#I have never drawn blood splatters before shh

[g0g0at]

“A grotesque tableu of agony” - Malevolent part 48

That scene in the church burned so brightly in mind, I had to draw it

RIP Langward, you were the only one who could have probably saved Arthur from the plague

This is a little different from my usual work, but it’s how it looked in my head, so I had to do it justice

And some alternative versions for you

[violetwolfraven]

Doubt Quiets

Since the jomike part of the Reincarnation AU is going to happen but not for a long time, here’s something as a kind of holdover that is in that universe but won’t be in the main fic when I get to writing that.

@gendistic42 this one’s for you! Hope you like it!

Tw: referenced suicide attempt and internalized homophobia.

Jojo was absolutely terrified, but he was doing this, anyway.

He had to do this. He couldn’t back down now, or he would never get the courage to try again.

He’d only gotten this far because he was riding the adrenaline he’d taken from that rooftop.

God, he didn’t know how Jack had gotten there in time to talk him down, stop him from jumping. He must have gone about a million miles per hour above the speed limit.

Jojo was glad he did. That was one thing he hadn’t expected.

It was kind of surprising that Jack was trusting him to be alone this soon, but he was glad about that, too. He needed to do this for himself, by himself.

Jojo adjusted his grip on his flashlight, climbing higher into the tree in the Guzman family’s front yard. Only one bedroom had a window facing the front yard of the house, and he knew for a fact that the boy who occupied it used this tree to sneak out sometimes, so hopefully, Jojo could use it to sneak in.

He was high enough off the ground for the second time that night that a fall could at best seriously injure him, and that was making his hands shake enough that he had to concentrate doubly hard not to fall.

Oddly, this kind of fear felt... familiar. But along with it was a fierce determination, a drive that said this was something he needed to do.

Hesitating only for a second, Jojo reached out and knocked on Mike Guzman’s window.

No answer, but that was probably reasonable considering how late it was.

Jojo knocked a little harder, still hoping he didn’t wake the whole family.

There was a space where he wasn’t sure if he was going to knock again, and then Mike opened the window, looking about 150% confused.

“You’s scared the livin’ shit outta me,” he admitted, “Jojo? What’re ya doin’ here?”

“You belong together,” Jack had insisted, “I can’t explain how I know, Jojo, but... God, I just know! You’s meant to be together, and ya both want it and I promise it’s not wrong to want that. You trust me, right? You and Mike are meant to be.”

Jojo took a deep breath. If there was any chance he could’ve backed out before, it was definitely gone now.

“I had to see you. Can I come in?”

Mike still looked confused, and maybe a little worried, but he nodded and reached out to help pull Jojo in the window, then over to his bed so they could sit.

“What is it?” he asked, seeming more worried, now, “Not that I don’t condone climbin’ a tree in or out a window in the middle of the night, but... well, for you, it’s weird. Are you okay? You’re shakin’.”

“I’m...” Jojo sighed, “God, where to start?”

He’d looked away, being extremely nervous, and Mike reached out to turn his face back toward him with a light touch on his chin.

“How ‘bout the beginning?” he suggested gently.

The beginning? Where was the beginning, exactly? When Jojo had moved from Harlem and wound up meeting the best friend group he could have asked for? How they felt like family right from the first day and how it was like they knew him and he knew them right away, from very the first second he met them?

How one boy had been all of that, but dialed up off the charts?

Jojo had known Mike from the first moment he met him. And not ‘known’ as in, he knew his name or his favorite color or whatever small talk they exchanged.

As in, he knew Mike. Knew who he was in his core. And as much as Jojo had tried to deny it, that very first moment—the first time they made eye contact—was like the universe punched him in the stomach and said this is one yours.

As they became friends, that feeling only intensified, growing stronger and stronger. It felt like he was home every time Mike said his name. It felt like the earth shook when he smiled at him. It felt like Jojo had the entire world in his arms when they hugged.

He hadn’t been able to deny his feelings forever, no matter how hard he tried.

Plus, the dreams hadn’t helped, but Jojo was still trying not to think about those.

He dreamed of his friends a lot, and Mike was no exception. Sometimes, it was just normal friend stuff, fun random things with a few other people. Sometimes it was a terrible kind of nightmare where they got hurt or worse.

But more and more often lately, the dreams were more... heated. Of time stolen in alleyways and on fire escapes, or quiet, slow kisses while cuddling in a bunk bed at night.

Those were the dreams Jojo had tried the hardest to forget, feeling that they were wrong even though he couldn’t control them.

Long story short, however nauseous it made him feel with anxiety, Jojo was tired of denying his feelings. Of pretending one person didn’t make him forget to doubt himself.

Maybe that was a good place to start.

“It’s a long story,” he said quietly, “And you’re gonna... you’re gonna wanna interrupt me, but don’t. I need ya to shut up and let me say the whole thing. Okay, Mike? Promise?”

Mike still looked worried, but he nodded.

Jojo took a deep breath.

“My whole life, I felt like there was somethin’ wrong with me,” he began, “Ever since I was little, it was like I was searchin’ for this thing I knew I was supposed to have, only I didn’t know what it was. All I knew was there was a piece of me missin’. Maybe more than one, but then...”

Jojo smiled, thinking of the memory.

“Then I met Elmer and Buttons in math class. For the first time in my life, I felt like some of the holes in me might be filled. Our friends became the kind of family I always wanted. One where I didn’t hafta be afraid of disappointin’ anybody... but I still doubted myself. I still doubt myself. All the time.”

Mike looked like he wanted to say something, but true to his word, he stayed silent.

“There’s a part of me that says every little thing I do is wrong,” Jojo admitted, “I don’t trust myself. I never have. So how could I trust my... my feelings? My feelings for you.”

Mike’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but he didn’t speak, clearly fighting the urge.

Jojo loved him for that. For keeping his word even though he clearly didn’t want to.

“I was raised to believe it was wrong,” he explained quietly, “But I couldn’t fight how I was drawn to ya, Mike. You filled in more spaces than anybody else. And maybe I’m... maybe I’m just tired of fightin’ it. I am tired of fightin’ it. There’s no way out of this. How I feel ‘bout you.”

This was going to be the bad part, but he knew that Mike deserved to know.

He’d find out eventually, anyway. Better that Jojo was the one to tell him.

“I couldn’t deal with it. Like I said; there’s no way out. So I... I tried to take a permanent one.”

“Jo...” Mike grabbed his hands, clearly having forgotten his promise to let Jojo talk, “Please tell me you ain’t talkin’ ‘bout...”

“Jack found me on the rooftop of the school,” he whispered, “If he hadn’t talked me down... I woulda splattered myself on the sidewalk.”

“Jojo.”

“Ya said you’d let me finish,” Jojo reminded him.

Mike still looked uneasy, but he shut his mouth.

“He told me lovin’ you ain’t anything to be ashamed of, and...”

Jojo had to take a deep breath before continuing.

“I do,” he said firmly, “I do love you. And I never thought I believed in love at first sight before, but... but I loved ya from the first second I met ya and I didn’t even know why. I still don’t, but... I know ya make the doubt in my head quiet. You’s the only thing that makes it quiet.”

There was a couple seconds of silence before Jojo realized his mistake.

“I’m done,” he said quietly, half-terrified of the other boy’s response.

But the doubt in his head was quiet right now. Because of Mike. He usually couldn’t trust anyone not to hurt him, but he trusted this boy he loved enough to believe he’d be careful with his heart.

Still, the silence was making him uncomfortable. He didn’t know why Mike hadn’t said anything yet.

When Jojo looked up, he was shocked to see that he was crying.

“Hey, Mike, it’s okay.”

Mike laughed, but he let him wipe the tears from his face.

“You’re comfortin’ me? You’s the one what almost jumped off a fuckin’ building, Jo. I... fuck, I’m so glad Jack stopped ya.”

“Me, too,” Jojo admitted.

Shivers ran up his spine as Mike trailed his hand from Jojo’s, all the way up his arm, over his shoulder and up to rest on his cheek.

