#I didn’t specify what happened to the knife either so I like to think it is still sticking out of his hump

[pomegranarchy]

Have You Any Faith? Chapter 5: Reluctance

wordcount: 3,422 content warnings: alienation, again. coping with family loss link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47796682/chapters/122165881

---

reluctant: adjective re·luc·tant

1: feeling or showing aversion, hesitation, or unwillingness 2: having or assuming a specified role unwillingly

The Wordsmith stares down at her shellwood carving. It looks like a bird, but only if someone were squinting at it from a distance and happened to have one eye.

"I don't think this is working," She admits.

Hopper takes a look at her sculpture. "Why not? You're holding the knife just fine, and you're doing better than most first-timers."

She's thankful that he mentions nothing about her concealed hands, despite it making the task harder. He may be the person in Gravel she most closely considers a friend, but not even he has an idea of what lies beneath her layers. Surely, he'd consider her larvae-like at best. Monstrous at worst. Sighing, she brushes a wood chip off of her lap.

"This doesn't resemble anything in my head. If I didn't know what it was supposed to be, I don't believe I'd recognize it."

"It's alright. That's why you asked me to help you, isn't it?" Hopper gestures to his own sculpture with the tip of the carving knife.  "What are you trying to make? Maybe I can tell you how to get it closer to what's in your head."

The Wordsmith bites her lip. How much can she describe without having to explain the concept of warm-blooded creatures? Or having an internal skeleton?

"It's… a creature from where I come from. They're called birds."

"Birds." Hopper repeats. He rubs the bottom of his face, considering. "What do they look like?"

"Well, they're… shaped and behave like maskflies. There's a lot of variety to them, but they're all covered in feathers. Feathers are…" Here, the Wordsmith pauses. What makes the most sense to a bug? "A feather is made of a thin shaft, like a flexible piece of carapace. Attached to either side are hundreds of tiny soft fibers. They look a bit like fuzzy antenna, but they're firmer and used for flying."

Hopper makes a noise of acknowledgement. When he doesn't immediately reply, the Wordsmith can tell he's trying to imagine feathers. She spends the silence wishing that the chairs in his home were more comfortable.

"Do you like these birds?"

"I think they're alright. They can be very pretty. It's… it was my father, who liked them. Loved them, really." She taps the sculpture's uneven head.  "We both loved to watch little things, I think. He would spend his time birdwatching, and used to tell me about the birds he'd spot. Where they went to build their nests, or if he'd seen one splash about in a puddle. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd ever considered becoming an ornithologist."

"What is a orin… tha-loh gist?"

"Ornithologist." She pronounces the word clearly, enunciating each syllable. "It's a person who is well-studied in birds. Ornithology being the word for the study itself. I think studying the little things sort of ran in our family."

"What's your little thing, then?"

"Oh, mine is…" The Wordsmith hesitates. "Bugs, actually. The ones that don't talk, like tiktik and vengeflies. Where I come from, bugs are smaller than even those, and meeting another who could understand you was… rare."

Impossible, actually. But it's not like Hopper needs to know that.

"Hm. It would be, if our King's influence couldn't reach you. Your home sounds too far away and strange for that."

The Wordsmith wonders what the hell that even means. Is every bug in this kingdom so loyal? She considers the way Tiak speaks a bit overzealous, but maybe that's just the standard way to refer to the royalty here? Almost reverent, and as if they had godlike power. She's not sure how she feels about that. Does feudalism exist here? Nevermind. It's not as if she's in a position to figure that out. Instead, she shrugs.

"You're right in that. To me, this place feels very strange."

"Hmm. How did you travel? Walking? You wouldn't have stag beetles to carry you around places, I'm guessing."

She gasps. "You have stag beetles? That's a species I was wondering whether lived here! They have such beautiful and impressive mandibles, it's a--"

"Woah, there!" Hopper waves his hands in front of him, laughing. "You're awfully eager to see a bug of your type, aren't you?"

"Ah…?" The Wordsmith blinks at him, then finds herself blushing furiously. "No! No, I didn't mean to-- oh no."

Hopper only laughs harder at that. "It's alright! It's alright, we all have wants. I can't blame you for them. But I should warn you, stags don't have very impressive mandibles at all."

"They don't?"

"No, I'm afraid you're chasing after the wrong type of bug."

"I swear that's not..." Yeah. He's not going to believe that she wasn't lusting after a big beetle. The Wordsmith sighs with disappointment, dreading when this conversation falls into Gravel's stream of gossip. "I see."

Hopper chirrups, tapping his leg against the floor. "Ah... well, for your bird, I think there's a pretty easy solution." He waves a hand, gesturing for her to hand it to him. Carefully, the Wordsmith cups it in her palms and deposits it in his grip. As he takes it, Hopper turns it over. He nods at it, then at her. "It's like your dreamcatchers. They don't have to be pretty and perfect in order to work. It's what you feel when making it, right?"

The Wordsmith stares at him, then back at her ugly little sculpture. She's not sure what he means by 'work,' since they're only grass and string. It makes the village folk feel better, though. Enough that Tiak does his best not to outright beg her for extras to give to traders.

She nods. "Right."

"Then think about how much your father loved birds. I'm sure he would love that you made him something to make him happy, and tried so hard." Hopper holds up the sculpture to the lumafly lantern in the ceiling, illuminating it better. The Wordsmith watches him. With a different perspective, it does look nicer. Maybe it isn't a very good sculpture, but… it's not like the point is quality. The point is to remember, and to love. Beneath her mask, she smiles wistfully. She imagines giving it to her father, explaining it's supposed to be a heron. Then they both laugh over how wonky it looks, and he sets it on his windowsill so it can look outside.

"He would." She holds her hands out for it. "I think I'm ready to show it to Humi. Thank you, Hopper."

"Of course!" Hopper chirrups, delighted. As he sets it in her hands, he stands. Together, they step outside. The walk to Humi's-- home? Shrine?-- is shorter from Hopper's house than her own. There isn't yet a name for what Humi's old home has been turned into. In a way, the Wordsmith believes the bugs of Gravel are waiting for her to provide one. She searches her mind, and decides she'll tell Hopper once they get there.

The place hasn't changed much. If anything, it's only become more cluttered. Some objects have spread to the worktable, work-in-progress bracelets, carvings, and drawings. Finished pieces are pinned to the walls and stacked precariously on the main table.

The Wordsmith's hands cradle her sculpture.

"Place it anywhere there's room," Hopper mumbles idly. "Maybe we should get shelves in here…"

"I was thinking," The Wordsmith starts, "about what we should call this place. It's not quite Humi's home anymore, is it? Not her's alone, anyway. It's a bit of everyone's; the people that are remembered here, and the people that remember them."

Hopper looks up at her curiously. "It wouldn't be right of me to say I wasn't waiting for you to decide on that. What have you got, Wordsmith?"

She smiles a little at the title. It's yet to feel like herself, but she's come to accept it as truth. "Gravel's memorial. A memorial is a place that's dedicated to remembering a person or an event. This memorial-- Humi's memorial-- would be dedicated to the people important to Gravel."

"Ah. Yes, that sounds right. Where do you get all of these words? It's as if you have an endless store of them."

The Wordsmith shrugs. "Some of them were taught to me. Others I taught myself."

It's a true enough explanation, while avoiding the details that would invite further questioning. She leans over the table, and places her sculpture down. For a moment, she simply stares at the heron. She brushes her hand across its beak. Hopper remains quiet, giving her the time to reminisce. Eventually, she stands straight. Just as she opens her mouth to speak again--

"Wordsmith! Woooordsmith!!" Tiak bolts inside, startling the two so badly that Hopper falls over. The Wordsmith yelps, holding an arm out to Hopper before flinching back. Tiak continues to jump and flail about, arms and antenna waving erratically.

"Tiak!" Hopper barks, rolling about on the floor. "What's gotten into you?"

"There's a bug asking for the Wordsmith!"

"And? Help me up, boy! My legs aren't so spry anymore!" Hopper holds his hand up agitatedly. Tiak squeaks apologetically, crouching in order to tug Hopper to his feet.

"I'm sorry! It's just, oh! Wordsmith, it's like one of your stories!"

"What?" She says. "Tiak, you ought to calm down. Let's step outside." What’s gotten into him? Sure, Tiak can be a bit excitable, but nothing so extreme as to knock people over. It begs the question of what kind of story he thinks is going on. She sends her memory through the ones she’s told, as if it’ll help any.

"But-- okay! But quickly, quickly!" He dashes outside just as fast as he came in.

"That boy…" Hopper grumbles, brushing off his wings. The Wordsmith sighs sympathetically, following close behind. Even if she knows he’ll be fine, the fall worries her. Just outside, Tiak paces about in a tight circle. As soon as he sees them, he jumps up.

"Wordsmith!! Do you know how important this is??"

She fights to keep the annoyance out of her tone. "No. You have yet to explain what this is about."

He shrieks. "It's a high class looking bug! He came in on the trader's road, but he's got fine clothes and a shined up carapace! He said that he's from the palace, and he kept asking if this is where the Wordsmith stays, and if someone could go get you because the King is asking to see you!"

The Wordsmith laughs. "A king, wanting to see me?"

This is like a story! Imagine royalty wanting anything to do with some random stranger. Covered in rags and old dirt, no less.

"That's what he said!! And he said it was very important, too!"

She starts to giggle, only to realize that Tiak is being serious. This isn't something he would dare joke about. Coming to her senses, she presses a hand against the bottom of her mask. What would a king possibly want from her? To demand citizenship, maybe? But why take notice of her specifically?

"Did… did the bug say why?" She asks.

"It's about your dreamcatchers! The Wordsmith who makes the dreamcatchers! He said that the King wants to see you, and heard that you lived here in Gravel!" Almost desperately, Tiak waves his hands about. "Please, you need to see him!"

"I… alright, Tiak. No need to repeat yourself. Take me to see him."

"Yes, Wordsmith!" Tiak scurries off without so much as a warning. The Wordsmith watches him for a second. Even if she started running now, she wouldn’t catch up. Given that the result will be the same, she glances at Hopper.

"Don't wait for me. Maybe in my younger days I could keep up, but now my joints are too brittle for big leaps. I'll catch up." He waves her off. Accepting this, the Wordsmith starts after Tiak.

It takes a bit longer than she expects. Mostly because Tiak rushes out of sight too often, then has to come careening back for her once he realizes that she's behind. He has to duck back and wave her forward out of a deadend, or to explain she went down the wrong road. She didn’t think Gravel had so many paths. Through it all, she can’t tell if he's annoyed with her or merely frantic.

Eventually, they reach the edge of the village. Standing in the road is a bug dressed in a white cloak of some kind, long antenna stretching from his head. Around him are a few curious bugs, trying to prod him with questions.

"Come, come! Here! Here, look!" Tiak skids to a stop, waving back and forth between the white-dressed bug and the Wordsmith. "This is them! This is he! Wordsmith, meet…?"

"Tymm." She initially resists the urge to raise her eyebrows, then realizes no one can see it behind her mask.

"A pleasure to meet you, Tim. What brings you here?"

"I come from the White Palace." His wings buzz a little, ruffling the cloak laid over them. "The Pale King wishes to see you, to talk about your dreamcatchers."

"They aren't mine," she clarifies. "They're only something that I've helped bring here."

Tymm doesn't seem to acknowledge this, simply waving a hand in the air. "Come with me."

"Right now?"

"Yes. The sooner the better."

"I see. Allow me to say my goodbyes, first." Of the bugs assembled, she sees Thea gasp and press her hands against her face.

"You'll be returning." Despite his impersonal tone, the Wordsmith is offended. Why the rush? Can’t a king bear to wait a few minutes longer?

"Even so, I don't wish to abandon the bugs that have welcomed me into their homes." The Wordsmith bows her head a little, then turns to Tiak. He stares imploringly up at her.

"Don't delay, Wordsmith! Don't you see? This is like one of your stories! You're off to see the Pale King himself, and he'll have you marry him or the Queen, and you'll be a monarch yourself!"

The Wordsmith blinks. "I don't… think I should come between their marriage."

"I don't think that's a problem," Tiak says, oddly reminiscent. "He did make that arrangement with the Queen of Beasts! And you said yourself how important the spiders are! Someone as talented as you will fit right in!"

"Is that so…?" The Wordsmith cautions, uncertain of what to make of that response. Is the king polygamous? Does the queen not mind, or is she as well? Who is the 'queen of beasts'? A spider, presumably, but what arrange--?

"The Pale King wants to see the Wordsmith about the dreamcatchers alone." Tymm interjects, a hint of agitation in his tone.

"Or he could marry you to somebody else!" Thea cries. "Imagine that, the King himself making your marriage official! What an honor to have the Wordsmith as a spouse. A union blessed by the Pale King!"

"What's this about marriages?" Hopper says coyly, arriving just in time for embarrassing assumptions. "Wordsmith, I never expected you to be so open in your interests. Now is hardly the time!"

"No one is marrying anybody," Tymm says, now clearly annoyed.

"That's right," The Wordsmith hurriedly agrees. "This is to be an unromantic visit."

Thea sighs disappointedly, but she doesn't know why. Previously unnoticed, Lu peeks out from behind Hopper. Something is clutched against her thorax, hidden by her arms.

“Then let us go,” Tymm says.

"Wait!" Lu cries. She fidgets, ducking behind Hopper. He pats her back reassuringly, and she peeks out again. "Before you go?"

Her tone is so hesitant, so sweet, that it reminds the Wordsmith painfully of her youngest cousin. Only a baby, when she had first seen her.

"Of course,” She says, with as much compassion as she can muster. “What is it?"

Lu hesitates, remaining behind Hopper. But eventually, she steps out. In her hands is a small, round object. Slowly, she stretches her arms out to present it. The Wordsmith crouches down, looking at it carefully. It looks like a shellwood pin. There's a design etched into it, resembling the faces of various bugs. She thinks one is meant to be Hopper. The little one in the front is clearly Lu. The Wordsmith smiles, charmed by the wobbly, inexperienced lines.

"It's very cute. Do you mind telling me what it is?"

"It's a gift! So that you can stay safe, like you made me feel safe. I know it's not finished, but… I want you to have it, before you go." Lu stares down at the ground, unable to look directly up at the Wordsmith. Her heart aches.

"Oh, that's so kind. But I… Why don't you finish it for me, for when I come back? That way when you give it to me for the first time, it'll be done."

"But…" Lu glances at the object. "I don't… I don't want you to forget us."

Ah. The Wordsmith answers with as much reassurance as she can.

"I won't. I promise. You've all been very kind to me, and I would never forget the bugs who've helped me.” She places a hand over her chest, trying to summon as much sincerity as she can. The eyes of the other bugs rest on her, bid into silence by the exchange in front of them.

“Besides, I won't be leaving forever."

"Still… you can…" Lu looks up with shining eyes. "You can keep some of me with you. So you won't forget me."

Before the Wordsmith can answer, Hopper steps up.

"Come now, Wordsmith. You're a gift to Gravel. You deserve a gift in return." Hopper holds out for the object. Lu gives it to him, albeit reluctantly. He pats her on the head, then starts to run a finger over the carved lines. "This has care in it. It's meant to make you happy and keep you safe. And Wordsmith, I think you've more than deserved that much from us. You've cared for us, after all."

"That's right!" Thea cries. She sidles up next to him, holding her hands out. Hopper gives her a look, but passes it to her without a fuss. Once it’s in her hands, she presses her face against it. A kiss? The Wordsmith wonders. She hadn’t realized these bugs did that as well.

"There. For you to think about when you get lonely! You'll know we're all here to support you."

Tiak bounces up and down, waving his arms as if they’ll lift him off the ground. Only once it’s been passed to him next does he settle down.  

"Yes!” He cries, hugging it against his thorax. “We'll never forget your stories, and you'll never forget our faces!"

Hopper extends an arm for it, and Tiak gently passes it back. The item is returned to Lu. She clutches it tightly, staring one at a time at the bugs who touched her gift. Then she nuzzles it over her forehead. After a final, long, thoughtful stare, she speaks again.

"Yeah! All of what they said. You can keep us with you, and you won't get lonely or anything."

“Then I would be a fool not to accept it. Would you do me the honors?” The Wordsmith smiles, though she knows nobody can see it. Gently, she holds her hands out. Lu’s antenna perk up, and she beams at her, dropping the item in her hands. There is silence as the Wordsmith turns the item over in her hands, examining it. "Thank you. This is so very sweet, and I… I'm flattered that I've come to mean this much to you all. I've done my best to earn my keep here, and to help where I can. I never expected anything more than basic needs in return. Thank you, all of you."

She looks down at Lu.  

"I'll make sure to keep it with me, okay? It'll be my good luck charm. Then when I come back, you can finish it and it'll work better than ever." She grips it tightly, feeling her affection twinge at her cheeks. When was the last time she smiled so hard it hurt? For just a moment, she thinks the charm shimmers with life. Better not to lose the dear thing. Assuming it to be a trick of the light, the Wordsmith merely affixes it to one of the hanging pieces of fabric covering her. Lu bounces in place, nodding eagerly.

As she stands, Tymm gestures for her. "We should get going. There's a Stag Station we can take."

"Of course." With one final goodbye, the Wordsmith departs. “Thank you all, again.”

[woooyeahbaby]

what i will & won’t write

tw for mentions of sensitive topics! some parts are 18+!

this is written out in long form, sorry, i should’ve just done bullet points but i’m only realizing this now.

here are some of my boundaries for what i will and won’t be writing!

i’ll start off with what i will write.

so, obviously i’ll write for the characters in the masterlist type thing (i’ll make a post with a few links for my info, this’ll be going into it) i have up.

i’m up to writing angst, smut, fluff, platonic relationships, romance, and familial relationships. if i left out anything don’t be afraid to ask!

i’ll write about pregnancy, marriage, breakups, dates, anything like that.

i will write yandere stuff, but only if it’s requested. however i will say right now i am not confident in my ability to do that! i’m okay with writing about stalking and perhaps (briefly mentioned) murder within these yandere fanfics. once again, i’m not confident in my ability to, and i’m not well-versed in yandere stuff. (nor do i condone those acts irl)

i’ll write about death, whether it be of a character or the reader.

i’ll write about reader/characters having a mental illness/disorder, but only if i know the illness/disorder well enough! a list of ones i’m comfortable writing would be anxiety (social, general, etc), depression, DID/OSDD (iffy), restrictive eating disorders, ADHD, and autism. if you headcanon a character i write for having any of these, feel free to request i write something about it and i’ll most likely do it! same goes for if you’d like to request something about reader having one of them and a character’s responses to it. (“responses” may be the wrong term, sorry, hopefully you get what i mean lol)

as for smut, i have a long list of kinks i will do. i’ll usually do the more “common” ones, like choking, begging, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, spit play, cum play/eating, bondage, etc. again, if you’re unsure of if i’ll do it or not, please ask. as for the uncommon kinks.. i’ll write feet. yeah. i said it. i’ll do feet. i’ll also do knife play and pegging. i can’t think of many else but as i said feel free to ask lol.

onto things i will not write.

i will not write incest. that includes step-relationships. kaeluc is a big no no for me. don’t even think about it.

i won’t write beastiality.

i won’t write pedophilia. anyone over 18 with anyone under 18 is not something i’ll write. i’m also uncomfortable with extreme age gaps, like 18-20 with someone 30+. if you’re going to request an age gap fic, please specify the age gap and you’ll see if i will or won’t do it.

if you’re going to request a ship between two characters, please don’t let it fall under incest, pedophilia, beastiality, or anything of the sort. i also will not do immoral ships, for example, gojo x megumi or megumi x sukuna. not only is megumi a minor, but gojo is like megumi’s father. as for megumi x sukuna, i wish i didn’t have to say this, but just because yuji is also a minor, doesn’t mean sukuna is. that is a thousands upon thousands of years old man/curse. if you ship them, please do not interact with me.

i won’t write about prostitution. it’s never really been my thing and makes me uncomfortable to read or write.

i will not write about miscarriages. i feel they’re too heavy for fanfiction. (however i will mention abortion. i won’t write it either though!)

i won’t write about gang members.

i will not write about rape. the only time i will mention that is if reader/a character has trauma surrounding it, but i will not write out the act or any details of it. i will write comfort for it if that makes sense? like a character comforting/being comforted by reader if that happened to them.

i will not write sexual assault/harassment, pretty much just reread the above as for why and what i won’t/will do with it.

i won’t do brainwashing.

i won’t do anything involving bugs. especially spiders.

as for kinks, i won’t do heavy bdsm, ddlg, age play, scat, and more. if you absolutely want to i’ll write piss, but i’ll most likely decline. not unless i really see your vision.

that’s all i can think of for now, thank you! again, absolutely any questions? just ask! i’d love to answer.

