#I hate needles and pain and having things stuck in my skin. so it's just...... dumb

[running-in-the-dark]

I've had my conch piercing for almost 6 months and it's healing really well I think (or at least I'm not having any issues with it at all anymore). so I'm now thinking what piercing(s) I want to get next. even though I had already decided the healing process is too annoying and I should wait a couple years.... kinda want to get my nose pierced now (worst idea ever)

[wishful-seeker]

Vent about crps

Crps is so weird. By the way i talk about my pain and how i walk slow, or always use my wheelchair, people assume its a sharp acute pain that hurts when you touch it, like tendinitis for example.

But its not. Its a burn. No, not like a work out burn like some people think, which i wouldn't even call a burn, strained muscles don't BURN, yall abled people are using the wrong word. Anyways, no, it's like a STOVE BURN mixed with pins and needles. Feels like you're slowly being roasted on a fire. Just below my skin is a raging flame that cannot be snuffed out. And the skin itself doesn't hurt when yo accidentally bump into it, press it, or massage it, but it hurts like HELL if you softly stroke it, or a fabric fold or seam touches it. Feels like being stabbed with needles, its not a sensory thing, its physically fucking painful.

So yeah you can hug me tight, or accidentally bump into my knee, that doesn't hurt. But don't fucking stroke those areas.

And the WIND god i hate wind. The cold fucking HURTS, somehow cold makes it burn more, like im being burned alive. And when cold wind hits my sensitive areas it burns AND feels like needles.

My only escape is sleep. Its a neurological disease, my brain THINKS i have nerve damage but i actually don't have nerve damage. Sure I've lost mobility i little, can't squat anymore, but there is NO PHYSICAL DAMAGE, NOTHING STRUCTURALLY WRONG WITH MY BODY. My brain is simply confused, its trapped in a constant loop of "oh shit there is nerve damage!" 24/7, but, when i fall asleep it shuts the brain down and there is absolutely no pain. My brain is quirky like that.

And then you have the treatment: ketamine. Ketamine is like chemo. Ketamine is crps's chemotherapy. Its the number 1 treatment, you pretty much cant get remission without it, and its an iv infusion that makes you really sick first few times, causes nightmares, and the entire time of the infusion you are DMT level high. The high itself is actually what the treatment is. The intense, life altering high literally short circuits my brain. It interrupts that loop that my brain is stuck in, and literally rewires it the way its supposed to be, and then i feel a lot less pain. During the infusions there is no pain at all. If i do this long enough it has a chance to fix it semi permanently, which would be remission. Thats how it all works.

It sucks, and it kinda feels like a cruel joke. My only chance of walking is getting high as fuck. Lucky me i guess...

[grippingbeskar]

chapter twenty three - selfish

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic description of injuries and general gross stuff, needles?, bobby bein a bit of. a creep again ugh.

a/n: there is so much happening in this chapter. please god make it make sense.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wake up.” A hand slaps you across the face, and you squint as your eyes manage to open. “There you go.”

You were still here. It had to of been… hours now. That’s what it feels like. Really, it feels like you’d never left. Everything’s the same, and you feel just as small. Just as alone as you always did. Except for him, leaning over you, observing your every movement. You tried to open your mouth, but your jaw was so stiff it felt wired shut.

“I’ve got a lot more work to get done before you leave me again. You with me now?” He says, grimy hands dragging along the inside of your wrist. It’s only as you look down, feeling the urge to tear that hand from his arm, that you see the IV stuck in your vein. Blood. He was taking your blood. He turns his attention back to a small screen. “Such a beautiful signal you get here. See this? Your father would love to see these numbers.”

“Shut your… fucking…” Exhaustion burns through you, eating at every nerve and cell, screaming at you to drift off into that dark bliss. If you closed your eyes, you could see him. Maybe he’d show up on the water bed again. You don’t know why that memory, of all the ones you had, came to you, but you’d cling to it anyways.

“Shh. Save your energy. Can’t have you dying on me.” He pours something down your throat, and you cough and splutter for a few minutes before anything goes down. You hate that it helps. It’s water. You want to throw it up out of spite, but your body hauls it in before you get the chance.

He’s no longer wearing the gas mask, and the air tastes clean apart from the metallic tang of blood still settled in your mouth. Your feet were bare, and the floor underneath was ice cold. You tried to lift them up, but the metal cuffs around your ankles didn’t let you.

“Never worked for three years, yet you still try it every time. You think I would ever let you go now? Over something as silly as reinforced cuffs?” Bobby hums, pressing his hand into the needle under your skin as his touch grazes over it. You wince, yanking away as much as you can. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise. To perfect keeping someone like you in containment. Keep you hidden.”

“What are you…talking about?” You manage with the water now settling in your stomach. Keep you hidden. How could you ever be more isolated than you were here?

“You may have been my first— and a special one at that, but you were not the first.” He takes the needle out of your skin with faux sensitivity. Like he almost cares if it cuts you now. “It’s a changing world out there. Super Soldiers, Gods raining from the sky… money can buy most things, but it hasn’t been able to buy me enough strength. Until now.”

He stands, walking around and grabbing the back of your chair. He drags you to the left, where you can see down the hallway. The door to the stairs you climbed down was wide open now, and a man was standing at the end of the hall.

“You see, I was investing in the wrong things. Training, guns… you name it. Until your father showed me the error of my ways. Science is where the real strength is.” Bobby crouches behind you, his hands holding your shoulders too tightly. “Of course, it’s been harder to master since your father passed. I haven’t been able to make the change permanent as he did— but I believe Ive found a way to increase its potency. Did you study much science with your father?”

The memory of him makes you want to cry. You wish you just had more time with him— you were going to fade away here and all his memory would go with you. You never even got the chance to tell Sam about him—

“Answer me.” He shoves your head forward, pain shooting up the back of your neck. You grit out a ‘no’ and he sighs. “No matter. Your father perfected the formula for your cell chemicals to shift and heal over. Only, the replenishment of those chemicals in other bodies is a little harder to grasp. Making it specifically for your DNA, and as much as I would love to have a million versions of you to play with, I need it to work for everyone.”

He brings over a bag of your blood, and clicks his fingers. The man at the end of the hallway moves toward you, standing at the entrance of the cell.

“Now, if my theory is correct…” He hooks up the IV again, but instead of attaching a new bag to your arm, he leaves it attached to your blood bag, and then stabs the man in front of you right in the divot of his elbow with the needle. “Even though we want to heal bones and organs, the most important part is the platelets and plasma. Tell me, sunshine, where is it that you find those?”

“Blood.” You spit, feeling some of your own drip down your chin.

“Good. Very good.” You both watch as the blood starts to disappear from the bag, going straight into the man’s veins. “This isn’t so bad, is it? Almost easy, I would say. You just have to listen, and do as your told.”

You recognise him— one of the men who used to stand outside your cell on days you needed to be guarded. Never speaking to you. Kicking your food through the gap in the wall. He looks almost asleep, and you think he might be under the effect of that gas from before— eyes half lidded and his knees weak.

“So, giving someone the proteins from your enhanced blood, theoretically, of course, should aid in the enhanced healing. Mix that with the incredible red and white blood cell counts you show, and you can create a virtually unstoppable force. For however long the shot of blood stays in his system. I had some stored from our previous years, but I have a feeling it’s effects will be more… productive, with a fresh supply.” The bag is half empty when he rips the IV out. The man doesn’t flinch, but now his eyes are wide and his knuckles white with how hard he’s fisting them at his sides. It’s almost like he’s hyped up on adrenaline, pupils dilated and staring at you. He takes a step forward, and you think Bobby is going to let him beat you to death. Instead, he pulls out a gun and shoves it into the man’s direction.

“Take this.” He says, and he does it immediately. “You see, the fresher the protein, the faster the recovery time. The guys downstairs, they have your blood in their system, and boy— does it make them pack a punch. But, their system doesn’t regenerate as easily. Some of that blood is months old—years. They die easier. Today, we’re going to see if your dear old dad was onto something. Getting blood straight from the source. It’s why I need you around. Might even let you test one out yourself like old times… but enough talk; back to our test.”

Bobby stands, walking around from behind you and controls the man’s movements, positioning him however he pleases. The man is obedient, moving without resistance, his eyes stilling on yours.

“Shoot yourself in the head.” He commands, and then the man clicks the safety off the gun and pulls the trigger.

You don’t make a sound, but you feel the hot splash of his blood across your face and arms, and then the dead weight of his body as he falls forward into your lap. A tear falls down your cheek, not in sympathy, but just pure shock.

You do scream now, because the man who’s brains paint the wall behind you stands up, pushing himself off you with ease. He sways slightly, like he’s drunk, and then blinks a couple times before returning to normal. He’s not hazed anymore— and even though his blood was still dripping down your face, still hot… he turns his head to Bobby, and the bullet wound is completely healed. Gasping for air, your head spins to Bobby, who was grinning.

“What the fuck have you done?!”

“I made him perfect! Like you!” He takes the gun from the man’s hands, who was still staring at you. “It worked even faster than I thought. Fresh is better, as they say.”

He hooks you up to another IV before you’ve come back to yourself, not even feeling the prick of the needle as the clear tube near your head turns a dark red. He was taking more…

“You—“ He snaps to the swaying man, who breaks his gaze from you. “Load these syringes and take them down. I want as many of them filled in the next twenty minutes. Don’t worry if she passes out… she’s a resilient one.”

The man moves quickly, opening a briefcase filled with long silver tubes, all ending in sharp points. He empties the rest of the first bag into three of the needles, then waits for the next to be filled. Everything gets fuzzy as he takes the next bag down and attaches another, and your hands go numb. You stare at them, making sure they’re still there. Bobby grabs your jaw, pulling you to face him.

“It’s good to have you back. I have to admit I had missed your… presence. My offer still stands, you know. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work together. Build our own—“ All you can conjure up is the energy to spit in his face. He growls, grabbing you harder. “Fine. Have it your way. Once I’ve taken care of your little toy downstairs, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so withholding this time.”

More blood leaves your body, and you watch him walk away. You were losing so much so fast, you know you were about to pass out again, and you should be worried about that, but all you can manage to hold on to is the fact that Frank was somewhere here, and you couldn’t get to him.

It has to have been hours. Maybe even days. You have no idea. You hate it. You always lost time down here.

Your heart was as icy as the ground under your toes, and about as cracked and stained as the patch you were sitting over. The man next to you continued to sort through vials and tubes, and you drifted back to that sweet darkness, Franks voice nearly calling you if you dove in to it hard enough.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That all you got?! Fucking puss—“ He’s cut off by another groan. His own, but he hardly recognises it by how high pitched it is. Another fist flies at his face, and he can feel the bone crack. He tenses, preparing for the next hit.

He needs to stay awake. He needs to stay awake enough to get to you. He saw everything— that whole fucking display, and even if he didn’t get any sound or words, the minute that piece of shit laid a hand on you, Frank snapped out of his haze. Doesn’t matter how much of his blood and guts covered the floor, he would drag his shattered leg behind him if he had to. He’d get to you.

Antagonising these guys in here had been easier than he thought. At first they were in some kind of trance, but when the loud bang of Bobby’s shotgun went off, the bullet just missing him— taunting him, they snapped. Now, it’s been…he’s got no idea how long, but they have to get tired soon. Get a little slower, get distracted, and then Frank will make his move. Maybe he’ll just get numb. He knows he’s cracked ribs, every time he breathes in something sharp stabs his side. He has to keep going.

Breathing in, the men surround him— and even Frank turns his head when there’s a knock at the door.

The guy who walks in is covered in blood, and he’s holding a briefcase. It’s the same one he thinks he saw when he was watching you, but his eyes are so blown up that he could be seeing things.

“Boss wants these distributed.” He says, and the three men hover around him as he unlocks it. They’re whispering something, and seemingly forget about Frank for a second.

Their mistake.

He’s slowly but surely working himself free, knowing he’s going to have to dislocate his thumbs to get out. He’s fought with worse injuries, but with how much blood he’s lost, he needs something. An edge. Something that will just get him out of this room. He knows there’s guns outside, and the slick of his blood makes it easier to slide out. He just needs one damn thing to go his way today…

“Is that really it?” One of the men hold up a needle. It’s bright red, with the biggest point Franks ever seen on the end.

“What’d you expect?”

“Hulk had green blood. Something like that, I guess.” Another man says off handedly, never looking back at him, and fuck— they were asking for it now. Franks right hand tugs at the cuff, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so hard it bleeds. Not that he’ll be able to tell what’s bleeding anymore. Bone pops as he tugs the rest of the way, in one sharp movement he’s got a free hand.

He doesn’t wait.

Whatever’s in that syringe is important. Important enough that the guy who shot himself in the head got back up and walked down four flights of stairs. It does… well, Frank doesn’t know what the fuck if does, but if it heals a bullet to the head, Franks betting on the fact it’ll be enough to get him out of this room.

He lunges, throwing his body toward the syringe dangling in the man’s hand. The briefcase splatters on the ground and a multitude of curses ring through the room. One breaks, another falls right next to Franks head. He turns, only to see it kicked away. He pops his left hand out of the cuff in the shuffle, hoping they don’t notice it’s free.

“I thought he’d be better. Look at him.” They peer down at him on the floor, still cuffed by his feet, and from their view, still one hand, too. It’s why they don’t realise him reaching behind, grabbing two sharp points and dragging them over.

“Guess he’s past his prime. Clean this up, and don’t finish him off just yet. Boss wants round two.” The men laugh, turning their backs for a final time.

Frank stabs himself in the back with two needles. He feels it instantly— like the time he got shot up with adrenaline. Everything is turned to ten, and he groans and thrashes on the floor. The men turn around to look at him just in time to see his two free hands, but by then it’s too late.

Frank’s broken the chain on his legs, one giant whack of it against the concrete sending the links off in shattered pieces. He rolls, not feeling any pain on his sides. He stands, easily. Way too easily. He should be hunched over, fighting for consciousness.

He’s never felt fucking better.

He lands a punch on the advancing man, the one who broke his ribs. He grabs him by the head, feeling his skull bone crack under his grip.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next ones already coming. He throws himself at him, tackling him to the floor. He beats him— over and over, so hard his hands meet concrete after three blows. He went through him.

One man’s on his back, arm around his throat, and he easily rips him over his head. These guys were fucking nothing now. He felt like he’d been shocked by some kind of electricity, except this was the kind that felt fucking amazing. He belted the man in front of him, then slammed his head into the wall. Blood and brain covered the only clean part of the room, and one man was left.