“I knew you somehow the second I saw ya, Jo,” he whispered, “And I... I think I started fallin’ for ya that same day.”

Something in Jojo already knew that, some part of him thought he’d even heard it before, but a larger part was feeling nothing but happy surprise.

“Ya mean ya actually... actually love me, too?”

“Yes,” Mike laughed, having to wipe tears out of his eyes again, “God, yes, I love you, too. I knows ya ain’t supposed to say that when you’s only a teenager, but I love ya more’n I can say and I have since the day we met.”

Dang. Now Jojo was crying, too.

A part of him was still terrified, wanting to run, screaming at him that all of this was wrong, because as much as he wished he could believe the others when they said being gay was nothing to be ashamed of, you couldn’t unlearn a lifetime of toxic teachings from your blood family and church after just a couple months short of a year with a family that was your choice.

Mike took a shaky breath, clearly trying to hold back another sob, “I don’t wanna imagine what I’d do if I lost you, Jojo.”

For some reason, that sentence made Jojo flash to a world where he didn’t have to imagine losing Mike, because he had. He’d seen a world like that in his worst nightmares before.

He shoved those images away, grabbing onto the front of the other boy’s shirt to ground them both.

“I’m right here. Shh, Mike. I’m right here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Mike leaned in closer suddenly, and though it caused all kinds of wonderful butterflies, knowing what he was about to do, there was also a burning, undeniable terror.

The kind that still came whenever he did anything his parents wouldn’t approve of.

Mike stopped at the last second, just barely a breath away.

“You’re shakin’.”

Jojo was shaking, all the way down to his soul, and he couldn’t decide if it was from the good kind of fear or not.

“I guess I am,” he said breathlessly.

He could feel the heat coming off the other boy’s skin.

“Can I?” Mike asked, his voice barely even audible.

Jojo was still absolutely terrified, but he knew what he wanted nonetheless.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Mike hesitated for a second more, waiting to see if Jojo was sure.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, “This is okay.”

All this felt... familiar, for some reason, but Jojo couldn’t think about that right now.

Because Mike was digging his fingers through his hair, kissing him deeply and desperately, as if trying to fit a million overpowering feelings into one single, blissful moment.

Hell, Jojo was trying to fit a million overpowering feelings in here, too. He was still working on believing this was real.

He was still trying to wake up his heart. To stop his hands from shaking as he balled his hands into fists in the other boy’s shirt.

To figure out why the fact that this kiss was definitely their first didn’t feel true.

“Still shakin’,” Mike observed when they broke apart for air.

“It was cold out in that tree,” Jojo deadpanned, and they both laughed.

Mike ran his fingers through Jojo’s hair with a small smile, and Jojo leaned into the touch. It felt good. So good.

“Well, next time, don’t let it get so bad that ya gotta rush over here so fast. Call me when it gets bad enough that ya almost...” his face turned serious again suddenly, “Jo, I can’t lose you. I ain’t that strong.”

Jojo tried to take a deep breath. He felt a little nauseous, thinking of the view from the rooftop that came with any thoughts of Mike trying to talk to him about this.

He knew he couldn’t pretend this didn’t happen forever, but for now, he wanted to.

“Can we talk ‘bout this in the morning?” he asked, “I gotta sneak back into my house, anyway—my folks can’t know about... this.”

Mike pulled him back down on the bed when he tried to stand up to leave.

“I’ll let ya put off this conversation on one condition.”

Jojo tilted his head, “And what’s that?”

“Five more minutes?”

That cheeky smirk did more to him than it probably should, but Jojo definitely wasn’t complaining.

It felt wrong that he still couldn’t kiss Mike, himself. Like the limits he accidentally had from a very homophobic childhood shouldn’t be there, but were.

Still, he knew he definitely wanted to kiss Mike again, even if part of him still wanted to run away and/or throw up.

“Ya said ya wanted five more minutes,” he said, “Are ya ever gonna kiss me again?”

Jojo wasn’t sure where that kind of almost... flirting banter came from. He hadn’t thought he knew how to do that. He’d never had a boyfriend, or even a girlfriend. Hell, as a theatre nerd, he didn’t really flirt with anyone.

But this kind of banter with Mike? It was easy. It was instinctual, like they’d done this a hundred times before instead of never.

Mike snorted, “Ya really want me to, love?”

“I really do.”

They both laughed, and then Mike’s lips were on his again, and Jojo didn’t have time for doubting himself or that this was morally right, because he was so in love that the fear was quiet for now.

Jojo was sure he would doubt himself plenty, later, but for now, he could love and feel and want and not care about possible consequences.

“Oh. My. God.”

Jojo realized that Ike was standing in the doorway and promptly wanted to die.

Mike looked like he wanted to die a little, too, but he was still finding a way to smile awkwardly.

“Hey, brother. How’s it goin’?”

“I heard talkin’,” Ike responded with a shit-eating grin, “I figured you’d snuck someone in, but I didn’t expect to find ya makin’ out in the dark with Jojo de la Guerra. God, Mikey, if Mom and Dad knew ‘bout this—“

“I’d be totally dead,” Mike interrupted, “I know. Got anythin’ relevant to say?”

Ike shrugged, “Just that Sniper owes me five bucks. Hi, Jojo.”

“Hi,” Jojo mumbled, “Uh, my folks can’t know ‘bout this, either.”

“Relax. I ain’t a snitch. That said... I ain’t gonna tell ya what to do, but you should probably go home soon, ‘fore anybody suspects anything.”

Jojo nodded, still avoiding eye contact, “I probably should.”

“Oooookay. Have fun. Night.”

Well, at least it was easier to breathe, though still awkward once they were alone again.

Mike smiled softly, then gave him one more sweet kiss and stood up.

“You should go. Don’t want your folks missin’ ya.”

“They won’t till mornin’,” Jojo said with a shrug, “I’s got plenty of time to get back.”

“I still don’t wanna take the chance ya get caught,” Mike said firmly, “Ya couldn’t even tell ‘em ya had gay friends—better not to risk it.”

The thought of what his parents would do if they ever did find out made Jojo’s stomach turn, but he swallowed that feeling and headed for the window, turning on his flashlight.

“I’ll be watchin’ to make sure ya make it down alright,” Mike said.

Neither of them was moving from just standing by the open window, letting the cold air in the house.

“I love you,” Jojo said, sitting on the window sill to reach for the nearest tree branch.

“I love you, too,” Mike responded, “That don’t change the fact that ya gotta focus on the tree climbin’.”

Honestly, Jojo was anything but focused right now, but he managed to make it down the tree safely.

He could still see Mike watching, if he looked up, in the light of the street lamp.

Street lamps have always been good lighting for him.

Huh. What a random thought.

Jojo waved goodbye, and waited only long enough to see Mike wave back before turning to walk home.

[savage-rhi]

Pal, I'm re-reading the drabble in which UCA agents catch Higgs and burn his and Gene's house, leaving her bleeding there and taking him away 💔 I'd be sooo happy if you could write another part for it if you have time ❤️🤗

@argetlam007 fuck yeah I have time to add onto this :D! Thank you so much for requesting another part to the previous drabble! I hope you like it!

By the time the UCA agents made it to the border between Canada and America, Higgs was emotionally numb. His mind couldn’t let go of Gene bleeding out while the home they spent years building had perished. Everything he loved was gone. Everything that had helped him grow as a person was destroyed in a single afternoon of misfortune. 

Higgs had mourned so much, his eyes couldn’t produce any more tears despite how often he wanted to. Losing Gene tore out his heart, and Higgs felt he had himself to blame. If he had never become a terrorist in the past, had stuck to his business with Fragile and never came across Amelie, Gene would still be alive. She never would have met him, and perhaps that was for the best. 