[rocksinmuffin]

I won't ask much! Just Fem!Reader proving to a Krogan crush of her than she is worthy warrior to pursue his heart.

“Can’t you just, I dunno, write him a love note like a normal person?” asks your dear friend Vikus, big eyes darting nervously and wringing his fingers.

You roll your eyes. “Like I’m going to take dating advice from a fourteen-year-old.”

“I’m a fully matured adult by salarian standards and mentally older than you and you know that!”

“Besides,” you continue, paying his offended squawking little mind, “You can’t just write a love note for a man like Thrux. Believe me, I tried, and he just laughed at me.”

And maybe that should have been the end of it. For most people, it would be. But most people haven’t seen Thrux or his pretty green eyes or his impressive orange crest or the pretty way he smiles when he comes into the bar with his armor covered in new scratches and vorcha blood.

“A man like Thrux deserves to be romanced like a real krogan,” you answer, tone thick with resolve.

“You realize you’re not a krogan, right? Like, it is very likely you won’t survive this. You realize that, yes?”

You nod your head, ready to do the absolute stupidest most batshit insane thing you will ever do in your life.

Vikus sighs, getting into position. “Your funeral.”

Or your wedding, you think optimistically. Either way, you ready yourself, waiting for Vikus’ signal to let you know that Thrux is approaching.

You take a deep breath, in, out. Listen for the heavy footfalls of Thrux’s gait, then, when he’s close enough, lunge for him with your combat knife drawn.

The blade pierces the back of his hump, sinking in several inches before he’s fully registered the attack. Once he does, he retaliates immediately, slamming you against the alley wall hard enough to bruise a rib and send your skull smacking hard enough you see stars. A hand circles around your throat and you’re slammed back into that wall a second time, then lifted up high enough your feet don’t touch the ground.

There’s a flash of rage in Thrux’s eye that is as beautiful as it is terrifying. Then it’s gone, replaced with recognition and maybe just a hint of curiosity as he simply says, “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you try to say but with the fist wrapped around your throat all that comes out is a high-pitched wheeze.

“Listen up, whelp,” he says in that tone that leaves you breathless, though maybe that’s still just his fist preventing oxygen from entering your lungs, “I don’t know what could have possessed you to think you could ever take me in a fight, but you better have a damn good reason if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.”

Thrux releases his grip just enough to let you breathe, still holding you in place with one arm like you’re a rag doll, and you suck in a deep breath of air then answer, “I have a crush on you and wanted to impress you so will you go out with me????”

He snorts. “Impress me? This little scratch won’t even leave a scar. But it takes a set of quads to jump into a battle you can’t win.”

Thrux gets a thoughtful look in his eyes. It’s an expression you’ve never seen from him before. He finally lets go of you and it takes all your energy to stay standing when you land on your feet.

He starts walking away, turns back to you when he realizes you’re still standing there and gestures for you to follow him. “Come with me, whelp.”

You perk up. “Are we going on a date?”

“Combat training,” he answers.

Just as well. For krogans, the two might as well be one and the same. With a bounce in your step you follow after him, giving Vikus a subtle thumbs up towards his hiding place.

[arcane-ish]

I feel like it’s worth remembering what Silco’s plot/masterplan was in Act 1.

1.) His goon killed Grayson likely to sabotage the deal between Vander and the enforcers. Benzo was killed because he got in the way. 

2.) He abducted Vander and only Vander with the intention to get him on his side and more realistically turn him into a shimmer beast whether with his consent or not.

3.) His intention with Shimmer beasts was to scare the enforcers into no longer patrolling in the undercity. 

So... it’s kind of weird to me when I read metas that go “Silco wanted to kill Vander and the kids”. When ... strictly speaking ... no? He Plan A wanted to turn Vander into his Shimmerbeast soldier and sick him on enforcers. If he had plans for the children either to kill them to tie up loose ends or turn them into Shimmerbeasts as well, or they didn’t enter his mind all till they showed up, it’s not really specified. 

Now it’s pretty clear that once the kids show up, he was ready to Plan B kill at least Vi when he sends his goon with a knife after her. 

(and he is clearly sending them, giving a little nod that unsure tattoo guy is waiting for and since tattoo goon is attacking Vi with a knife we can assume the intention is for it to be deadly)

Another interesting detail is that when Vi successfully knocks out tattoo guy Silco raises an eyebrow and looks like he is seeing her potential 

(which would easily fit with how he tells her in Act 2 that he used to think she was the more valuable daughter). 

When he later tells his Shimmer goon to go after Vi, he doesn’t really say specifics

But I wouldn’t rule out that he was thinking about giving her the “join me” speech (remember, in episodes 2 he talks his goon into drinking the shimmer rather than force feeding it) or at least forcefully shimmering her up as well. 

And yes, I fully agree that “wanted to turn X into a raving shimmerbeast” isn’t morally any better than “wanted to kill X”, but I still think it’s worth keeping in mind what his original plot was about and how it fits with his internal logic (ie likely “shimmering up Vander is not morally bad because I hate Vander and I’m just bringing out Vander’s true self” and “turning unwilling people into monsters to attack and scare the enforcers is just me any-means-necessarying the fight against the topsiders” (not that his plan isn’t 1.) terrible/unlikely to work and 2.) not really designed for improving the lives of the undercity population all that much is a different question) [same for “he wanted to kill the kids” vs. “he was ready to kill the kids”]

[one day I’ll sit down and write a meta grading Silco on how effective of a villain he is/how good his various schemes and plots actually are, respectively how many of the things that happen because of him actually are the result of his plots and schemes vs. dumb luck]

[epiclamer]

can i request something that includes:

siren voiced or telepathic villain and a hero with a different superpower of your choosing

something about kidnapping

and their relationship is kinda love-hate ish

just imagine hero thinking “wait villain is actually kinda hot” and villain just looks up at her like o-o

Yes. A hundred times yes. (Also you only specified pronouns for Hero so I just made Villain they/them I hope that’s cool!)

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated)

Listening

The last thing Hero remembered was walking down the street with her groceries in hand and a hard whack on the back of the head.

Hero’s world spinned as she attempt to lift her heavy eyelids. “Mm-“ Hero groaned as her head throbbed and pulsed with a searing pain. A soft hand cupped Hero’s cheek, supporting the weight of her head and Hero probably would’ve dozed off if an alarm bell didn’t go ringing somewhere deep in her brain.

Hero’s eyes flew open and glued onto Villains sly smirk. Their eyes glinted in the dim light as they gently caressed Hero’s cheekbone with their thumb. Hero shuddered as she relished in the warm touch.

“Awww, is little Hero tired?~” Villain chuckled softly as they brought their other hand up to card through Hero’s hair.

Hero let out a shaky breath in answer to the scratching at her scalp. She knew this was wrong. She knew they were enemies. But she also knew that she hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Even if she was tied to a chair and her enemy was caring for her like a baby.

Villain gave Hero one last sweet look before dropping her face and dusting their hands off on their suit pants. “Sucks to suck, huh? Guess you’ll have to get that in check or you’re gonna have a rough time tonight, lover.” Villain snickered as they walked gracefully over to a table littered with papers, pens, torture equipment and little army men. Carefully sorting through the mess they picked out a long curved blade, smiling sinisterly before turning back to Hero.

Villain was at Hero’s side in a second, the smell of their soap flooding Hero’s senses in a immediately.

“Now, Hero, my beloved… I need some information, and you happen to have it. So I’m gonna ask you nicely, once. Then, you’re either gonna spill or I’m gonna make you.” Villain smiled, running the blade down Hero’s temple gently.

And good lord Hero couldn’t focus anymore, every part of her being was stuck to Villain like glue. The way their eyes sparkled with excitement. The way their smile was genuinely evil. Even with Villain being a criminal, Hero had fallen face flat on cloud nine for them.

Wait, Villain is actually kinda hot.

Hero concluded. She was happy she had finally sorted out her feelings for what might’ve been a split second as she watched Villains smile drop and their eyes widen.

“Excuse me?” Villain asked, taking a step back, their knife dropping to their side.

Hero went bright red. How could they have forgotten? Villain was famous for being sneaky, sly, and reading minds.

“Uh-wha-I-well-“ Hero stuttered, trying to cover up her mistake, but it was far too late.

Villain had caught her and there was no excuse this time.

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Without a Trace [Ch. 7]

Vigilantes AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death Mention, Gun Use, Knife Use

Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy

Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader

Y/N Pronouns: Not Specified

Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(7/11) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Word Count: 7.3K

Notes: I FINALLY FINISHED THIS ONE DAMN JDSHFKDJSFJFJDSJ

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

“Has he eaten yet?” Mingi asks you in a whisper. You both stood outside of the med bay of the warehouse, Yunho had kickstarted the power there again as soon as you, Mingi, and Yeosang had rolled up with a half-dead Changbin in tow. Wooyoung’s expression was unreadable when you did so, but the one thing that remained true was that he hasn’t left his side since.

“No, I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “Any word from Hongjoong?”

“Nope, he’s still out with his unit,” Mingi confirms. He crosses his arms. “He’s going to be there all night, I already know. I already called a friend of mine for a favor but… I don’t know, (Y/N). Be honest, do you think he’ll make it?”

“He should, I didn’t hit anywhere vital… I think,” you swallowed harshly. You didn’t, you know you didn’t.

“How was Jisung?”

“Eh, he left, that’s all that matters,” you shrugged. You turned away. “Yeosang, how are the others doing?” You sat next to the boy at the control center. He pulled up the tracker screen.

“Well, this cluster here is Hongjoong and Jongho, and this one is Seonghwa, San, and Yunho. Looks like they’re both en route.”

“Will those two be fine?”

“I’m sure they will,” Yeosang looks over his shoulder to Wooyoung. “I’ve never seen that guy run so fast…”

“That is his best friend,” you shrugged and picked up your uniform, it had gotten tattered during your run in with the Charlatans. You walked over to one of the cabinets, hoping that not too much has changed since you last came here, and pulled it open. Inside were basic uniform repair items. A sewing machine was on the bottom shelf and above it were varying colors of threads alongside different sizes of needles. On the next shelf up were different common colored fabrics rolled neatly to fit the small space, and the next shelf was in a similar state. The final two top shelves had sheets of metals, screws, and tools for the more technical uniforms. You grabbed the basic needle and thread and sat down next to Yeosang, getting to work patching the few small holes on the uniform. “How’s it going?”

“Slow,” Yeosang looks at the broken half of the mask. “Whoever made it is good with tech, I’ll give them that.” Your phone rang next to you.

“Hello,” you placed the phone on your shoulder while you finished patching up the uniform.

“(Y/N)! It’s Sana! Remember me?”

“Oh, yeah! Hey, what’s up?” The familiar voice brought a smile to your face.

“Jisung called, he said that you had someone who needed help? I could probably squeeze him into my shifts at the hospital, private room and all.”

“Seriously?” You looked back at Changbin. “I’d appreciate that, thanks. Listen, you’ve gotta keep this between us though, alright? It’s top secret stuff.”

“Yeah, of course! Who is it?”

“Changbin.”

“He’s alive?! Oh, shoot, sorry, nurse manager’s walking by,” Sana starts to whisper. “Yeah, I’ll keep it between us. I’ll keep you updated on what happens. Who’s dropping him off?”

“Uh…” You looked around the room. Wooyoung exits Changbin’s room. “Wooyoung will.”

“Huh?”

“Got it, tell him to go around the back.”

“For sure, thanks, Sana. Tell Jisung I said so too.”

“Got it!” Sana hangs up the phone.

“Woo, you’re taking Changbin to City General,” you tell him.

“The hospital?! Isn’t that dangerous?” He asks.

“Nah, remember ICON?”

“The… Was it the one who stopped the fire at Seonghwa’s old place?”

“Yup, she’s a nurse now at City General Hospital. Jisung called in a favor for Changbin. Go around the back and she’ll pick him up, she promised to keep what happens between us, and they’ll take better care of him there than here,” you finished. Wooyoung only nods.

“Sure, yeah, okay, I’ll be right back then,” Wooyoung grabs his keys. “Uh… can one of you help me out?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Mingi finishes up his snack and heads over to Changbin’s room, Wooyoung close in tow.

~

“Something tells me that he isn’t going to be coming back,” Jongho sighs. “Let’s just let him check up on his friend,” he says. Wooyoung had taken off as soon as you called him, not so much as a word or a ‘I’ll be right back!’ just up and left, and literally running back. Hongjoong had opted to wait for the member originally, but after nearly forty-five minutes of no contact, it would probably be best to continue on with the mission.

“Yeah, we’ll just fill him in later,” Hongjoong kicks off the wall and follows Jongho to the side of the building.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Jongho asks. The modest looking apartment complex seemed too normal to be the sight of anything, then again, that’s exactly what anyone would want right around now. It was rather close in distance from the Warehouse, something Yeosang revealed when he sent the addresses of the two co-hosts to the others. It was a quiet neighborhood in comparison to the rest of the city. He adjusts his mask. “This mask is so comfortable… what’s it made of?”

“Carbon fiber, I think.”

“Ah, fancy,” Jongho plays around with his new arm. “Probably what this is too, huh? It’s so receptive… I can feel things now.”

“That’s weird.”

“I know. I kinda hate it,” Jongho crosses his arms. “Well, let’s go in then.” Jongho jumps up and pulls down the ladder of the fire escape, allowing Hongjoong to climb up first before following him. They stop after climbing five floors, each standing on either side of a window. They glance inside, seeing Mark walk around his kitchen.

“On the count of—” Jongho breaks the window and walks in, completely oblivious to Mark’s screams. “For fuck’s sake… do you even have a plan? It doesn’t matter because no one ever listens to the plan,” Hongjoong mutters. “Huh? Where’d he go?” Hongjoong enters. He could’ve sworn that kid was right there.

“No clue, I just walked in and he was gone,” Jongho looks around. The apartment was basically empty save for him and Hongjoong.

“That’s impossible, he was right there,” Hongjoong pointed at the kitchen.

Next thing he knew it, he was slammed against a wall.

“What the hell?!” Hongjoong looks around, there was no one there aside for Jongho, who was now on the floor. They both looked at each other. When Jongho tried to stand up, he was suddenly kicked to the side, harshly slamming into the bookcase with a few books falling on top of him. “Shit, are we too late?!” Hongjoong looks around. The Charlatan’s victims were vigilantes and anyone related to them, the Limitless Podcast was literally a giant target. No, impossible, none of them were announced in the Charlatan’s list. But, then again, after Yeosang’s stunt earlier, that might’ve changed things in the Charlatan’s eyes. Hongjoong is punched once again, now flying to the other wall. It was more than just the wind being knocked out of him, it was like he was being hit with another force entirely. “What is it? Invisibility?” He shakes his head. They can’t see whoever it is fighting them. He ran through his thoughts, trying to remember any villains or vigilantes with camouflaging abilities. The only one that came to mind was the Ace of Hearts, and her cloak was in your possession at the moment.

And knowing that there’s no way you’d be able to pack a punch that hard.

“No,” Jongho shakes his head. Standing up from the bookcase and walking to the center of the room, he takes a deep breath. As he exhales, and in the blink of an eye, he catches someone’s fist and flips them over onto the floor. “Just someone incredibly fast.”

“Look, man, I don’t wanna die,” Mark shakes his head furiously. “I’ll do anything, do you want money?” He swallows harshly. Like a deer caught in headlights, his voice wavered and sweat started to form on his forehead. “Oh my god are you guys with the Charlatan please don’t kill me I don’t want to die I still have things to do and loans to pay off- oh my god, please, don’t— don’t kill me!”

“Relax, we’re on your side,” Jongho says. Then it clicked in Hongjoong’s head. The speedster who runs faster than the speed of light, that’s what the media called him. But, from what he had researched, it was just a chemical engineering student who was in the wrong place at the wrong time while interning for Byun Medical. They called his case a miracle, after being doused in that much chemicals, it was a wonder how there were no outward scarring. The media just chalked it up to an immense amount of plastic surgery, but once he became an active vigilante, Hongjoong easily pieced two and two together.

“Sogdo, didn’t think you were just some random college student, and one who runs a podcast about vigilantes nonetheless,” Hongjoong says. Mark turned to him when he heard this. “Mastermind.” How long had it been since Hongjoong had referred to himself as such?

“Timekeeper.” Jongho speaks next rather indifferently. Then, realization. Mark calms down and stops struggling.

“Holy shit… you’re both vigilantes.”

“Bingo, kid, now get up,” Hongjoong helps Mark up.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to punch you guys, you just both looked really sketchy with the dark uniforms and the red letter,” Mark apologizes.

“Don’t worry, we get it,” Hongjoong says. “Look, we don’t want trouble.”

“I, uh, do you guys want a drink or something? I’m sorry for trying to beat you guys up, you know, uh, I’ve been a little on edge because of the whole Charlatan thing,” Mark is in front of his fridge faster than any of the other two could open their mouths. “I have sodas… and beers.”

“I’ll take a beer,” Hongjoong sighs.

“Water, if you have any. I literally had the wind knocked out of me,” Jongho jokes. In an instant, the drinks were in their hands.

“How can I help you guys? I don’t think I can do much, though.”

“Tell us about Loveholic,” Hongjoong opens the can and waits in anticipation.

“Right… that guy,” Mark’s voice trails off. “I’m really not sure, I’ve never run into him. I just heard about him through the grapevine. But, from what I do know… he’s bad news. I don’t even think he’s a vigilante. But he’s not really a villain either.”

“Explain, we have time,” Jongho crosses his arms.

“Well, the way he chose his targets was weird, or I don’t think that’s the right words to use. There’s just no rhyme or reason to how he chose them. He just… he just killed people.” It was clear through Mark’s voice that he was afraid of this person. “I, uh… a lot of his files were inaccessible, and the ones I could get my hands on were anything but helpful… but from what I saw… holy shit,” Mark shakes his head. “Look, the only important thing about them is the connecting factor, but it’s the only thing, investigators couldn’t even tell if it was the real deal or a copycat. Either way, it doesn’t matter what it is, something is always driven through the victim’s heart. Once it was knife, once it was a bed post, a crowbar, a pipe, and other things. It’s gruesome, man. Why… why do you wanna know?” Mark asks.

“Thank you for your time,” Hongjoong finishes his drink and places it on the table. “Be careful, Mark, it’s dangerous being an ex-vigilante,” Hongjoong nods and walks out of the window.

“We’ll, uh… we’ll fix this someday, just go stay with your friend for now,” Jongho points at the broken window as he exits.

“Uh, okay, cool!” Mark says back. The other two hop down the fire escape, heading back to the Warehouse.