The man who shot himself.

“Stop! Wait!” The man says, holding the briefcase up. “I can tell you what he’s doing. Where she is!” Frank takes a few breaths, not even feeling winded.

“You work for him?” The man nods. “Where?”

“S-security.” Frank towers over him, and he goes for the handle of the door, but Franks too fast. So fucking fast he doesn’t register that he’s got the guys hand tight in a fist until he hears him scream.

“You know she was down there? All that time, huh?” The man looks up, wide eyed. Frank cracks the bones in his hands.

“Fuck! Yes— yes, we knew but I swear—“ Frank doesn’t care what the rest of the sentence is, because he picks up the briefcase, and uses the end of it to cave his head in.

He keeps hold of the case as he kicks the door down, swiping the shot gun Bobby abandoned. Then he takes a chance, testing his durability, and jumps over the railing of the two story platform.

After the beating he received, he should be struggling to even walk— but he lands it easily. He doesn’t even have that kink in his neck from this morning. Spent so much time staring down at you sleeping next to him. Not even that. No blood coming from anywhere, and he could see for fucking miles in front of him. No swollen eyes.

He was healed. Completely. Strong, too. Stronger than he fucking should be. He doesn’t know how long he’s got, but he knows he’s not wasting another second of not having you safe. He takes the stairs up four at a time, never needing to catch his breath.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank’s arm was around you, holding you tighter than you could ever remember. You weren’t shivering anymore, the effects of the ice cold water long forgotten the minute he pulled you to him under the covers.

It was nearly morning, and you were still hazed with sleep. The embarrassment and pain can’t reach you here, not when you are so close to drifting off. Another few hours of sleep would do you good. Just letting your eyes flutter closed. You blame it on this nearly-asleep-half-conscious state that you turn over, seeking more of the warmth his skin offers. He tenses next to you, feeling you shift, before accepting the new position and letting your limbs tangle with his own. 

It’s about as safe as you have ever felt. Frank on all sides, something that should make you feel boxed in. He’d let you go with one word, but you can trust him not to. You don’t want him to. Frank’s arms tighten around you as you settle your head just below his, nose brushing against his collarbone.

“You okay?” His voice rumbled through your head, all the way down to your toes. You didn’t answer, wanting to linger in this state a little longer. Your breathing was even, and you all but melted into him with one last, long sigh. “What the hell are you doin’ to me, huh?”

His lips touched your forehead before one hand tangled in your hair. He doesn't brush past this time. This time, it’s purposeful and practically permanent. He scorches your skin, kissing you softly, right on the little scar above your eyebrow.

You feel him tug you closer, your leg nearly on top of him now. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear, racing when your hand slowly brushes up his side, stopping under your head. Then it slows, and he kisses you one last time before you’re asleep again…

You can hear something. Maybe. Theres a beeping sound coming from the monitor, but that’s not what it is. This place echos everything. The walls nearly savour the sounds, sending them back to you so loud, that if you close your eyes you could swear it was happening right next to you. This is different, though. 

It’s screaming. Someone screaming.

You force your head up, slowly blinking your eyes. There’s spots in your vision, but you can see people. People, flying around the tight space of the corridor. Flying… you swear they were moving through the air, limbs whacking around in un-natural directions. Something loud cracked, and then a loud, male groan. Almost a scream, but this wasn’t in fear, or pain. Someone was coming, and they weren’t stopping until they got through.

You only knew one person who would fight for you like that, but as much as you tried to fight against it, sleep dragged you down into the dark. This time, Frank was getting further away, and you weren’t so sure you could pull yourself back up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was pitch black, but all Frank could see was red. Dark, thick red, blood that can only be from deep, hidden parts of the body. Blood gets thicker the further in you go, and Frank was tearing right to the centre.

He found more men on the stairs, using the shotgun and the pulsing strength scorching through his body to take them out. He admitted it felt good— fucking easy, tearing through these guys. They had the higher ground but he had every advantage. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off about it, though. He has no idea what he gave himself, it just had to be enough to get to you.

When he finally makes it up to the door, he’s sprinting. More faces blur past his hands and bullets, but he can only focus on one. You, your head down, eyes closed. He throws someone with one arm as far as he can manage, and he doesn’t see the guy get back up. He’s still looking for Bobby, but all that was on the back burner now. Now, all he could focus on was you.

The bodies stop dropping, and he realises there’s no more coming. No more footsteps as he reaches the door to your cell, no more gun shots. Not even a breath that wasn’t his own.

You weren’t breathing.

He drops the case he’s still managed to hold, ignoring the slow beeping of the monitor. He rips at the handcuffs, but even with all this stuff in his body he can’t manage it.

“Come on. Hey! Come on, wake up…baby, fucking wake up.” He could hear the horse crack of his voice and he was pulling so fucking hard and it wasn’t enough. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, then he looks down, seeing the snapped locks of the briefcase.

There’s still four or five syringes in there. He doesn’t know what it does— he can hardly tell if he’s gonna live when this feeling dies down. He’s still staring at them, though. Reaching for one.

He could do it. It brought him back, healed whatever those assholes did… and your a hell of a lot stronger than he is. He needs it to work. He needs you to open your fucking eyes, but is it worth the risk? Was it worth it if it backfired? Was he that selfish, that he’d take the risk— the risk of you dying because of what he did, just so he wouldn’t have to live without you? He’d take you down with him if he did this— fuck knows what Bobby put in these things. It could be anything. But he couldn’t let you die in this room. Couldn’t let you go.

Frank Castle knows he’s selfish, but it’s like his body has already made up its mind. His hand is fisting on of the vials, hovering over your thigh. The beeping’s getting slower, and you twitch in his hold, the last signs of life fading from you. For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t take you down with him any further than he’s already done. But he can’t see you die. He couldn’t.

“Please. Just— need this to work. Please.” He drops his head and plunges the needle into your thigh without another thought. Almost instantly, your eyes crack open and your heaving air back into your deprived lungs. Frank holds you upright, trying to make sure you don’t fall backwards, but he can’t see past the tears forming in his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this— like a knife was tearing it’s way through his chest, nearing his throat and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it because you were fucking here— covered in blood and dirt but breathing. He chose right. Did right by you, for fucking once. Looking around the room terrified, you say a word, and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because the first thing you think to say is his name.

“Frank!” You scratch out, shoulders still heaving with the effort of taking in air. “Frank— we have… you have to get me… please I can’t be in here anymore—“

“Shh. Shh— you’re okay. I’m gonna get you out, just like I promised, yeah?” You stop spinning your head around and stop your thrashing when your eyes meet his. He feels your hand go to lift up and touch him but you can’t move. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re crying.” You say softly, and Frank shakes his head, laughing out of pure exhaustion.

“Yeah, I am.” Your head tilts, and fuck— he can’t help it. He shuffles closer, holding your head in his hands. You look wrong in his hold, like something precious and way too expensive, something he’d never earn the value of in his lifetime. You press into his touch, and he just can’t let you go.

“You came.” Wet tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I thought you were— I thought you might not make it here.”

“I promised.” It’s all he has time for right now. He has a hostage he needs to fuck up. “Where’d he go.”

You flick your head down in the direction of where he came.

“He has the keys. You gotta— once I’m out I can help you.” You blink a few times, and it looks like your seeing his face for the first time. “You… how did you get out?”

“He’s got these guys— strong, like you, nearly beat the shit out of me. Injected myself with that.” He looks over at the briefcase. “Never felt better.”

“You aren’t hurt.” You say, and it should be a good thing, but Frank starts to worry because you look uneasy.

“Not anymore. You know what it is?”

“Yeah.” That fact that you don’t say it right away makes Frank think he doesn’t want to know.

“I gave it to you, too.” You shake your head, and his worries evaporate. A simple move from you, and he’s easy. Fuck— he was glad you were here.

“It’s fine. It won’t kill us. You need to go. Get the keys, get me out. Bring him with you.” Frank nods, taking another second to look at you. Just making sure— your eyes were wide, a little fearful but alive and bright. Open. Skin was warm. You were okay. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.”

Something crashes behind Frank, and he turns and leaves before saying another word. He was going to drag that cunt back here kicking and screaming. He had to be alive— but Frank has learned a thousand ways to make a man wish he wasn’t.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Six minutes.

You counted it.

It took Frank six minutes to track down the country’s biggest gang leader, the man who has evaded the FBI and CIA for years, the man who had built an entire, intricate network of tunnels and bunkers to avoid being caught. Without his men, that Frank also took down, it took him six minutes to beat him bloody and drag him back to you.

You used to be so afraid of him. He was the man who haunted your nightmares, a face you’d see every time you closed you eyes. Almost a bogeyman. Seeing him here, on his knees, eyes swollen shut while Frank rips the keys out of his back pocket… it’s surreal almost.

“You w—“ Frank kicks him in the stomach, whatever words he was going to say lost in the burst pain. While he falls to the ground, breathing slow, Frank unlocks the handcuffs and you stand way too fast. Your first steps are the three that gets you out of this fucking room.

Frank sees you bolt outside, back pressed against the opposite wall. Then he turns, punching Bobby in the face before grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out and down the hallway. He’s groaning in pain, trying to say something but Frank just keeps dragging him. You walk behind, a sick enjoyment bubbling through you at the sight of him so… weak.

“How are we getting him up the stairs like this?” You ask once you’ve stopped at the base of the giant staircase. It must of taken you an hour to come down here, and your head was still a little fuzzy from the blood loss. Your own blood doesn’t heal you as well— fucking figures.

Frank doesn’t say anything, just starts dragging him up the stairs like a sack of flour. His head bangs against the first step, and Bobby shouts and wails like a kid. Similar to how you would of screamed for him to stop when he cut you open—

“Frank.” You say, and he stops. You look down at the man, wondering what Frank did to him in those six minutes in the dark that made him look so deformed. His arm was broken, the strange angle it was at made it obvious. One of his eyes was less bruised than the other, and he used it to lookright at you.

Maybe he thought you’d tell Frank to stop. That you’d taken pity on him. That you’d feel sorry for the way he looks. He’s still staring at you when you see a small flash of his teeth, something that could be a smile if he wasn’t missing so many teeth. You let him hold the hope for just a second.

“Make sure he’s still alive when we get to the top.” Frank huffs, like it’s an imposition, and you walk ahead, letting the pained cries of the man behind you bounce off the echoed walls. He deserved to feel what it was like to have hope it would stop, only for it to never end.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally reach the outside of the building, Bobby has passed out from the pain four times. You counted. It won’t be enough. You had twelve years of that shit. This was mild— you had a thousand days like this. It should be therapeutic to see him miserable and begging but all it does is make you angry.

Frank throws him in the back seat of the car, using rope and the seatbelts to tie him down so he can’t move. Then he ties something around his mouth, saying something to him you can’t hear. When you get back in the car, Franks hands are stained with blood.

“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asks loudly after a moment of silence, his hands so tight on the steering wheel you can see his forearms start to shake. “Fuck. I could sprint a mile right now.”

“You feel okay? Good?” You weren’t a hundred percent sure about the effects your blood could have on him— or, the concentrated version of your blood.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t know what was in that stuff, but I haven’t run it out yet.” You can tell he feels uneasy about it, but the rush is almost overwhelming, even if he has burnt through some of it.

“It’ll be a while before it’s out of your blood system.”

“Yeah? How you know that?” His head moves a little too fast, and you wonder weather that’s how fast you move. If you look this… creepy, really. It’s fucking creepy.

“Because it’s my blood. It’ll pass through in a while, you just have to wait. He— Bobby said it wasn’t permanent.” At the mention of his name he stirs in the back and Frank reaches around, punching him in the gut while keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I’m good. Tell me about it— the blood shit. Help me focus.” Hoping to calm him down, you spill every little remnant of information you can remember. It’s technical, trying to explain how the plasma in your blood can be modified to heal bones and gunshot wounds, but he listens. “So why’d it work on you? If it’s your own?”

“It’s more concentrated. Based around the healing parts of my blood. He must of found a way to extract only the parts that make me strong. I lost a shit tonne of blood back there, so maybe the shot kicked my own healing back into gear.” You flick your eyes back to where Bobby is passed out again, his blood staining the seat. “I doubt I’d get it even if he explained it himself, but it’s a version of what they did to me. Only lasts a little while, but it makes you stronger. Faster. Heals you more easily. And apparently makes you jumpy as fuck.”

“I ain’t jumpy.” He grumbles, the sound sounding so much like Frank that you settle back a little, relaxing at it. “When you were in there… I uh— saw what that guy did in front of you. That kind of thing would be… if Madani found out about that, or any of those guys at the CIA. What your blood can do…”

“I know.” They’d want it. It was the edge they have been looking for. Like Bobby said, America had been fighting Gods and Super-humans for years, and they wanted something of their own. You, or your blood, would be it.

“Don’t say anything about it. Far as they know, we were in and out.” Frank looks in the review mirror, gaze hard as he checks Bobby’s positioning.

“He might say something. What if they ask him about it?”

“Can’t talk without a tongue.” You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He looks serious. Very, very serious. “What?”

“You— nothing. I just want to go home.” You breathe heavily, your eyes shutting for a second. Everything hurts, and your body isn’t healing as fast as Franks did with the lack of blood in your system. Now you know why you didn’t heal fast after you were shot. You must of lost too much in the water.

“You mean back to New York, yeah?” When he says it, the words confuse you. Of course you’d be going back to New York. You don’t have anywhere… well, you don’t have anywhere. You don’t have a place, now you think about it. The only house you ever lived in is owned by someone else, but that hasn’t been home for a while.

When you said you wanted to go home, what you really meant was you wanted out of this car. You wanted to go back to somewhere warm, and safe, and somewhere you didn’t have to think about any of this. The only place you’ve ever really been able to do that, have any of that is when you were with Frank.

“Sure.” Is all you managed.

“Sure? What’s that mean?” He turns the car a little too hard, and Bobby whacks against something in the back.

“It means that— well, I don’t exactly have a place there, do I? I mean, I know Matt said we could stay until—“

“We’re not doin’ that again.”

“I didn’t think it was all bad.” You say absently, but Franks eyes catch yours in the mirror and his hands grip the wheel even tighter. “But I don’t have a house.”

“Stay with me.” Even after everything you’d done with him, been through with him, he still managed to catch you by surprise.

“Really? You’d want me to live with you?”

“Why? You got a bunch of cats you need to move in or something? You snore?” You don’t want to smile, not with who’s behind you, but he’s impossible not to smile around. “Course I do.”