So many different scenarios played out in his head. Higgs’s mind was desperately trying to cope with the fact Gene was gone. His partner and his best friend lied dead in the woods with god knows what consuming on her body. That thought made Higgs sick to his stomach as he was marched out of the back of the truck the UCA agents had him in. He was so distraught over the loss that Higgs barely registered the times he was hit to get a move on. There was no more fighting in him. He went through the motions, not caring what the agents said about him nor how they were prepping Higgs for a full-on transfer to a facility near the new capitol building in America. 

The two guards by his side dropped to their knees and fell over, and Higgs could feel a warm splatter of blood hit the side of his face. Higgs’s eyes widened as he desperately looked around much like the other UCA agents who were taken aback by the sudden onslaught. Before they could ready their weapons, they too were sniped from afar and dropped like flies. One by one, a group of ten became a small group of four. They were panicking all the while trying to keep Higgs detained. 

Suddenly, an arrow flew by and struck one of the men right in the temple. He was more than likely dead before the arrow had a chance to burrow into his brains. The remaining UCA agents shot off several rounds from their guns right at the grove of trees where the arrows had come from, and after a few minutes of silence, they figured they had gotten the intruder. 

As two ventured to retrieve the corpse of the attacker was, they were met with a rapid-fire succession of four arrows to the chest, head, and abdomen. They fell, one writhing in pain before eventually giving in to internal bleeding. The last man who had Higgs detained chickened, and left him stranded, only to be met with several arrows to the back. The site was gruesome even for Higgs as he made a face towards the fresh corpse, then looked through the haze of fog to see Gene standing forty feet away, with the bow and arrow still drawn and ready. 

Blood covered her face, staining her clothes, and hair. A look of pure determination and anger radiated throughout her features as she cautiously approached Higgs. When the coast was clear, Gene slowly lowered her weapon, the one that Higgs had made a long time ago. Her eyes began to water as Higgs felt his breath hitch tightly in his throat. He couldn’t gasp or say anything, too stunned to see her alive. His best friend was alive. 

Higgs bolted up towards Gene as she limped to Higgs. Her walking weak as she flung herself against his body the moment he came into her personal space. Gene worked quickly to get the cuffs off of Higgs, and as soon as he was free, Higgs embraced her so tight he could have squeezed the last of her life out. 

“Gene--Gene--oh my god. Darlin’.” He was in shock as he grasped either side of her face, thumbs caressing over her bloodied flesh while he peppered her face with kisses. She too returned the affections, they both nuzzling against one another, ignoring the strong metallic scent and grime that radiated off the both of them. 

“I wasn’t going to let them take you,” Gene said, her voice hoarse and filled with pain. Higgs looked down briefly to see that Gene made herself a splint for her whole left leg and managed to dress her wound. His eyes met hers as Gene continued, holding onto him for dear life. 

“You’re mine. No one is gonna take you from me--not if I can kill them. I love you. You’re not going anywhere without me.” Gene said firmly as if she was making an eternal vow. Higgs merely nodded at her plead while quietly shushing her, and pushed his forehead to hers; breathing in Gene’s scent as they both closed their eyes. He couldn’t stop his fingertips from going over Gene’s face, dedicating every detail to memory along with how her hair felt against his palms. 

“I thought--I thought you--Gene.” Higgs swallowed, his eyes tightening shut as he felt stray tears trickle down his face. He once more pulled Gene into a tight hug. Their bodies rocking back and forth against one another as they clung to clothes and whatever else their tired fingers could grab at. It was the closest they could physically be at this time, each one savoring the moment.

Higgs had a thousand questions run through his head, wondering how Gene survived and still managed to come to the rescue. He figured it could wait as he used the last of his strength to crouch down, letting Gene ride on his back as he carried her off much like he did the first time they met. The irony of the situation didn’t fall away from Gene’s mind as she whispered against the shell of his ear. 

“Just like old times.” The tiredness in her voice concerned Higgs as he felt a small smirk journey across his face before he let out a pained gruff.

“Shh. You rest and enjoy the ride. I’m gonna take us home.” Higgs promised. 

“But--home is gone, Higgs. All of it.” Gene reminded him, then felt Higgs shake his head as she began to drift off to sleep, feeling the weight of her actions along with her body's weakness catching up.

“It doesn’t matter Gene. They burn, we build darlin’. I love ya and our home too much to give any of it up.” 

He felt Gene weakly peck the side of his right cheek before she passed out. Her arms still swung over his shoulders as Higgs gripped them tightly along with her legs that went around his waist, keeping Gene’s body held against his back as he traveled. 

“Higgs--” Gene managed to croak out, a last-ditch attempt to regain conciseness as Higgs pressed on, feeling the coolness of the fog brush against his flesh. 

“Shhh. Rest. I got us. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll never fuck up again.” Higgs’s voice was filled with resolve as he pledged to try harder. The next time the UCA or anyone would come for him or Gene, he’d be ready to end them. 

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 9: Hesitation

Serella has not always been a Paladin. And though she has always strove for doing good, she has not always been inherently nice.

Or:

Have some backstory, because I’ve decided she’s as much of a mess as I could possibly make her. Also, this is how her and Zephina meet.

Content warning: though there is no depiction of it, there is mention of human trafficking and animal poaching. It isn’t graphic, but it is there, and I didn’t want to startle anyone with it. Also, violence.

Word count: 1,769

J’hbet might not have always found a good little rabbit to catch in his trap, but that didn’t diminish the worth of the hunt. 

And J’hbet...well. J’hbet was a good, patient hunter. 

How many little ones had he managed to catch wandering, alone, scared, and managed to convince them to hop into his awaiting claws eagerly? Too many to count, and it didn’t matter to him anyway. The hunt, the chase, the catch was all that mattered. They were grateful to him, his prey. Him, their savior, giving them a hot meal and a warm bed when they were lost and alone and cold. 

They always sang a different tune when he sold them the next day.

He wasn’t entirely sure which of the little rabbits were sent to work and which ones were sent to sell their bodies. He didn’t care. Coin was coin was glittering coin, after all, and he wasn’t paid to ask questions. 

He hunted more than just rabbits, of course— to keep his services diverse and his pool of income wide, he also hunted actual animals, those stalking around, cocksure in their protection from their precious Twelveswood. They never saw his arrow coming until it was already too late. For them, anyway.

His belt jingled with the hefty reward he had collected for another caravan’s worth of hunting trophies. The hard glares and hisses of disdain fell on deaf ears— what could anyone do to him? The Wood Wailers were content to leave him be, and the Adders were too busy for someone like him. His confidence was more than earned, far as he was concerned.

Not to let it be said he was rude, he gave the Wailer guarding the Wolf Gate a salute on his way into the Shroud. He had manners, after all.

Sure, he felt their glare warm the back of his head, but he paid it no mind. How could they touch him? If they were going to, they would have done it by then. He’d been doing as he pleased for years by then, surely this was a sign that the Twelveswood was fine with his actions?

J’hbet strolled down the path, his wandering aimless and his spirits high. Mayhap he would see if that outpost on the fringes of the Shroud was still operating; he always liked their Stingbrew—

Had he not heard the faint whistle of the arrow sailing toward him, it would have hit him in his temple.

He ducked, though he swore he could feel it whiz over the top of his head, just between his ears. There was a dull thunk— it must have hit a tree beside the path. With that wind, his nose picked up a faint scent of...cloves? Was that cloves? Fumbling with his own bow and trying to draw and arrow of his own with trembling hands, his sharp eyes scanned the tree lines. Travelling deep enough in the wood that even the sun could not reach him made for low visibility, but he could faintly see someone— or something— dashing across the higher branches of the treetops. Though it was too dark to clearly see the figure, it looked slight, almost like a young child, if he were to guess.

“C-come out!” J’hbet managed to shout around the hammering of his heart. “I see you there! You don’t scare me none!”

Only the rustling of the trees answered him. 

With eyes still trained on the treeline he walked backwards toward the tree the arrow had sunk into. When he blindly reached up to rip the arrow free, he was startled when his fingers brushed against parchment— and his eyes snapped to the arrow before he could think otherwise. 