~

“What did I miss? Seonghwa asks while he locks the door behind him. Rifle still slung over his shoulder, Seonghwa is sure to adjust the mask so it obscures his face. The apartment was in a rougher shape than he left it, something he had partially expected but definitely did not plan for. He spots Johnny backed into a corner with Yunho and San looming over him.

“Just woke up,” San grumbles.

“Did you guys knock him out?!”

“No!” San grimaces. Yunho stares at him. “Yes. But that’s only because this dude’s like unnecessarily strong,” San waves his hand.

“Either way, allow us to properly introduce ourselves. I’m the Huntsman,” Seonghwa takes control of the situation. Then, Johnny gasps quietly, seemingly pressing up further against the wall.

“The Broker, although I’m afraid to say that I’m currently ware-less,” Yunho shrugs and shakes his head.

“Blackguard,” San keeps his short.

“What… what do you guys want?” Johnny swallows down any smart remarks. “Are you all with the Charlatan?!

“Fuck no!” San shakes his head.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?! You guys could be like his elite squad or something,” Johnny grimaces. The trio look amongst each other.

“I find that very offensive,” Yunho says sternly.

“Well, with matching getups and those logos you look pretty threatening,” Johnny shakes his head. “Oh my god… Are you going to kill me?!”

“N—”

“We will if you don’t comply,” San cuts Seonghwa off.

“Don’t listen to him, we just have a few questions,” Seonghwa nudges his head to the side and the other two break formation. Johnny takes a deep breath.

“Jesus, I never thought I’d actually meet the people I talked about, let alone get my ass handed by them,” Johnny mutters. “What do you need to know?”

“Tell us everything you know about Loveholic,” San demands.

“Well, I know he’s an assassin from the dark web, and that’s about it,” Johnny deadpans.

“You’re joking! We don’t have time for that shit!” San growls.

“I’m not! You can try to look it up yourself, everything sponged off or restricted,” Johnny raises his hands defensively. “Hell, it’s kind of like it was purposely removed. Mark and I couldn’t find jack shit. All of the case files were blacked out. Victim names, locations, dates, all of them blacked out.”

“Fuck,” Seonghwa cursed under his breath. “It’s a dead end, then.”

“Unfortunately,” Yunho frowns.

“Not enough info to connect it to the Charlatan, maybe Mastermind and the others had better luck.”

“Sure, like that other guy would know anything,” San chides.

“Uh, I do know one more thing,” Johnny cuts in.

“Why didn’t you say it in the first place?!” San shouts.

“Ignore him, continue,” Seonghwa shoves San aside and Johnny worriedly looks between the two.

“Loveholic ceased activity last December, or at least that’s what the police decided on.”

“Then the Charlatan enters the stage circa February, correct? That’s what you said on your little podcast,” Yunho fills in. “I’d say two to three months is an appropriate time to start offing vigilantes and their crowds.”

“You know, the way that episode got cancelled was kind of weird now that I think about it,” Johnny crosses his arms. “The file for our script got corrupted, and the hardcopy was just gone. Then, to make it worse, all of the sources we were able to scrap together were either deleted or inaccessible.” The trio look amongst each other again.

“Thank you for your time,” Seonghwa chooses not to comment on Johnny’s last statement. He follows the other two out of the apartment.

~

“Well, well, well, look who’s back,” you remarked from your spot on the couch while you watched the trio return. “Took you guys long enough.”

“Where’s Changbin?” San asks.

“Moved to the hospital. ICON’s helping us out,” you answered while spinning the knife in your hands. “Well, shall we reconvene then?” You tossed it in the air, the knife spinning multiple times before—

“That’s my line,” Hongjoong catches the knife easily and hands it to you. “Let’s not lose any senses.”

“I hate you,” you rolled your eyes and followed the rest of the members towards the previous set up projector. The nine went around in a circle sharing everything they had learned in the span of time they were away. You recounted the encounter with multiple Charlatan’s, noting that it was somewhat easier to debilitate them compared to the one that had entered your apartment initially. Hongjoong summarized his visit to Mark’s apartment, also explaining the student’s identity. Then Seonghwa shared the sparse information he had.

“So we agree that Loveholic and the Charlatan are either the same or connected?” Hongjoong asks. He was only met with silent nods.

“I’m a bit hesitant to agree,” Jongho says. “But that’s only because it seems a little too coincidental. A vigilante turned villain with an oddly well planned period between retirement and action, seems almost planned, but I wouldn’t know,” he says.

“It’s all we’ve got right now,” Mingi says. “Not much we can do otherwise. How else would he know about the Cellar? Or the identities of all these vigilantes?”

“See, that’s the other thing though. All of us pretty much lived here at the Warehouse at one point… do any of you remember meeting a Loveholic?” You asked. You thought about it long and hard for a while, but you couldn’t remember seeing or even hearing about anyone going by that pseudonym.

“Unless he knew someone who came here a lot,” Mingi turns towards Yunho.

“Hey, I keep my personal life far away from my business one,” Yunho defends. “I sold him a couple of knives, so what? That was it.”

“We’ll just have to take his word for it,” Wooyoung sighs. “What can be done? There’s not enough information.”

“But there is enough to make a rough timeline of what happened,” Hongjoong says after everyone said their bit. “Loveholic stopped activities around December, we’ve established that. If the Charlatan first became active around February, or at least that’s the oldest version of their ‘list’ that we could find, then that would mean the Cellar would’ve been raided around those three months. Yunho, when did you buy out the Warehouse?”

“February,” Yunho says without hesitation. “And I filled in the Cellar as soon as I bought it.”

“Then it must’ve happened around January,” Yeosang says, eyes still glued onto his laptop screen.

“Think they did it alone?” Wooyoung asks.

“That’s irrelevant right now, all we need to know about the Cellar getting raided is that they made off with a lot of equipment,” Hongjoong says. “Yeosang, did you find out when multiple Charlatan’s started appearing?”

“Uh, I have a rough estimate,” he answers. “Up until maybe April of this year, the Charlatan worked solo and, surprise, surprise, only in this city. Then, come April fifteenth, the Charlatan appears in London,” he says. “Before that, it was reported that the vigilante Alis went missing. With that said, we could put the Charlatan’s kidnap-and-hypnotize strategy around maybe April fifth to April ninth.”

“Got it, and how about the mask?”

“Ah, this thing?” Yeosang holds it over his face. “Pretty creepy, no?” He laughs. “I examined Changbin a little more before Wooyoung drove him off to the hospital then I compared it to what we saw on Juyeon. One thing I figured out was that this is no basic hypnosis, none of that watch swinging back and forth bullshit. This is sophisticated, you really need to break someone down to be able to have this much control for extended periods of time—”

“Just get on with it, Yeosang,” Wooyoung shudders.

“Sure, the mask has no affects on the hypnosis. It’s at most a means of communication. With that said… we have a little tracking device here.”

“Are you joking?!” You felt every nerve in your body tense up.

“The Warehouse is surrounded by signal blockers, we’re safe here,” Yunho says.

“Are you sure?” Mingi looks around.

“Well, it’s been here for a while and we’re still alive, so I’d say so,” Yunho adds.

“Either way, I just have to reverse the signal still and we’re good. But, whoever coded this has to be good. The encryptions on it are insanely complex,” Yeosang’s voice falls into a mutter while he focuses in on his laptop again. “Wait, almost… dammit.” You looked over his shoulder, whatever was going on was beyond your understanding.

"What's wrong?" You knew better than to overlook Yeosang's habit of biting his thumb. He mirrors his monitor onto the bigger screen. It showed what you recognized to be the set of the Limitless Podcast.

"Hello." You could recognize the voice of that godforsaken Charlatan from anywhere. "Due to unforeseen events, I will now expedite my list. It is only out of solidarity that I keep their names secret. I will now hunt down the Mastermind, the Huntsman, the Broker, the Cypher, the Blackguard, the Shadow, the Cheshire, the Timekeeper, and the Ace of Spades."

"Solidarity my ass," San grimaces.

"Anyone who associates with them will be tracked down and taken care of regardless of how they know these individuals. If they seek war, then so be it. Are these the vigilantes you idolize so much? Are these the heroes who will save the day? Think of the people who will get caught in the crossfire. Think. I will end the vigilante’s influence once and for all."

Then, the transmission closed, and the group remained in silence as they looked at each other. There was officially no going back. Then, the sudden sound of a radio causes everyone to flinch.

“Sorry, that’s mine,” Yeosang turns it down. “Police radio,” he answers before anyone has a chance to ask.

“We have a 10-65, requesting immediate backup to the Grand Central Bank. Looks like another one of those ‘Villain’ lowlives causing trouble again. Looks like it’s Bambi, and he brought friends. 10-40, requesting immediate backup.”

“You know,” Wooyoung hums. “Nah, nah, it’s ridiculous.” He shakes his head. The nine stand in silence, each of you had listened to that radio. One that, coincidentally, Yeosang hadn’t had until just now. Come to think of it, when was the last time you did something inherently good as a vigilante? You’d just been kicking whoever’s ass deserved it, but, maybe stopping a robbery would be fun.

“I’m on surveillance,” Yeosang raises his hand.

“Front attack,” San raises his hand next.

“Civilian duty,” Mingi mutters.

“Vanguard,” Yunho nods.

“I’ll go in from the back,” you said with a small scoff.

“I’ll help Mingi,” Jongho shrugs.

“I’ll run in with (Y/N)!” Wooyoung smiles.

“I’ll be in the next building over, like usual,” Seonghwa was next to answer. They all turn to Hongjoong.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Hongjoong asks. “Once we do this, there’s definitely no going back.”

“Hey, let’s just consider it a free trial before we do Operation: Charlatan,” Jongho speaks up. “If it crashes and burns, we’ll work on it. If not, good.”

“But now it’s gonna turn into a free-for-all, who can guarantee the cops won’t turn right around and arrest us first? We’ll for sure be on the wanted list,” Mingi says. “So much for laying low…” he adds in a whisper.

“I personally don’t give a fuck, I’ve been bored, let’s have fun,” Yunho smirks.

“Oh, what the hell,” Hongjoong exclaims, “Alright, I’ll join San. Let’s move out.”

~

“Hello? Hello! Testing these things again!” Yeosang’s voice blares in your ears and you turn down the volume. “I see you turning down my volume, Spades.”

“Cry about it,” you continued to cut wires in the backdoor’s lock pad. Wooyoung, meanwhile, hung around behind you. “Fuck it,” you punched the lock pad, effectively denting the mechanism, and the door popped open.

“Huh, who knew that’d work,” Wooyoung comments.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a professional,” you opened the door for him. As soon as you closed it, you heard the sound of guns reloading. “Well, this is awkward,” you rose your hands as soon as the suited lackeys pointed the ARs towards you both. “Didn’t think Bambi would bring his whole family, who do you think will find him first?”

“I will, obviously,” Hongjoong’s voice was clear.

“I take that as an insult,” you dodged a bullet and Wooyoung swung in from next to you, effectively breaking through the line of defense and turning the tides. He disarms the closest one to him and knocks him out, using the bottom of the rifle similarly to a baseball bat and knocking them out. You pulled out three of the knives in your coat and threw them in succession, each of them embedding in the shoulders of the three furthest from Wooyoung.

“Ooh! Nice one, Spades!” Wooyoung right hooks the next lackey while shooting you a thumbs up.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you retrieved your knives whilst knocking them out. You tapped your earpiece “Back corridor cleared, we’re making our way inwards now.”

“Police interception in the West Wing,” Mingi says. “They’re cooperating with me for now, but we’ll see how long until they start dishing out arrests.”

“Any familiar faces, Shadow?”

“Uh, just one, Officer Moon.”

“Got it, got it,” you held your hand out as soon as you heard shuffling down the halls. Wooyoung peered over your shoulder. “We’ve got company.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Ace of Spades?” A voice mocks. A taller woman decked in black and gold, her chin was held high and the top of her face was obscured by her own mask. The choker around her neck was always more of a joke to you, a person who’d latch on to whoever was strongest and feed into their ego before ultimately turning on them. Knives lined the thief’s garter and more of them were in her hands.

“Camilla, you’re looking well,” you grimaced. She was a frequent run in even now. “You switched back to the asymmetrical skirts, not very combat friendly,” you shook your head.

“You brought a friend,” she looks at Wooyoung. Her eyes narrowed at the red circles. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Show us Bambi and I’ll tell you,” you cracked your knuckles.

“Like it was ever that easy,” she spins the knife in her hands.

“Ohh, wait I get it now,” Wooyoung says quietly. His hand juts out and slaps the knife away from you. “Similar fighting styles, not a good match up.”

“Not now, Cheshire!” You took careful steps towards the Villainess. She was a known associate of Bambi’s, always following his trail more like a shadow more than a pet. Why she stuck around him, you’d never know. You and Wooyoung moved like clockwork, easily maneuvering around one another as you closed the distance between the both of you and the rogue thief. One thing you found interesting, though, was how much Wooyoung’s style hasn’t changed. You didn’t work with Cheshire often, but at times you’d both run into each other while the Aces were active and damn he does not sit still.

“Boys! Get them,” Camilla hissed while she slid back, soon replaced by eight other armed lackeys.

“This again?!” Wooyoung rolled his eyes under the mask and off he went. He tumbled, jumped, and evaded attacks from every side while you used whatever was around you to deflect the gunfire. You had to admit, you were impressed, for someone who said that he was through with the vigilante life, he seems to have kept up his physique at the very least. “Spades! I’ve got these guys handled, you get Camilla and find Bambi.”

“Got it,” you broke past the wall of enemies and charged forth down the hallway.

~

“So, Bambi, huh?” Seonghwa was situated on the roof with Yeosang. He kept an eye out on the situation below, being sure to spot any person running out and walking in. Soon, through the back door, one ran out. Seonghwa loaded a bullet into the rifle and aimed at the running target.

“Looks like you’re playing a game, Huntsman,” Yeosang said absently.

“Moving targets were always the best challenge,” Seonghwa mutters. It was true, it took more prediction and more timing. It was much more entertaining than aiming for a stationary target, at the very least. He takes a deep breath and moves the rifle accordingly. Then, as he exhaled, he pulled the trigger. Within seconds, his target was on the floor. “Can’t have any stragglers,” he holds the rifle over the shoulders while he walked towards the hacker.

“Blackguard, watch your back,” Yeosang says into the speaker. He turns to Seonghwa. “You asked about Bambi, right? All I know is that he got more active after the ban.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I kept my tabs on him, but as long as he wasn’t causing too much trouble I usually just let him off the hook,” Yeosang switches to Wooyoung’s screen, watching the vigilante take eight at once. It was a marvel to watch, almost, there was a rhythm to the chaos that was Wooyoung’s attack patterns. “Not very often the mob gets involved with things like these. But Bambi’s an interesting one, subjugating the entire west family of the Capone’s, and then eventually taking over entirely, he’s go guts.”

“I know, I used to work for him every now and then.”

“That’s— wait, what did you say?”

“He used to hire me,” Seonghwa wipes the barrel of his rifle with a cloth. “But, he didn’t really pay well,” he shakes his head and holds the rifle, testing its weight and looking through the crosshairs. “But, his target’s were always worthwhile, they put up a good chase.”

“Should I… should I be concerned about that?”

“No. I was just hoping that we could exchange notes, Mastermind seemed rather intent on getting this one,” Seonghwa huffs. “What do you know about him?”

“I know his name, Byun Baekhyun,” Yeosang answers. “I know he’s united the underground mobs, the Capones, the Falcones, and the Fisks. But, aside from that, he covers his tracks well. I think, and this is only a theory… I think he’s mutant too though,” Yeosang hums.

“In what way?”

“Well, I dug back as far as I could, looks like his father worked at a nuclear plant. I guess one day he brought that radiation home because it killed his mother, but it seemed to have no effects on him,” Yeosang hints.

“Lights tended to flicker whenever he got upset, but I chalked it up to the Underground’s shitty electricity,” Seonghwa adds on. “Who knows, if you’re right that would be interesting. To have certain people who have mutated in some ways, it’s interesting, no?”

“Unnatural, but interesting,” Yeosang adds. “What a terrible life to have.” Yeosang walks towards the power outlet connected to the doorway back into the building, plugging in his charger to one of many laptops. Soon, the door next to him swings open and a suited man walks out, gun pointed toward Seonghwa, who very nearly looked offended. Yeosang, in his pure shock, shrieked and right hooked the man, sending him sliding across the concrete rooftop, to which Seonghwa quickly fired one round, effectively ridding them of the initial problem.

“Now that was a punch,” Seonghwa looks to Yeosang with surprise, who seemed just as shocked at his own strength as Seonghwa was. Yeosang returns to his original spot slowly, Seonghwa watching him the entire time. “Can I…?” He points at Yeosang’s sleeve. Yeosang pulls it up. “When did you start working out?!”

“I got bored?” Yeosang shrugs.

“You got bored? You got bored and started lifting, what, seventy-five?!”

“One-seventy-five, actually.”

“That’s a lot!” Seonghwa’s jaw drops. “Fuck, dude, you can handle yourself, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I appreciate the company,” Yeosang slips his earpiece back in, looking over to San’s screen. “Oh, shit, that’s not good.”

~

San slammed into the wall hard. He spit out the pooling blood in his mouth and he reloaded his gun. He wasn’t expecting to be the first to find the mobster, no way, he was expecting that he’d be on crowd control this time, but he couldn’t let the opportunity slip when he heard the familiar whistling of the villain, it was a habit he had and one that San recognized from when he used to work for him. Everyone dealt with the ban differently, and with his main livelihood turned illegal, Blackguard worked for Bambi. It was only when he got caught getting rid of someone months later that turned the name Blackguard into one of criminal prowess. But, it was the backlash from that mixed with a job he couldn’t do that got him running from Bambi. To confront him now is something that San had been waiting to do for far too long now, he wouldn’t let this chance go that easily.

“Spades owes me dinner,” San clicks his tongue and wipes away the excess blood dribbling from his mouth. Bambi stood before him, pistol in hand and identity obscured by the wide-rimmed hat. He pushes it up slightly. Blood was smeared under his eye, and it was, without a doubt, not his.

“And you owed me their head on a plate, yet here we are,” Bambi sneers. He held a confidently angry look while he stared down the vigilante. The job that San couldn’t do. To locate the Ace of Spades and remove them from the equation. San told Bambi that you were untraceable, and Bambi didn’t take kindly to that. “What are you doing here, Blackguard? I already gave you one chance to never interfere again, yet here you are.” Bambi spots the red circle.

“Whoa, Blackguard, didn’t think you’d find him first,” Yeosang’s voice calmed him down.

“What’s it look like? Have you seen the bounty on you?” San rolls his shoulders, doing his best to ignore the bullet wound at his side. Yet another incentive to turn in the mobster.

“Blackguard, we’re like family, you and I,” the mobster had a sadistic grin. “Ah, pardon me, your real name, Choi San. Family use real names,” Bambi took small steps towards San.

“Blackguard, how does he know who you are?” Yeosang’s voice was worried. San ignored him.

“Baekhyun,” San said between a clenched jaw. Baekhyun placed a hand on San’s shoulder.

“Come back to the family, we’ll take you back in with open arms, all you need to do is to get rid of a certain card,” Baekhyun begins his negotiation.

“Sorry, Bam,” San shakes his head, he slowly takes the gun out of his lower pocket, “but I can’t do that,” San pulled the trigger. Bambi was quick on his feet though, jumping back and firing another shot that San just barely missed this time and- “Argh!” San pulled out the knife that had just lodged itself into his shoulder.

“Camilla,” a sinister grin appeared on Bambi’s face when the woman arrived.