“Gotta dump the baggage first.” Frank grumbles something under his breath at your words, then turns the car again, too hard. Even you struggle to stay upright. He’s still fighting off the rush of energy he’s feeling running through his veins. “Maybe we should call someone. Go to a doctor, or call Curtis. You’re still jumpy.”

One of his hand’s dropped from the wheel, and after he checked the rear view mirror one more time, confirming Bobby was passed out, his hand landed on your thigh. He did this a lot while he drove, his hand nearly covering the entirety of your thigh. Fingers absently wandering, like he had all the time in the world to tease you, even if he didn’t mean it. This time, he definitely did. His thumb was drawing circles on your skin, his palm slowly dragging the rest of his fingers up.

“Just got to work it out of my system, yeah?” You swallowed, the simmer of heat in your stomach bursting into flames at the horse growl of his voice. He dipped his hand over further, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh twitching in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was because he was half high on…you, or what he exactly was planning to do, but as his hand gripped you tighter making you jolt in your seat, you sat a little wider. Giving him access. He swore under his breath.

“Yeah. Maybe you should g-go on that run. Work out or something.” He smirked, and held his hand there while you held your breath. He was toying with you, fucking with you, for sure… was he really going to…here? The tip of his fingers were so close, and you were practically sweating now, heart thumping in your ears.

“I think I got a better idea.” He looked at you quickly, his eyes nearly completely black, pupils blown out. Your eyes squeezed shut, at his mercy completely.

Then, his hand slid down slowly, resting where it usually did when he drove. Much lower, and much further away from where you fucking need him right now. When you open your eyes again he’s still smirking, a smart ass look on his face like he knows how worked up he just got you, even when he’s the one with all the extra energy.

All of a sudden, like Frank often encouraged in you, you forgot about everything else except how long this car ride was. You said you wanted to get home, but the more you thought about it, it was less about a destination and more about him. Home.

[next chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tag list:

@stress--relief

@hellskitchens-whore

@blkwayne

@itwasthereaminuteago

@margoo0

@daisykins

@paryl

@urlocalgeek

@hello-lisa1026

@castlesnchurches

@superbreadsoul

@lemon-world1

@officalpetergriffin

@batcreep

@quackson03

@violetsandroses8

@turningtoclown

@yourfriendhenrywinter

@peaky-shelby

@hollandorks

@23victoria

@fluffysteampunkd

@andiforgetaboutyoulongenough

@avaluna

@alexa4040

@dripoftheseus

@lanagirly

@woowwwee

@chvoswxtch

[callsign-bunnie]

Migration PT1 (Teeth and Skin)

The zombie apocalypse went by rather quickly. Those who were immune survived, most of the rest died, in only a couple of months. Now, two years later, everyone is either “immune” or unknown. Of course, the only way to find out is to be bitten. Society will rebuild itself. Someday.

Gaz and Price receive a call for help from a Parra and decide to set out, despite the trip it would be. One more mission, right?

--

Price cursed softly as the match went out, again. “Fuck.”

“You could try covering it with your hand, sir.” Gaz offered, wincing a little. He’d watched him fail to light this fire for nearly thirty minutes and he knew offering help would get him cussed out.

Price glared at him before doing it, finally managing to light the fire. He grumbled and sat down.

“Lucky guess, sir.” Gaz chuckled and sighed, leaned back against a log, pulling his injured leg up and wincing. He finally ripped the knife out of it, cursing. It was a tiny thing, just meant to injure, and had missed anything important. Just hurt like a son of a bitch. Price held out a first aid kit and Gaz gladly took it.

Price winced as he watched him. “You alright, kid?”

“I’m 26, Price.” Gaz pointed out, like he usually did. “But, yeah. I’m good. Missed my artery.” He looked at the suture thread and needle and made a face.

Price chuckled. “You’re younger than me. So, a kid.” He came over, taking the thread and needle. Like he usually did.

Gaz used to act all tough and like he could handle it himself, but he was grateful he didn’t have to. He hated sewing himself up. He looked away, letting Price handle this. It barely hurt, it was just the… act of repeatedly sticking a needle in his skin. “Yeah, I guess so, sir.” He finally responded to his comment.

“It’s a small wound. I’m sure you’ll be able to walk on it and everything.” Price chuckled. “Poor lady seemed so upset when she realized we were friendly.”

Gaz laughed, remembering. They’d responded to a distress signal that morning for a young woman and her mother. The mother had been sick and she couldn’t leave to get supplies. It was kind of well known that channel 141 was the one you went to when you needed help. Granted, Price and Gaz weren’t the only ones offering aid.

So, they’d answered the signal and went to the coordinates she’d given after grabbing supplies from someone who offered them. Poor woman was so panicked, though, that she’d thrown a knife directly at Gaz and got him in the leg. She’d been so apologetic and even cooked for them. It’d been so long since either had an actual cooked meal that they just took it and the bullets she offered for Price’s rifle.

They usually didn’t accept anything in return but food was food and bullets were bullets. In a few towns that had recovered, they’d accept whatever bullshit currency they’d made up so they could restock on supplies. One used the old money, Pesos, but you had to get it specially marked in that town.

One town used ribbon tied in a special knot. It was what currency had been before. A placeholder. Granted, the clothing maker may not want cans of food in return, she may want bullets or medicine. But, the pharmacist does want cans of food. Yes, you could go and trade for the medicine and then take that to the clothing maker.

Or you could use whatever bullshit currency they made up and cut out a middleman. Gaz still thought it was bullshit, but he could see why others went for it. Convenience.

“Poor woman.” Gaz chuckled. “Good food, though.”

“Damn good food.” Price agreed. “Love when they pay us in food.”

Gaz winced when Price stuck the needle a little too deep but sighed. “Better than that one lady who offered to sleep with me.”

Price barked out a laugh, clearly remembering. She’d come out of her room, barely wearing anything but a button down and said she was ready for him to take her. “Love being homosexual in the apocalypse.” Price chuckled. He patted Gaz’s thigh, done.

Gaz winced at the slight pain it caused and adjusted a little. “You don’t have to worry about being hate crimed, at least.” He offered, chuckling. “I mean… nevermind, maybe the zombies are just homophobic.”

Price laughed again and went back to where he’d been sitting. He got out a cigar and Gaz rolled his eyes. Oh yeah, the other payment they took. He watched Price light it using the fire he’d made. “Impressive, sir.”

Price threw a glare at him and then sighed. “This doesn’t get old, does it? Helping people and then… nursing injuries.” It was sarcastic.

Life was rather monotonous for them. When everything had all gone to shit, Gaz had taken about two weeks to recover from the cartel and then they’d went straight into helping people. Both had agreed that their military experience gave them what they needed to help.

But… day in and day out. Respond to signal, go help, come back, nurse injuries. Sometimes the day would be spent gathering their own supplies or trading for them, but… for the most part, this is all it was.

Gaz looked at Price to respond before sighing as he saw Price was staring at him. Here we go. “Kyle, I-”

“Stop.” Gaz shook his head. Price only called him Kyle for one reason anymore. He was about to give him a deep heartfelt apology. And he only gave that for one reason anymore. “You need to stop beating yourself up over this. It’s been two years. I’m okay.”

“You’re clearly not okay, kid. You used to be so chatty.” Price shook his head. “You wake up screaming and clawing at things that aren’t there.”

Gaz shrugged. “It’s the zombie apocalypse, sir. There are more important things to focus on. Survival, for one.” He sighed, leaning his head back. Yeah, maybe he wasn’t dealing with it. But there was nothing to deal with. He’d been captured and tortured. That was two years ago. “Just… stop beating yourself up for it.”

Price watched him for a moment before sighing and nodding. “Alright.” He ran a hand out over his beard, which was starting to get a lot scruffier. Thankfully, both had managed to keep themselves trimmed with their facial hair, even if Gaz had gone a little scruffier for the sake of convenience.

But, it’d been a moment. Gaz started to feel himself get tired, so he stood. “I’m going to go to bed.” He informed Price. Bed was a loose term. They’d gotten their hands on an old beat up jeep that they’d ripped the back seats out of. So now, Gaz slept on a pallet on the right side, and Price slept on the left.

Occasionally, they would break into houses and sleep in the beds, but rarely, since they were mostly traveling.

“Sleep well.” Price sighed, though it was clearly sarcastic. Gaz snorted and just gestured to him, before climbing into the jeep, pulling the door shut. Price would open it when he needed it.

Gaz woke up before Price. No nightmares, that night. They were rarer and rarer. But… still there. He carefully looked out of the jeep to make sure there were no zombies nearby and then got out. He geared up, carefully, and then got the radio out, brushing his teeth while he turned it to channel 141. Nothing. Silence. He’d come back to it. Instead, he browsed the channels.

He stopped when he landed on a channel where someone was rather frantically speaking into the radio. It was in Spanish but both Price and Gaz had picked it up. It was fairly necessary to survive in Mexico. “This is Parra. Please send aid. Colonel Vargas has been injured and we have been stranded.” They gave coordinates before repeating their message. Gaz frantically wrote down the coordinates when they gave them the second time before the message cut off, frantically.

“Price!” He called, spitting out toothpaste and going back to the jeep. Price was getting up, reluctantly. “Sir, there’s been a distress call on the radio. A Parra. He said Colonel Vargas has been injured and they need aid.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “What are the coordinates?”

Gaz handed them over and Price went and put them into the navigational thing he had. “It’s a… bit of a trip.” Price frowned before looking at him. “Two weeks, at the least.” Gaz could see a sparkle in Price’s eyes. The same one he saw when they used to go on missions together. “What’s a bit of traveling for us, though?” He half smiled, nudging Price.

“Pack the jeep up, let's go.” Price gestured to their shit.

Gaz fist pumped the air. “Yes! Price and Gaz, on a mission.”

“Calm yourself a little, kid.” Price laughed, but even he seemed eager as they rolled up their sleeping bag-turned-pallets and gathered up their camp.

Gaz had never packed up a camp so fast, but they were out of there in less than an hour. He put a tape into the tape reader on the jeep, just picking one at random. “Green Day?” He asked Price, raising an eyebrow.

“They’re good music, Gaz.” Price snorted.

Gaz rolled his eyes. “Sure.” Oh well, he could handle it, because they were back on a mission. Sort of. They were still giving aid but he had a feeling this was going to be a bit more in depth than the supply drops they’d been doing.

--

Hey, want to get added to a tag list for this ship or AU? Reply to this with "add me to the tag list for [ship/au]" and I will tag you in everything I post for whichever you choose. If you want to be added to a different tag list, send me an ask or dm. Taglist:

@i-miss-balthazar @transneurodivergentmess @hayleymaltman

[iliasaid]

The dream of the corner store on a strip mall. We walked towards it with the sun burning down on the pavement, hitting our eyes. The bell clinked as I walked in. I slowly wandered thru the aisles, looking for nothing and everything at once.

ŗ̸͇̪̗̹̲̟͌̇̐ḑ̶̪͈̬̇̌̓̿́̿̓͜i̵̱͐͋̔ǎ̴̢̛̼̞̯̮̫̾̊͊̏̾̓̊́ļ̴̼̞̤͚̫̀͒̑́͛̀́̈́͂̉c̸̘̋̋͗̏̍e̷̖̎̈́́̔̑̋̓͋͠ï̸̘̦͈̀̑͑̾̓̐̏̉ÿ̸͉͍̮̘̲͖̓̎͠͝ͅd̶̼̺̫̪͈̥̙̖̅̀̓͘̚ pointed to the back wall, where twirls of shimmering bright spirals hung from the ceiling. Party supplies littered the floor under my feet, all opened and crumpled. I turned the corner, and the lost things sat covered in dust, a stark comparison to the bright storefront.

My lucky charm lay on the floor, it's corners broken, the surface smeared. I carefully tiptoed through the contents of my missing childhood. A box full of yarn and soft fabrics sat on an unbroken store shelf to my right, and I plunged my hand into it. The pain was unimaginable, I felt nothing as I drew my hand from the box, mangled and dripping blood. Needles poked through my skin, scissors had snipped at my ligaments, pins had stuck in my palms. I turned my hand, holding it up to the dusty lights overhead. The orange glow flickered briefly through the storefronts window, and as single stray ray of light found my splintered, bleeding hand, colored pins and needles sparkled in the sunbeam.

The sun faded and I blinked, seeing its shadowy remnants behind my closed eyes. The image or my wounded hand was burned into my head. I walked onward, ignoring the shuffling footsteps behind me that lingered back. My memories lay fragmented, scattered bits of an old quilt, as shards of broken pottery begging not to be broken. I shed a tear for what I'd ruined.

The feet behind me crunched on the glass, and a steady wet drip... drip .. drip... was the loudest thing in the building.

Paper flowers brushed my cheek on a soft breeze, leaving the soft scent of lavender, brown eyes and mint. Their petals turned to ash once they touched my skin.

I walked to the front of the store, the shuffling shadows behind me grasped at the flowers.

There were more aisles, more dark and foul looking aisles. But all I wanted was to stop hearing the drip of.. ...... behind me. The front of the store glowed from the yellow overheads. Short little aisles sat there, cluttered in old vines, wicker homemade baskets, green, rusty trophies..

And that goddamned drip. It haunts me. It disgusts me. I hate it. I hate it so much. The first aisle was nearly empty, with only a small box on the bottom shelf, taped up and covered in dust.

I reached for the cardboard box, and wiped the dust off the top, squatting to pull it into my lap. It mewed.

And like that, I had something that needed me. Inside was the tiniest kitten blinking up at me, cooing and climbing onto my chest.

I let myself fall back, my head hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. The kitten snuggled up to my face, and there we were.

But that didn't happen. I just laid on someone else's floor, my eyes dilated, my fingertips burned.

So here we are. Bleeding out in an abandoned corner store, inhibited only by ghosts. The drop ceiling tiles are rotting out, creating more dust. Kitty coos at me again, and I lazily rub his tiny chin. He curls up around my neck, purring and I cradle him the best that I can. Yellow overheads have the worst buzzing sound, but I couldn't hear it, or rather, the lights had gone out.

Its pleasant, how cool a concrete floor is on your back. How many secrets can fit in one head. Is it symptomatic of something worse, or is it just inherent badness? How many people I've loved, really loved. How many people think of me today?

It's a quiet space, the mind of someone dying. Quite peaceful, considering my blood is slowly trickling towards a floor drain. How easily we leave people. How easily we shut people out, forget they exist. Did I even love them in the first place? One mistake, one fight and I run, I kick and scream, and I curse them as I leave. I talk badly of them so I don't miss them. Try to ignore how badly I treated them.