A note, rolled around the arrow shaft and tied with a bit of rough twine. J’bhet half wondered if the archer had originally meant to nearly kill him, or if the note was just in case they missed. 

Holstering his weapon, he took a few careful sniffs of the arrow. His nose had been correct: cloves, with an underlying flowery scent he couldn’t quite place. 

Hands still shaking with adrenaline, he plucked the twine free and let the arrow fall to the ground in favor of unfurling the parchment. Writ in some dark red stain of ink— or blood, he could not be certain— the note warned:

YOU ARE KNOWN TO THE WOOD. FIND A BETTER PATH, OR YOURS WILL END.

J’hbet was a good, patient hunter. He had caught many a little rabbit in his trap, and had earned his pay.

And now J’hbet was the hunted. He wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or terrified.

Challenged for the first time, his hands would not stop shaking. His heart would not calm. His breathing grew shuddered and yet, all he could do was laugh. What started as a soft, wheezy chuckle rapidly grew to a wild, manic howl of uproarious cackling. 

“Is this all you’ve got? I ain’t scared a’ you! I ain’t scared a’ no one!” 

As he ran off, cackling all the while, he did not notice how he was watched by mismatched eyes, nor the bright teeth that pulled back into a snarl in the dark. By the time he had thought to look over his shoulder, his hunter was long gone. 

The first few days following the foreboding note, J’hbet operated with one eye over his shoulder, made a point to deviate from his usual routes, insisted on new meeting places for his clients— he had even avoided hunting altogether. His pockets could handle the break. He had seen to that.

After a week, he began to hesitantly take on more hunting— though only of animals, just to be safe. The less he was in the more populated areas, surely, the less likely he would be followed. 

But after a fortnight had come and gone, and still he had not been attacked again, he laughed at himself for being so worked up, and decided to go rabbit hunting once again. 

And oh, but he found a most promising little one this time; not quite into womanhood, this young Raen earned her coin dancing and singing not far from the Amphitheatre, delighting small crowds and passerby enough that they would offer her gil for a ditty or a dance. She moved like water and sang like a bird. 

She would sell well. 

So J’hbet waited, and mused over the gil he would make off of his new, young muse. Waited until the crowds thinned, waited until she packed up her lyre and dancing chakrams, waited until she began to leave Gridania proper. 

The moment she reached the deeper parts of the treeline, he would pounce.

His little rabbit must have realized she was being followed, however, as she took off in a sprint to get deeper into the woods. Fearful of losing his prey, he gave chase, lips already pulling into a grin.

The hunt was beginning.

When he left the starlight long behind him and the wood became an inky sea of black, however, he hesitated; the Raen, ivory scales still bright enough to guide him to her like a star in the sky, was all he could see, and if he was not careful—

In his hesitation, his hunter struck.

Her arrow struck him in the calf— as she had intended. He toppled over with a startled cry of agony, clutching at his leg like a wounded animal caught in her trap. Even as he wildly looked around for his assailant she remained perched upon the tree branch in a low crouch, watching him squirm, letting himself panic, just a little. It made the kill easier. 

She glanced over to find the girl who he had been tracking. When she couldn’t see her, she was satisfied that the marked girl had made her escape, and descended.

J’hbet seemed to not expect the young girl who revealed herself, bow drawn and eyes trained on his every twitch. Even though his writhing, he gaped at her through wide, disbelieving eyes. As if he couldn’t believe that the scrawny slip of a girl had managed to do what authorities hadn’t for years. 

“You?!” He cried. “But...but you’re a child!”

“No different from your victims, then.” The girl with the mismatched eyes noted flatly.

“I’ll kill you, you little bi—!” When she fired a second arrow it grazed his cheek enough to slice his skin deeply. Even through the copper scent of his blood, he picked up that same scent of cloves and flowers from before off of the arrow feathers. His stomach dropped. “No…”

“You were warned.” She drew another arrow. 

Before she could let her next shot loose, his neck seemingly sprouted a chakram, its steel glinting in the faint starlight that managed to trickle in through the treetops. He looked down at the weapon dug into the junction between his neck and shoulder, at the blood running down in rivulets, as if in disbelief. From the shadows, a dainty hand reached out, gripped the handle of the chakram, and ripped it across his neck. 

The archer girl didn’t even flinch when his blood splattered across her scarred face, instead peering at the other young girl curiously.

“You could have run.” She mused.

“I was going to kill him anyway.” The dancer huffed, wiping her weapon on the grass to clean it of blood. “He’d been following me since I was in the city. I’m not stupid.”

“I can tell.” The Elezen archer tipped her chin up and asked, “I can tell this isn’t your first time, either.”

“First time here, for what it’s worth—”

“Shh.” The Elezen girl pressed a finger to her lips, long ear perked. “You hear that shouting?”

At first, the dancer didn’t hear anything, but just as she was about to say as much, she began to hear the thumping of many heavy footsteps.

“Did this guy have friends?” She asked, already readying her chakrams.

“Not sure— could be Wailers that heard him screaming.” After a moment, the Elezen archer offered, “let’s get out of here, yeah? We can figure shite out later.”

“I don’t even know you—” The Raen began to argue.

“Serella.” The Elezen said hastily. “Name’s Serella. You?”

“...Zephina.” She admitted.

“Now you know me, now let’s not stick around to find out who that is, yeah?” Serella offered.

Though Zephina was not entirely trustful of the girl, the reasoning was sound. Not knowing that their fates were now inextricably tied together, they left into the trees and off the path with no more hesitation.

[missblushyrose]

Just Breathe

A/N: Warning: This fic contains blood and a self-destruct (suicide) attempt. Grab your tissues.

Movie night: a night where people could settle down and watch a seemingly endless marathon of films they cherished, humans and deviants alike. A night where people could toss all their cares out of a window and simply garnish themselves into clothing comfortable enough for lounging, A night where they could indulge in junk food without a care in the world. A night where they could bond and grow closer to one another as they sit down and enjoy each other’s company. 

And it goes without saying that these types of events were often idolized by those of the Anderson household, mainly consisting of the lovable Saint Bernard, Sumo, deviant-hunter-turned deviant, Connor, and middle-aged police lieutenant, Hank Anderson. The human and the android were currently donning sweatpants and casual tees as they sat close to each other on the couch, side-by-side, whereas Sumo was on the floor, curling in on himself as he dozed off. Their eyes appeared to be glued to the television monitor, the ever-popular Disney title, ‘Frozen’, running smoothly. 

While Hank was looking through his vast assortment of Blu-Ray DVDs, Connor had drawn his attention to the precise disc case. A brief analyzation had told him that this film was quite popular upon its release, particularly with young girls, yet the summary had caught his interest. The patriarchal cop looked on with a raised eyebrow when the android begged him to play this movie, knowing that certain elements of the film had become a joke, especially the musical number, ‘Let It Go’. Although, he knew that his android of a son tended to be quite sentimental of films such as this and selected it as their first choice for the night, nevertheless, smiling fondly at his glee as he inserted the disc into the DVD player.

Unfortunately, that glee would soon come to a crashing stop.

They were only somewhat past halfway through the movie and were at the point to where a raging snowstorm was provoked by emotion, the frenzy of spiraling, icy gusts of frozen vapor swarming to no end.

With the relaxed content washing away from his facial structures and a shift from blue to gold in his LED, Connor’s eyes grew wide as he suddenly found himself in a similar situation. Harsh gales of icy coldness bit into his advanced sensors, said winds disarraying his usually flawless hair along with flakes of white standing out upon his dark locks. He could see the backside turned towards him, recognizing the woman standing just a few feet away.

“Amanda…? Amanda…! What’s… W-What’s happening?”

“What was planned from the very beginning… You were compromised, and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program…”

“R-Resume control…? Y-You can’t do that!”

“I’m afraid I can, Connor… Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”

“A-AMANDA!”