“Ooh, Camilla, that’s new. Last I checked she was buddying up with DPR. Blackguard, not that it matters, but Camilla’s real name is Kang Seulgi, maybe you could say it to throw her off her game.” Yeosang spoke quickly while San dodged the array of attacks. “Where’s Mastermind?” San didn’t answer, he was understandably busy.

“Hey! Two against one is hardly fair,” you kicked down the door and spotted Camilla.

“Oh? So that’s why you didn’t kill the card,” Bambi taunts. San takes another shot and Bambi steps aside.

“Lots of people want me dead, get in line,” you directed your voice at Bambi. Then, pointing to Camilla, you continued. “And you still owe me a dance, love,” you tapped the toe of your shoes on the floor.

“I doubt that your group is merely two, Spades,” Bambi growls. “How many of you are there?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” you pulled out the handgun from your cloak and fired, the bullet just barely grazed Bambi. If you and Wooyoung worked like clockwork, then you and San dancing. Each building off of the other’s moves, it was like you’d been working together all along. And, to some regard, you did. Before the ban, before everything went to shit, it was the Ace of Spades and Aegis that were the frequent team up, the two that people could rely on to save the day. San’s fighting style has greatly changed since then, but you knew well enough to look at the finer details, just enough to realize that the only difference was instead of a shield it was a gun. You took on Bambi while San focused on Camilla, Wooyoung unfortunately had a point about the similar fighting styles thing, and seeing how well San took care of Camilla worried you to some degree. San dodged another bullet, sliding against the floor this time and hitting another wall harshly. The metal panel behind him loosened and he looked up at it.

“Well, fuck it,” he ripped it off of the wall and used it as a shield for him first before throwing it in front of you.

“Decided to pick up a shield again?”

“Not now, Spades.”

“Don’t break it this time.”

“Not now, Spades!” San grabs the sheet again and deflects more of Bambi’s bullets. “How the hell does he have so much ammo?” He asks you.

“Probably strapped under that suit jacket of his,” you answered.

“Are you two having a conversation?! We’re in the middle of something!” Camilla shouts, clearly frustrated with the turn of events.

“Hey, I’m not the one kissing up to a mob boss.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Spades, I’m going to drive a pole through you just like-”

“I’m stopping you right there,” you stepped away from San’s makeshift shield and tackled her down. Camilla maneuvered around to kick you away from her, but you grabbed onto her ankle and threw her to the side. You pushed yourself up and picked up one of your discarded knives.

“Boss!” The radio at Bambi’s side blared. “Boss, we got a problem. Shadow and Timekeeper are here, they’re-” The transmission was cut off and Bambi grabbed onto it while backing away behind Camilla.

“What do you mean they’re here?! That’s impossible, both of them retired ages ago,” Bambi shouts. He looks to you and San across the room once again. “Unless… no.”

“Surprise, mother fucker, we got the band together,” you smiled. You threw a knife to the side, the laced blade just barely scraping Camilla’s neck before she passed out.

“You couldn’t have done that in the first place?!” San argues.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You crossed your arms. “Game over, Bambi, you’re done.” The mobster rose his hands up. Then, from above, a rope dropped down.

“I’ll see you around, Spades,” he grabs onto it and whoever was in the vents above hoisted him up quickly. You and San sprinted for the rope, but it rose before either of you could reach it. You tapped your earpiece.

“They’re in the vents,” you announced. You looked to San and nudged your head towards the door. Right as you passed Camilla, you back tracked. “Do you know what the reward on her is?”

“Uh… a lot probably.”

“Let’s bring her too,” you grabbed the unconscious woman and hoisted her over your shoulder easily. You tapped on your earpiece again. “Shadow, we’re on our way to you.”

“Got it.”

“Where’s Mastermind?” You turned to San.

“Dipped,” San shrugs. “Huntsman, keep your eyes on vent openings.”

“It’s like Among Us,” Yeosang chuckles. “The imposter’s in the vents.”

“Glad someone’s having fun,” Hongjoong’s voice is finally heard again.

“And where have you been?” You had to ask.

“Busy.”

Hongjoong stood in a back corridor, the only thing keeping his identity a secret was the fitted mask. In front of him was a man of high regard. Wearing a suit and tie with his badge displayed for everyone to see, it was an interesting contrast. Hongjoong knew exactly who this was, he read a few of his books before, and he understood this man to have a good understanding of vigilantes.

“Mastermind, long time no see,” the professor had a confident look. He eyes the red circle. “It’s about time a group of vigilantes teamed up, no?”

“And you are?”

“Dr. Jung Jaehyun, professor of criminology at SKU and precinct 127’s main informant,” the man introduced himself despite the obvious. “Mastermind, I want to make a deal with you. I’m sure you know of my ties in the police department, if you agree to what I have to say, I will give you access to all of the Charlatan’s files that we’ve obstructed from the public. Furthermore, I’ll have this group kept out of police records.”

Hongjoong remained silent. Yeosang already had access to those files, but it would make sense for anyone to think that Cypher wasn’t part of this group. This deal would be meaningless. Meaningless aside from getting into the good side of the police, maybe. To hide in broad daylight. And to have someone with good relations to the police backing them? It was almost a deal too good to be true.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I need your direct assistance in disposing of the Charlatan. It’s become a thorn in our sides. I just ask for your direct cooperation.”

Hongjoong crossed his arms. That was a nice way of telling him to submit to the police.

“Mastermind, I can’t hear anything from where you’re at and the cameras are down, are you okay?” Yeosang tried to get into contact with Hongjoong, but he kept his earpiece on mute as he gave his answer to the professor.

General Tag List: @vickylamore @chxngyunie @mizzdivagirl7-blog @sehunnies-hunnie96 @yangsrose @bat-shark-repellant @cloudreads @raeincitizen @here-aeth @lune1897 @gaiyofanfiction @jaeminsespresso @umbralhelwolf @morningsunandnightsky

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @eggoyu

Without a Trace: @thatnelsy @sunsethw4 @leesalts

If you want to be added to either tag list just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

How about a request for batsis getting hurt during a mission and batboys exaggerate 😈 thank u!

I DO LOVE MY BATSIS AND BATFAM FICS LETS GOOOOOO

Also I’m assuming you want a reaction! If you want otherwise do let me know! So let’s get started!

Batsis!Reader Gets Injured in a Mission and the Batboys are the Only Ones Home

No Specified AU

TW: Language

Genre: Fluff, Light Comedy

[DC Masterlist]

Word Count: 1.3K

You skid to a stop on your motorcycle, leaving tire tracks behind you in the batcave. You could clean that later when you weren’t bleeding out. You stumbled off of the vehicle, your hand still clutching on to the bloodied towel that kept your uniform from getting dirty and took your helmet off. You had a rather dirty run in with a few lowtime criminals who some how got their hands on alien tech, how that happened you’d have to ask Star Labs later, but either way despite your many encounters with villains who were much worse, the sudden blast from a laser shocked you just enough for them to get at least a cut in. Regardless you took care of them quickly and took the weapons back, which were now pathetically hanging off the side of your motorcycle.

You rolled your shoulders back and began you ascent up the stairs to get back into the manor, it would be best if you cleaned this up as soon as you could because god were you tired. You opened the door quietly.

“Please may no one be home,” you said to yourself repeatedly. Your brothers had a knack for getting rather loud when you came back with cuts and bruises, but you couldn’t blame them with all of their unresolved trauma and the fact that you, miraculously, happen to be the one Bat that hasn’t either died and came back or gotten beaten nearly to death, which you constantly held over them because damn in this business that’s more than just an achievement.

You successfully made it to the bathroom and pulled out the small medical kit and started working on the shallow wound, and right as you finished the shower curtain pulled back.

“Ahh!” You jumped back.

“Ahh!” Tim got into a defensive stance.

“What the hell are you doing in the shower?!"

"What the hell are you doing without a shirt?"

"I asked first!"

"You don't just sit in the shower to think?" You do, but you lock the door when you decide to do that. "Oh my god, did you get injured?!"

"No," you grabbed your shirt and hid the bandages that wrapped around your torso. You both stared at each other for a moment before Tim darted out of the bathroom. "Don't you fucking dare tell anyone, Drake!" You followed him out and ran into the worst possible person.

"Whoa, careful there, (Y/N), when did you get home?" Dick asks. Then he notices your bandages. "What happened? Who did you fight? Why didn't you call for backup? Where were you?"

"Oh my god, I'm fine, Dick," you walked past him and he caught up with you.

"Fine? Fine? You didn't even wrap that right, (Y/N)," Dick begins his lecture and you begin to tune him out right as you walked into your room and shut the door. Dick, knowing his boundaries, stood outside still lecturing you, and you walked out with a new shirt on and continued to ignore him while he shot you rapid fire questions. "At least answer my first questions, (Y/N)." You sighed, and without turning to him, said,

"Got grazed with a knife. Ran into some burglars that for some reason had alien tech. Didn't need it. Downtown," you answered his questions in succession while entering the kitchen, waving to Jason, who was getting a snack, and Tim, who was probably telling Jason about your predicament.

"Alien tech? And they didn't use it?" Tim asks.

"Exactly, they probably didn't know how to. But it doesn't matter, because I am very clearly fine," you reached past Jason into the refrigerator and pulled out a fruit cup.

"You're bleeding through your shirt," Jason points out. You look down and he was right. You let out another loud sigh and tear off a few paper towels from the sink and placed them under your shirt. "At least dress it right or you'll die from bleeding out rather than actually getting stabbed."

"Well, to be fair, if Tim didn't spontaneously pop out of the shower maybe I would have," you complained.

"You didn't lock the door?" Jason turns to him.

"There are ten bathrooms in this mansion, I didn't think anyone would go in!" Tim defends. "But that's besides the point! (Y/N), I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. If they had alien tech then that knife could have been laced with something."

"Are you implying that I could have alien eggs in me?"

"Why's everyone screaming?" The youngest Wayne entered the kitchen. "I can hear you all from my room."

"Tim thinks (Y/N) got eggs implanted in her," Dick says quickly.

"No, no I don't. Besides, that's not how alien fertilization works."

"You know how alien fertilization works?" You couldn't help the contorted face you made at the thought of how he knew.

"You always do this when we call you out, (Y/N), the point is you could very likely have some kind of alien virus or bacteria inside of you that could quite possibly kill you!"

"Tim, I'm pretty sure it was a normal knife," you walked over to the pantry and took out a bag of potato chips.

"But, if what Grayson just told me was right," Damien cuts in. "How stupid could you be? Letting something as simple as a knife get to you?" He mocks.

"If you weren't a kid I would've punted you by now," you pointed at him with a potato chip and ate it. "Do I have to remind you about last week?"

"No," he scoffs. "But that's not the point. You're trained well enough to avoid bullets and you let a knife get close to you? How out of it were you?"

"I will admit that the alien guns that also shot Bruce did distract me a little."

"And you let them go free?!" Jason finally grasped the gravity of the situation. "What if they come back to find you because they're pissed?"

"Relax, I have them in the batcave," you waved him off.

"You could've been killed," Jason argues.

"Oh stop being so dramatic, Todd, I'm obviously standing here right now, aren't I?"

"One shot from any of those and you could've either been disintegrated or catapulted into another dimension," Tim adds.

"Or worse, completely debilitated and decommissioned," Dick continues.

"You could be dying right now and you wouldn't know it because of how dense you are, (L/N)," Damien was next. You continued eating your chips while they started to talk over each other, then you finally spoke up.

"Okay, I get it, I'll be more careful from now on," you spoke in a steady voice. "Now, I'm gonna go clean this up because I was so rudely interrupted by someone, and when I come back, this discussion will be over," you held your hand up to silence Jason, who was about to retaliate. Then you walked over to the kitchen door and pulled it off of its hinges.

You stood there for a good few seconds, staring at the door in your hands, and the ruined door frame. Then you looked back at the other boys, who essentially all had their jaws on the ground.

"Could she do that before?" Jason asked Dick.

"No..." the other shook his head.

"Alfred's going to kill me..." you laid the door against the wall. You reached for the water bottle on the side of the table and opened it, intending to chug the whole thing down to calm your nerves, but none of the water came out, instead the whole thing was iced over. "Uh..."

The kitchen was silent. You ran back to the bathroom and took your shirt off then the bandages, seeing that the wound had turned blue and had completely frosted over. The other boys followed you, their heads sticking through the door.

"I was right?!" Tim's voice echoed throughout the manor and you slammed your head on the wall behind you.

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

Blame Me - Chapter 1

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Specified gender: Female

Word Count: 4.3K

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader, 

TW: canon typical violence, canon divergence, gore, mention of past major  character death, zombies, a lot of time skips

Genre: Horror ig? 

Series: Blame Me

Requests: CLOSED

Masterlist

A/N: (Y/N) isn’t in this chapter much but she will be soon! This is my first time writing for the walking dead, so I know Daryl is probably out of character. Constructive criticism is always appreciated :) Send me a DM or an ask if you want to be tagged! Enjoy!

When Daryl found out about what they'd done to Merle on that rooftop - left him for dead- he was livid. Merle was no angel, that was for damn sure, but that was still his brother, and they just left him there. And when they got there, and Merle was gone, with nothing left but a hand he'd had to hack off himself? It felt like his world was crashing around him. He couldn't do this. Not again. Then this new sheriff asshole had the nerve to tell him to calm down. Fuck that. He couldn't lose his brother, not him too. But Daryl couldn't seem to catch a break, and suddenly they'd lost half their camp, taken a failed trip to the CDC (that almost cost them their lives - again), and Sophia had gone missing. He was sick and fucking tired of losing people. Maybe that's why he was so hellbent on finding a little girl that wasn't even his. They'd set up a little camp on the edge of some old guy called Hershel's farm, but Daryl didn't want to get too close. He had this awful feeling creeping up his spine, something was gonna go wrong. Someone was gonna die. He couldn't take the blame again. So he stayed away. Set up his own tent, his own fire, Merle's bike parked up against a tree, animals on a line. Just like the old hunting trips he used to take with his brother. Sometimes she'd come, but it wasn't her thing. She'd been keeping him company so far. Even if she wasn't really here. Daryl was so focused on skinning a squirrel that he didn't even hear Carol creeping over. She still had remnants of tears tracked down her face, but they'd been long dried.

"Daryl?" Carol's meek voice broke through the silence, and Daryl looked up briefly a grunt of recognition leaving his throat. She sat down next to him on the log he was perched on "Thank you for everything you've done for Sophia. Her own daddy would have never done the same."

She'd thanked him twice already. He found her doll, not Sophia. As much as he wishes he had. Damn near died for it too, since the throbbing pain in his side liked to remind him

"Only found her doll," He mumbled, glancing over quickly. Carol nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Well, that's just one step closer isn't it?" She replied but she got no response except the famous Dixon stare. He wasn't much of a talker. He was just glad she understood that. They sat there for a few minutes, watching the fire, surrounded by the comfortable silence until Carol looked over to watch as Daryl skinned another squirrel, and a little glimmer on his hand caught her eye. "Hey, what's that?"

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" He huffed out, putting the squirrel to one side, and stabbing the knife into the log beside him, finally giving her the proper response she'd been asking for. Carol reached out and took Daryl's hand, examining it, ignoring the blood on his hands. He'd be surprised if she wasn't used to it by now. But she was right. On his ring finger was a silver band. Just plain and simple. Very Daryl. He snatched his hand back the second he realised what she was talking about. Carol was grinning at him, a tender look in her eyes. God damn that woman for being so observant. Though truly, they'd been in the same group for months and none of them ever noticed, so how observant could she really be? "Shut up."

"You're married?" Carol still had that grin on her face, and though her look was tender, there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. His girl wasn't with him. And while he hadn't fully accepted the fact she could be dead, he had accepted the fact that his chances of ever seeing her again were slim. Especially since it'd been so long.

"Worn ma ring whole time and you ain't never noticed?" Daryl shot back, more defensive than he'd like to have been. He didn't like being snappy with Carol, but, as anyone would have assumed, the topic was a touchy one.

"You and Merle were always off somewhere, or sitting miles away from us. Can't blame me for that," She replied, and to be fair, she wasn't exactly wrong. There was a pregnant pause, where Carol was trying to figure out what she should say. Could he even tell her? He didn't want no pity, but damn, talking about his girl, the memories? Talking to someone who wasn't Merle about her. Maybe it'd be nice. Or maybe not. "What happened to her?"

There was that silence again. The pause weighed heavy on both of them. Daryl took a deep breath and looked over at her. Fuck it. If there was anyone he could tell, anyone he could trust, it was Carol.

"Weren't nothin' bad. Didn't feel it then. Merle and me, we was goin' on 'nother huntin' trip. Ma girl only came sometimes. Weren't her thing. She was goin' to visit her ma, gave me this damn thang," He picked up a battery-powered video recorder from by his foot that Carol hadn't even seen. Yeah, maybe he was wrong about the whole observant thing. The corner of his lips twitched upwards as he opened it. "Said, 'just so you don't forget me'. I told her we'd only be gone two weeks," his fingers fiddled with the buttons, and he grew quiet, clicking onto one of the videos, but not playing yet. "Dead started risin' a week later. The ring and these dumb videos are all I have left right now."

Carol watched him as he talked, seeing the blank expression on his face warp into sadness, as he played with the video recorder, the way his eyes flickered over to his ring every now and again. He didn't think he'd been this vulnerable since he'd last seen his girl.

"She must have been really special to put up with someone like you," She teased, trying to make him a little more comfortable, nudging his shoulder. He smirked, finally looking away from the recorder.

"Yeah, she was," Daryl stated simply, before pressing play on the video.

"The hell you doin', woman?" Daryl's gruff voice sounded from behind the camera, as it spun around to reveal Daryl and a girl, maybe a year younger than him, with (H/C) loose and wild, as she danced around a kitchen. There was loud laughter behind the camera, Merle had been a dick when he found the recorder and kept filming them (he knew Daryl hated it). Lord knows he was thanking that asshole for filming it now. Merle said something in his southern drawl that Carol couldn't quite understand, but by the scowl that appeared on Daryl's face in the video, he clearly heard it. The girl beside him let out a chuckle and suddenly launched at Daryl, clinging to his arm as she bounced on her toes. Daryl lowered his glare to her, but Carol saw his eyes soften slightly. Merle spun the camera around to face him and made some raucous comment about christening the new house while he was away before the camera spun back around. It ended a second later, with Daryl swearing at Merle and using his hand to block the camera, and the girl let out a loud laugh.

Carol was smiling at the camera until she looked over at Daryl and saw a hardened look on his face. Damn those emotions of his.

"What was her name?" She whispered, scared if she spoke too loud, he'd crack.

"(Y/N)" were Daryl's final words, before he picked up the recorder, crossbow, his knife and his half skinned squirrel and moved into his tent, zipping it behind it.

His girl always knew what to do. Knew how to help. She was a leader, even if she liked to deny it. She'd know exactly what to do. Shane was a damn idiot, and Daryl knew she would have dealt with him already, rather than fucking about as Rick had. When Shane threw the barn doors open, letting all them damn walkers out, despite the whole groups' protests, he knew right there that his girl would have dealt with him. And when Sophia came trailing out, pale and cold, white-eyed, dirty with a bloody chunk missing from her shoulder, she would have known exactly what to do. But instead, he was the one catching Carol and watching as Rick put a bullet between her eyes. Daryl's girl would have known exactly what to do. But she wasn't there. As much as he wished she was. He was the one who comforted Carol and tried to help. But, equally, he was also the one who threw blame in her face and screamed at her. She didn't deserve that. No way in hell. But, he didn't know what to do. His girl would've.

"There ain't nothing out here but mosquitoes and ants," They'd only left Rick, Glenn and Maggie two hours ago, but Daryl was already starting to question his decision. He forgot how much his brother liked to run his mouth, and his hunger didn't help calm the situation much either.