Maybe I'm deserving of whatever fate i get.

[109moons]

I’m having a hard time sleeping. I think I have a bit of PTSD from what I went through leading up to my surgery. The isolation and gaslighting from my Mom. The utter betrayal and agony from James. My privacy completely stolen from me. And then most jarringly, the month and a half in the hospital.

I shared so many positive things while I was in there - I was told how I was a warrior and my attitude was incredible, how I was an inspiration - I didn’t share the staring longingly out the window staring at the bay wishing I could just jump in it and go in peace. I was so tired of being poked — of being bled dry physically and metaphorically — of catheters in my lung every other day and hard boards for X-rays behind my back. The boards hurt more than checking his blog to see the incessant rambling of how much he loved me and then how much he fucking hated me. The carousel of obsession and addiction. The mind games and complete void of care or consideration of my existence stuck in a literal deathbed.

The nurses that I actually loved, that squeezed my shoulders standing behind me and laughed at the photos I snuck of the hot medical student that did my Pap smear. Adriana who brought me a cup of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, and Graham crackers. Adriana who had security remove my mom. That woman is one of my hero’s. Chris — the gentle giant of a phlebotomist who would lightly touch my hand while he drew my blood and always got me on the first try. When he found me in the transplant ward, we both cried. He thought I had died, but saw my name in passing and came running to my room. I told him how I felt like he was meant to come into my life, how I had learned about life’s glimmers and he was one of them, and I meant it. Bridgette, who had been drawing blood for 30 years and hugged me when she first met me. She took 22 vials of blood in one sitting, and I still looked forward to my blood draws every day to see her. Floor five was the best floor. Those weeks before I was briefly discharged waiting for a liver. I was the sickest I had been, but I was happy. I felt like I could die happy there.

I cannot describe the immeasurable pain. The dips in sodium and following psychosis. The digging for my arterial vein while I whimpered and my niece held my hair as I tried to stay still while I sobbed. The itching — spots of blood erupting through my thin skin. The muscle wasting. Feeling the weight fall off of you. The pulmonary function tests — after weeks of being on oxygen, having to physically push the nitrogen out of your lungs repeatedly to prove that you would survive a major surgery like a liver transplant. The collapsed veins and IV infiltrations. The thick needles through the same spot in my ribs and the suction of fluid draining from my lung. I could hear it. I could see it. The radiation — it’s been a month and my skin still is peeling. The back pain when my kidneys failed and straining to produce urine every day because the doctor needs it for testing. The fatigue. God, the fatigue. Getting out of bed was a marathon.

I’m still that tired, but I don’t tell anyone.

[my-life-literally]

5ive

When I was 5ive, I had acute appendicitis. And my appendix burst and I needed to be operated on in an emergency. 

I was taken to the ER and then they told my parents I likely had food poisoning and sent me home. There I remember a pain that I have never felt before, or since. Except sometimes when I think really hard I can remember. I remember writhing in pain and my mother’s step mother sitting over me crying and repeating, “don’t die, don’t die.” I think that was very nice of her, and I could tell that she meant it. Sometimes the most troubled people, can be the most sincere. I wish I knew where she was now. If you can hear this, Nani: I love you Nani.

Sometimes my mother doesn’t think, that when she robs herself, she robs other people.

I was taken to the emergency, and I needed to be operated on right away, they didn’t have time for general anesthesia so they just stuck a needle in my abdomen and froze the area, but I was still awake. There were a lot of lights above me and I was in a lot of pain and discomfort and pressure. There was a mirror or something reflective on the ceiling and I could see there was a lot of blood. There was a doctor who was bent over me and I could see that he was stressed out. I remember struggling a lot, but I can’t remember if I was. I think I was. Like I wouldn’t keep still.

The operation left me with a huge scar on my lower right side, about the size of my hand, and about 5mm deep. It indents my skin in a marked way to this day. I hated it. I felt like half a person. 

When I was 21 I got a tattoo of three orchids over it and I felt a lot better about myself. Sometimes  forget I have it, it feels so much more natural than my scar. 

But I have my scar. And I think that sometimes I love it. 

Sometimes I love it because it is evidence that someone cared enough about me, to stop the bleeding and to sew me up. They could have gotten tired and left it. Or could have ignored it and sent me home again. But someone took a second look and acted right away. A fast response. Sometimes I am upset that they didn’t figure it out the first time, and I wonder if they could have done a more elegant operation if they had. Sometimes I wonder if they turned us away because we were brown, or if I didn’t act in pain enough. But it also means that when things were so obviously bad, someone couldn’t ignore it. They had to do a lot, get a surgeon, and other people who really were focussing on me. Someone cut me open. But someone sewed me up.

I think that was the last time I remember getting that type of attention from someone, in a frenzied, sort of way. It was surreal. 

Then I was punished. But now I realize that that punishment had more to do with her than me. 

I have honestly felt that I have been recovering from that for my whole life. 

Other lacerations didn’t look like blood or a scar in my life. They did have a sound though, E-sharp/F on a violin. When someone did something to my psyche, that is the sound I hear when I remember it. Like a sear to the brain. And it hurts in the front.

I think that time in my life actually cracked my body open. And I felt a different connection to my body. And instead of feeling far away, I was plunged into my self. Except when it was over, I wasn’t myself. I was different. I was changed. 

All the other times I have been changed, I have not had a scar. But I think that all that pain is gathered there somehow. But not in a threatening way, just in a matter of fact way because nature has given it a place to go. And I hear that sound. It even slashes across my vision, just behind my eyes and gives me pressure between my ears. 

that’s all.

[thepenultimateword]

Maybe Not

A response to @some-messed-up-writing-for-you's short prompt 522 because for some reason a civilian police officer and villain ship had never before crossed my mind, but I LOVE it! You can see their original post here!

"What seems to be the problem, officer?" - the villain cheerfully asked, giving the other innocent puppy eyes.

The officer grumbled. "You."

"Moi?" Villain gasped, raising a slender, snow-skinned hand to their mouth. Long, butterfly eyelashes brushed back against their browbone their eyes opened so wide.

Officer's heart skipped a beat, but something inside them immediately recoiled.

There's something wrong with you, they mentally chastised themself. Only someone really sick in the head could be attracted to a person with so much blood on their hands. You're disgusting.

They stuck their traitorous feelings with a few more sharpened words, but the only outside manifestation of their struggle was a long grudging sigh. They looked upon the Villain dryly.

"Apparently someone reported a suspicious character hanging around these parts. That you?"

"Suspicious?" Villain tipped down the brim of their ballcap and gave a little twirl so that their long black trenchcoat fanned out around them. "Do I look suspicious to you?"

The streetlight illuminated the frayed threads hanging off the coat's hem. Upon closer inspection the fabric was worn and sun-lightened, the seams resown in several different colors of thread. Meanwhile, the cap's visor sported a missing corner. Those were not Villain's clothes. That was not how they dressed. Meaning they had dressed like that on purpose. They wanted to be reported. Maybe to see them?

Officer immediately quashed the tentative wingbeats of flattery, stoking up the fires of fury and turning the fragile thing to ash. They'd committed not to see Villain again. And they'd gotten along just fine for three weeks. They'd refocused their thoughts, had a good discussion with their friends about the necessary abolishment of villainy. The pain had finally begun to subside. Now Villain had come along and ruined it. They were back to square one.

Officer didn't want to be this way! Why couldn't they adore heroes like a normal person? They were a police officer for goodness' sake! People trusted them! They couldn't... They couldn't feel this way.

"I'm going to have to ask you some questions," they said mechanically. They'd rather just leave, but whether they liked it or not, they needed to follow the report through properly.

"Who's to say I'm the suspicious figure?" Villain said, tone somehow needling and innocent at the same time.

Officer felt the rage bubbling up in their throat. They tried to swallow it but it just wouldn't go down.

"Will you cooperate?" Officer's voice cracked as they struggled to keep their temper firmly locked behind their teeth, but bits of it still licked the corners of their words. "Please?"

"No, I'm serious. Have you even looked around for anyone else? There could be some weirdo out there while you're wasting your time with me."

Villain stepped in close. They flicked a piece of hair out of Officer's eyes. They tipped their head up at them, eyelids half-lowered and their smirk unbearably glib. "Unless...you don't feel like it's a waste of time."

The fuse has reached its end. Officer exploded.

"Stop it. Just stop it!"

Officer smacked the cap to the pavement. They spun Villain around, wrenched the coat off their shoulders, and threw it down with a loud smack of buttons and heavy fabric at the stunned criminal's feet.

"I can't take it anymore! Have you once, in all your flirting, ever thought about me?" They jabbed Villain in the collarbone. "Have you?"

"I--"

"You should see how they look at me! Like some sort of freak! Or worse, a traitor! I try to ignore them: push forward, do my job, try not to linger around the whispers. But sometimes they want me to hear. It's not enough to hate me privately they have to make sure I know. They have to stand by my desk, spew disgusting things about you, and watch for my reaction. And if I even twitch, suddenly I'm a villain sympathizer. I'm what's wrong with the whole system."

Villain's eyes widened, not with the theatrical shock from earlier, but like someone who had just been sucker-punched, barely recovered, and sucker-punched again. A small, weak part of Officer wanted to stop here. They wanted to shut up and run. But their mouth moved like someone possessed. The words that had been eating away at their gut for too long spilled out unrestrained.

"You think I'm here by coincidence? Or that I chose to be here? They sent me!" Their tongue grew thick and heavy in their mouth as the things they'd told themselves they hadn't heard became reality. "'Let's send Villain their corrupt little tramp. That'll calm them down.' 'At least they have some use.' 'Why--'" Officer broke into a sob. "'Why do they even let a hypocrite like that stay?'"

Officer suddenly snatched Villain by the front of their snug undershirt. Flecks of saliva sprayed like glistening freckles on their cheeks as Officer spit out their final questions. Things that had always plagued them. Things they already half-knew but had refused to ruminate on.

"Why did you talk to me that day? What do you want from me?"

They shook Villain violently, clacking their teeth together like a rattle. The criminal's face scrunched up as their incisors came down on the tip of their tongue, but they didn't cry out. They only stared.

"What do you want?"

Villain opened and closed their mouth helplessly. A beautifully dangerous siren that had lost its voice for a regular human, just like in the stories. Good. No room for arguments. It was easier this way.

They pulled the villain within a hairbreadth of their face. Somehow the red hot flame in their chest managed to ebb into a smolder. So as they loomed over smaller person, Officer's words were slow and clear.

"I don't care about you, got that? I never have, and I never will. You've ruined my life. Leave. Me. Alone."

That was it. Those final words took the last of their breath. Every ugly thing they'd accumulated inside was out in the open. They should go now. After all, that had been the plan. Instead, Officer gasped in the silence and waited for...something. What, they didn't know. They'd brought Villain to this climax, now Officer teetered at the tip of a precipice, stomach-lurching no matter which direction they flailed.

Villain watched them, perhaps also waiting, pale eyes glazed with unshed tears. A soft breath shuddered against Officer's cheek.

Officer had their lips on them before they knew what was happening. A messy, frantic, violent kiss on both ends. It tasted of blood and salt. It included teeth and the sharp pinch of nails. It was everything Officer had always hoped and yet also feared. The whiplash was so intense, it almost hurt, but they would have traded the respect of every station in the world to keep this moment.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," they took turns gasping between kisses and sobs.

"I didn't know," Villain said. They clung to the buttons of Officer's uniform, delicate shoulders wracked with sobs. "I really didn't. I thought we were on the same page. I should have tried to keep it secret. I should have left you alone."

"No!" Officer cried. "I didn't mean it. Please believe that I didn't mean it."

Villain tucked their head firmly beneath Officer's chin. "The kissing helped." They brusquely wiped their eyes on the back of their hand. "Ugh. Now my eyes are red and my face is going to swell up, and whatever speck of attraction you have left for me is going to disappear."

"If the rampant chaos and bloodshed haven't thrown me off, I don't think your crying face is going to be the thing to push me over the edge."

They both burst into shaky laughter, and Officer wrapped Villain tighter in their arms. Everything was still confusing, but strangely as much as Villain was the problem, they were also the solution. They felt as long as Villain was there to anchor them, everything would be ok. They nuzzled against Villain's shoulder.

"I love my job," they mumbled. "I love helping people and putting the bad guy behind bars. But I also love you. Does that make sense?"

"Does it have to?" Villain said.

Officer blinked at that. Their coworkers would probably say yes, but maybe...

"Maybe not."

[storiesforallfandoms]

sucker for pain ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1494

request?: yes!

“can you please do a colson one where the reader is getting their first tattoo and he’s by her side then he realizing they have a pain kink and yeah”

description: in which he finds out his girlfriend has a kink he’d never imagine she’d have

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

*i changed it from the reader getting their first tattoo because i missed the “first” part when writing for some reason i’m sorry i hope you still like it!*

gif credit to @poppy-in-the-woods !

“Are you sure you want to get a tattoo on your ribs?” Colson asked as you waited in the lobby for your next tattoo. “You know how much that hurts, right?”

“It’s one of the more painful places,” you said. “I know that. Have some faith in me, baby, I’ll be fine.”

Colson still looked skeptical, but decided to drop it. You were stubborn and you were set on getting this tattoo, he knew he wasn’t about to talk you out of it.

You had decided a week or so back that you wanted to get a tattoo in honor of Colson. Instead of something small, like his initials or his name or something, you decided to get your favorite of his lyrics tattooed on your ribcage. You even had him write the lyrics out so you could get his writing as the font for it.

It was a bit big of a tattoo, and you were getting it in a very painful place, so Colson was worried you weren’t going to be able to handle it when the tattoo started. He insisted he wanted to come with you to be your emotional support if nothing else.

“Hey (Y/N)!” your tattoo artist, Mack, said as he walked into the parlor. “You’re early! Wanna get started now?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

“Okay! Follow me in.”

You followed him into his area and he pulled the curtain across to block the view of anyone from outside. He turned back to you and Colson, eyeing your famous boyfriend for just a moment. “So, he does realize you’re going to be shirtless for this entire thing, right?”

Colson chuckled and nodded. “I’m aware you’re going to be starring at my girlfriend in just a sports bra for like an hour or more. Don’t worry, I’m cool with it.”

You could see Mack’s shoulders slump as he sighed with relief. “Okay good. You would not believe how many boyfriends lose their minds over their girlfriends having to take their shirt off for a tattoo, even if their tits aren’t actually out. If (Y/N) wasn’t a regular, I probably would’ve turned her down for this one just for my own safety.”