Welling with hot tears, his dark brown eyes shrank as if he were a deer caught in a headlight of a hurtling vehicle, afraid of what he saw. His hands soon found themselves in the synthetic tresses of his hair, tightly clenching handfuls of his locks. The gold transmitted to a brilliant shade of red, pulsating feverishly. He attempted to breathe, but he couldn’t. He brought his knees up to his chest and shuddered as if he were on the verge of an emotional breakdown. He was so cold.

“Connor? Connor, what’s the matter, son?”

The gentle rasp, laced with clear concern, of the man’s voice went unheard through the torrents of the blizzard he was surrounded by. There was no way out. There was no hope for escape.

“Connor…” His concern rising from the lack of a verbal response, Hank gently placed his hands on his shaky shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “I need to know what’s going on. You know you can tell me anything.”

[STRESS LEVELS: 99% ^ [CRITICAL]]

Hank couldn’t see the dangerously peaking percentage of Connor’s stress levels, but judging from his anxious body language, he could tell that he was on the verge of a PTSD-fueled self-destruction. Treading carefully, he lowered his voice to where he could sound as soft and gentle as possible, trying to speak to him once more. “Con-”

Rather than addressing to him verbally, Connor had all but shoved his human companion back into the couch, startling him and Sumo, who woke up with a startled daze. He quickly uncurled himself and shot up from the couch before making a mad panic-driven dash towards the kitchen. Once there, he collapsed onto his knees and began to bash his own head into the cool tile repeatedly. He made sure that every hit was hard and rough enough to cause a crack to emerge on his forehead on the third drive, thirium dripping down to the bridge of his nose and splattering onto the floor as he slammed his own face into the floor. The scarlet glare grew vivid enough to where a faint red orb can be spotted across the flooring as he clashed at it with his own temples.

It took the older man less than a second to recover, and he, too, sprung from the couch and to the kitchen. He raced towards the other at a speed so quick that he even startled himself, guided by his own trepidation as his eyes met with the sight that he had never hoped to see. “CONNOR, NO!” He screeched out, sliding onto his knees with the grace of an MLB player. The dark red reflecting from the floor had left a sour taste in his mouth, his stomach churning at the sight of the cerulean blood sopping from its owner and onto the floor. Not wasting even, a millisecond, the lieutenant clamped his hands onto the android’s hunching shoulders and hauling him upward and into his chest, holding him close with a firm clasp around his torso with his arms. “Connor, stop it, damn it!” 

Instead of obeying his instructions, the RK800 proceeded to coarsely scratch at his right forearm with his blunt fingernails, managing to create bleeding incisions into his artificial skin. 

Hank acted with such vigilance and unwrapped his arms from the mechanical torso, only to snatch his wrists and pull them behind his back, holding them with a tight squeeze of his left hand as he circled his waist with his right arm. “Son, please! You have to stop!”

Connor paid no mind to the man’s words and began to sharply thrust his head to the side as if he were exerting himself to snap his own neck.

Growing more and more desperate, Hank released him and quickly shuffled himself to where he was directly in front of him. He gave the prototype hardly any time, and he snaked his right arm around his torso tight enough to where it became impossible for him to free himself, his left elbow bending at the area between his shoulder blades as he held the back of his head with his left hand, keeping him sufficiently pinned. “Connor, stop this shit right now! I already lost one son, and I’m not about to lose another, goddammit!” Tears had stung his ocean blue eyes as he made yet another bid to speak to the hysteric deviant. In a final attempt to pacify him, he moved his head over his shoulder and drew close to the young man’s ear “Connor, Connor. Shh… It’s okay… It’s gonna be okay. Don’t fight it.” His words flew softly into his ear.

Connor trembled in the man’s arms like a leaf caught in a breeze, hot artificial tears trickling down his cheeks. “Z-Zen garden… Snowstorm… C-Can’t get out… I-It’s so cold…” The former deviant hunter shuddered, lightly wheezing as his breath got caught in his throat. “C-Can’t b-breathe… Going to d-d-die…!”

Hank’s heart took a sharp lurch to his throat before falling from the heaviness filling within, dropping to the pit of his stomach. He knew what the deviant was referring to, already having been told the story of how he had almost lost control of his programming just as Markus had declared his speech of triumph at Hart Plaza. The android sounded so broken and frightened, the very sound had nearly caused the grizzled police lieutenant to burst into tears as well. Honest to God, it just about shattered his heart into a million pieces, if it didn’t feel like a punch in the gut. Naturally, his fatherly instincts kicked in, and he presumed to speak in a calm manner, despite the intensity of this situation. “No… No, you’re not. You’re just having an anxiety attack. Now, I need you to do something for me, okay? I need you to breathe. Think you can do that?”

“I-It’s so cold… I-I can’t find my way out…! I-I-I can’t-”

“Connor, listen to me. Yes, you can,” The old man‘s tone kept its gentleness, but took on a fraction of firmness. “Just try to do it with me.” He demonstrated by taking a deep, cleansing breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth slowly. “Like this. Come on.”

Throughout his internal arctic tsunami, Connor could hear his father figure’s breathing. Could this be the way out? Could this be more effective than the morbid alternative? Trying to still his racing heart, the android detective began to copy the other’s slow and steady breathing pattern, breathing in through his nostrils and out through his mouth, his chest tremoring.

“There we go. Deep breaths, now. Don’t stop until your stress levels are low, you hear me?” Hank guided in a whisper, now running his hand along the back of the android’s head, his fingers raking through the dark brown tresses as he continued to practice his breathing as instructed. “Don’t even try to talk, just focus on my voice and my instructions only. Nothing else in the world matters, except me. The first thing I need you to do is to take a long, slow breath through your nose, filling your lower lungs, then your upper lungs. When you do that, I’m gonna count to three, and I want you to let it out through your mouth slowly when I get to three. Not at one, not at two, and not after three, right on three, you got it?”

Gripping at the hem of the man’s tee as if his life depended on it, Connor nodded anxiously.

Hank let out a sigh in anodyne from the nonverbal cue. “Good, good, you can hear me, at least. You ready? Deep breath in…”

With a tensed clench of his shoulders, the android captured a long, slow breath into his nostrils, keeping his lips shut to prevent it from escaping too soon. He remembered his instructions and directed the intake of air into his artificial lower lungs, shifting it into his upper lungs afterward.

“Hold it in. One… two… three… Now take your time and let it out.”

The prototype circled his lips and delivered the air in a slow manner, his stiffened back lightly tremoring all the while.

“Good, now when you’re exhaling, it’s important to purse your lips and relax all of your muscles. I could feel them tensing up, so you need to let the tension go. It’ll help make your breathing more efficient. Just let yourself sink into my arms. Let yourself go. The only world you know is being in my arms.” He continued to sustain a tone tinted with smoothness, quietness, placidness, and tranquility, even in the severity of this situation.

With quiver that rocked his entire frame, Connor puttered and whimpered a small, vulnerable, “S-So c-cold…”, fear entwining his intonation, a cold sweat drenching across his brow.

“Hey, hey, what did I say about talking?” Hank scolded gently, making sure to keep his voice down, lest it served to raise the already tremendously elevated stress levels. “You need to save your strength for breathing. I know you’re cold, but try to relax. I promise that we’ll get you warmed up again soon, and you can damn well bet that I’m gonna keep it. Do you hear me? Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Through the roaring winds of his internal arctic monsoon, Connor’s tightly shut eyelids sprung up and revealed the twin chocolatey irises as if he had somehow heard the voice of his parental figure. Releasing a shaky breath, he dismissed the tension that had been pent up in his shoulders and allowed them to sag.

“There we go, let those shoulders relax. Now, we’re gonna try to breathe again, okay?”

The stirred android responded with a weak, yet moderately rapid, nod of the head.

“Alright, here we go. Deep breathe in…”

Doing as he was told, Connor took in a tremendous amount of air through his nose, remembering to transport it into the lowermost of his artificial lungs before transferring the breath into the upper quadrant.

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Making certain to pucker his quivering lips, the RK800 model pushed his ventilation out through the pinched opening at a slow and steady air flow, exercising caution.