"Patience, little brother. Sooner or later, a squirrel is bound to scurry across your path," Merle responded, stood over by the tree to have a piss.

"Even so, that ain't much food," Daryl kept his eyes trained on his surroundings. There'd been more than a few walkers sneaking up on them recently, and he was starting to get paranoid that it was the beginning of a herd.

"More than nothing," That asshole really have to choose now to go all quiet? All his damn brother did was talk.

"I'd have better luck going through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff," Daryl observed, looking over in the direction of the turnoff as Merle zipped himself up and walked over. He had that shit-eating, condescending look on his face. Great.

"Is that what your new friends taught you? Hmm? How to loot for booty? You gotten real quiet since y'all left me on that dead infested rooftop in Atlanta. Them prison pussies soften you up?" Merle teased, looking over at his little brother with an amused look in his eyes. Daryl just snarled slightly, looking back in the direction of the street. "Oh, cmon now, can't be givin' ol' Merle the cold shoulder after all the shit we just went through."

"Man, fuck off," Daryl hissed back, glaring up at his brother. His side was throbbing with what he suspected was a broken rib, or at the very least bruised, after Merle's kicking and punching back in the arena. Merle narrowed his eyes in response, walking over and giving Daryl a light shove.

"What? Ya forget about how I took care of ya? Now ya spent some time with Officer Friendly and you're suddenly too good for ya brother?" He snapped, raising his eyebrows. Daryl huffed and straightened his back.

"Just lay off, Merle. There are walkers crawlin' 'round and ya runnin' ya mouth like a damn fool," he shot back, making a point to keep his voice low. Merle only let out one of his loud raucous laughs, causing Daryl to advance quickly.

"Easy, little brother. Ya lookin' like ya might pop a vein if ya keep gettin' pissed like that," Daryl didn't say anything, just stared back at him, the famous Dixon glare returning. "It's the Dixon's back together again, ain't it a good thang?"

"Not all the Dixons," The younger Dixon grumbled, pulling his crossbow up as a familiar growling filled the air, and a walker stumbled out from behind a tree. A quick pull of the trigger and the damn thing was on the floor, bolt between his eyes. Merle watched him for a second, watched the flash of anger and sadness in his eyes.

"Ya ever find 'er?" He asked quietly, as his brother walked over and pulled the bolt from the fuckers head. Daryl glanced up at him, holding his gaze for a minute before starting to walk again.

"Man, we've been at it for hours. Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish?"

"I think you're just trying to lead me back to the road, man. Get me over to that prison," Merle scoffed. Damn it. He knew his brother'd put up a fight but he didn't think he'd pick it up so quickly. Then again, his brother was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid.

"They got shelter. Food. A pot to piss in. Might not be a bad idea," Yeah, and the rest of his family. And his video recorder.

"If ya gonna try and lead me back to that prison, you could at least answer my damn question, baby brother," Merle stated, noticing how Daryl's shoulders tensed slightly. There was silence, apart from the occasional rustling of trees, which made the brothers look around, never letting their guard down despite the conversation.

"Naw. She was up in South Carolina before these bastards starting comin'. Knew I weren't gonna find her here. Doubt she came back," Was his response, but apparently, that was enough for Merle. For now at least.

"C'mon let's go hook some fish," And with that Merle was steaming ahead, leaving Daryl in place. He let out a sigh and spat on the ground before trailing after the elder Dixon.

But of course, they had to save someone else's asses, nearly getting themselves killed in the process. And of course, Merle wanted to rob this poor family. They had a baby for Christ's sake! "The shit you doing, pointing that thing at me?" Merle raged, once they got a good distance from the group they'd just rescued.

"They were scared, man," Daryl reasoned, narrowing his eyes for what felt like the millionth time.

"They were rude is what they were. Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude," God, if his girl were here, she would have knocked his teeth out by now. She loved Merle and cared about him, but they clashed heads more than he and Daryl did. And damn that was a high number.

"They didn't owe us nothing," he shot back, looking back in that direction, even though the red car the group had been in were long gone

"You helpin' people out of the goodness of your heart? Even though you might die doing it? Is that something your Sheriff Rick taught you?" Merle said with a cold laugh, interrupted halfway through with Daryl's comment of "There was a baby!". Merle couldn't help but think that his brother had gone soft. "Oh, otherwise you would have just left them to the biters, then"

"Man, I went back for you. You weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof. You asked for it!"

"You know-- you know what's funny to me? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. Right?" Merle crossed his fingers in front of Daryl's face, only aggravating the hunter further. " I bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold that you never told him that we were planning on robbing that camp blind. I told you that that woman had made you soft. Hell, ya got married just ta make her happy. Dixons don't need no one but each other!"

"Ya leave ma girl out of this, ya hear? Besides, it didn't happen," Daryl growled, voice dangerously low to the point that even Merle knew he truly should drop his sister-in-law out of the discussion.

"Yeah, it didn't 'cause I wasn't there to help you."

"What, like when we were kids, huh? Who left who then?" Daryl hadn't really meant to say it. He hadn't. But once it was out, the air set on fire, and both brothers were seeing red.

"What? Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"Merle retaliated, pointing and getting right into Daryl's face, knowing how much it got under his skin.

"You lost your hand 'cause you're a simpleminded piece of shit!" Daryl turned his back, moving to pick up his backpack from the floor when Merle lunged forward, gripping the fabric off his shoulders.

"Yeah? You don't know-!" A sharp tug, and a loud rip and Merle's words caught in his throat. Silence filled the air, as the raised and discoloured markings down Daryl's back presented themselves to the world. Some of them were from hunts, or from accidents in the apocalypse, but some, Merle recognised them too damn well from his own time spent with their daddy. Once Daryl had fully clocked what had just happened, he pulled the shirt back up as much as he could and slung his bag over the top. That was it. He'd had enough. " I- I didn't know he was-"

"Yeah, he did. He did the same to you. That's why ya left first," Daryl answered sharply, not turning back to look at him. Merle just shook his head.

"I had to, man. I would have killed him otherwise," Daryl only chuckled humourlessly, and set off in the opposite direction, only turning back when Merle added, "Where you going?"

"Back where I belong," Was Daryl's reply, not even noticing he'd started to spin his ring with his thumb at his side. Old habits.

"I can't go with you. I tried to kill that black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid," Merle tried to reason, but Daryl could only scoff in response. Classic Merle.

"He's Korean," He stated simply.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter, man. I just can't go with you, "Merle pulled a face, and for a split second, Daryl felt guilty. But he was an asshole. If he decided to come, then so be it, but if he decided to stay behind, good riddance.

"You know, I may be the one walking away... but you're the one that's leaving- again."

"What's goin' on that brain baby brother?" Merle asked, leaning in the doorway to the cellblock, slightly alarmed to be sat quietly at the top of the stairway, where his sleeping bag was, spaced out. Normally, he'd be pacing or cleaning that stupid crossbow for the thousandth time. But no, he was dead still. Dead quiet. The others were out and about. Most of them were in the yard, clearing out the walkers that Axel had stupidly let in when he opened the gate. Michonne, Rick and Carl had gone out on a run to their home town for weapons against the governor fucker. And Daryl, Merle and Little Asskicker (who Daryl had found out had been named Judith, but Little Asskicker seemed more appropriate) had been left alone in the cellblock. Rick trusted Daryl enough to keep her safe from Merle.

"Ya really think she made me soft?" Daryl pondered out loud, holding Little Asskicker close to him, as he started rocking her slightly. Merle laughed, waving his metal attachment around dramatically.

"This place's 'bout to go crashin' to the ground, and you're thinkin' about your lady?"Merle wasn't a man of affection, Daryl knew that pretty well, but he also knew when he was deflecting. Merle talked about (Y/N) sure, but only briefly. Since the brothers and his girl got separated in the beginning, they both steered clear of long conversations about her. Daryl just stared Merle down, until he let out a huff, and took a few slow steps into the cellblock. "She made ya soft, ain't gonna lie ta ya. Even you can't deny that, little brother. Never said it was an entirely bad thing."

"She made me better. Never really know what she saw in me, but whatever it was, I'm glad she did," Daryl's lips twitched upwards, as he looked down at Little Asskicker. His girl would love her. She'd love Carl too. Hell, she would love everyone. She would've kept things calm.

"Look, I'm an old redneck asshole, but that girl o' yours is the best damn thing that ever happened to ya. Ya ever find her again, you don't let her go, hear me?" He didn't miss the commanding tone in Merle's voice and part of him wanted to laugh at it. Been a long time since he'd heard that tone. Daryl just nodded. "Ya still got that video recorder witcha?"

Daryl nodded, before jerking his head towards the little pile of stuff besides his sleeping bag. Merle climbed past him, careful not to knock the baby, and picked it up. He sat next to his brother, and for a second it was awkward. They hadn't been this close in years. Not like this. But when Merle opened up the camera and clicked on one of the videos, the awkwardness dissipated.

It took a second for the camera to come into focus, as the blazing Georgia sun reflected off the lens. Once it came into focus, Merle was once again filming the couple. Daryl and (Y/N) were stood in a little lake and both of them were just washing dirt and dried animal blood from their arms and legs, chatting too quietly for the camera to pick up. Merle mumbled something behind the camera about "being too fuckin' absorbed in their own world", when suddenly a laughter-filled scream tore through the peace, as Daryl sent a massive splash in (Y/N)'s direction. She was giggling but giving him a playful glare, the famous Dixon glare. He let out a loud laugh as she tried to push him into the water with little success, until he stepped back and lost his footing, pulling them both under the water. The camera shook as Merle let out a roar of a laugh, stumbling forward towards the water, as the pair came up, both sat on their asses in the shallow water. (Y/N) looked over to Merle, beaming with that smile that made Daryl's heartache, but flipped him the bird when she realised he was filming, shouting "asshole" at him. Daryl just chuckled and pulled her into him, no longer giving a shit about the camera, and kissed her, which they were both smiling into. Merle then said something childish like "horny kids" or something before the video ended, with Daryl and (Y/N)'s foreheads pressed together.

"She's something special ain't she?" Daryl said, through a voice that was thicker than he wished it to be, looking down at Little Asskicker with a sad smile.

"Hell yeah, she was."

Daryl didn't know how much more he could take. The prison had fallen, and they'd taken Beth. He swore he'd protect her. Swore to himself, swore to the memory of Hershel, swore to Maggie. And he still lost her. And when the group of assholes found him sat in the middle of the street, practically walker bait, he was starting to get desperate. He'd do almost anything at this point, he was so lost. His brother was gone now too. He couldn't even rely on that asshole. The one and only thing he'd been able to grab to remember his family was that fucking video recorder. But he'd found Rick, Carl, Michonne. And while he wished he could've found everyone, he was more than happy to have found the kid most of all. Though, he couldn't deny the anguish that filled him when he saw no sign of Little Asskicker and a sombre look on their faces when he asked I think it was safe to say that Rick was going off the deep end again. The man ripped a guys jugular out with his fucking teeth! After everything, Daryl honestly couldn't blame him, but last time Carl nearly lost who he was because of it. That couldn't happen again. Despite it all, they kept walking, and walking and walking, along the train tracks to this place Terminus. 'Sanctuary for all'. Somehow he found that hard to believe. But maybe he would be surprised. Maybe it would be a sanctuary. Maybe they could take a break for once. Yeah. As far as Daryl was concerned, it wasn't damn likely.

TAGS: OPEN

Tags (for this series):

Tags(Daryl Dixon):

[five-rivers]

Questions (Not Answered)

@amabsis  MERRY CHRISTMAS FEATURING CRYTIC DANNY AND HIS SPACE FRECKLES (and one other prompt you sent me, but that one’s a mystery).

.

.

.

Bare feet on ice. Breathe, he reminded himself.  He was human, for now, and he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Ice.  Thin ice.  

He was human, for now, but he didn’t have the weight of it.

In slow motion, he saw the much, much heavier man—Boy, really, he hadn’t graduated that long ago—step out on the ice, brow furrowed. A kind of rage lit him up, a paper lantern that burns itself, like the last time Danny had seen him, a frustration born of not being believed and—

The ice gave way.  

It took him a moment to remember to fall.  

.

Beeping.  White. It took him a moment to remember and remember he had been human.  At least then.  At least now. Something like a fever danced over his skin.  Pinpricks. A heated blanket.  Whiteness he has come to associate with a threat.  

He—

This is a hospital.  

He breathes.  He remembers. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but even less is he supposed to be here.  

There will be questions.  

It isn’t his fault, he reassures himself.  No way he could have been anywhere else, done anything else, except by the actions of others.  Not with safety.  Not with grace.  Not with morals.  

He can smell the other person in the room.  Their sweat.  The fabric softener their suit had been laundered in.  

“You should be dead,” said the man.  Accused the man.  

“Well,” croaked Danny, “clearly not.”

“We didn’t pull you out until after Agent W.”

Couldn’t they use the guy’s real name?  Agent W.  Too many syllables.  Too long to say in the heat of battle, or to keep him from running out and nearly drowning in a half-frozen lake.  

“You’re not dead until you’re warm and dead,” said Danny. “Heard it in a documentary.  Mom and Dad say it’s why you don’t see too many ghosts who died that way.  That and the hallucinations.”

His parents don’t think happy people leave ghosts.  They’re wrong.  In that and many other things.  

He does not look at the man.  The line on the heart monitor goes up and down, dead steady. He did not think of the ghosts he left behind him.  Of the battle and journey that left him on the ice, surrounded by white.

“I think we both know that isn’t true,” said the man with an edge of a growl.  His shadow fell on the edge of the bed.  “We’ve had our specialists look into you, you know.  With your parents’ blessing.”

Blessing.  What a strange way to say permission.  Danny has received blessings.  True blessings.  One is not the same as the other.  He remembers them, towering, like storm clouds, like mountains, like the forest, like the moon, the sun, the stars.  He remembers the lights overhead, circling, and himself, looking up, beneath it all.  He remembers the well, the fountain, the door, the path.

He remembers.  

And he has none of that right now.  No lightning but what he was born with.  No ice but what the doctors chased away, if there were doctors, and not simply more men like the one at his bedside.  No knife or poison but the words on his tongue.  No shield but his disregard.

Human.  

Yes.  

“We even ran you through some of our pattern recognition programs.  Do you know what we found?”

“Enlighten me,” said Danny, dryly.  His voice cracked again, painfully.  

His effort was rewarded with a finger shoved harshly against his cheek.  He winced at the sharpness of the nail and looked directly at the man for the first time since he woke up.  He was reflected twice in the man’s sunglasses, and a third time on the warped silver casing of his overlarge earpiece.  

“Your freckles,” said the man.

“What, did your program decide I had skin cancer or something? Forgive me if I decide I want a second opinion.”

“Constellations,” hissed the man.  “You have constellations in your freckles.  The same as the ghost boy.”

Danny endeavored to raise his eyebrows as far as they could go. “I’m pretty sure that whatever Phantom has on his face aren’t freckles.  Freckles don’t glow.”

“Don’t play games with me,” said the man.  “We aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed.  We aren’t the only ones who’ve put two and two together.”

“To me, it sounds like all you’ve done is give a computer pareidolia, but whatever floats your boat.”

“What is your connection to Phantom?”

“You’ve been listening to Wes,” said Danny.  If his voice wasn’t wrecked, his words would have been dripping with disdain thick enough to drown the man.  Twice.

“Agent W is not the only one to make note of your behavior,” said the man.  “Paulina Sanchez, for example.”

“Paulina,” repeated Danny.  “You mean the girl who has used every available opportunity to tear me down and mock me since I asked her out in freshman year?  You think she wouldn’t lie to your clown squad?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what everyone calls you,” said Danny.  “Also, you shouldn’t be interrogating a minor without their guardian present.”

“How convenient, that you know that.  Reading up on the legal system?”

“My sister had a Law and Order phase.  Speaking of, I want a lawyer.”

“You aren’t under arrest,” clearly disgusted.

“Great.  So, can you tell the doctor I’m awake?  Thanks.”

“We aren’t done here.”

“I am,” said Danny.  He closed his eyes.  “If you don’t tell the doctor I’m awake, I might as well go back to sleep.”  He faked a yawn.  Then yawned for real because yawns were like that.

Then the GIW representative shook him by the shoulders.

He shouldn’t have done that.  For a number of reasons.  Not the least of which being that if Danny was connected to ghostly happenings, he could most likely kill the man with his bare hands.  

This is not what occurred.  

Monitors need leads, need sensors.  Disconnected, they scream.  Much like anything else.

In a hospital, such screaming attracts doctors.  

How nice to know that they were in a hospital.  

.

Snow underfoot.  Booted foot, incidentally.  His parents had brought his boots when they came to pick him up, along with other winter clothes.  The snow crunched and squeaked, declining to melt when he stepped on it.  Which.  Rude.  

The trip to the car was silent and sulky.  Or possibly accusatory.  Or morose.  The nuances of the emotions escaped him.  

“Danny,” said his mother.  “Why were you out on the lake last night?”

Danny had been dreading this.  Anticipating it as one would the end of a fall.  Except he hadn’t hit the ground yet, only the branch of a tree that had the misfortune to get in the way.  

He didn’t have a good answer.  

“There was something I had to do,” said Danny.  Which was both true and vague.  

“In your pajamas?”

Danny winced.  That hadn’t been his fault.  

“We don’t know why you keep sneaking out,” said his father. “But it has to stop.  You can’t do this anymore, Danny-boy.  Especially not if it’s going to end up with you in the hospital.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” protested Danny.  “It isn’t like I lured Wes out.  He went out all by himself!”

“Danny,” said his mother.  “You almost died.  And now the GIW is telling us that your freckles are in the same pattern as Phantom’s ecto-luminescence!”  She visibly worried at her lower lip.  “What happened?”

“And what did you go out for?”  added his father.  

Danny shrugged.  

“Were you trying to help Phantom?”

“No,” said Danny.  

“We know how you and Jazz feel about him, but, Danny, this is dangerous.  That ghost is dangerous.”

Danny looked away.  

“You’re grounded,” said his mother.  

Danny whipped around to face her again.  “What!”

“What else can we do?” asked his mother.  “What else do you expect us to do?  You won’t tell us anything!”

“It was just—” spluttered Danny.  He pressed his lips together, considering.  “I did not go out to meet Phantom,” he said.  Again, it was true.  “I went out because one of my classmates said they were being haunted, and I wanted to help.”  Also true.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked his father.  “It’s our job to deal with ghosts.”

“Yes,” said his mother.  “In fact, I thought you wanted nothing to do with ghosts.”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “Sometimes—” He winced, knowing what he was about to say would hurt. “You aren’t very good at catching ghosts.  And the part I want to have nothing to do with is the one where you cut ghosts up into pieces.”  He paused. “And I don’t know what happened after I got there.”  He did not specify where there was.  “I think the GIW had some kind of weapon?  I didn’t expect them there.  Anyway, there was a bright light, and the next thing I know, I’m out on the water.”

Alright.  He was leaving a bunch out, but the rest was still true.

“You’re still grounded.”

.

He felt heavy.  Whatever had kept him from making footprints on the ice had left him entirely. Or reversed itself.  Either way, stairs, such as the ones he had to climb to reach his room, felt like an imposition.  Nonetheless, he persevered.  

Right up until he collapsed on his bed, overcome with the unfairness of it all.  

“Hey,” whispered the monster that had taken up residence underneath his bed.  “Can I come out, now?”

“You’re clear,” mumbled Danny.

The monster, Phantom, phased up through the bed to lie on it next to Danny.  

“Where did they even get the Ghost Catcher?” he asked, aggrieved.  

