing! Also, I finished my Gabriel Monthly Challenge so there will be 4 parts in total for this month to get the prompts all in. (One of which is already posted) And for those who don’t know Hayden Lee is having an online concert/get together on Stageit tomorrow!

 ~~This has been edited by Gamermom

   Chapter 9

   It had been hard for Gabriel to convince everyone to let Lucifer in. While he was confused and a bit angry at the man, they wouldn’t be able to figure anything out while one of their main suspects was waiting at the door. It didn’t stop everyone from picking up a weapon or two, and for someone to wake Ellen and Jo. Ushering those who had no experience fighting to the back where they would be better protected, Gabriel took a breath before opening the door for his brother. His brother who he had thought he would never see again.

 Leaving his family had been hard, doubly so when he realized they would have to believe him dead. Unlike a few of his coworkers he never checked in, never tried to reach out even with a fake social network profile where he could keep updated without telling them who he really was. If he so much as saw a hint of news about his family, Gabriel knew he would be back with them, policy be damned. To have his brother making his way toward him now was both a dream and a nightmare.

 As Lucifer opened the door, his hands in the air as if expecting an assault, Gabriel watched as the man looked around the room. When Lucifer’s eyes settled on Gabriel, he knew then it didn’t matter how long they had been apart this was the same older brother he had left behind. Wanting nothing more than to rush toward his brother, Gabriel took an involuntary step forward which made Lucifer’s smirk turn into a soft smile. Dropping his hands to his sides, Lucifer opened his mouth. Gabriel had been expecting almost anything to come from the man who had made himself the head of the organization, but he couldn’t help the tinge in his soul when he heard Lucifer speak.

 “Gabriel, it’s good to see you in person, even with things the way they are.” Gabriel nodded his head before stepping forward again. That one step was enough for Lucifer to finish the distance. In a second Gabriel was wrapped in arms he hadn’t thought he would ever feel again. While he had been close to his family, he loved his big brother more than anyone. Their father had always been a bit distant and their other brothers were always trying to please Dad. Not Lucifer though, he remained true to his namesake and brushed what their father wanted aside to embrace what he wanted to do with his life.

 Gabriel had tried to follow in his brother’s footsteps, to carve out his own lot in life, which was how he found himself enlisting and then being selected into the work he did now. If it hadn’t been for his older brother encouraging him before he had to cut out his old life, Gabriel didn’t know where he would have been, probably some office job where he would have been well off but miserable. Hearing a throat clear, Gabriel stepped out of Lucifer’s arms and created a small distance between them.

 “Well isn’t this touching? If you don’t mind though I would like to try to get to the bottom of someone, maybe someone in this room who is attempting to kill us all.” Gabriel turned to catch Crowley glaring at him, and in doing show he exposed his back to Lucifer. He hadn’t forgotten that the man next to him was one of the two who could have ordered his death. Something told him Lucifer was innocent, something besides his desire to believe the best of his brother. If Lucifer was going to kill someone he would want to do it himself and he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave himself on the suspect list.

 “I think you’ll find that while not exactly innocent this wasn’t my doing. My account was hacked for a few hours and my personal team managed to track down the culprit. It seems my prince of Hell didn’t like being second best. I have a few people on the ground searching for him now to bring him in. If you would check the files, Miss Bradbury, you’ll find that all pending contracts have been revoked.”

 There was a moment’s pause while Charlie checked the files, using both Kali’s and Crowley’s passcodes to make certain they had the highest level of clearance to check the files.

 “He’s right, there’s even a new announcement which has been sent out to anyone who accepted the contracts to stand down. As far as I can tell the only ongoing case is finding Azazel and taking him in, lethal force is discouraged but not banned.”

 “You want to bring him in alive?” questioned Kali who still had Gabriel’s jacket wrapped around her. While she was now covered in his clothes it was easy to see the bruising from where the clothing hung off slightly. Lucifer looked at both Crowley and Kali, any bit of softness and warmth that had been in his expression at having seen Gabriel was wiped while he addressed the others in the room.

 “Yes, I want him alive. He should never have been able to override the system and I need to know how he managed to not only break through the company firewalls but my own safety measures that were put into place. We almost didn’t catch it in time before the order was carried through, the loss of life was enough to make people notice. It can’t happen again.”