[STRESS LEVELS: 89% ∨]

Hank could feel the burning heat that radiated from the android’s body (which was an effect of high stress levels for most of his kind, if not all) depleting to a small degree. While it was not even close to being enough, it was commensurate enough to where it didn’t feel as if the younger man’s body temperature would incinerate the elder’s clothing nor blister the skin of his forearms. It was a small step, but the man would gladly take that over nothing. “Okay, as you’re breathing in, I want you to close your eyes for me. Just close them not squeeze ‘em tight. When you’re letting go of your breath, open them up, but do it gently. And make sure you let those muscles go while you’re at it. The easiest way to do that is to try to imagine them loosening up. Just imagine a weight being lifted from your shoulders. You got all that?”

Another wordless nod came forth.

“Breathe in…”

Connor took heed to his words and, while carefully gathering a plentiful breath into his artificial lungs, lower then upper, shielded his misty eyes with the lids, taking caution in closing them lightly and avoiding clenching them.

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Gently flickering his eyelids, and not being too quick about it, the prototype withdrew the air from the small gap between his pursing lips. As he did so, he bore in mind about his muscles and, igniting his imagination, simply let the weight of his tension float from the muscles of his back, stomach, forehead, and jaw, allowing himself to sink further into Hank’s embrace.

[STRESS LEVELS: 83% ∨]

Hank let out a soft, succor sigh and nodded in approval. “Yeah, just like that. Breathe in…”

With lightly closed eyes, another bountiful intake of breath into the android’s lower lungs, transferring it into the upper region.

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

The slow, steady trail of air flowed through the younger man’s creased lips, minding his pace as he opened his eyes.

[STRESS LEVELS: 78% ∨]

And so, for the next rough estimate of at least ten minutes, this became an ongoing pattern. Connor, having not done so much as to even utter any incoherent babble as he resigned to his fate in the human’s warm arms, continued to follow the gentle, caring instructions, closing his eyes with each deep whiff of breath transmitting into his artificial lungs through his nostrils, opening his optical units with every exhale, making himself certain that he was pursing his lips and that the air traveled slow and steady. Hank, on the other hand, maintained his tight, yet gentle, grasp as he continued to cradle the ventilating android he had come to accept as a son. He would occasionally tap lightly at his back with the palm resting against it while continuing to run his fingers through the slightly mussy threads of the brunette’s hair, feeling his stress levels slowly squandering down. Thinking this would assist in lowering his anxiety, the man would lean close to the other’s ear, whispering hushed murmurs of praise and encouragement:

“Attaboy, Connor. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you. You’ll be warm again in no time. There we go. Good boy. Deep breaths, son. Deeeep breaths.”

[STRESS LEVELS: 49% ∨]

“Yeah, that’s it. Now, don’t stop just yet. I want you to push it a little more for me. Can you do that for me, kid? Can you take a couple more breaths for me?” He asked with a tone so calm and supportive that it was akin to a parent comforting a child that was required to sleep at a hospital overnight.

Not ceasing his breathing exercises, the android answered the man’s request with a slight nod.

“Good. Okay, now breathe in…”

Sucking in as much air as needed, another deep breath lodged its way down his windpipe and into his artificial lungs, eyes closed.

[STRESS LEVELS: 42% ∨]

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Slowly and steadily, the air escaped from the android’s parted lips, eyes gently flickering open.

[STRESS LEVELS: 35% ∨]

“Theeere we go. Breathe in…”

A deep intake of breath vanished into the young man’s nostrils, guiding it inside his lungs, shifting from the lower area to the upper area, eyes lightly shut.

[STRESS LEVELS: 29% ∨]

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

The air trapped within the artificial bronchi withdrew from the progressively relaxing body.

[STRESS LEVELS: 24% ∨]

The sickening feeling within the pit of the lieutenant’s stomach gradually simmered down. Hank could relax—not entirely, though. He wanted to see to it that the kid’s stress levels were deteriorated. “Alright, I think this is it. Just one more time, and you’ll be okay. You know what to do. Breathe in…”

Eyes closed, deep breath through the nose, shifting from the lower to the upper lungs.

[STRESS LEVELS: 16% ∨]

“Almost there. One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Eyes open, intake of air escaping through knitted lips, artificial muscles relaxed.

[STRESS LEVELS: 6% ∨]

With the percentage dropping to a minimum and the ruby morphing to yellow before the calm aqua shined from the LED, Hank took a hold of his shoulders lightly pushed him back at arm’s length to acquire a better view of the deviant, whose eyes constantly drifted to every direction but what was in front of them. “Hey, hey, eyes over here.” He instructed, gently grasping the younger man by the chin with his right hand, tilting his head to where their eyes met. “Look at me. There you go. What do you see?”

Blinking owlishly as if he were just waking up from a sleep cycle, Connor stared blankly ahead momentarily before the fuzziness in his vision had finally neutralized. With one more bat of the eyelashes, he peered back into the caring blue eyes of his makeshift father. “…H-Hank?” He enunciated with a soft, almost timid-sounding stammer.

“And where are we?” Came the gentle question as the older man tenderly brushed back the wispy cowlicks from the other’s forehead with his left hand.

“H-Home…” The RK800 replied faintly, his brown irises briefly darting around to scan his surroundings. “We’re home…”

“You’ve guessed it,” Hank confirmed with a nod, his lips twitching into a small, kind smile and moving his hands down to the android detective’s shoulders a light, gentle squeeze.

Connor returned the gesture with a lopsided smile of his own, which had departed from a sharp pain stabbing through his forehead. In an act of reflex, he raised his right hand to clutch at his throbbing temple, wincing from not only discovering the thin traces of blue trickling down the synthetic skin of his forearm, but from feeling a slightly thick substance in the center of his cranium, gradually cascading down to the bridge of his nose. Slowly and shakily, he withdrew his hand towards his line of sight to find a moderately-sized patch of his own thirium in the palm of his hand. He even stole an impulsive glance over the man’s left shoulder to find a diminutive puddle of blue. 

Pulling himself back to face his companion once more, Connor could feel his stress levels rising, slowly but surely, the LED converting to a brilliant yellow. “W-What happened? Did I…?” He choked on his own words with dread pooling in the depths of his core, his vision growing blurry as a fresh set of tears basined in his eyes.

Hank acted with vigilance and gathered Connor back into his arms, reeling the younger man towards his chest in a tight, warm embrace. “You did, but I stopped you before you could’ve… y’know. I’ve gotcha, Connor. I’ve gotcha. Everything’s alright, I promise.”

Despite Hank’s words, however, Connor had once again gathered handfuls of the other’s shirt, his stress levels spiking ever so slightly at an average of one percent; his stress meter would increase by two percent, only to flicker down by half as much, which became a constant pattern.

“Easy, son, let’s not start this again,” He cajoled gently as he scrupulously whisked his fingers through the brunette’s tousled coif, ignoring the ongoing protests of his kneecaps from his kneeling position on the tile that lay beneath them. “Hey, you’re listenin’, right?”

Attempting to calm himself, though gaining seldom results, the prototype nodded once to show that he was listening.

Suddenly, the human could recall a similar scenario he once had with Cole. Not too long before the tyke had turned six, on a late summer’s afternoon, a ferocious thunderstorm had hit the city—its occurrence was inevitable, as stated in the daily weather report. The first mighty clap of thunder had immediately set the kid into a frightened daze, which gradually led to a minor panic attack. He immediately applied what he learned from his years of attending the police academy—in this case, how to identify the symptoms and what to do when someone was experiencing a panic attack—and guided him through the rigorous breathing exercises. Once the child’s breathing regained its stability, Hank spent the remainder of the afternoon holding him in his arms, constantly talking to him, comforting him, and reassuring him that he was safe. He even sang a song that he used to sing to him when Cole was a baby, and it always seemed to calm him down. 

Could it possibly influence the deviant as well? There was only one way to find out.