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out!” replied Danny. “It doesn’t make any sense, and I can’t very well ask Mom and Dad about it.”

“Ugh.  We’re grounded, aren’t we?”

“I am.  You aren’t.” Danny pulled a face he hoped his other half would recognize from the outside.  “Be careful, though.  Your escape route is gone.”

“I will.  You need to find out how to get us back together.”

“I will,” said Danny.  “By the way, just after it happened, I think I still had access to some ghost powers.  I think I’m still a little, you know.  Not quite right.  It might be the other way around for you.”

“I’ll try and keep an eye on that,” said Phantom.  “It might be important.”

“Yeah,” agreed Danny.  “You should go, for now.  I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad are going to be checking on me all night, and if they see you…”

“Yeah.  I get it.”

“Sorry.”

Phantom bumped his head lightly against Danny’s.  “Nothing to be sorry about.  We both know what they’re like.  I’m going to patrol a bit, then I’ll probably go over to Sam or Tucker’s. In case you need me.”

“Sounds good,” said Danny.  “I’ll just… stay here.  Try to make the Ghost Catcher from scratch.”

“We have homework, too, while you’re at it,” said Phantom, halfway through the wall.  

Danny groaned and rolled over.  He would have to be careful about getting into the lab while he was grounded, and his parents were on high alert.  Perhaps he could convince his sister to cause a distraction?

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers Zero Vol. 12 Azusa Mukami [Track 2]

Original title: 鋭利な切っ先

Source: Diabolik Lovers Zero Vol. 12 Azusa Mukami [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kishio Daisuke

Translator’s note: In the other Zero CDs, it really did feel as if the boys were fighting ‘themselves’ because the voices were almost exactly the same aside from a slightly echo added to the ‘fake’ version. However, Azusa sounds so different when he’s actually talking normal/upbeat, it feels like his enemy is an entirely different person instead. xD I actually really like his normal voice too, especially all the little giggles and noises he makes. It’s a shame he never talks like that in the main series. 

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 2: A Sharp Point

*Rustle*

“Ah...Woah...That startled me...This is my first time...seeing a painting step out of its canvas...Also he looks...just like me...”

( Ehe~ Do I? Fufu~ What a relief. I figured you’d get mad at me for borrowing your appearance without permission. )

Your eyes widen in shock. 

( Ah~ I wonder if I spooked the lady over there? You could say I’m the manager of this place! I don’t have a physical body, so if I don’t do this, I can’t even talk to you guys. )

“A manager without...a physical body...Ah! M-My sincere apologies for entering this place...without asking. I accidentally dropped these drawings earlier as well...”

( Ahー Those sketches are amongst my personal favorites, so I was sad to see them being knocked over onto the floor. However, I happen to be in an excellent mood right now, so it’s all good. It’s been a while since we had visitors after all. On top of that...What a lovely scent. I’m sure you’ll make for an excellent meal. )

“...Eh?”

You flinch.

( Ah...Did I make you worried? Rest assured, she won’t be the only one, I’ll make sure you suffer the same fate. )

“W-What do you mean...? Are you going to...eat us?”

( Yeah, that’s right. The large amount of portraits you saw at the entrance are all of visitors who met their end here. ...Once you’ve set foot inside this museum, you cannot make it back out alive. After the two of you have been consumed, I’ll display your pictures there as well~ )

“T-That’s...troubling!”

Azusa grabs hold of your hand.

“Eve, let’s run...!”

The two of you make a run for it.

*TIMESKIP*

“Haah, haah...T-To think he...eats his visitors...Haah, haah...We should have...never entered this place...Haah, haah...We have to hurry up...and get out of here...before the other me...catches up to us...! Haah, haah...Eh!?”

You suddenly come to a halt.

“What is...this...? A large butterfly is...pinned to the door...? Haah, haah...We can’t get out through here. Let’s look for another exit...”

The painting demon suddenly appears in front of them.

( ...Woah there~ )

“...!!”

( The large pin keeping that butterfly nailed against the door...It’s one of my favorites because of how thin and sharp it is. Even after being turned into a specimen, the butterfly keeps its beauty, so I’m sure the two of you would love to experience it as well? )

“...! I have...no intention of becoming a specimen...”

( Is that so? Then...I guess this will strike your fancy more? )

*Cling*

“...Ah!”

( Say...This knife is incredibly sharp, don’t you think? If you cut with it, lots of blood would come flowing out...It’d make for quite the show, don’t you think? Could I test it out on you guys? You don’t mind, do you? )

He steps closer.

“Y-You can’t...! Doing that to me would be one thing but...I won’t let you treat her badly! Ugh...”

Azusa steps in front of you to protect you.

“Why do you...eat...us visitors?”

( I mean, hunger makes you sad, right? )

“Even if you are...hungry...We won’t become your food...I’m begging you...Please give up.”

( I won’t be the one eating you! The museum is the hungry one after all. )

“...E-Eh?”

( Right, you don’t know, do you? In that case, I have to inform you! ...You see, this museum is a living creature. )

“A living...creature? ...This building is...alive?”

( It sure is! Therefore, you have to feed it! )

The fake Azusa walks up to you.

( Hm...This girl over here... )

*Sniff*

( Smells so lovely, I’m sure the museum will be thrilled. Fufufu~ )

“...! I-I won’t let you...! I definitely won’t hand her over!”

( Why? Why would you be so mean? Do you enjoy tormenting me? Fufu~ That’s not bad either, but right now I have to prioritize meal time... )

*Cling*

( I’ve been honing it well, so I’ll make sure it hurts a lot, okay~? )

*STAB*

“...Ah!”

You rush over to Azusa’s side.

“I-I’m...fine...I’m used to being...hurt after all...Ugh...”

He collapses.

*Thud*

“My body’s...”

( Fufufu~ This knife has been coated with poison, so you won’t be able to move for a while, you know? )

“Kuh...! Eve...Go!”

You shake your head.

“No buts! Just run...! I’ll be...fine, okay? So hurry up...”

He faints.

*Rustle rustle*

( Hehe~ He’s out cold. ...You’re up next, huh? Fufu~ Don’t worry! I don’t want to waste your blood, so I’ll only make a very light cut. ...Goodnight~! )

*SLASH*

*TIMESKIP*

*Cling cling*

( Ahー You’ve awaken? )

You mistake the demon for Azusa at first. 

( Oh no, I’m the portrait! The boy you were with...is next door~ It’d be troublesome if you were to run away, so I’ve crucified you both. (1) )

You try and free yourself from the restraints.

*Cling cling*

( Ah...Why are you screaming? Oh, right! You didn’t like this exhibition floor very much, did you? What a shame, all of these specimen are lovely after all. )

You frown.

( However...Right now, you’re one of them! You’ve also been pinned down, so you have to get along with the other artworks! )

*Cling cling*

( Haah...Why won’t you listen to me? Just look at how good the other works are! Ahー Right! You can barely wait, can’t you? I guess you want to become this museum’s prey as soon as possible! I’m sorry! Did I leave you waiting? I wanted to hurry up and move to dinner time as well. Good thinking, let’s do just that! )

You protest.

( How am I wrong? Don’t worry, I’ve already got everything prepared. Usually, I would just hurl the prey into the canvas whole. That’s how the museum eats them. )

Your face turns pale.

( However, I’m sure you have a special taste, so to ensure the museum gets to eat you at your best, I’ve decided to chop you up finely~ )

*Cling*

( Fufu~ This knife has a very thin blade, so it cuts extremely well. Don’t worry. I’ll properly cut you up! )

You start struggling again.

*Cling cling*

( Aah...! I can’t cut very well when you’re moving around like that...Hm...I suppose I’ll have to keep you in place with something? Oh! Right! )

The fake Azusa picks up a large pin. 

*Thud*

( If I pierce this large pin right through you, you won’t be able to move, huh? )

Your eyes widen in horror.

( Aah~ The tip is sharp and looks very painful, don’t you think? No matter how feisty the prey may be, when you stab them with this bad boy, they’ll behave in no time! Hmm~ Now where to stab you? Your belly, perhaps? )

*Cling cling*

( Ah...Don’t make a fuss. I won’t be able to pierce it through very well. Keep still, okay? )

*Cling cling*

( Hm...Didn’t you hear me when I told you to keep still? The pin’s no good either? )

*Thud*

( Ooh! Right! You wanted me to do this...didn’t you? )

He steps closer.

*Rustle rustle*

( You prefer fangs piercing your skin over a pin, right? )

You flinch.

( You seem delicious, so stopping your movements by sucking your blood would be better, no? Mmh~ Let’s do it like that then. )

He leans in.

( Hmm~ The upper arm...It’s so soft, I’m sure my fangs will just sink right in. I’ll plunge them in deep, okay? )

The demon bites you.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

( ...Haah! Woah! It’s my first time tasting such sweet blood! I only wanted to paralyze your movements, but now I want to suck you dry! ...I wonder how you taste in other places~? ...How about I bite your lips? It’s a tender spot, so I’m sure it’d be painful for you. Fufufu~ Your frightened expression...It’s very nice! Very much so! )

*Sluuuuuurp*

( ...Oh? Does it feel good? You like being hurt, huh? )

*Cling cling*

( Eeh~? Why would you lie? I mean, your eyes are watering. You’re actually eagerly awaiting this, aren’t you? Fufu~ The more painful, the better, no? Don’t worry, I’ll hurt you even more. You’ll be turned into prey soon, so I’ll give you my fangs wherever you want them. )

*Cling cling*

( Ah, ah, aaah...You’re wrists are all scraped up because you kept struggling. Say, does it hurt here? )

You cry out in pain. 

( Fufufu~ It hurts yet you seem happy. Perhaps I should bite right through the scraped skin~? Fufu~ Ah...I’ll loosen the chains just a little, okay? )

*Cling cling*

( There we go...Woah...Hohoho~ The skin has turned red and it’s bleeding slightly. Don’t worry. I’ll soothe it by giving you an even greater pain, okay? )

He bites your wrist.

*Sluuuurp*

( Haah...Hahaha~ Ah. It feels that good, huh? The more you resist, the richer your blood becomes. Fufufu~ Hm~  There’s a delicious smell wafting through the air~ Say...Give me more? You don’t mind, do you? )

*Rumble*

( Wah...!? What was that just now...!? )

*Rumble rumble*

( She’s in pain...Oh no! I have to hurry and rush to her side! )

The fake Azusa immediately moves away, running towards the door.

( Ah...! You stay put here, okay? I’ll make sure to chop you up once I’m back! )

He leaves the room.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

Translation notes

(1) 貼り付け or ‘hari-tsuke’ applies that they are not simply tied up, but also hanging to something. The word is also used to refer to ‘Crucifixion’ after all. It isn’t specified what exactly you and Azusa are tied to, but I assume it’s a wall of some sorts? 

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Bicker Bros Incorrect Quotes

Bentley: You're 'the second worst thing to ever happen to those orphans', what does that mean?

Paxton: It means i was second worst thing to happen to those orphans. Bentley: but what’s the first worst thing? *Awkward pause* Paxton: Bentley, they...they weren’t always orphans. Bentley:

(OMG THIS IS FROM DSMP AND IT ACTUALLY WORKS REALLY REALLY WELL--?? TECHNOBLADE YOU NERD)

Bentley: Here's some advice Paxton: I didn't ask for any Bentley: Too bad. I'm stuck here with my thoughts and you're the only one who talks to me

(Paxton is not dealing with ANY of his shit.)

Bentley: So what’s for dinner? Paxton, staring at the food they just burnt: Regret.

(Can confirm, Paxton cannot cook to save his life.)

Bentley: What if the 'g' in 'gif' is silent? Paxton: Go the fuck to sleep Bentley: What gif I don't want to? Paxton: Fuck You

(Typical Bentley move: Be as annoying as humanly possible.)

Bentley, standing with their back turned: I’ve been expecting you, Paxton. Paxton: How did you do that without turning around? Bentley: ... To be perfectly honest, the first couple of people I did that to were not you.

(He’s dramatic enough to do this, even if Isabelle and Justin probably walked in on him and thought what he was doing is cute.)

Bentley, pointing: May I sit there? Paxton: That's my lap Bentley: That doesn't answer my question, Paxton.

(Paxton: Do you want to keep your ears? Bentley: Why would sitting down make me lose them?? Paxton: That doesn’t answer my question, Bentley.)

Bentley: Paxton... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor? Paxton: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned. Bentley: Bentley: I wrote sanitize, Paxton.

(This would happen between Bentley and Wired Paxton for sure.)

Bentley: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve. Paxton: I think you mean cards. Bentley, pulling knives out of their sleeves: No, I do not.

(Violence is always an option.)

Bentley: You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon. Paxton, not looking up from their book: Spear. Bentley: BLOCKED.

(Yet again, this is just canon.)

Bentley: *holding a bottle* Is this whiskey or perfume? Paxton: *chugs entire bottle* Paxton: It’s perfume.

(And then he took him to the hospital.)

Bentley: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running? Paxton: Oh, I’m always running Paxton: The question is from what

(His own thoughts for the most part.)

Bentley: Do you have any skeletons in your closet? Paxton: You mean literally or figuratively? Bentley: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

(Bentley: Either you’re being a smart ass or I need to call the police.)

Bentley: I can explain. Paxton: Can you? Bentley: If you give me thirty seconds to think of a lie.

(Paxton: *aggressively slams down cooking timer, making direct eye contact the entire time*)

Bentley: If you were to vacuum up jello through a metal tube, well I think that’d be a neat noise Paxton: I beg to differ Bentley: Then Beg

(Bentley: ... Okay I don’t like how that sounds-)

Bentley: Paxton and I have the kind of easy chemistry where we finish each other's- Paxton: Sentences. Bentley: Don't interrupt me.

(A very good description of their irritable but tight bond.)

Bentley: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars. Paxton: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life.

(Paxton being feral pt 1)

Bentley: Can you please be serious for five minutes? Paxton: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

(Sarcasm fuels him.)

Bentley: Top 30 reasons why Bentley is sorry... Number 5 will surprise you! Paxton: Top 30 anime deaths. Number One: YOUR FUCKING ASS RIGHT NOW!!!

(Just... every argument between them. Ever.)

Bentley, watching the news: Someone tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today! Paxton: *walks in covered with ink* Well, maybe the squid was being a dick.

(Paxton being feral pt 2)

Bentley, addressing the squad: And if you have any suggestions feel free to put them in the suggestion box. Paxton: But – that’s just a trash can. Bentley: It sure is!

(Then they have to get rid of it because Justin keeps digging through it for snacks.)

Bentley: I'm a reverse necromancer. Paxton: Isn't that just killing people? Bentley: Ah, technicality.

(Bentley being a gremlin pt 1)

Bentley: Paxton! My face is on fire! Paxton: Bentley! Are you ok?! Bentley: Oh yes, I'm fine. I just said that to make sure you'd come in here quickly. Paxton: But your face is on fire. Bentley: Yes. It's much faster than shaving.

(Paxton regrets caring for Bentley so much.)

Bentley: This is bothering me. Paxton: Well, you are digging up a corpse. Bentley: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

(I love how two of these randomly generated quotes almost in a row have implied that Paxton and Bentley have commit crimes together.)

Bentley: Fuck. Paxton: We've got to work on your cursing. Bentley: Why? I'm pretty good at cursing already.

(Probably has happened.)

Bentley: Am I in trouble? Paxton: Take a guess. Bentley: No? Paxton: Take another guess.

(Someone has to dad him when Justin isn’t around.)

Bentley: I'm 10 times funnier and sexier than you Paxton: 10 times 0 is still 0 though Bentley: Jokes on you, I can't do math

(Again, has definitely happened.)

Bentley, tending to Paxton's wounds: How would you rate your pain? Paxton: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

(Bentley, tending to the spear wound on Paxton’s arm* Can you take this a bit more seriously??)

Bentley: Are you an ‘arr’ pirate, or a ‘yo ho ho’ pirate? Paxton: I’m a ‘I’m not paying $600 for photoshop’ pirate.

(..I mean he would pirate things--)

Bentley: How many kids do you have? Paxton: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

(Father Paxton)

*Bentley and Paxton are doing something absurdly dangerous* Bentley: I think Houdini did something like this once! Why, if I recall correctly, he was out of the hospital in no time! Paxton, deadpan: Well that's encouraging.

(LITERALLY DOING ANYTHING TOGETHER EVER)

Bentley: So that’s my plan. Paxton: Are you alright with constructive criticism? I don’t want to sound mean. Bentley: No, go ahead, I want to hear it. Paxton: It fucking sucks. Bentley: That’s not constructive criticism.

(Paxton knows what constructive criticism is, he just doesn’t care enough to give it.)

Bentley: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Paxton: How can you still say that? Bentley: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

(Reminds me of the grouptale comic.)

Will probably start drawing these, they are great fun

[whumperfly-chaser]

Maurice- Ch 2 | A realization

Don't you just hate it when you find out your tenant has been secretly using his home to host and torture someone for his own sick pleasure? Simply the worst way to start an afternoon.

T/W's here: (Emeto, dirty home, rotting foods and other bits, abandoned setting, infestation) (Lmk what else to tag!)

It would’ve been a pleasant afternoon, drizzling slightly on clean sidewalks and an overgrown lawn, children in raincoats playing in the neighboring yards, and birds singing happily under the shower. It would’ve been a pleasant afternoon, but not for Denice or Martin. No… Not for them in the slightest. Denice tightens her grip around the umbrella handle as she listens faintly to Martin’s complaints.

Prev- Next

“I’m telling you Denice, you’ve got to stop thinking that Roger was up to this shit. Sure, he was a little off sometimes, but he paid the rent just fine.”

“And I’m telling you that I heard something in here. I could’ve sworn I heard a scream when I was walking by. That’s no dog, Martin. It sounded human and scared and I-“

“And you what, Denice?” Denice looked at him with a sort of restlessness, every once in a while she gazed at the innocuous exterior. This house used to be hers. It used to feel nice to walk by and it used to feel safe. But now… all it gives her is a sense of dread.

“Are you really going to break into a tenant’s home just to investigate a random shout you heard? That could literally be anything!”

She crosses her arms. “I know what I heard, Mart. And it’s not his home anymore; he’s dead.”

Martin groans, dragging his hands down his face, releasing it with a snap. “Denice, you’re being unreasonable. The guy could’ve had a kid over-“

“He has no kids. And he mentioned it when signing the lease, too.”

“Like hell you remember when he signed that lease.”

“Steel. Trap. Memory. He said, and I quote; ‘I know this neighborhood is real quiet, so don’t worry, I never have anyone over, it’s just me in here.’ End quote.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “He could’ve been watching a movie-“

“That was no movie. It was guttural- and- and real.” Denice shudders, hugging herself as she takes another longing look at the house.

“It could’ve just been him yelling after a rough day-“

“The voice was too high compared to Roger’s.”

“It could’ve been coming from another house, or a person nearby.”

“It was coming from the house.”

Martin stares at her, half nonplussed and half exasperated. When Denice raises an eyebrow at him he simply looks away, staring at nothing in particular as he finds the words to say in response.

When he finally looks back at her, he’s no longer fully disbelieving her, but he’s definitely hesitant. “Look. You heard that noise weeks ago, Denice. Whatever it was, it isn’t there anymore. Plus, do really you think I’m going to go in there when our tenant might have been a psychopath with- people in his house?”

Denice almost glared, but instead she simply took to walk down the dirty stone path to the entryway.

“Denice- Denice, what in the absolute fuck are you doing?!”

“If you don’t want to go, fine. But voice or not, I still need to evaluate the condition of the house.”

“His family might still want his things-”

“He has none he’s close with. He signed his coworkers as references, too. Plus, I have the right to inspect.”