You laughed as you began to unbutton the blouse you had decided to wear - much easier to get back on once the tattoo was done. You laid down on the table and Mac started to line up your tattoo on your ribs.

“Last chance to back out,” Colson said as he sat down next to you.

You shot him a look. “Why are you so intent on me giving up on this because of pain?”

“She’s a tough chick, man,” Mack agreed. “I don’t think she’s ever flinched while I’ve given her a tattoo. It’s like she gets off on the pain or something.”

You shot a glare at Mack that he didn’t see as he was back on to you before relaxing your head back on the table. Colson looked at your curiously, making a mental note of what Mack had said.

The tattoo began and Colson took your hand in his. You looked over and smiled at him for a moment, wincing slightly when the needle touched your skin first. The pain suddenly radiated through your ribcage, but it didn’t bother you the way Colson had expected it would. You would wince every now and then, but you still had a light hold on his hand.

When Mack was finally finish, the black letters were bolded by the red of your irritate skin. Mack cleaned it and placed the bandage over the fresh tattoo. “I won’t give you the spiel on how to take care of this thing for the next few days.”

“You’ve said it so many times I think I know it word for word at this point,” you teased. You winced as you sat up from the table, both from the pain from the tattoo and from the stiffness of your back. “God, you guys need more comfortable tables. Feels like I was lying on the floor for an hour.”

“You’ve been there before, you know how uncomfortable it is.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him before turning to Colson. “What do you think, babe?”

Colson’s eyes studied the tattoo for a moment, still processing the fact that you got a major tattoo on your ribcage and barley flinched the entire time. “It looks really good. Is it what you wanted?”

You smiled. “Of course it is! I have something to remind me of you forever now, which means please don’t break up with me. It’ll cost so much to get this removed or covered.”

Colson chuckled and also rose from his seat. “I promise babe.”

You pulled your button up back on and headed to the front to pay for the tattoo. You couldn’t help pulling your shirt up to look at the tattoo once more as you and Colson started walking towards the door.

“Mack is probably the best tattoo artist I’ve ever been to,” you said. “He’s just phenomenal. I don’t think I’d trust anyone else the way I trust him.”

“He seems to know you pretty well,” Colson commented. “Like the fact that you seem to be into the pain that comes from getting a tattoo.”

You felt your face heat up as you tried to look away from Colson. You kept your voice as light as possible as you said, “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten a few tattoos at this point. I’m just used to the pain of the needle I guess.”

“I’m literally covered in tattoos and sometimes the pain is still unbearable for me,” Colson pointed out.

“We’re different people, Colson. Different people handle pain differently.”

Colson looked over at you as you tried to avoid his eyes. You wished you had been the one to drive so that you could get out of this awkward situation a lot sooner.

“Babe,” Colson said. You sighed and finally turned your head to look at him. “You know I am the last person to judge you on your kinks, right?”

You nodded. “I know, but...I’m just worried what your reaction would be if I straight up told you that I have a pain kink.”

“Well, for starters, I’d tell you that you’re dating the right guy since all I do is hurt myself.” You chuckled at this. “When did you realize you got off on pain?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I was a teenager I think. It might’ve been when I got my first stick and poke tattoo. All my friends hated the pain and complained for days, but I found myself kind of liking it. When I started having sex, I’d ask my boyfriend at the time to choke me or spank me, basically anything that caused the slightest bit of pain.”

Colson shuffled in his seat, a bulge beginning to grow in his pants that he was hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Not all guys are into the idea, weirdly enough,” you continued. “I’ve been with some guys that consider it a deal breaker. I even had a one night stand just completely stop having sex with me because I kept telling him he wasn’t being rough enough. I guess I just associated that negative reaction with the kink in my mind and never wanted to tell you in case you thought the same way.”

Colson chuckled. “(Y/N), I have a foot fetish. I am literally the last person you have to worry about thinking your pain kink is weird.”

You smiled. “Yeah, you have a point. I just don’t wanna scare you off. I like you a lot, Colson.”

Colson reached over and took your hand in his, giving it a slight squeeze. “You won’t scare me off. I wanna know what you’re into, and what will make you feel good when we’re having sex.”

“You make me feel good anyways,” you assured him. “But, if you’re really interested in getting to know that side of me more, I could show you exactly what I’m into.”

"Even though you just got a new tattoo.” You gave him a look, which caused him to laugh. “Okay, fair enough. I’d love to learn, although it may take me a long time, fair warning.”

“I’ll give you all the time you need.”

Colson smirked and leaned over to kiss you passionately. You turned as much as you could in your seat to cup his face and deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth for a short while. When you pulled away, Colson nipped at your bottom lip, which caused you to clench your thighs together in anticipated pleasure.

“Get us home before I climb on your lap in this parking lot,” you told him.

Colson didn’t have to be told twice. Within seconds, he had the car started and was racing out of the parking lot and back towards his house.

[shinobusupremecy]

Yandere Shinobu x f!reader

Warning(s): Drugs and other dark themes (?)

A/N:This oneshot is inspired by @ariesrondeletia they write amazing yandere stories! 

You were back in the room. Back again waiting for whatever Shinobu was gonna do to you. You opened your eyes to see Shinobu stand in front of you. You discovered that ignoring her was the best thing to do to defy her. She climbed onto the bed leaning to your face and leaning for a kiss. You turned your head away showing no emotions. You heard a sigh and felt her leaving your side.

"You know I hate it when you ignore me" She sighed. You gave no reaction knowing whatever reaction you did would please her nonetheless. 

"You know. When I was looking around a bit I stumbled upon some glass shards under your bed" She says.

"What a lie" You angrily thought. She sometimes sets you up just to give a reason to punish you. But giving a reaction would only please her so you still remained emotionless. Shinobu sighed and grabbed a needle. Hearing stuff scatter around the drawers she had you couldn't help to perk up with curiosity. 

"If you ignore me so much I hope you don't mind me doing this!" She says and you felt pain as the needle stuck into you, you felt the flow of the drug flowing into your veins soon circulating your body. You hissed a bit in pain and that made Shinobu smile seeing that you give in at last. 

"Now I will leave you here for a while. Let's see how much you can hold up before you want my special little drug" She cooed before leaving. You heard the door click but that was just false since she could be waiting outside. You sighed as you just laid there on the bed staring at the roof. You began to feel your body tingle wanting to move. You could never be still for so long so this was torture for you and that was something Shinobu used to her advantage. Soon enough you began to crave for the drug too. It was such a good drug and you didn't even know why. After 18 hours she came in again. It was clear she has slept since she was way more energetic. 

"I'm happy you have been holding out!" She said. You felt the smell of the drug and the craving was almost clawing you out. You tried to hold back the urge to plead. But the rope dug into your skin and soon enough the tears fell. Salty tears were the only thing you tasted. The fact you didn't eat much during any day either was another thing Shinobu used as an advantage. Trust me but Shinobu can wait. Seeing you writhe in agony of fighting back the urge for the drug is making her tingle with happiness. 

"Shinobu" You call out. You knew Shinobu was happy, her voice was the only hint you needed.

"Yes?" She asked. 

"Please give me a dose. The ropes burns" You said knowing what will happen now. You had to plead more while Shinobu watches in amusement seeing you become more desperate and desperate for the drug. She began stroking your hair, muttering empty promises about you having the drug soon. 

"Please bear with it a little longer. I know you can wait!" She says and you began growing more desperate. 

"Please just give it to me. I can't take this anymore. I don't wanna taste my salty tears anymore! it stings my tongue! Just a drop! Just a dose!" You began to plead. 

"Will you be a good girl?" She asked. 

"I will! I will be a good girl I promise! Just give it to me!" You responded feeling your breaths becoming heavier.

"Say that you love me" Shinobu ordered. Now she trapped you. You loved her but ever since she became like this you grew cold towards her. Avoiding her and trying to push her away from you. If you got injured you pleaded to go to the wisteria inn instead even if they had worse hospitality than the butterfly estate. 

"I won't ask again" She said, her voice more impatient and sharp. 

"I love you Shinobu. I love you with all my heart" You said. Shinobu grabbed your chin forcing you up to a sitting position. Your wrists began to burn in pain as the ropes sharply dug into you. She made you look at her, her purple eyes digging into your e/c eyes. 

"Good girl" She says as she brings out her needle digging the drug into you. You felt the drug taking effect. The feeling you longed craved for. You fell into Shinobu's arms as she hugged you and stroked your hair. 

"That's right, just give in" 

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch. 2

Ch. 1

Summary: Cassanda Awkward Asshole Dimitrescu

---

After a couple weeks of doing normal maid chores, Nicole was not expecting to see the dungeons again. Not after Cassandra’s little “failed experiment”. But all good things must come to an end eventually, don’t they? And to an end they came when a faint buzzing reached her ears mid-mopping the floor in one of the main halls.

 Two gloved hands were placed on her hips, pinning her in place, while Cassandra's chin came to rest on her shoulder. She inhaled deeply before finally speaking. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

Yes you very much are. 

"Of course not, my lady." 

"Good good. Sadly my study is quite a mess again and I was wondering…" one hand came to teasingly caress Nicole’s cheek. “You aren’t busy tomorrow, are you?”

She wasn’t. In fact, tomorrow was Nicole’s day off, something that she would bet on a lifetime supply of coffee that Cassandra was well aware of. It took every ounce of self control not to let a groan accompany her next words.

“I am not.” Asshole.

She felt herself being spun around, Cassandra’s face uncomfortably close to hers. “Be there by ten then.” And, with the sickle now under Nicole’s chin, “Don’t be late.”

And just as easily as she appeared, Cassandra dissipated into a cloud of flies and made her leave. A sigh of relief got caught in Nicole’s throat when she noticed the other two sisters standing in the doorframe opposite from the one Cassandra flew out of. They both gave her an amused look, seeing the faint blush on Nicle’s cheeks and, to her dread, they both approached her. Bela was the first to speak, thankfully keeping her distance.

“So what exactly is your deal? Immune to all the blood and gore, hm,” she hummed, eyes inquisitive .

“It’s been a while since Cassie was so dead set on scaring someone,” Daniela chirped in from behind and Nicole had to force herself not to snort at the nickname.

So that’s what this was about. Lil’ old Cassie was throwing a hissy fit because one person in this castle wasn’t cowering and bowing at her feet the moment they saw some blood splattered on her otherwise beautiful face. If she had to work in this hellhole of a village, then at the very least she could get some mild satisfaction out of annoying the family sadist. With the other sisters however, there was no point in hiding what her “deal” was. 

“I worked as a medical examiner.” At a raised blonde eyebrow she specified, “I used to examine dead bodies. Autopsies and all that.”

Bela’s face turned from mild shock to amusement, her eyes darting to the younger sister who straight up started laughing while the eldest, at least trying to keep her composure, chuckled. 

“Oh this is gonna be interesting,” the redhead said through giggles.

---

Nicole really had hoped that Cassandra meant 10 pm, with how the Dimitrescus were nowhere to be found during the early day, and she would still have the day to herself until night came. That idea went completely out the tinted windows when, at nine thirty, the head chambermaid came to remind her of the change in schedule. She quickly downed the remaining coffee from her cup while mentally cursing and bolted to her room to change into proper attire, then out the door she went. 

Where was she even supposed to meet the brunette? The doors to the dungeons were bolted shut and she doubted Cassandra would oh so graciously escort her this time. Then again, Lady Dimitrescu did say that she had to be supervised. She got her answer when the doors opened with a click and a drawn out groan from the heavy wood. Cassandra was standing there, eyes scrutinizing as ever while giving Nicole a once over. Then she pulled out a pocket watch that looked at least a century old.

“You’re…” eyes narrowed at the small silver object. “Seven minutes early. Oh you’re as annoying about being on time as Bela aren’t you?”

Well you did make it a point to tell me to be on time, you absolute hypocrite. Instead of voicing her opinions though, Nicole settled for following the other girl deep into the castle’s undergrounds, through damp and oddly warm corridors. The giddiness was back into Cassandra’s demeanor, golden eyes occasionally turning to the small redhead walking behind her with an expression of barely concealed glee. This was definitely not good news. 

It took about .5 seconds to notice what got the brunette so happy when they entered her study. The room was definitely cleaner than the first time, only a handful of devices were dirty and the floor needed some mopping. The tables however... One was covered in fresh blood and the other had a dead body sprawled on it, partially covered by a stained sheet. Oh the irony.

While Nicole was cleaning the unoccupied table, she was facing the brunette, somehow trusting her even less with a scalpel in hand than with a sickle. Not that watching her absolutely botch an autopsy was much better mind you. 

Has nobody taught you about the Y incision?!

That's too dee- congrats you’re making a mess.

That cut needs to go lower. What, are you afraid of some balls?

Oh my god are you trying to take the heart out before even taking care of the guts-

“What is it?” Cassandra’s voice came with a low growl, then a slight cock of the head. “You’re staring.”

“N-nothing,” Nicole stumbled over her reply, realizing too late that her hand had stilled on the rag she was using to clean the blood.

“One thing that I hate more than being disrespected is being lied to.” The warning was clear in her tone. “So I’ll ask again: what is it?”

Nicole was sure that being criticized was something she would hate even more, so she made the split second decision to go with a white lie.

“I just...find autopsies quite fascinating.” Well, in a way she did.

“...You do?” Golden eyes widened in what was probably the first truly genuine emotion Nicole has ever seen on Cassandra’s face: surprise, and a hint of curiosity. 

When Nicole reaffirmed her reply, the brunette’s eyes stayed on her for a few long seconds, trying to find the traces of a lie. When she found none, she just dismissed the other girl with an awkward cough and a “Those knives won’t clean themselves.” 

A tense silence fell on the room, only disturbed by the occasional clink of metal tools or the sloshing of organs being handled by the brunette. After the table was wiped to a reflective surface, Nicole moved on to mopping the blood trails on the floor. She was grateful for the chance to step away from Cassandra, if only for a bit. After the floor too was clean, it was time to wipe the few dirty blades, thankfully not as many as last time. She took a dagger from its holster on the wall and carefully ran a piece of cloth over the blade, washing away dried crimson clots. 

As much as it was probably a bad idea, she couldn't help throwing a subtle glance behind her at Cassandra. A few organs were placed on the table at the body’s feet, and she was taking notes in a leatherbound notebook that looked well used. The idea that she had any interest in the bodies beyond being food gave Nicole an oddly nostalgic feeling. It sent her right back in high school, when one of her friends who took art history classes was telling her all about how da Vinci used real dead bodies in order to study anatomy. Yeah, da Vinci but the more attractive versio- fuck.