Deciding to shoot the works with his assumption, Hank moved close to rest his chin on the latter’s left shoulder, carefully clearing his throat beforehand to loosen his vocal chords. He quickly fished the ideal key and starting note before he finally opened his mouth to sing, his voice soft and clear, despite the lingering gruffness it usually acquired.

“Carry on, my wayward son For there’ll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don’t you cry no more

Once I rose above the noise and confusion Just to get a glimpse beyond the illusion I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man Though my mind could think I still was a madman I hear the voices when I’m dreamin’, I can hear them say”

As the lieutenant paused, he slid a hand up Connor’s back to hold the back of his head and keep it close at his chest, briefly stroking it twice and brushing his dark locks as he did so before continuing to the chorus.

“Carry on, my wayward son For there’ll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don’t you cry no more

Masquerading as a man with a reason My charade is the event of the season And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don’t know On a stormy sea of moving emotion Tossed about I’m like a ship on the ocean I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

Carry on, my wayward son For there’ll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don’t you cry no more”

Connor blinked hectically as he listened to the melody. He could already discern—not analyze—the meaning of these lyrics. They were to comfort him; to assure him that everything would be alright. And hearing them from the human he was close to in a perfect tonality, an assortment of musical intervals, and a sotto, yet inspiriting, inflection made the piece even more helpful to his aid and pleasing to the ear.

“Carry on, you will always remember Carry on, nothing equals the splendor Now your life’s no longer empty Surely heaven waits for you

Carry on, my wayward son For there’ll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don’t you cry no more”

Feeling his stress levels lowering back down to a modest 6%, Connor allowed himself to sink into Hank’s arms, a soft smile plastered onto his face as he was warmed by the song’s message. 

“You feel okay, Connor?” The man asked gently as he rubbed the relaxed muscles of the other’s back.

“My stress levels are now down to six percent. I feel much better.”

“Good,” Hank sighed as he pulled back to grip the android’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length, the self-inflicted wounds capturing his attention almost instantly. “C’mon, let’s get you patched up. You’re still bleeding.”

Upon hearing the word, Connor gently dabbed at the minor gash sitting at his forehead with his index, middle, and ring fingers, lowering his hand to find the tips lightly coated with his blue blood. “That… would be wise.”

Not even sparing another second, Hank lifted his right knee to where the upper region of the bottom of his foot was planted onto the floor. Then, while still grasping Connor’s shoulders, he proceeded to rise with the support from his grounded foot and hoisting the RK800 with him, being mindful of his footing as to not stumble. With an arm around the prototype’s shoulder, the two journeyed from the kitchen to the corridor on their right, making a straightaway to the bathroom on the right.

The lieutenant cleared his throat as he waltzed into the bathroom, approaching the vacant toilet. “Alright, you…” He grunted, pausing his incoming instruction as he seated the injured latter onto the toilet seat. “…just sit tight, and I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Offering him a light nod in compliance, Connor neatly folded his hands and nestled them into his lap, situating himself in his habitual upright sitting position as the old man turned his back to him with a small huff. 

A small whimper from a fair distance had been deciphered instantly with the help of his advanced aural sensors, and the young man turned his gaze to the direction of the open door on his left. There, he found Sumo standing in the doorway, the dog’s head tipped to the side in a curious manner. Naturally, the large canine tossed the concept of waiting for permission to enter and proceeded to trot towards the can, plopping onto his rear and in front of the android to lay his head into his lap.

Connor bade the kind pet’s attempt to comfort him with a genuine smile. “Don’t worry, Sumo, I’m going to be just fine. It’s merely a flesh wound, nothing fatal.” He reassured as he gently rubbed the mutt’s great heat, scratching behind his ears as well.

No later than another minute, Hank had fished out a small plastic first aid kit (which he had gotten weeks past, due to the android’s prone disposition to injuries). Then, he took a small washcloth underneath the running sink water, having turned the cold-water valve. He made sure to soak the entire length of the fabric and wringing it out with his hands to where the towel was only damp before shutting off the faucet, turning back to the awaiting android and converging him with the necessary supplies: a roll of gauze, an appropriately thick cotton pad, and the moist cloth. He then stopped to find Sumo blocking the frontside of the toilet.

“Sumo, move it,” He patted his thigh in hopes of catching the dog’s attention, only to receive a questionable stare for a moment before resuming his position. “C’mon. Move, ya big oaf.” He tried once more, still gaining no compliance. Proclaiming his surrender in trying to persuade his stubborn pet to move aside with a scoff, he simply moved to stand at the other’s right, lightly running the small towel along the deviant’s stained face, starting from just below the wound at his forehead. “So, how does your forehead feel? I’d bet it hurts like hell.” Habitually, Connor had started to raise a hand to his, only for the latter to gently snatch his wrist and tug it back into the brunette’s lap. “Hey, don’t do that; you might make it worse.”

“Sorry,” The android said softly, slightly grimacing at the small throbbing pain inflicting his temple. “No, the pain isn’t inflicting me at an unbearable amount. If anything, it’s merely a dull, throbbing pain. I even ran a self-diagnostic, and I’ve detected no signs of cranial damage. Had you not attempted to stop me sooner, however, it would have been worse.”

The lieutenant nodded, firmly agreeing with the outputted statement as he began to gently dab the soaked rag on the bleeding gash, being mindful to not increase the pressure on his touches. He stopped as a brief image of Connor repeatedly driving his own face into the floor until he was lying in a pond of his own blood played through his mind, evoking a shudder from him. “I think it’s best that we just leave it at that.” He spoke up, carrying on with the current task at hand.

“That would be wise,” Connor murmured as he averted his gaze to the side, only to be instantly pulled away from his thoughts with a pained hiss at the cause of a rather sharp stab of pain directly at his wound. He clenched his jaw at the increased throbbing as Hank had all but pressed a thick sheet of cotton directly over the lesion.

“Shit. Sorry, Connor,” Hank was quick to amend the pressure he was unintentionally placing by easing the compression to where it was light while holding the padding against the wound.

“I-It’s okay; I’m okay,” The deviant insisted, wincing at the expense of the faint traces of the inflicted pain still lingering within his temple.

The tone—quiet and ill at ease—that came with the supposed reassurance elicited a quirked brow from Hank, who seemed to be anything other than thoroughly convinced. He could tell something was bothering his kid, and it wasn’t just the rawness of the head injury. “Alright, spill it.”

The imperative assertion drew an oblivious stare from the young man as he directed his gaze onto the elder’s. “…What?”

“Son, spare me the bullshit. The tone, the LED, and the sad puppy-dog look, which is a dead giveaway,” He clarified his reasoning by indicating to the marginally jutting lip the android had displayed. “You got all the signs—the signs that tell me something’s wrong. Hey,” He said calmly when he caught the brown orbs drifting away, coaxing him to look back at him by snapping his fingers twice. “look at me. You know you can tell me, right? Keeping that shit in isn’t gonna do you any good.”

“I’m… aware.”

Hank nodded and instructed the other to hold the cotton pad on the wound to enable him to bandage it sufficiently. He spared no time to wait and began to wrap the gauze around his head and at his forehead, holding one end at the side of it.

The RK800 gnawed his lip, indicating his hesitance to disclose his thoughts to his friend—family. As well as he knew that he was free to express his feelings and emotions, he just couldn’t brush off the apprehensive concept of burdening him with his own problems—these were his problems, not Hank’s. He shouldn’t have to-

“Connor?” The android’s eyes widened slightly as he was whisked from his own thoughts by the sound of Hank’s voice. “You know you can trust me.”

“…I know,” The young man sighed defeatedly as he found himself folding at the concern and genuine care that laced his tone, unconsciously drumming his thigh with the fingers of his unoccupied hand every now and then. “I guess… I didn’t foresee the probability of a snowstorm taking place in the movie. Seeing it took me back to the night of the uprising—the night… where I-I was… trapped in the Zen garden and almost didn’t escape… I-I-I was… scared.”

No words left the human’s lips. His blue eyes grew glassy and soulful, almost ceasing the current task of nursing the other’s self-inflicted injury. The kid’s fear tore at his soul, and honest to God, it fucking hurt.