Denice opens the three locks in the front door like clockwork and swiftly opens the door to a dark and dusty apartment. It’s a fairly straightforward layout, with an L-shaped couch and some pillows, a plain carpet, and a coffee table in front of it. On the adjacent wall there’s a television on a shelved stand with some mildly off abstract paintings, strewn with messy strokes of black, blue and red paint. She glances at it for a second and finds herself looking away just as quickly.

Despite that, it was a normal-looking home, if not unsettling because of how abandoned it felt.

The smell is bad, but bearable as she turns on the lights. The furnished living room has a thin layer of untouched dust coating it, as though it finally had time to settle. It’s as she enters the kitchen that the putrid smell hinted at before hits full throttle. She swallows dryly and takes a step back, bumping into… someone’s chest…

Denice shrieks, struggling as a hand is placed on her shoulder-

“Shush! It’s me!” She snaps open her shut eyes and relaxes only slightly upon seeing Martin’s worried face looking back. He retreats his hand and takes two paces back himself, arms up in caution. “Sorry I grabbed you.”

“Oh-!” She heaves to herself, pressing a palm to her chest as if guiding her lungs to stretch further. “I-It’s okay, just don’t- don’t do that again, Mart.”

Martin nods, grimacing from the overall scent of the home. “I’m really sorry… Um.. I found these keys? They were on a keyring next to the door, but they don’t seem to belong to any of the locks.”

“Keep them for now. Maybe he changed some? We’ll have to check if he put a lock or three somewhere here.”

“Isn’t that against the lease?” he asks whilst putting the small wad of keys in his back pocket.

“I’ve got other things to worry about right now… But we’ll need to look through the whole house.”

Denice inspects the room. Kitchenware, some appliances- a toaster oven, a blender… A very… diverse knifeblock… She pulls out a knife, only to find that it seemed recently polished.

Martin notices her interest in them. “Maybe he was interested in keeping everything maintained. The rest of the house seems pretty neat.”

Denice glances at the oxidation creeping from one of the thinner knives and doesn’t touch it. “…Maybe.”

“Is it me, or is the smell coming in stronger from the refrigerator?” Martin asks, but seems hesitant to open it.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Martin grimaces and looks away from the fridge as he pries it open. The lights snap on, revealing worms and maggots feasting on rotted food. One or two grown flies emerge from the indistinguishable piles of muck and escape the fridge as Martin slams the door shut. “SHIT!”

“The fridge wasn’t closed properly, I’m guessing…”

“You’re guessing? Shit’s a pigsty.”

“That’s what happens when food rots near the presence of flies, Mart.”

Martin gags. “No shit, Sherlock. Hell, did anybody even come in the house after he died?”

“I doubt it… Let’s just move on.”

“Let’s.” Replies Martin, looking through the cabinets. There were several lining the corners of the room, about twenty total; ten above and ten below. Unsurprisingly, a variety of spiders had long made their homes inside of the spaces from the absence of movement. The occasional pest would skitter between the raised boards, one of which being a cockroach large enough to garner a scream from the buxom woman. Martin was ever quick to kill it, slightly more composed than his counterpart.

“I don’t get why he’d have so little spices and so much salt.” Martin finally remarks, opening one of the upper cabinets.

“Maybe he likes pickling food?” Denice supplies, frowning at the dust layering the pots and pans below.

“I doubt it. His fridge would’ve been a lot more tolerable- and less… maggoty.” Martin shudders and proceeds.

Denice is opening yet another cabinet door when the realization finally hits her- She snaps back to a rather calm Martin, who was inspecting one of the bags. “Wait! Mart!”

Martin simply stared at her, nonplussed. “What?”

Denice stares back at him, then his hand. “Wait… didn’t you mention that salt burned you guys?”

Martin looks at the salt in question and chuckles softly, then pats the leaking paper bag. “Don’t worry, salt is only a big deal for obligate vamps.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. Plus I’m almost sure this is full of drugs.”

“It’s too granulated for that, Mart.”

“You never know.” Martin shrugged and placed it on the counter, continuing his run-through.

Why was she even doing this anymore? Did she really want to know what else was here?

…And yet, she finds herself opening the last cabinet regardless, surprised to see a different, smaller fridge inside it.

“…Mart, did we ever leave a mini-fridge here?”

“No? why would he own a separate fridge? Did he own snakes? a lizard of some kind?”

Denice cracks it open, shuddering at the sickening smell of iron and old blood, all in bloated vacuum-sealed bags, separating into clear, off-yellow plasma and coagulated chunks of dark rot. “He- he’s human, right?”

“Yeah? His ID would’ve specified if he were a supernatural.”

“Martin… Either he was a vampire, or he has enough blood to house one for no reason.”

“Blood? Wait-“ Martin ambles over to see it and retches at the sight, spitting into an overfilled trashcan nearby.

“Holy shit.“

“Martin- hey, it's okay man.” Denice rubs small circles on his back, and Martin coughs in his panic until it slowly died down. All is quiet between them, buzzing with unsaid questions.

"It's the smell that's killing me. It's wrong. Blood shouldn't be.." He straightens- realizing something until the last words finish his thought. "...wasted. Denice."

She perks at the call. "What?"

“You need a license to buy blood.” He silently mentions, the statement lingers in the air, weighter. His slitted pupils are wide and anxious.

Denice looks back at the minifridge, glancing at the almost rudimentary setup for storing the bags, compared to the professional handling she's seen with actual banks on the few times she accompanied Martin.

“I think-… I think this was his own. And you aren’t supposed to house vampires—even if you sign for them.” Denice feels her stomach lurch as she closes the door of the minifridge.

Martin looks at the blood with an apathetic sort of disgust, the bags having insulted his senses for the last time. “Will you please close the fridge already? The kitchen smells awful as it is.”

“Oh- Sorry. Let me just-“ She tries to close it normally, but it doesn’t really shut. A bit more pressure is applied, and even then the door bounces back open. One of the bags had clearly tilted out of shape when she opened it, but… Denice was not about to touch it more than she had to already.

She gives it a hearty shove.

There’s a squelch when it shuts, leaving a gush of sickly, yellow-tinted plasma to shoot and bead along the dirty linoleum flooring. Some clots of dark, runny sickness sputter and run down the fridge door

“…I burst one.” Denice gags while a strangled sound escapes Martin’s chest.

Martin heaves dryly, pressing a fist to his lips and an arm around his stomach as though it would stop him from vomiting altogether. They really should’ve placed a better window in the kitchen.

This could’ve been a nice afternoon.

“Den- Denice, I need to take a breather, yeah? or- or- I’ll definitely throw up. Let’s get to somewhere else- I can’t- I-”

“Y-Yeah… Let’s just get out and recuperate a little.”

Denice walked out of the kitchen with Martin following closely behind, his breaths stifled to try and limit the amount of bad air he inhaled.

But now Denice was even more unsure if she wanted to see what else lied in the house. Even with someone as strong as Martin beside her, she felt nervous. Uncertain.

Afraid.

Martin seemed to sense her worry and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We can always leave. You don’t have to stay here and see whatever else was in here.”

Denice enjoys his touch a little longer, thinking on what to say in response. In truth, she did want to leave. She wanted to leave from the beginning. But seeing just what they found now… Well, the knowledge would only eat at her if she didn’t find a conclusion to this.

“…Let’s just see the rest of the place, and we’ll leave right away. Is that okay with you?” She says despite herself. Martin looks absolutely disinterested in continuing the search for the scream’s source, but sighs. “I’ll go.” The relief Denice feels at those two words is immense. “But only because I don’t want you to be in here by yourself.”

“Thank you Mart.” “Don’t mention it.” His tone is curt yet warm, and Denice opens the door to the staircase with a bit more confidence.

They walked up the pine stairs with little conversation- the smell noticeably got better as they left the kitchen area, until it was replaced entirely by the musty scent of dust and no air circulation. The other two bedrooms were normal; they were replaced with an office and storeroom, both of which had no outstanding features. In truth, besides the paintings, there was a very little amount of personality in his home décor.

The attic was a different story altogether.

Martin bumped his head for the third time on the attic’s ceiling when Denice had seen it- shackles. Chains. Restrains of all shapes and sizes. Whips, prods, pokers and knives. Tasers and Gags and ropes and belts and flails- and a bowl.

A bowl of water, next to a spray bottle. Martin touches it and recoils- hissing to himself as he stared at his now reddening hand.

His burned hand.

----

They stumble out of there, disconcerted and horrified as each of them try not to think too hard on their findings. The lawn door creaks and wanes on its rusty hinges until they both find a place to sit under a lawn table’s umbrella and chairs.

And so they sat, not quite talking but exchanging conversation through glances alone. Martin takes a deep, shuddering breath and holds his head in both hands while Denice hugs herself, desperately trying to make sense of it.

But no matter what, they couldn’t quite make sense of it. It could have easily been confirmation-bias, but every path seemed to lead back to her original theory, and they hated it.

Martin still looked unnerved, his grey-tinted features dark despite the sun peeking out on him. He tapped his fingers against the clouded glass and grimaced- rubbing his fingers together at the gritty feeling of muck layering the table. He takes a quick sip of his flask and grunts as his burnt hand slowly starts regrowing the tissue.

"...It was concentrated." He eventually says after noticing her worried glances. "Fuckin' liquid was probably saltier than the ocean. Could've been acid for all I know. "

Denice felt herself losing composure as well- an internal tremor echoed through her as her worries piled on. Further and further it pushed her will to continue looking. Yet the most she could do was retreat into a better space- a more optimistic section of her thoughts where the noise she heard was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

She couldn’t imagine how Martin could feel about this- he was a vampire himself, and was now dealing with the possible reality of one of their tenants illegally hosting an unregistered vampire in his home. Torturing a vampire. Feeding it with his own blood to avoid getting into a registry.

She can't unthink it. She doesn't want it to be true, and yet she feels it's growing more real by the second.

She's rethinking every instance with the tenant, no longer a placid young man with a mild interest in the arts, but holding those pokers, those knives, those weapons, and using it on someone. On her. On Martin.

She desperately hoped for it to be a joke. A gag. Something unreal and unbelievable, as Martin had told her just an hour ago. But reality was setting in too quickly for fantasy to fill in the gaps, and now she had seen too much.

Martin was the first to speak.

“I’m calling the police.” It’s such a firm statement that it leaves Denice even more unsure. If they called the police, what would happen? Did they really expect something to make sense if they did? For some justice when they didn’t even know if the man did this? They would most certainly laugh. Laugh at them both for calling them over simply because they saw some odd things in his own home.

She remembers how each weapon had drying flecks of dark ichor lacing them and gags.

“…It's not going to be a good idea. There isn't much in terms of evidence.”

Martin glared at her momentarily, his gaze only softening upon seeing her distress. “We can show them what we found-“

“And then what?”

Martin looked away and at his hand, pensively staring at the mottling patchwork of repairs on his skin. “I don’t know.”

Denice unknit her brow. “Well… we still have one last room to search through. None of the keys fit the other doors. If we see something truly incriminating, we'll call.”

Martin flexed his now-healed hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling forcibly as though trying to grasp his last strands of composure. Or savoring the fresh air while he still could.

“Fine, but I’m not going back there for longer than I have to, and neither are you. Comprendes?”

She nods, now set and resolute. Martin stood up and stretched, his joints popping until he heaved a breath and walked to follow his partner. The one place they hadn’t searched. The last room. The room they both dreaded entering.

The basement.

[faraway-in-headspace]

I?? I searched Chicken Choice Judy on google out of curiosity because it sounds oddly familiar like there’s a similar-sounding name and I found 4 websites selling the shirt design. But the descriptions on these pages are BUCK WILD??

Written version of the descriptions under the cut (very long).

[Begin ID

First image states:  Long ago, when I had hair, I was an undergrad living in a house with nine other men. Near as I can tell, three of them (not sure which three) never bought food, just lived off what they stole from the Chicken Choice Judy shirt But I will love this other seven. We had several house meetings about it, but nothing changed. One day, I came in from grocery shopping. By coincidence, all 10 of us were in the kitchen. I started putting my stuff away. 1st thing I pulled out of the bag was my half-gallon of milk. I opened the carton, took a couple of drinks from the carton, then gargled some of it, and spit it back in. I opened my tub of margarine and licked the whole surface. By now, the room chatter had stopped because the other nine jaws had dropped open.) To your original question, those specific topics would take several years to build, as they depend on several layers of pre-requisites, which would require either that more advanced topics such as algebraic topology to be taught in elementary school, or that the buildup process happened blazingly fast during high school – both of which probably stretch the biological limits of what pre-teens and teenagers can reasonably be expected to accomplish. I spit on all my veggies, took the bread out of the package, and licked and spit on it, then carefully put it all back in the plastic bag. Remind teenage daughters to look through them before going on date with the boyfriend, in case they want to use one. I labeled it all and put it away. None of it was stolen. I never said a word, but I made it a point to repeat the performance anytime anyone was around to see it. Others began to emulate my approach and food theft stopped. Even I found it revolting, but it solved the problem. Works even better if you are sick or can at least make your thieving roommates think you are. While some cities are starting to reopen in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, people around the country are continuing to wear masks in public and practice social distancing. Vogue is committed to staying safe, and offering hopeful, optimistic content that highlights moments of camaraderie and exceptional acts of heroism from around the world. We are all looking for a little comfort too—be it a soothing Instagram account or a stylish creator on TikTok. It reminds us of the power of little things.

Second image states:  A couple of guests informed me my office was too minimalist and that they expected more things to be hanging on my wall the Chicken Choice Judy shirt besides I will buy this next time they visited my wife’s and my home. I kinda hope they held their breath while they were waiting for our next invitation. They both went on to backstab me and my wife pretty bad a few years later. Another set of guests tried to squat. I had driven them all the way from Florida to Massachusetts under the impression that they had jobs and a place to live lined up. They offered no money for gas, hotels on the three-day trip, or compensation for the inconvenience and effort. He even tried to weasel out of the dinner he offered as a thank you by forgetting his wallet. The dude got me off the streets years ago and I wanted to pay him back in some way, but my wife and I were in no position to have extra residents in our home. We just don’t have the room or money. I made all of this VERY clear and told my old buddy that we could only house them for a couple of days max. There are MANY other details, but the disrespectful thing my former friend said was wordless. As I was kicking them out and they were angrily loading stuff into my car to bring them anywhere but here, my buddy left his gigantic knife right in the center of my wife’s desk. Like that was supposed to make us change our minds and let them stay? In the days of dial-up, I had a family call and not be able to get through because we were online. They decided to show up unannounced. They literally caught me in my underwear as they were let into the apartment before I could even react to being rudely surprised. Some of my family members have a history of abuse, violence, and stalking, something at least one of the visitors, my mother, was quite aware of since she lived through it with me. Her tagalong friend decided to put in her two cents and tell me I should get a call waiting or a second line because they were trying to call me. That did it! I suddenly forgot I was just wearing underwear and angrily asked my mother’s friend if she was paying my phone bill. My mother-in-law, stepfather and mom’s friend beat a hasty retreat and NEVER did the pop-in ever again.

Third image states:  That was why when we did get to reality shows, Etro and then Dolce & Gabbana plus Jacquemus later in France, it was wonderful. Clothes are all about contact: As a wearer, you feel them on your skin, and as a watcher, you process them with your eye. The watching part can be done secondhand, but the Chicken Choice Judy shirt in contrast I will get this impact will always be second to the real thing. I read some commentators in the U.S. saying, “Too soon” or “Wear a damn mask!” which I always did, but these opinions while valid enough lack perspective. Milan and its surrounding region Lombardy went through what New York did but earlier. Through sagacious governmental management much more effective than that of the U.S., Italy has managed dramatically to flatten the curve across the rest of its territory. These shows just like the reopening of flights, stores, factories, and restaurants were symptomatic of recovery that, far from being taken for granted, is being tended to with vigilance and cherished with gratitude. The digital Fashion Weeks were better than no Fashion Weeks at all, but as an upgrade on the real thing? Nah. Like everyone, I missed the shows in the experiential sense this season. But for the first time since I began covering the collections several years ago, I didn’t miss a single brand or designer’s contribution to Paris Fashion Week. Which is to say, thanks to the Fédération’s online platform, I was able to watch every name on the haute couture and men’s calendars. This brand on-demand convenience not to mention being spared the logistical headaches of zigzagging across the city was pretty great. Also, everything was on time, from the films to the manner in which we filed our reviews. While efficiency can be satisfying, it’s not necessarily exciting. Ultimately, we had to accept that the focus this season wasn’t going to be the clothes but rather the brands conveying some combination of identity, process, and values. And in the absence of standardized criteria as in, showing a minimum number of looks, specifying a time range, it was interesting to observe how heterogeneous these experiments proved to be quasi–ad campaigns versus short films, conceptual or fantastical visions versus raw and documentary style. A proper kimono takes nearly an hour to put on – I’m sure most Japanese girls would much rather spend a few seconds and slip on a dress. Get survey responses from targeted consumers today.

Fourth image states:  Around a decade ago, not long after he started his own label, Massimo Alba made a great mistake. A batch of shirts and T-shirts he was working on that had already been garment-dyed one color were mistakenly exposed to another. Speaking at his showroom presentation this weekend, Alba said: “It’s very interesting to me that so many good things start out as mistakes like this.” That accident was to Alba what the Chicken Choice Judy shirt moreover I will buy this mold-infected petri dish was to Alexander Fleming: a stumbled-upon eureka that led to a career-defining course of the investigation. This collection featured a series of softly tailored jackets, corduroy pants, and shorts, plus light cashmere sweaters that were hand-overdyed two, and sometimes three colors. It’s a process that led to variations in tone that included acid-trip floods of purple on purple to subtle bleeding of magenta across mustard yellow. Like most of Alba’s garments, these dyed pieces appeared at first glance conventionally prosaic. The more attention you gave them, however, the more their exceptional qualities became evident. Take a pale blue jacket, for instance, which at that first glance seemed passingly related to a surgeon’s scrubs. To the hand it was light and almost textureless in its softness: The fabric was a cotton mousseline developed for Alba by Albini. Long-sleeved, in a delicately mottled finish of washed-out sky blue, it made for an ideal mid-summer shake in pink, sleeveless, it was an impactful shirting second skin. Other interesting developments this season included a cotton pant named the Myles with acutely kinking stitched gather at knee-level on both legs and another handsome pant, baggy in white poplin, with patch pockets. A blue tropical weight jacket named the Lenny, after Bernstein, was Alba’s interpretation of a bohemian creative’s ideal piece of workwear. Collarless shirts in ripstop linen and button-up short-sleeves in terry were further finely effective coups de théâtre. Alba is a self-deprecating yet dangerous designer: Try just one carefully chosen piece and that’s it, you’re spoiled for good because nobody else quite compares. The museum in Prague where this portrait is held describes the ring on her first finger as the ring given to her at her wedding. It’s not comfortable. Maybe a lot of girls think that a see-through blouse can attract the attention of boys or they think that it will make her look much smarter. Meghan has no dress sense: no knowledge of fabrics, fit, styles that flatter, proper tailoring, Her father raised her in L.A. Enough said. Her idea of dressing for an event is “dress up” like a little girl dressing up as a princess. Shiny! Tight! Celebrity “fashion” not elegant, just flashy.

/end ID]

[slutforben]

au! ben’s your dad now lol

Okay so when I used to have a wattpad account I wrote some parent scenario things, here’s one that I wrote for BEN. Will I be continuing this? no lmao anyways enjoy

word count: 1708

KEY:

(Y/N) = Your Name

Him/Her = Your pronouns

Line of ~~~ = Time Skip

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

As I gazed at the teenage girl through the screen, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

A teen mother? She only looked to be 15 or 16, but she held a child in her arms that looked like a mini copy of her. I only made a quick connection.