She hissed and retracted her hand as she felt the sharp blade cut her wrist and almost dropped the dagger. The effort to conceal the pain was there, but useless as Cassandra was by her side in mere seconds. 

"Oh did you cut yourself?" She asked with feign concern, and grabbed her hand. "Here let me help you with that." 

"Oh no I'm okay really no nee-" 

Nicole's words died in her throat when Cassandra stuck out her tongue and dragged it, slowly, across the cut, collecting every last drop of blood. To top it off, she let out a low moan and gave the soft skin there a small nip, successfully making the redhead’s breath hitch. Now any normal and sane person would think I still have a knife in my hand, I should use it, but Nicole would be lying to everyone and then herself if she said she didn’t have a thing for danger. And it doesn’t get much more dangerous than this, now does it.

“Mm...you taste wonderful.” 

Was she supposed to thank her?

“You’re lucky you intrigue me, otherwise you would make for some fine wine.” She finished with her trademark cackle.

Oh she was definitely not getting a thanks now. Nicole rolled her eyes slightly, tugging her hand away. She was half expecting Cassandra not to release her, but instead she let go of her wrist and, with a giggle, she returned to her work without another word.

---

That night, Nicole made damn sure to wash the cut until her skin felt like it would have a permanent sensation of pins and needles. Once a bandage was securely wrapped around her wrist she sat down with a cup of tea, not quite ready to sleep yet. How ironic would it be if she died of an infection while living in a castle where people are literally turned into food and wine.

Although in all honesty, she was quite certain her death would be far more entertaining.

[echo-of-sounds]

homecare

Small drabbles of Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi taking care of you when you’re not feeling well. In Aizawa’s, you have a migraine. In Toshi’s, you have a stomach bug. In Hizashi’s, you have shingles (I got an ask about it, so I decided to change Hizashi’s to give the requester a little something to feel better)

Warnings: vomiting (there’s no real detail)

Aizawa Shouta

Blurs blotched the hallway. It turned to a flash of light, needles into your right temple. The sharp, sudden pain shot behind your eyes, tilting your vision off-kilter. You grabbed the wall for support as more brightness blinded. You quietly called out, “Sho? You there?”

“Right here.” A hand found your side, holding you tight. Shouta’s voice was soft yet still a little chiding, “I told you to lay down.”

“I needed to use-” A stab punctured your right temple. You lurched forward, feeling your stomach reel with it. His arm remained around you while you panted, “I just needed to go to the bathroom.”

“Well, you’re done with that. Come on, you shouldn’t be standing. I don’t want you to fall.” You didn’t put up a fight, giving him silent permission to bring you back to bed.

But the floor seemed to sink, spinning, smeared in black spots, spiraling in from your peripheral. Shouta asked something through wool, yet sharp enough to slit your temple. Then the floor rushed at you. His arm caught your front. Tingling overtook your legs. Cold shuddered your body, making you cling to his arm. It was warm and solid and felt like the only thing that wasn’t hurting you.

He helped you up and quickly half-guided, half-carried you to bed. “Did you grab my…” you trailed off once your head met the pillow. Taking the strain of bearing the weight of your head off your neck muscles immediately eased some of the shooting. Your eyes closed, refusing to take in any more light.

“Yeah.” A tiny pill was placed on your palm, hopefully the cure to this stupid migraine. A water bottle came next. “Careful. It’s open.” His fingers didn’t leave yours, guiding the bottle to your lips, letting you take multiple gulps.

You sighed your thanks and tucked the blankets under your chin.

A cold cloth rested over your eyes. “Is that good?”

You hummed.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Can you shut the blinds?”

He blocked out the rest of the day’s light. “Anything else?”

“Can you stay with me? I’m cold.”

Shouta didn’t respond. He just crawled under the covers, laying behind you, close but not cuddling. It was enough for his warmth to touch you. His hand nestled on your hip, keeping contact as you fell asleep.

Yagi Toshinori

Your eyes shot open, you jumped off the couch, and barely reached the toilet in time for your stomach to release. The strain constricted your ribs, tensing your neck and temples. Water dripped from your eyes as you flushed the toilet and slumped against the wall. Weak muscles wouldn’t let you stand, so you sat there, sweating and shivering, until you drifted asleep.

Toshinori’s voice said your name. You shrugged the hand off. He whispered, “Sweetheart, you’re on the bathroom floor. Let’s get you to bed.”

“My stomach…”

“That’s okay. I’ll get you set up.” Hands took yours and helped you stand.

You gripped his shirt through the short walk. When your bed was in sight, you hurried over to it and collapsed, bundling under the blankets.

You didn’t even notice Toshi left until he came back with a trashcan and towel. After setting them up for you, he asked, “What do you want to drink?”

“Water… and ginger ale.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back. Try to keep your body relaxed.”

You smiled and closed your eyes. Everything inside you suddenly felt completely and utterly drained. Sweating while freezing wasn’t a fun combo to get stuck with. At least your stomach was calm. But even then, it was only a matter of time until you were sick.

Two glasses clinked onto the bedside table. You opened your eyes, took a small sip of water, then put it back, lounging again. Toshi gingerly soothed, “Drink some more.”

You shook your head. It’ll just come back up.

“Honey, you might not want to, but you need to stay hydrated, or at least have something in your stomach so you don’t dry heave and hurt yourself.”

You grumbled and complied, taking a few gulps of water. It salved your sore esophagus that’ll only get rawer as the night continued.

“There you go,” he praised. His rough palm covered your forehead. “You’re hot, but not to the point I should be worried.”

“You’re not worried about my hotness?” you giggled.

“Hmm, I guess delirium can be another symptom,” he smiled, gently dabbing a wet washcloth along your forehead. You leaned into the cloth, letting it cool your skin, falling asleep under its movements and Toshi’s supervision. You’d worry about the upcoming stomach pain when it arrived.

Yamada Hizashi

Very softly and very carefully, Hizashi pressed the towel to your side, patting you dry. The plush towel felt worse than a knife on the raw, red, darkened skin. You tried sitting still while he prodded more of the affected area.

One slightly harder-than-normal pat made you flinch. “Ow!”

“Sorry, baby. I’m just making sure it’s clean and dry.”

“I know.” You grabbed his thigh. “It’s just sensitive. Everywhere is sensitive.”

“Did the bath help at all?”

“A little… It helped with the itching, but the pain…”

Hizashi exhaled heavily as he stood. “I’m sorry you gotta deal with this. Maybe this’ll do a better job.” He turned from the bureau, holding the cream your doctor prescribed.

You really didn’t want to go through more touching, and you weren’t banking on a big difference. But the doctor promised it would numb the area, giving you some relief from the pain. You sighed, “Alright. Be careful?”

“Of course.” After pulling on a pair of gloves, he squeezed the tube to get a good amount on his palm. Your body held tense, flinching when the cream connected with the welt-like bumps. You hissed but kept yourself still. He huffed, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Hizashi. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“I know. I know. I just hate seeing you in pain,” he talked low. Two fingers lightly smoothed over skin, dispersing the medication without applying too much pressure or friction. He made sure to cover the irritated area before taking the gloves off. “Okay. All done. It should start working in thirty minutes.”

You sighed again. Thirty minutes was a long way away. Pins and needles aggravated your entire body despite the blisters only being on your right side. And this was going to last over two weeks.

A knuckle brushed your cheek. Blinking away the water, you looked up to his glassy eyes. He kissed your forehead and cradled your chin. “I’m your own personal nurse. Whatever you need, I’ll provide.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“You don’t need to thank me, baby.” He returned to the bureau, shuffling through one of his draws. His hands withdrew a large, old T-shirt and helped you slip it on, heedful of your side and tender skin. It was big enough that you could forego shorts and underwear.

Once set, Hizashi smiled wide and pulled you to your feet. “Now, let’s get some food in your tummy before bed.”

[xowlan]

.𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓

axl rose x reader

requested: yes/no

summary: When Axl catches his girlfriend dealing drugs, he tries to make her stop.

warnings: drug abuse, violence, abuse

a/n: thanks for requesting and I hope you like it @teasid​

Axl couldn’t believe what he was seeing as Steven tensed up behind him. The two of them recognised you straight away in the group of junkies that traveled with the band as long as the tour lasted. 

Knowing the mischief they can cause, he warned you to stay away from them. But yet there you were, handing one of them some money in exchange of a small bag filled with white substance. 

Axl’s face drained of color. He wasn’t an idiot. He had seen these kinds of bags before, especially whenever Slash would leave with them before he looked himself in the bathroom. 

With the cocaine clutched in your hand, you walked away, in the direction opposite of them. Steven glanced at Axl, who stared emotionless at the ground, his eyes as dull as the concrete. “What are we gonna do?” Steven asked, quietly.

“Did you know?” Axl didn’t respond to his question. Shocked, the blonde’s eyes widened before he shook his head. “No.”

“The others?” Axl asked gruffly. Steven sighed. “Not that I know of.” 

Finally, Axl glanced at Steven before his eyes fell on the bus he knew you were on. “Tell this to others and than you can teach these motherfuckers a lesson for selling drugs to y/n.” 

Without waiting for an reply, the lead singer made his way towards the giant tourbus. Knowing no one was inside, but you he simply opened the door and got in.

But you weren’t in his sight. Axl frowned and looked around for a second time, only to find no trace of you. That was until he heard some noises coming from the tiny bathroom in the back of the bus. With stomping feet, he marched over as he felt the rage already kick in. 

How could you do this? You hated the fact that he did drugs, or the others so why were shooting up? `

Axl stopped in front of the bathroom door before knocking twice while calling your name. Th sounds of movements stopped and he figured that you must have started panicking. 

As no response came from you, he called your name again. But still you kept quiet. “Y/n, let me in or I’m gonna kick this fucking door in,” he warned, glaring holes at the thing separating you two. 

“Why?” Axl hated how his heart fluttered at the sound of your voice.

“Because I know what you’re doing and we need to talk, now.”

“No we don’t.”

“Don’t be a fucking brat.” Axl kicked the door, in warning. He heard you squeal so he waited patiently for you to let him in, but you didn’t. 

“Alright, if you want it like this.” Axl growled as he took a step bag. With the force of his right foot, he kicked the door in. You were slammed against the wall as the door fell into you, but Axl didn’t care. 

Instead his eyes were focused on the needle and cocaine in the sink. Blood was  gliding down your arms while a needle was still stuck in the vein. Clenching his jaw, Axl stepped forwards and made a movement to get the needle out. You turned around. “No!” 

Ignoring you, Axl gripped you tightly and pulled your arm towards him. With a harsh yank, the needle was pulled out and blood squirted over your skin. You sobbed as Axl threw the needle in the sink and walked away. 

“Ax, please!” You begged as you tried to follow him. But you stumbled and fell onto the floor. Hearing you fall, Axl stopped himself from exciting the bus and looked at you. 

He didn’t know whether the pathetic sight of you was angering him more or was breaking his heart. 

“Why?” He had to ask that simple question as he prepared himself for the answer. 

“I don’t know!” You cried out, not wanting to meet his eyes. Axl fumed, looking straight at you as the rest of the band walking in. “That’s bullshit y/n and you know that!” 

Slash stepped forwards and tried to calm down Axl, but the ginger pushed him away. Turning towards the guitarist, he pointed a finger in his face. “Did you do this? Did you shoot her up so she would get addicted herself?”

“No man what the fuck.” Slash frowned deeply. “I love her like a sister, so why would I wish her this crap?”

“None of us knew,” Duff muttered, eyes trained on your crying figure. Your blood fell onto the floor as your figure shook from the hysterics you were getting. 

“Axl please, don’t leave me!” All the men looked at you, out of anger or sadness. “I’m sorry.” 

“If you’re so sorry, get the fuck clean. I don’t need a junkie as my girl.” His words cut your heart in peaces, especially when you felt something wet fall onto your hair. Axl had just spit on you. 

Ignoring the remarks off the others, he left. Steven rushed over to you and cradled you in his arms. You only started to cry louder. 

“How could he do this?” Steven asked softly. It was Izzy that new the true answer.  “Because seeing her like this, hurts him.” 

You lift your head and looked at Steven. “We’re both sharing our pain, popcorn. And it’s all my fault.” 

[anika-ann]

One Door Closes... (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2700

Summary: For Steve, your door is always open... or he thinks so. And even when it isn’t, it is.

In which one small Zoom mishap leads to an (un)usual ‘welcome home’.  

Warnings: brief mention of blood and violence, lightest angst, attempt at humour, crack-ish, fluff and language

A/N: For @anjali750, because this is totally her fault. Thank you for inspiring me :-* Have a little bit silly weekend reading, y’all!

“Tell me about it,” Steve encouraged you gently, soft smile playing in the corner of his mouth despite the pain it must be causing him due to his busted lip.

You couldn’t but grin at the lenient picture he made. Feeling blood rush to your cheeks at the thought of him probably calling you cute in his mind if his expression was anything to go by, you obliged, proceeding to tell him about the new project at work.

Your project. Because somehow, you finally earned your boss’ confidence and could bring the great ideas in your mind to life.

You felt so giddy just talking about it! So you started explaining, excitedly gesturing with your hands so Steve would get the right visual and you grew so enthusiastic that you almost forgot to keep an eye on him.

But you were watching him – always.

His lower lip was split, but already healing – it would have healed much faster if he stopped tugging at the healing skin whenever he talked or smiled at you from the screen. He looked a little drowsy, a shadow of a bruise forming on his cheek, but as far as you knew, those were the only injuries he had; that and many hours of sleep to catch up on.

Steve had a habit of calling you via Zoom whenever he got back to the Tower from a mission. He usually took a quick shower and was online until the last second before he had to leave for a debriefing; the only reason why he didn’t head straight to your place.

He admitted once that he loved seeing your face and talking to you even if for a moment after a mission, that it grounded him. On a very sappy and loveable moment, he even called you his sun; and the fact that after few minutes of being with you – as much as technology allowed – his face always seemed brighter, made you think that it truly was how he felt.

Even exhausted as he was now, you could tell his half-lidded eyes shined with life unlike when you started the call.

And so you kept rambling, feeling your heart bursting with love for your man and with euphoria, because goddammit, finally some recognition at work!

“Well, obviously, to reach as much general public as we can, we’re gonna launch a world-wide campaign! World-wide!” you emphasized with a blinding grin, throwing your hands wide to demonstrate.