 “Luci…” whatever Gabriel had been about to say was cut off with a stern look from Lucifer which softened ever so slightly while he spoke. “After this is over… until then I expect to deal with Archangel. Now, why exactly are we under your house with a bunch of civilians?”

 Gabriel hesitated for only a second before he opened his mouth and delivered his report, this was something he would have to deal with carefully. While it wasn’t as common as people believed the organization would take out one of their own if they needlessly threatened the group.

 Once he was done speaking, Gabriel looked to Kali. While he wanted to trust Lucifer, it had been years since he saw his older brother. Gabriel knew how to read Kali, she seemed relaxed against the chair she was sitting on, her eyes darting from Sam to Gabriel, but they showed nothing Gabriel should fear. Charlie began to give her report as well, confirming what Gabriel said and adding in a few things from when he met with Balthazar to get Crowley and Kali. Once they were done, Lucifer nodded but didn’t say anything at first.

 “With the team I have sent to apprehend Azazel it shouldn’t be much longer before they either confirm his capture or execution. I suppose we should discuss what happens from here,” commented Lucifer before Balthazar spoke up, while respectful there was a slight bite to his words. “What you don’t want us to be on the team?” Lucifer shook his head, though Gabriel chose to speak up as well.

 “Even if we weren’t already involved Balthazar and I are two of your best agents, shouldn’t we be one of your selected?”

 Lucifer looked at Gabriel then, a small smile playing on his lips. “From where I stand, you two not only figured out something was wrong and worked to fix it long before anyone else, but you also rescued your commanding officers at notable risk to yourselves. In this mess I’ve had no less than five agents either suspected dead or who have left the country. When push came to shove each of you were willing to do whatever it took to save as many people as you could. No Archangel, I would say you have done enough for today… let someone else lighten the load.”

 “Then what happens next?” asked Karen, her tired eyes looking at Lucifer before glancing around the room. “I get the feeling none of us were supposed to know anything, not even Sam so what are you going to do to us now that we do know?” While Karen spoke firmly there was a slight quiver to her voice. Somewhere down the line, Gabriel had forgotten these people weren’t a part of his team, that they were dragged into this against their will. Thankfully they were normal people, while Gabriel had done some questionable things taking out civilians wasn’t one of them.

 “We will be watching the area, of course, making certain word doesn’t get out; but you’re all free to go. I would suggest sticking around until Azazel is dealt with.”

 Lucifer’s answer seemed to surprise everyone, though it was Dean who spoke up. “Wait we’re free to go? No threats or anything?”

 Crowley rolled his eyes. “We’re here to protect the average person, not kill them. Will there be repercussions if you start running your mouth? Most likely, but you’re all adults here. Besides it’s not your head on the line for knowing.”

 “What do you mean?” asked Jo, her eyes darting from one agent to the next.

 “It’s mine.” Responded Gabriel with a shrug, a small smirk on his face. “I’m the one who made the call to bring you in so it’s not your head they would cut off, it’s mine.”

 Charlie looked away from them and focused on her screen for a moment, while she felt horrible about what might happen to her friend she wasn’t about to add to the worry.

 “Once we’re done here I’ll be taken in for questioning, and from there security footage will be examined while my fate is decided,” sighed Gabriel.

 Sam couldn’t help but call out. “Your fate?” he asked with widened eyes.

 Gabriel looked away from Sam for a moment. When he was about to speak Rufus spoke up instead, “my bet is that if we spill the beans his contract goes right back online, right?”

 Gabriel nodded his head before speaking, trying to ignore the gasps around the room. “They won’t need to, I knew the risk when I took it.” Glancing at Sam, Gabriel gave the man a soft smile. “There’s always a risk when an active agent tries for a normal relationship, a normal life. While I didn’t think it would be like this there was always a chance I would have to tell you what I really was Sam, I knew that when I decided to stay, and I don’t regret it.”

 Sam stepped forward and reached out, though he could hear the groan from his brother he didn’t stop pulling Gabriel into a kiss. Gabriel went willingly, threading his fingers in Sam’s hair and holding the taller man in place. When they broke the kiss, Gabriel pecked Sam’s lips again.

 “I’m going to have to go with them, Sammy… Luci is just waiting for the confirmation of Azazel’s capture, once he has that Charlie and I are going to be out of here. I promise you, I’ll be back. It might take a few days, but I swear to you I will come back for you if they decide to take me out you better believe Charlie will tell you.”