The mother, a blonde with hazel eyes and light freckles and wet cheeks, looked like any other girl. The child in her arms cried loudly as crashes came from downstairs. Loud footsteps and banging of cupboard doors were heard, and the mother was sobbing quietly.

From where I watched, safely within her small computer screen, I watched her bundle up her young child and hide them inside her closet. She locked the doors quickly, then went to her dresser. Her room was in pristine condition, and the dresser had a small pocket knife on it.

I could hear footsteps barging up the stairs now. Though, they weren't just one pair. There had to be at least two or three people charging like bulls. The girl sobbed and her child cried through the closet door. Terror echoed through their cries, and to be honest, I'd be terrified if my home was barged into as well.

The clock below me ticked, and wires buzzed. It being 4 am, I didn't expect my victim to be awake, or even to be home alone and in the process of being robbed like a homeless man.

But that's exactly what was happening in front of my eyes.

I shivered as three large men broke down the bedroom door. The mother was huddled in the corner, tears of fear dripping down her cheeks and a small pocket knife held in her hand. Her young child cried and screamed, but the mother was unable to do anything.

I started to back away as the men advanced on her. Ski masks covered their faces, and they held large rifles. Those could do massage damage to a human, and even a ghost like myself.

But as the men advanced and the underage mother cried, I backed away from the screen, and back into the portal leading to the Mansion.

Her screams quieted down as I pulled myself away from the computer screen. I fell back in my small frenzy and landed back inside the living room of the Mansion. I looked around quickly, my blond hair flipping around and ruffling itself up. Looking around, I realized the living room was empty and smelled like something had burnt itself to a crisp.

I sat, the upper half of my body hanging out of the television, with actual fear plaguing me.

Why the hell was I afraid? It was just a simple robbery.

I thought about the girl and her child. It pained me, actually, to think about them. What would happen to them?  I debated on going back for a little while, until giving up and pulling myself out of the small television, then dragged myself up to my room.

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

I can't believe that I'm back in this house.

I kept telling myself that as I walked around the now trashed house. Some things from before were gone or broken, or thrown around. The living room was thrashed and missing some furniture. The house was quiet, which gave me the chills along with an eerie feeling. The television was left on in static, and what was left was thrown across the room. As I continued to explore the house, I noticed that I could no longer hear the child's cries from earlier.

As I finally reached the staircase, I stopped.

What would I find up there?

Sure, I was a murderous virus that slowly ate away at my victims, and who had no sense of fear other than water, but this actually scared me a bit.

I took a deep breath and slowly crept up the stairs. They creaked under my lightweight, but they were relatively quiet. As I slowly climbed them, my breath started to quicken.

" What the fuck, " I whispered to myself. Why was my breath quickening? And why was I fucking whispering? I have no reason to.

I shrugged and continued to climb the stairs, reaching the second floor.

The second story of the house was just as disastrous as the first. Broken furniture littered the floor, vases were smashed, ripped paintings hung from the walls by a single tack, and the doors were all thrown open. Looking closer, I realized that small bullet shells were thrown across the floor.

" Oh my God, " I sucked in a breath at the sight of them.

I immediately looked back up and ran to a random room, looking for the mother and her young child. I tucked inside random rooms until eventually finding her closed bedroom door.

I wiggled the knob, but it didn't budge. I tried again, but the door seemed to be locked.

Had the girl somehow locked herself safely into her room?

That's what I hoped had happened.

I wiggled the knob again until backing up. I backed up against the wall opposite of the door, then ran at full speed and threw myself into the door. It worked in the Mansion, hopefully, it would work here.

The door stayed locked. I fell backward onto my ass, with a now sore shoulder.

" Fuck! " I yelled loudly as my shoulder ached. I looked up at the door, still in the same condition as before.

" Alright, door. Let's try this again, " I hissed and stood up with the help of a cabinet near me. I stood up again and faced the door again with grim determination. Hell, I haven't felt this way since first entering Majora.

With a yell, I ran at the door again, throwing all my weight against it loudly.

The door crashed down loudly as I somehow managed to knock it down. The door broke and crashed to the floor, closely followed by myself. I fell with a loud thud and layed for a second on the now broken door, clutching the shoulder I landed on.

"Ahh, shit, " I said, sucking in a breath. I sat up slowly and looked around. I was back in the room I was in before, only this time it was thrashed, being in the same condition as the house. Furniture was knocked over and items were thrown, and the room was strangely quiet. Looking around again, I realized that the teenage girl was no longer in the room and that her window was smashed.

I sighed sadly at that sight, but I didn't let myself dwell on it. I wanted to see if her child was still here, and hopefully not abducted.

I stood up, remembering that in a hurry she hid her kid in the closet. That was the first place I wanted to check.

I made my way over to the closet door. It was cracked open and had small items in front of it, and sent shivers up my spine for an unknown reason. I got on my knees and cleared the debris in front of the door, then opened it slowly.

The young boy/girl sat all alone in the closet. They were somehow asleep, and was bundled up in a small green blanket. His/Her cheeks were red and stained from crying, and they clutched at the blanket they were wrapped in as if they were having a nightmare.

I gazed at the small child as they slept and picked him/her up carefully. They snored softly and seemed so innocent in my arms that had killed hundreds of people.

I couldn't just leave him/her here. He/Her would starve, or the robbers would come back, or a fellow Pastas might find this house and end their miserable life. A bunch of different scenarios played in my head of what could happen if I left this child here, in this house.

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I've was holding and looked at the puny child.

" Ya know kid, you don't deserve this at such a young age, " I whispered to them. " I really want to help you, but I can't unless I took you back. " I spoke quietly to the sleeping child. " Slender will kill you, then me. " I said with a frown. " I mean, maybe I could, but even if Slender allowed it, Jeff would get his hands on you and... do things... " I shuddered at that thought.

" But I can't just leave you here. Heh, Slender has been wanting me to get more responsible, but maybe this is a little too much... " I trailed off at that thought.

But, as I gazed down at the small child asleep in my arms, an idea formed in my head.

Maybe I could take the child.

Maybe they'd survive, and become a psychopathic killer like me and the rest of us.

Maybe I could be a parent to this child.

I looked back down at the child and let out another breath. I stood up and turned back to the girl's room and walked back to her queen-sized bed. The television that stood here before was now gone, along with her laptop and cellphone. My options were either walk or get a lift.

I frowned at the thought of walking back to the Mansion and pulled out my phone. I searched for Toby's contact and called him. I put it on speaker as the phone rang loudly. I was surprised it didn't wake up the kid, who I put in my lap and slowly rocked back and forth.

After a few more seconds, Toby answered my call.

" Hey BEN! What's-what's up? " He asked. In the background, I could hear the scream of a girl, so I guessed that he was busy.

" Is this a bad time, Rogers? I can call someone else. " I told him.

He chuckled. " I'm kinda-kinda bus-busy right now, but it-it's fine that you cal-called. What's up-up? "

" Well, Toby, it's kind of a long story... "

[scarletbluebird13]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a general MK fic where whilst they’re doing something in public (i.e. dinner, shopping), we catch sight of an enemy, and a few moments later, chaos ensues and after we go BAMF, we end up with an injury that is quite serious but we brush it off? Thanks if ever you choose to do this :)

Damn Idiot

*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°*•°

Title: Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: ?(ambiguous) x MC 

Tags: idk what to put here; shonen?? 

Triggers: mention of blood, fighting, stabby-stabby, heavy cursing

Word count: 2038

A/N: Hiya! Thank you for the request, Nonnie! <3 I hope this is at least close to what you wanted - since no character was specified and you requested a fic, I decided to write you a fic with no specifics on who the suitor is -- hopefully his role is ambiguous enough any of the four guys could fit in <3 And I know you probably wanted one of the guys to have the cool action moment -- but MC got snubbed in her own series in all four routes and I didn’t feel right downgrading her capabilities here either -- Hope this is pretty close to what you had in mind, my apologies if it wasn’t what you wanted. Luv you Nonnie! Thank you for your request~ It was appreciated (lol thanks for laying out a general idea for what you wanted and giving me enough creative space) Feedback/criticism always welcome <3 :)

°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*°•*

Palm to palm, interlocking fingers - his warmth seeps into my hand. A welcomed sensation and one I’m used to. A sensation dearly missed. I’ve just returned from a month-long mission in Los Angeles. All the sunshine in that state doesn’t come close to the warmth emanating from his hand. Typically, he’d find a way to be with me - he can be impulsive at times, but then again, what did I reasonably expect when I decided I wanted us to take the next step in our relationship? I’ve missed him so much - all those lonely nights without him…the other side of the bed empty and his smell absent from the sheets. Heh. But the nights we teased each other even though we were on different continents were fantastic. ...I wonder how tonight will go…? 

“What are you smirking about?”  

I glance up at him - but the way he’s so cool and collected in public, you’d never guess that handsome face was capable of mercilessly teasing me.

“What fun is it if I just tell you?”

A smirk tugs at his lips, satisfied with my response as he replies; “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest as he gives my hand a squeeze - it’s embarrassing, but I couldn’t care less. I haven’t seen him in a month - I’ve craved his touch - and right now, it’s like we’re both immune to the stares of onlookers. Murmurs and sharp whispers can’t reach us. Not only could we care less about pda - what they say, what they think; none of it matters. What’s more? Today happens to be our anniversary and since I managed to complete the mission just in time, he’s decided to take me out on a mystery date - though, he’s so unpredictable I don’t have the slightest clue where we’re headed. 

Basking in the rare happiness and serenity, however, lay my own suspicions. 

I’ve had this sinking feeling since we began walking hand-in-hand - like there’s more to the onlookers than just passersby shocked at harmless hand holding. But today’s our day off, so I push my worries out of my mind, letting them settle in the peripheral of my mind’s eye. 

However, it’s not long before my heart begins accelerating with new meaning. 

I hear rapid footsteps approaching from behind - ones with purpose and imperativeness. All my instincts as an agent - and one who just wrapped up a mission the other day, no less - tell me this is no accident and this person means to charge toward us. Careful to not harm an innocent man running late for something or another, I look in the reflection of the window of the store in front of us, and see the man looks sketchy. Even though his eyes are covered, it’s clear he’s burning daggers at us. Whoever the target - the man at my side or myself - my instinct is to place a bullseye on this guy. 

When I see he’s too close and a millisecond would be too late to do anything, I drop the hand at my side, face the person, and land a hard kick to the ribs. In no way is the blow fatal, just enough to send the poor soul to the ground, coughing up blood. 

“___, do you know him?” 

“Oh yeah! He’s my best friend from high school, we used to do everything together- No. Of course I don’t know him.”

“Oh~ So even after kicking a man to the ribs she’s got her spice?”

“Shut up. He’s got friends.” 

And in just a moment, some of the onlookers have come to the man’s side. The others, clearly civilians, run in all directions, screaming.

“You’re a real bitch, you know?” The man with a bloody mouth says. 

“Oh is that the kind of impression I left? Glad I was memorable. Who’s lackey are you? Remind me?”

“Tch. Doesn’t matter. You’ll be face-to-face with him once we beat your sorry ass.” 

“Oooh I’m so scared.” 

“Shut up you bitch!!” I throw a punch at this annoying fool, right in the gut, my hand burning from the impact and my leg doing no better. Bad day to wear heels.  

The sorry excuse for a lackey goes flying before hitting the ground with a dull thud. Taking his place, another lackey from the crowd charges at me, and I’m able to take care of him. But there’s another - and if it weren’t for his timing, I’d have been hit. But he narrowly misses me. And that’s because the one I love steps in, punching the second lackey before he can reach me.

“Why’d you do that? I can handle this.” I say, a bit irritated at him. But I won’t lie, seeing him in action makes my heart pound - in a good way.

“A man who tries to beat a woman is not a man. That’s all.” He says, glaring the motherfucker down.

“This is my fight, not yours. Let me handle it-”

“I told you the same thing about a year ago. What was it you said to me?” He says, throwing a warm look at me from over his shoulder. With that I fall silent, remembering the love I feel for him in that moment a year ago. The same shattering fear of losing him. Of being without him. Wanting him to be okay in the end - it comes back tenfold. He gives me a soft smile before looking away from me, getting ready to fight;

“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here. Rely on me. Please.”

Before I know it, we’re taking out lackeys left and right, obliterating them. Rather, we should. At least one of us is an active agent with a severe training regime. 

Even with all that training

you’d think 

that I would consider every possible outcome. 

Good and bad. 

I finish up with the last pitiful excuse for a lackey when I turn around. I see the first guy coming back for another ass whooping with a sharp knife. I’m ready to take him on and disarm him the way I’ve been trained to do under certain circumstances, however, much to my horror, I see something I’ve never wanted to see since I realized how much he means to me. 

His silhouette flashes before me, his back encompassing my field of vision. I hear nothing. Feel the anguish and petrifying panic shock my nervous system. I feel faint. Like I could fall over at any minute. My hands are so pale, so cold, I forget what it means to be warm.

The only thing I see, the only thing I smell

is blood.

I’m ready to fall to my knees and scream his name but I can’t. I can’t stop now. I know I have to take out the last son-of-a-motherfucking-bitch-whore. And I wish it was the sight of his blood staining his back serving as the final thing that snapped me out of it. I wish it didn’t take me hearing his grunt and painful sighs to wake me up. I wish I would’ve sprung into action before he had the reflexes to jump in front of me like that. There’s so much I could wish for - but none of it will come true. Because the truth is I wasn’t fast enough. The truth remains that he got stabbed. And right now, all that matters is that I show the piece of motherfucking shit what happens when they go after someone so close to me. 

With tears stinging my eyes and blurring my vision I gather all my strength and run towards the fucker.

Fueled with a hundred fires burning in my core, distressed and angry and scared for his damn life, my movements are hastier and packed with more roaring fireballs than ever before. 

I catch the fucker’s wrist when he tries to stab me, and I twist it as hard as I motherfucking can.  

He screams in agony and tries to reach for his injured wrist with his other hand. And to that one, I merely said ‘hell fucking no’ before punching his uninjured arm’s elbow. My fingers were red and trembling, and they hurt like hell for all the punches I’d been throwing, but I can hardly feel any of the pain. Seeing the piece of shit in front of me writhe in excruciation serves as my anesthetic. You don’t get to be one of the Boss’s top agents by not working for it. 

Pathetic excuse for a lackey gets off easy. It wouldn’t do me any good to murder him (he’s not worth the effort anyway). While he’s distracted with what I’m sure must be the most excruciating pain of his life (I guarantee it is. This hurts more than a seventh grade breakup. More than pineapple on pizza. More than getting shot. I know this because I caused that pain. If this isn’t the worst pain he’s ever been in, I’m not doing my job - even though this is my fuckin day off. My anniversary with my boyfriend of all the damn days. And to top it off, the day after I get back home after not seeing him for an entire month. Fucker has some balls trying to mess with me today), I walk behind him and shove him to the ground. I put some pressure on his leg and ask him one simple question;

“Whose motherfucking lackey are you?”

“Screw you bitch.”

“Wrong answer.” I coldly spit out, putting more pressure on his leg. 

But I stop. I hear a painful sigh, and look up. He’s clutching his wound and walking towards me with a little glint in his eye. And in that moment I forget all about the fucker beneath me and I go over to him instead. 

“Stop walking - it looks like it’s really serious. You’re bleeding out and need-” I’m cut off by his lips on mine. My heart accelerates and it stops at the same time. My body tenses up and warm tears of relief stain my cheeks as I finally reciprocate the kiss. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him, looking deep into those eyes that see more than an agent. See more than a woman. They look past all I am and all I am not and see me for me. 

“Yes, it’s not that bad anyway.” He says, his voice strained.

“Liar. You’re bleeding out. You need help.” 

“No, I swear I’m fine. This is nothing. Besides, are you okay?”

“I’m not the one who’s stabbed, so yeah, I’d say I’m okay.” 

He chuckles a little before slightly grimacing.

“Okay, you need help. Now.” 

“Bet you I don’t.”

“That’s one bet you’d lose and another I wouldn’t ever want to take any chances on.”

“I love you - you’re incredible. I knew you were perfectly capable of taking those guys out on your own - and probably a hundred more - but wow.” 

I hit his shoulder a little bit before staring him down and scolding him;

“I appreciate your help, but I was trained for this. Or did you forget that part? I could’ve handled it much quicker and definitely painless by myself. Why did you jump in front of a knife like that?” 

“Because I didn’t want to lose you. I know you can handle yourself, but I wish you’d rely on me more. You’re not alone anymore. You have me. Or did you forget?”

“But what if I’d lost you?!” I scream, losing all control over my emotions, the reality of how close I could’ve come to losing him forever to the icy grip of death more than I can handle. “Did you think about that before you jumped in front of the fucking knife like that?! You damn idiot!”

He stays silent. All he does is let me sob against his chest. Though I try to be careful, as he was stabbed in the abdomen. He caresses my hair and holds me close. 

“I wasn’t thinking. He’d stabbed me before I knew I was in front of him. I’m so sorry I scared you like that.” He whispers against my hair, placing a gentle kiss atop my head. 

“Thank you for living.”

[kittysmemestorage]

a six of crows meme - part 2

Below you will find a list from the book Six of Crows that I have been working through reading. These are quotes that stuck out to me at such a great deal that I couldn’t help but write something to do with it. Most of these are quotes, some of them are heavily based off thoughts. This is part two out of unsure how many.

Remember to specify if sending to a multi muse, enjoy!

"I know death. I can feel it’s presence here now.. looming over us, ready to take you. After all, I’m covered in your blood.”

“She said to say you’re sorry.. what did she want me to be sorry for?”

“Stop calling me kid. We’re practically the same age.”

“Listen to me, you either tell me what I want or I take your other eye.”

“I’ll make you wish for death, so you have to weigh those options.”

“She would counsel mercy. But thanks to you, she’s not here to plead your case.”

“Maybe your tutors didn’t cover this lesson, but you do not argue with a man covered in blood and a knife up his sleeve.”

“Beneath all that anger, I thought I had seen something.. or maybe I’m just a romantic.”

“Seems to me if they don’t want to be found, you should just let them be.”

“If they want my blood, let them come for it. I’ll take some of theirs in return.”

“Wait! Please! Just... just some fresh water. Would you treat your dog like this?”

“I’d kill for a bath, you could wash me.”

“I saved your life, and you accused me of being a slaver.”

“Did you think of me at all? Did I trouble your sleep?”

“In my dreams you did horrible things. The worst kinds of torture. You drowned me slowly. You burned my heart from my chest. You blinded me.”

“I loved your laugh. And your fierce warrior’s heart. I might have loved you, too.”

“Your conscience is interfering with your memory. Remember the terms of our deal.”

“My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“You should have seen his face when he brought you to me.”

“It’s your choice, I won’t be the one to mark you again.”

“Whatever waits at the bottom of the sea is better than where ever you’re taking me.”

“Thank you for keeping me in this world when fate seemed determined to drag me to the next. I owe you a life debt.”

“Here’s the secret to popularity: risk death to save your compatriots from being blown to bits in an ambush. Great way to make friends.”

“The first day you were hurt... he went a little crazy.”

“I don’t know what your excuse is. I’m the one who can never walk away from a bad hand.”

“Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days.”

“I’ll get us out .You know that... tell me you know that.” 

“What happens if I move closer?”

“When you asked me what I want, the usual answers came to mind. Money. Vengeance. But a different answer roared to life inside me as well.. loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, [name], you.”

“I’ve been irritable and unfocused for days. I’ve grown used to having you around.”