---and your fingers caught in a cord from the laptop, pulling at it.

Steve’s benevolent face disappeared as your screen went black.

Because of course it did.

You had been talking yourself into buying a new laptop or at least having this one fixed for a few weeks now, because this was always the result whenever you accidently unplugged it. The battery was useless, ready to retire.

“Motherfu--- ugh!“

You wanted to be mad at the device – but this was totally on you.

Sighing, you hooked up the laptop again, waiting for it to wake up from a coma, shooting Steve an apologetic text in the meantime. Closing your eyes, you let your forehead lightly fall against your desk, mentally cursing yourself.

Dummy. If you only weren’t so lazy… and didn’t hate certain aspects of adulting with so much passion… you could have been talking to Steve-

Your eyes flew opened when it felt like it was quiet for too long; no reply to your text. Dread filled you and you quickly reached for your phone again, this time to dial.

You prayed you were wrong; but as the phone kept ringing with no one to answer it on the other end, you felt misery creep up you back and whimpered. Sliding your phone on the tabletop, your not-so-deft fingers stumbled over the keyboard, harshly welcoming it into the world of living by opening Zoom again to reconnect the call.

Your breath hitched in anticipation as the window opened---

An amused and yet somehow unimpressed face of Natasha Romanoff welcomed you and this time, you didn’t bother slowing down as your head hit the desk. It hurt, but that was only a presage of the real pain.

“Nooooooo,” you whined loudly, faking and not quite faking a sob, because shit.

“Oh yes,” Natasha hummed nonchalantly.

You straightened a bit in your chair, narrowing your eyes at her as you noticed the corners of her lips twitching while she pretended to be busy checking out her possibly-mission-broken nails.

“It’s not funny.”

She snorted and glanced at your no doubt desperate face.

“It really is. But also kinda sad,” the spy noted, something resembling concern flickering over her face before she scrunched her nose, irises twinkling. “And disgustingly cute. It has Rogers written all over it.”

You glared at her some more, not even bothering to roll your eyes.

“Tell that to my landlord,” you muttered under your breath, leaning your elbow on the tabletop and dropping your chin to you palm. A second later, a brilliant idea hit you and you tried to manipulate your legs from under you.

The thing was, even if you had a pretty good idea of what was coming if you didn’t stop it and knew that it would be a bitch to deal with, Natasha was right.

In a way, it was utterly cute, disarmingly charming and entirely heart-warming. Your stomach fluttered, the fabled butterflies flipping their wings, your face grew hot and your heart… well, it felt as if it was growing in size.

It was also sad, heart-breaking even; Steve, especially after a mission, was a man running on instincts. It was one of the reasons why he had developed a habit of calling you, why he wanted to hear you ramble about your either boring or exciting but always wonderfully normal day. A day which involved no shooting and no blood besides papercuts and a quarrel with your stubborn boss who shoot you glares at best.

On a mission, these carnal automatisms often meant survival. But back home, Steve didn’t want to be a sum of instincts of survival, fight and fear; he wanted to feel again. And with you, he did. He wasn’t just a Captain America, a soldier to be put on battlefield whenever the general found fit. He was a human being. A wonderful one at that, with beautiful soul.  

So yes. It was also rather upsetting.

And in a way, it was a little funny too. You knew it was totally your fault and that Steve was being kinda ridiculous, because he knew you and your inclination to wild gesticulations ending up catastrophically. On top of that, he was aware of this particular problem being almost a daily occurrence; hell, he tried to talk you into having Stark look at your laptop and failed.

And now... well. Here you were.

“You know, maybe if you get up and welcome him with door opened…” Natasha teased you with your own genius ides and you grinded your teeth, frantically trying to move your foot, which was pretty much on fire and yet dead.

“I would, but I… eh, pins and needles, was sitting on my feet,” you explained, embarrassed, testing whether your feet could carry you or not, naturally finding that without support, you’d be down before you could take as much as a step.

This time, Natasha didn’t snort in amusement.

Instead, she graced you with an outburst on honest full belly laughter, her red hair unfairly shiny for a woman who just spend week on a mission in damn Moldova and probably kicked more asses that you could imagine.

“You know what, Romanoff…” you grunted, forcing yourself to wobble towards the door. Very slowly. And cautiously. Knowing your luck, you might actually get hurt.

“I’m not even sorry,” she choked out and then continued to howl in laughter. “You so deserve each other. I finally know what the ‘idiots in love’ mean. Thanks for that!”

“You’re very welcome,” you huffed, voice dripping with irony.

Finally able to put full weight on both of your feet, you headed towards the exit – and entrance – of your apartment.

Halfway, you decided it was a lost cause. You would be willing to bet that the moment you’d touch the doorknob, you’d get hit to your face. It wasn’t worth it.

Yes, maybe if you did get hurt, it would make Steve think twice before coming all guns-and-shield blazing into your apartment; then again, it would probably cost you a broken nose.

Not to mention Steve’s tendency to get swallowed by the enormity of his guilt.

So not worth it. Best if you stayed put.

That was what you kept telling yourself when you stood there for about two minutes, in which you’d be able to open the door about forty times. Your annoyance – mostly with yourself and the cackling redhead – and the anticipation was becoming unbearable. As seconds ticked by, you were trying to convince yourself into taking the last few steps and opening the door and save yourself some trouble---

You yelped when the loud bang rattled your apartment the door sent flying of their hinges along with a spray of powered plaster despite knowing it was coming.

A glint of metal appeared next, the striking red, white and blue no longer there as it was covered in more bland colours for stealth missions.

And then a large figure cladded in blue shirt and grey jeans entered, his chest heaving, face flushed with red. Piercing blue eyes wiped of all previous traces of tiredness scanned the room, instantly falling on you as you awkwardly stood there, dumbfounded, startled and utterly speechless.

Also, much to Steve’s puzzlement, you were perfectly fine otherwise – even with both legs functioning, no remnants of pins and needles present.

Steve eased his posture instantly, eyes narrowing and then widening as he looked you up and down, lips parting in genuine surprise – and relief.

He said your name, clear and almost reverent, dropping the shield on the floor with a clang.

The ‘hi babe’ got stuck in your throat as you could see the tension leaving his shoulders, his eyes turning glassy and absent despite relief rolling off him in damn tsunami waves.

It hit you like a train – that you were delighted to see him, actually see him, even under these circumstances; and you truly didn’t want him to withdraw to some freaky brain-space after he had probably got one of the most ridiculous scares of his life due to the fact that his brain was not fully back in the normal world.

In the normal world where you abruptly disconnected a call without warning, because you talked too animatedly and not because some terrorist high on the FBI’s, CIA’s, NSA’s and SHIELD’s most wanted list found out you were Steve’s girlfriend and decided to take you out.

So to prevent another psychical horror trip of his, you went for distracting him – with a very relevant issue.

“You broke my door.”

Steve blinked, gaze refocusing on you fully, simply staring for a long moment.

“You went offline,” he objected quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. God, you missed his voice.

“You broke my door, Steve.”

As if hearing his name was a spell, his frozen figure came to life and he took a cautious step closer, repeating his previous statement, this time with a hint of guilt.

“You went offline.”

“And you broke my door. That’s the second time this month, Steve! My landlords gonna k--- be real pissed at me,” you corrected yourself in the last second, not wanting say kill.

Steve ignored the slip and apparently got the message, his face twisting in genuine apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it!”

With efficiency of a supersoldier, he spun on his heels and rushed to pick up the door as if it was lighter than a paperweight and swiftly put it in place.

Only for the door to slowly tilt his way again. He caught it with a loud curse and moved it aside, leaning it partly against the wall. The action sent more plaster down onto the floor, like the only truly white snow in New York City. Peripherally, you noticed Steve grimacing, his face an expression an epitome of yikes.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head with a sigh, but couldn’t but chuckle. When you looked at Steve again, he resembled a 240 pounds giant Labrador puppy, truly regretful, approaching you reluctantly as if he was afraid you would slap his big paws for being clumsy.

What he would deserve was for you to clip round his ear for impulsiveness, but could you blame him? God knew what he had seen in Moldova in the past week, what horrors he had lived through and what a nightmare his mind had created when you ‘went offline’.

Him barging in like this due to your own dumbassery was kinda sad; a prove of his demanding job full of terror.

It was cute and heart-warming, because he just cared for you that much.

It was a little ridiculous, because as Steve finally crossed the distance between you two, the head of your elderly neighbour peeked from behind the empty doorway, puzzled and rather concerned.

You snorted unattractively, the scene in front of you seeming epically hilarious all of sudden.

“I’m good, Mr. T!” you called over Steve’s shoulder after the poor man who gossiped like an old woman and was just as hospitable. “Just my boyfriend fussing because of a technology fail!”

A grin spread on his wrinkled face; a testimony to years of laughter and amiability. “Oh. Hi, Mr. America!”

“Afternoon, Mr. T! I am verry sorry for disturbing you.”

The older-looking man waved off Steve’s politeness.

“It’s fine. You keep taking care of your lady, Mr. America, and keep her safe!”

“Yes, sir,” Steve humoured him with a salute, earning a wink.

As your neighbour walked away with a fresh topic for his Sunday tea party, Steve turned his attention to you again, eyes searching, wide, apologetic – but also soft, taking in the view of you, revelling in it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered lowly, the lopsided smile you loved so much gracing his face, once again pulling at that damn split lip. You grimaced a bit, the sight of him almost brining tears into your eyes; the gentleness and the remnants of fight punching you straight in the gut.

His eyes fluttered close when you lifted your hand and traced the line of the bruise on his face with the lightest pressure you were capable of. This time, tears definitely prickled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, cupping Steve’s cheek and pulling him close.

“Oh come here, babe,” you breathed out, fingers carding through his hair as he leaned his head on your shoulder, lips brushing the crook of your neck, strong arms embracing around your form.

He was warm and big and held you a bit tighter than necessary and dammit, you loved your sweet of heart and occasionally dumb of ass boyfriend. Boyfriend, who was crazy in love with you. Sometimes with emphasis on the crazy.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he muttered, nose nuzzling the sensitive skin of your neck, breathing in deeply. You pretended it didn’t do things to you as he did everything to get lost in you and leave all the bad behind. You failed.

“You’re totally paying for fixing my door.”

Well, maybe not failed entirely.

“Of course,” Steve assured you dutifully, no hint of humour in his voice.

It broke you on a completely new level; he was serious. Dammit you loved this man!

“I missed you too,” you finally admitted and this time, he did chuckle, squeezing you even tighter, hand running up and down your back. Without any warning, he tightened his grip and lifted you from the floor so you had to cling to him entirely, causing you to gasp.

You never got the chance to gather your wits and comment on that, because an annoyed voice of a certain redhead sounded from your laptop.

“…alright, you crazy kids, you had your cuddles. Now, Rogers, should I tell Fury you’re coming back for the debriefing or should we just finally change with the times and do it over Zoom?”

Clutching Steve’s waist and shoulder, face contentedly in his chest, you voted for the latter.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Lovely divider by whimsicalrogers​.

A fic from collection ‘This was supposed to be a drabble.’  Also, I couldn’t for the love of god figure out a better title.

I hope you enjoyed at least a bit :-*

Thank you for reading!

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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

The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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

Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story pt 22 - Sci Fi

New part is here! Just a few more in this world. Just realized that it's been about 1 year since I've started this story. Wow.

Masterpost linked here.

Enjoy!

____________________________

The school was greatly relieved to hear that I had made a Connection and was no longer a danger to myself and others. They immediately rescinded my suspension and "encouraged" me to resume training with my new partner as soon as possible. I found the quick 180 amusing, but didn't argue.

It took multiple video calls with Alaira’s father to reassure him that everything was okay, and a few more to prevent him from throwing a parade for Liam to thank him for matching his daughter. His tears of joy at the news was a complicated moment for me.

I had felt a deep sense of joy, but it was an emotion that didn’t belong to me... it belonged to Alaira. Watching him celebrate his daughter’s recovery felt hypocritical, knowing that in the world that I hadn’t taken over, his daughter hadn’t had a good end. She had died alone and afraid, her mind fragmented.

But there was no way to tell him that.

The mission completion status on my communication device had risen quickly from 1% to 42%. Liam and I spent every waking moment together, talking, joking, and learning about each other. We practiced making the connection with the Mech, powering and controlling it now a smooth, painless process. It was natural, coming as easily to me as breathing. Working with him felt less like learning with a new partner as gaining back a missing part of me.

I was happy.

But not everyone was glad to hear we had matched.

Shortly after our match was made public, Liam and I were walking down the hallway after class, and were forced to stop by a young, angry woman blocking our path.

“It’s a lie!” Princess Ilene glared at Liam as she faced us down. “William can’t be a real Connector! He’s always been just a useless waste. He's a stain on the royal family!”

Liam seemed unfazed by his sister’s cruel words, as if he were used to it. The lack of reaction and the implications behind it made me even angrier. I stepped forward, hiding him partly behind me, and smiled pleasantly. My expression and pleasant tone obviously confused the princess, who took a step back.

“Ilene, Ilene, there’s just so much wrong with what you said… I don’t even know where to begin!” I shrugged. “ But, correcting idiocy IS my calling in life, so let me give it a shot:”

Ilene’s face was red with rage, but I ignored her incoherent sputtering, holding up a finger.

“First, Liam is capable of making the connection. He just had a strong barrier. Obviously it isn't impossible, or he and I wouldn’t be matched. “ I held up a second finger. “Secondly, and more importantly: even if he COULDN’T make the connection, he still wouldn’t be useless. He’s a kind, wonderful person, and that’s more than you can say about most Guardians or Connectors… present company included.”

“ How dare…” Princess Ilene took a step back. “What are you trying to say?”

I blinked, shocked “Oh, was I not being obvious enough? I don’t like you. I think Liam is a much better human being than you, and find it pitiful that you try to derive your self worth from putting him down.”

Liam stepped forward, grabbing my hand. “It’s ok…”

“No, its not. You don’t deserve for people to call you trash.” I felt emotional, as if something deep inside me was trying to break free.

“It’s always been like this.” He shrugged, “I’m used to being alone.”

____________________________

“Friends, family?”

The man in front of me was smiling at my question, but the expression was so sad it made me want to cry.

“None.” He twisted his hands in his lap, looking away. “I’m supposed to be alone.”

“Why?”

“Supposedly that’s my fate.”

____________________________

“You are not trash.” I tightened my grip on Liam’s hand. “ and you’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” He smiled, “Thanks.”