 “Gabe…” Sam was cut off by the loud ring of Lucifer’s phone. As he answered, bringing the device to his ear, Gabriel pulled Sam into another kiss. He promised all he could, if Sam wanted him after this he would be back, if not; at least then he would know.

 “Azazel has been killed. His body is being taken back to HQ for verification,” Lucifer announced. Lucifer paused for a second, glancing at everyone in the room.

 “It’s time to go, brother, I’m certain the paperwork alone is going to take a week to file.” Gabriel nodded, pressing his forehead against Sam’s for a second before pulling back. Looking at the people he had dragged into this he smiled ever so slightly.

 “I’m sorry you all got pulled into this…”

 “Don’t.” Spoke Jo, cutting off whatever Gabriel was going to say. “I don’t care about what you may or may not have done, the way I see it you saved my life when you took that creep down and I could never repay you enough for it.”

 Hearing agreement throughout the room, Gabriel caught Sam’s eyes for another minute, “I’ll understand if you don’t want it, but this is your home now Samsquatch.”

 Pulling away completely, Gabriel walked to Lucifer who was watching the display. “Come on bro, we have a lot to catch up on.”

 Seeing Lucifer smile, Gabriel walked toward the doorway, ignoring as Sam called his name. He would be back, but first, he had some things he needed to finish and some family to reconnect with.

   *~*~*~*~

   A lot could happen in three years. Sam placed the last of the dishes in the cupboards, his face pulled slightly into a frown while he placed the cup in its spot. There was a soft hum from behind him, the only warning he received before a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. It took a second for Sam to relax into the hold, leaning against the firm body behind his. Hearing a soft chuckle, Sam couldn’t help but smile in response no matter how angry he had been a moment ago. A soft kiss was placed on the back of his neck, though he wanted to fight against it, Sam couldn’t help but feel himself relax.

 “You know it’s only going to be for a couple days, and I promise I’ll bring you back something this time. They have me going overseas.”

 Hearing the voice behind him, Sam snorted slightly before turning around and wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck.

 “I don’t like you having to go without contact for that long, I worry.” There was a smile on the other’s face, a softness Sam only ever saw when they were alone.

 “I’ll be fine, I promise. Besides they said I couldn’t keep contact they didn’t say anything about anyone else keeping you informed… it’s only a few days baby and then we can work on planning our wedding together when I get home.”

 Sam nodded his head, pulling Gabriel into a kiss. As always Gabriel was quick to respond, pulling Sam down and holding him so they were practically one being.

 As they broke away Sam spoke softly, “I’ll hold you to that, and you better get the time off. They can do without you for a few weeks.”

 Gabriel smiled before pulling back. “Yeah Luci gave me the notice today, I was going to surprise you, but he gave me two months off instead of the couple weeks I was asking for. Said it would be his present to us.”

 Happily, Sam gave Gabriel one last kiss before they made the way to the doorway. Gabriel had already packed the car with what he would need and would have to make his way to the airport alone. As they stood in the doorway, Sam gave the shorter man a smile before rubbing his thumb over Gabriel’s left ring finger and the engagement ring there.

 “You better come home in one piece, I’ll be damned if I have to reschedule our wedding.”

 “It’s going to be fine, they won’t know what hit them. Love you.” With one last kiss, Gabriel made his way to the car parked outside the garage, waiving at Sam after he was inside and pulling out of the driveway. Sam waved back speaking to himself while he watched the car leave.

 “Go get ‘em, Angel.” Making his way inside the house, Sam looked around the house they called home.

 Things had changed from the design Kali and Charlie had collaborated on, Sam putting in his own touch to the place. Every room held memories now, and while they didn’t wipe out the ones at the very foundation, they more than made up for it. Soon he would make more with his husband, proclaiming to the world that Gabriel belonged to him. Going back to the kitchen, Sam opened one of the drawers next to the coffee maker and looked inside. Alone in the drawer was a .45, loaded and ready. A lot could change in three years, but Sam was ready for whatever may come. Even being married to an assassin.

   P.S. If you want to keep up to date on my writing add me to Facebook, Tumbler, Twitter or Instagram as CrowNoYami ;-) Also, if you want to see what I’m reading (I always review so you know what you’re getting into) I’m on Goodreads as well, the same name as always.