Princess Ilene spoke up, obviously tired of being ignored. “How dare you trample on Chris’s kindness and reject him for this tr…” She started to say the word “trash” but seeing my face, nervously trailed off and started again. “You don’t even know if you two have a high enough resonance match to ward off your mental degradation…!”

“We do. It’s gone.”

She paused, thrown by my matter of fact tone. “… But what if you’re a higher match with Chris…”

“Don’t care. I hate him.”

“… But…”

“You do bring up a good point, though.” I turned to Liam. “We should see what our resonance match rate is.”

He looked nervous. “What if it isn’t very high?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re already partners. I’m just curious.” I grinned. “Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s really high, and I’d love to use that to shut people up.”

He chuckled at that. “If it means that much to you to rub it into people’s faces...”

“It does.”

We walked towards the match center, leaving Princess Ilene stunned into silence behind.

____________________________

Liam got more anxious the closer we got to the match center. “You promise you won’t break our partnership if our match score is low?”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” I didn’t feel insulted at his questioning. I could feel his insecurity, the need for me to say out loud what he thought he knew. “Low or high, we’re partners. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.” He sighed, grinning. “I like being stuck with you.”

Finally, we were facing the machine that had failed us both so many times. Irrationally, I felt a little nervous, the many prior failures of the past few weeks too fresh and painful to completely forget.

Liam stepped away from me, reaching out and placed his hands on the panel first.

“Unrecognized tester. Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.”

I rubbed my forehead tiredly as the robotic rejection echoed loudly around the room; “I forgot your barrier is still around since it doesn’t effect me anymore.”

“Honestly, I had forgotten too.” He responded with a happy smile.

A crowd was starting to gather, curious at our actions. As more and more people realized what we were doing, I began hearing the whispering between them.

“Didn’t she go crazy?”

“...thought she couldn’t match?”

“He has a barrier? ...never could match.”

“I heard they already formed a connection.”

“Heard her dad is a general, spread the rumor of her matching so she wouldn’t get kicked out.”

“Isn’t she matched up with Chris?”

“Why are they here?”

I grabbed Liam’s hand again, feeling relieved when I felt his warm skin against my own. “Don’t listen to them.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He stared straight at me, ignoring the hostile words and gazes of the crowd. “You’re beside me, and that’s all that matters.”

I squeezed his hand in my own. A strong desire welled up within me to be worthy of the trust he gave me. I wanted to show everyone what Liam could do, the bond we had... but of course it couldn't be too easy.

“We just have to figure out how to get your barrier down enough for the machine to read you." I glanced down at my hand that was still holding his. "I mean, I’m touching you now, right? There’s no barrier between us?”

He stared down at our clasped hands, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yes, I feel you. I mean, no, there’s no barrier.”

“Good!" I gestured to the pad with my free hand. "Then why don't you try again while we're still touching each other?”

He placed his hand back on the machine.

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” The machine's voice repeated itself calmly.

His hand fell away, frustrated. I could feel his anxiety, and worried deep down that I had made a wrong choice. I did this to reassure him that we are a good match. To shut up everyone saying that it's a made up story to justify the removal of my suspension. To prove to everyone that Liam isn't useless, even by their own stupid standards.

But none of this will happen if he can't use the machine.

I thought it over, and grinned as I came up with a plan. “Hmm… Well, there’s one other thing we can try…”

I leaned in and kissed him, grabbing his free hand with my own and placing it on the pad together. His breath caught in his chest and he froze in shock very briefly before kissing back. In that moment I almost forgot why I had kissed him in the first place, but the robotic voice quickly reminded me.

“Resonance match detected…. Scanning…. Resonance Frequency Match...100%.”

The voice had barely faded before there were shouts of shock from the crowd. The room descended into chaos at the announcement. I broke away from Liam, who was still distracted, and stared at him.

“Did that machine just say… we are a 100 PERCENT match? I didn’t even think that was possible!”

Liam blinked. “I’m sorry, I dinwhat did you say?”

“We’re a perfect match, Liam.” I laughed. “I knew this was a great idea!”

Definitely didn't completely doubt the plan halfway through... yep.

“So… no one can separate us then?” His body relaxed, and he reached out, pulling me against himself and hugging me tightly. I felt the trembling of his muscles and knew that the anxiety he had shown was only the tip of the iceberg. His true fears and insecurities were still well hidden, even from me.

I hugged him back, waiting for him to back away. The crowd’s murmuring were now a loud roar, as everyone discussed a match rate that most thought impossible to achieve. And there, in the back of the crowd, I saw a solitary figure standing there, watching us with a blank stare.

Chris.

I shuddered, holding Liam tighter. The first thing I had done when Liam and I announced our match was to report to the authorities Chris holding me in his room. I suspected him of drugging me as well, remembering the prick of the needle before falling unconscious.

I was laughed at.

“Why would a student with a crystal clear reputation go out of his way to kidnap a general’s daughter? He already had a match, a better one than his resonance with you if I recall. If anyone had motive to kidnap someone, it would be you to him!”

The words were cutting, made worse by the pity on their faces.

“It’s obvious: your mind was breaking down due to the strain without a Connector, and came up with this fantastical plot of being kidnapped.”

And despite my objections, the claim was dropped. I hadn’t seen Chris since the day we parted in his room.

Until now.

His gaze held mine. He was expressionless, watching us with a detached, almost clinical air. I would have almost thought he was bored, or at least uncaring about the situation in front of him… if not for his eyes…

His eyes were burning with rage.

I looked away first feeling an odd sense of familiarity, as if something similar had happened before.

____________________________

A few days later Liam and I had our first mock battle. Suspended together in the Connection chamber within the Mech, the constant physical and mental connection with Liam made operating the Mech much easier than it ever had been alone.

I fought with a sword, having abandoned the dual guns completely. I breathed a sigh of relief at the speed I could move at as I ducked under the enemy Mech’s attack. Turning with the spin of my dodge, I used the momentum and I swung around to slash the torso of our opponent with the sword.

“Nice hit!” Liam’s voice in my headset was excited. He was cheering me on along the way, spurring me to show off with more complex moves when possible, hoping to impress him.

I pressed the attack, slamming the Mech with the shoulder of ours, and kicking it to the ground before it could recover its balance. The movements were smooth, and my head was clear of any pain. The prior drain and discomfort of controlling the giant robot was completely gone.

As our opponent fell to the ground, I pressed the tip of the sword into the Mech’s neck. The referee called out our victory, and the crowd around the arena cheered, but it was just noise to me. All that mattered was Liam’s excited babbling in my ear.

“That was awesome! I’ve always wondered what it felt like to win a Mech fight, and it’s so much cooler than I ever imagined! This is great! When can we fight again?”

“Glad you had fun, Liam.” I laughed at the innocent delight in his voice. After the stress and pain I had experienced since waking up in this world, the uncertainty of who I was and why I was here, there was something simple and healing about being by Liam’s side.

I feel happy.

I was nervous about admitting it, even to myself, as if the simple acknowledgement of the positive emotion would be enough to destroy it. But I couldn’t deny it. I WAS happy.

After we had undocked and changed, Liam and I relaxed in the fighter’s lounge. Liam as always, had a container that he pulled out of a bag, opening it to reveal a slice of cake. I took it from him with a murmur of thanks, and after the first bite sighed with joy.

“I've been meaning to ask you: Where do you get this cake? It's obviously not from the school shop, it’s way too good!”

Liam smiled at the question. “I made it myself.” Usually more quiet and shy, he seemed very confident when it came to matters such as food. The change in his attitude was something I loved to see.

“Really? You made it? This is too delicious… if only I could have this all the time.” I took another bite, savoring it. As I swallowed, I looked up at him and joked. "Yep, I think the only solution would be for me to just marry you.”

“…” There was a strange silence in the room. I ate some more cake, unconcerned at first, but as the awkward stillness stretched on I paused in my actions, turning towards Liam again with a questioning look.

His face was bright red, and he stared at me with a look of shock and joy.

“Liam?”

He nodded, and blushing more, pulled out his communication device, dialing a number.

“Who are you calling…?”

Alaira’s father, General Gladus showed up on the holographic projection from his device. He stared at Liam, confused for a moment, before barking out with a frown. “Who is this?”

Liam sat up straight, staring at the man with a solemn expression. “General Gladus, my name is William. I am the third born of the Royal family, and a first year student at the academy, and a Level S Connector.”

General Gladus grinned. “I know who you are, son. You’re the wonderful young man who matched with my daughter. I’ve been wanting to talk with you and thank you…”

“Your daughter has asked me to marry her and I have agreed.”

“What?”

“What?”

My father and I asked in unison.

“I was very happy to receive your daughter’s offer of marriage. I will do my very best to support her in all her endeavors.”

“She proposed?”

I silently mouthed an echoing question as my father burst out loudly. “I proposed?”

Liam nodded. “I wanted to let you know so that you could arrange for military leave and be present for our wedding. I know the paperwork can take weeks to months. ”

“…” General Gladus looked stunned. Slowly, his hologram turned towed me. “Alaira, is this true?”

"Yeah, military leave paperwork is notoriously slow..."

He interrupted. "No I mean about the engagement!"

I glanced over at Liam’s excited face.

____________________________

“I don’t believe it’s real.” He whispered, staring down at our hands that were clasped together. “I thought that I was always going to be alone. I thought my fate… my role… ”

I fiddled with the silver band in my hand, trying it on his finger. “Screw fate. We’re getting married now.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, the smile lighting up his face, making the whole room brighter. “Screw fate. I’m your husband!”

____________________________

I shrugged. “What can I say? We’re a destined couple.” I briefly explained about our 100% resonance match.

“… Did you say 100% match?” At my nod, General Gladus opened up his arms. “Welcome to family! When's the wedding?”

After a few more minutes of discussion, Liam hung up, still looking happy.

“Should we notify your parents?”

His face froze. When his gaze finally rose to met mine I shrunk back from the dull look I saw there.

“No reason to.” He reached out, tucking back my hair. “A family without love is just blood related acquaintances. You’re my real family, wife.”

I hugged him again. “That’s right. I’m your family.” I hadn’t really meant to propose… it was just a joke. But the second he called me wife, my heart had felt a sense of recognition. It was happy, but also hurt, a deep remembered pain. A panicked feeling rose up within me, as fear, despair and sadness came in waves, before leaving quickly, overwhelming me without warning or reason. I desperately wanted to remember something, to tear open the fog clouding my brain and peer at what was hidden behind it. But I couldn't.

You must accept your fate. A metallic voice rang in my head, cold, dispassionate, filled with undeniable.

“No.” I whispered, tears filling my eyes even if I wasn’t sure why they were there.

Liam noticed my distress. “Alaira?”

“I'm fine." I think we should go back to practice.” I pulled him to his feet. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“You’re right, let’s continue working hard so we can save the world like you wanted. But on our next break, we have a wedding to plan!” For the first time, Liam was more excited than me to get to practice. He grabbed my hand and raced forward.

____________________________

Later that night, I went back to my dorm room, still thinking over my last conversation with Liam. He was energetically talking about wedding plans, making lists and drawings with the hologram on his communicator, storing them in special file with my name on it.

When I asked him why he was so excited, he paused, staring down at his hands. “Have you ever felt a desire that was so strong, it seemed to be beyond anything you’ve experienced before?” He glanced up. “I feel this, Alaira. Deep in my soul. I want to be by your side. I want to marry you, but even if you didn’t want that, I’d be your minion or your sidekick. Being by you… helping you… it’s such an integral part of myself, I couldn’t separate from it if I tried.”

“Liam…”

“I think I believe in reincarnation and soul mates.” He smiled. “I’m so happy right now that I think this has to be a hallucination, it can’t be real.”

“I don’t believe it’s real.” I felt the memory of the young man’s whisper in my head again, and pushing it back, I leaned forward to kiss Liam gently.

“It’s real.”

Now alone in my room, I couldn’t help but feel bewildered by the connection with Liam, the emotions and memories that accompanied every moment with him.

“Who am I?” I leaned against the wall and whispered to myself.

“That is the question isn’t it?”

At the unexpected answer I straightened up, falling into a defensive stance. Recognizing the intruder did not make relax, however. If anything it made me more tense.

“Chris. What are you doing here?” I kept my voice calm, trying to hide my inner tension.

“I’m getting tired, Bel.” He sat down on my bed and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m just… so tired of all this.”

“What did you call me?” The name resonated with me, much more than “Alaira” ever had.

He ignored me. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to give up right away. It promised me…”

The room fell into silence. I stood as still as a statue, barely daring to breathe. I was desperate to hear more, terrified to let him continue speaking. Chris’s voice was different, his tone filled with years of regret. His eyes when they stared at me, seemed to look right through me, as if seeing through my skin to something deeper and more profound.

“Why can’t you just accept your fate, Bel?” He sighed, the sound seeming to drag on too long. “Everything depends on it.”

“What do you…?”

“The lower realms you treasure… the friends you’ve made… even…” He hesitated. “Even his existence depends on everyone having their role and playing their part.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Chris.”

“MY NAME ISN’T CHRIS!” He yelled, the sound startling in the otherwise silent room. “Just like yours isn’t Alaira. Just like his… it wasn’t supposed to be…”

“Liam?”

”THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HIS NAME!” Chris, or whoever he was, stood up, his face red with rage. “He corrupted it! He refused his role, and ended up tricking you to do the same.” He stepped closer. “Why do you always force me to be the one who has to carry the weight of the realms on my shoulders? Why does he get to be the only one who is happy? I don’t want to play these games anymore, Bel.”

“I’m not playing games!” I shouted back, frustrated. “I don’t remember anything!”

“And you won’t. Not until it’s over. But it will be soon. Because I’m going to end it.” He walked towards the door, preparing to leave, only stopping when I grabbed his arm.

“No. You aren’t leaving until you explain what you meant.”

His eyes lit up briefly at our contact, and I pulled my hand away quickly. “You made a bet, Bel, and these are rules you can’t escape. All it takes is one failed mission. One failure before you can finish the task of piecing together your soul.”

“Piecing together…?” His words struck a chord within me, but I shook my head. “I may not understand anything going on, but I’ll tell you this: I won’t fail my mission.”

The light is his eyes dimmed. “You started this. Just remember that, when you regret everything. You. Started. This.”

He left through room, slamming the door behind him. I stood in place, staring blankly, my mind racing.

Realms, real names, missions and bets… I don’t understand any of it.

But I knew one thing, as certainly as if it were imprinted on my soul.

I would not accept my fate.

Even if I couldn’t remember what that fate was.

Even if I had to destroy fate itself to escape it.