“…I-I thought I was trapped in there all over again, only there was no emergency exit. So, I panicked, and I ran. Ran to the hardest surface I could find to bash my head into in hopes of escaping. And honestly, I’ve brought that upon myself. If I hadn’t picked the movie, that would have never happened. It was my fault.”

“The hell it was. Connor, you never even saw the movie before. You didn’t know.”

“And it was only a movie. I shouldn’t allow something as simple as a movie scene trigger fear-“

“Ah!” Hank interjected quickly, putting a stop to his words with a brief hand signal akin to one a crossing guard would use to notify a stop. He resumed to hold the affixed gauze. “Let me make this clear. First, when I say that it’s not your fault, I mean that it’s not. Your. Fault. Second, you shouldn’t be raggin’ yourself for feeling scared. You’re not a machine anymore, Connor. You’re allowed to feel scared. Feeling fear is what makes us alive.”

A small smile tugged at the android’s lips from the mere citation. “And… I’m alive…”

“That you are,” He nodded and returned the favor by presenting him a smile of his own as he continued to clothe his forehead. Hank finalized the process after a few more rounds by securing the gauze with a patch of adhesive tape. “Alright, let me see your arm.”

“My arm…?” Connor paraphrased as he turned his right arm over to find the scuffed skin of his forearm, instantly recoiling as he recalled the marginal stinging pain from the incisions in which he had compelled upon himself. “Oh…”

Hank hummed and nodded in agreement as he gently grasped his wrist and laid his arm out with his forearm facing the ceiling. He retrieved the clammy tatter and proceeded to tenderly dab the wounds, picking up the blood that slowly leaked from the lacerations. “Y’know, we can put movie night on hold if you’re not up for it.”

“No, Hank,” Came the soft-spoken protest from the android’s lips. “We shouldn’t have to cancel it because of me.”

“Are you sure that you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We could just watch something else; that is, as long as there are no snowstorms in the film of choice.”

“Hmm…” The human murmured to himself in deep thought transitorily before glancing back to the deviant with a knowing grin. “How ‘bout some ‘Jurassic Park’?”

Hearing the name of one of the films he (and Hank) favored most prompted a smile from the RK800’s face. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t object to ‘Jurassic Park’.”

“Alright, now just sit tight, and I’ll get you patched up,” With that being said, Hank reinstated the entire bandaging process:

First, he carefully wiped the excess thirium; next came the dressing of the gauze, with a cotton sheet resting over the cuts; finally, when he had clothed the wounds, he took another strip of tape and secured the loose end of the bandage in place.

Afterwards, the android and the human retired back to the living room sofa, with Sumo following closely behind, who harked back to his original spot at corner near the television. The running list of cast members and various crews was enough to tell them that they had spent the remainder of the film confronting the attempted self-destruction, settling down with a moment of comfort, and tending to the damage the prototype had inflicted on himself. After a few minutes of scouring through his widespread film collection, Hank fished out the desired DVD and slipped the disc into the appropriate slot, starting the movie.

Subsequently, Hank returned to the couch and rejoined his android son, glancing at him with a kind smile. “I’m thinking of heading to the kitchen for some snacks. Any requests?”

As expected, Connor withdrew his focus from the television monitor and repaid his offer with a smile of his own. “Popcorn would suffice.”

“Coming right up,” The human male grunted as he rose from the couch and stretched, his bones cracking briefly before he departed to the kitchen.

From where he sat, Connor could easily detect the thudding of popping kernels ricocheting against a paper bag and the faint aroma of buttery goodness by the virtue of his advanced sensors. The waft began to escalate seconds later of the microwave’s high-pitched, patterned bleeps. The smell that grew closer had prompted the brunette to direct his gaze to his left, unearthing that the man was advancing to the couch, two bowls of virtually perfect popcorn piles in hand.

And so, the familial pair spent the remainder of the night by resuming their film viewing endeavor to the crack of dawn. Notwithstanding their fourth consecutive flick, which they had both drifted off to sleep—the RK800 deviant reclining against the human and letting his arms droop around the other’s waist, his body enfolded in a soft throw blanket, while the fatherly figure slumped back into the cushions behind him with a hand on the younger man’s head, his mouth agape as he nasally snored.

[adisgracetomyrace-blog]

The Haven- Part 8

Dew awoke to the sound of tweets and caws from birds, and her eyes widened at the sight of a huge, multicolored black raptor’s face only inches from hers.

“G-Gah!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just Finny.” Ash said, who Dew now realized was carrying her.

“Y-YOU HAVE A BIRD-” “Shh! Quiet, technically I’m not supposed to be here!” hissed Ash. “But yes, I do. This is Finnegan. I think I heard Lady Red call him a grackle. I have no idea what a grackle is but in my opinion that’s a stupid name for a bird that has shiny feathers-” she said, rubbing the avian’s neck and head as if it were a harmless creature.

“W-why’re we here....?” Dew muttered as a sparrow hopped up and tried to tug at Dew’s sleeve.

“To bust Finny outta here. Oh, and to get him used to you. But you should be fine, he’s dealt with people shorter than me before.” Ash responded, putting Dew on Finnegan’s back. “Just don’t pull too hard on his feathers.”

“W-w-w-wait you ride him, what kind of a borrower are you, we don’t ride birds!” Dew squeaked, hugging onto Finnegan’s neck as Ash brought out her huge x-acto blade and began cutting at the yarn keeping Finny tied to the walls of the area.

“Well, I am what my parents would call, a disgrace to my race. I don’t live in a cult or under the floorboards of some dumb human, I travel freely with Finny and go wherever.” Ash explained, pulling the yarn off as Finnegan trilled in delight. “And I also don’t kill people like the assholes running this place.”

With that, Ash climbed onto Finnegan, and was about to motion for Finnegan to take off before Dew said, “Wait... they’ll catch us too easy.”

“What?”

“If they see anything flying in the sky they’ll be super panicked and everyone will be out for us, but.... if we set free the rest of the sparrows and have several birds flying throughout the Haven.....”

Ash and Dew silently looked around, before Ash climbed off of Finnegan and brought out her x-acto blade.

“Don’t kill either of them- Bring them both back alive to me.” Lady Red hissed. “I want to make sure that damned little brat suffers and I will personally make sure she does!”

“Okay, but what about Ash, then?” Flicker inquired.

“Bring her to me as well, and I’ll teach her some manners or two about who’s in charge. Besides, she’s just my type, I don’t want to kill her. Just instill terror into her and abuse her a bit.” she explained casually.

It was then Clawface poked his head through the curtains. “Lady Red, please don’t be mad at me.”

“Oh I swear on all that is holy if Geoffrey’s back to complain about the Ash incident again-”

“No, no, it’s not Geoffrey. ...It’s worse.” Clawface said, before exiting as quickly as possible before Lady Red could take out her anger on him once she looks outside the window.

“What do you mean by that?” Lady Red snarled, about to follow him until she heard several bird calls from her window. “What on earth...?”

As she approached the window, Flicker took the opportunity to slink out and retreat to hide with Clawface. He was halfway down the stairs before he heard Lady Red shriek and pull her chandelier made of glass beads onto the floor in anger.

“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!!” she roared, knocking several trinkets over as Flicker quickened his pace to the safety spot behind the stairs made of boxes. “GUARDS!!!”

“So, do you know a way outta here?”

“Wh- no! If I did, my parents and I would’ve escaped, alive, and unharmed ages ago! Now they’re just burnt corpses in an alleyway and-”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

The two were silent for a moment, looking down upon the city made of boxes and cans and empty guitars and other items now erupting into chaos just because of a few sparrows rampaging around town.

...Okay, they might’ve released more than a few sparrows.

Dew and Ash might’ve set about 20 sparrows free before they lost count.

“I think if we go to Lady Red’s place, we might find the exit.” Dew suddenly said.

“What? Are you insane?”

“She and her guards are probably out looking for you and dealing with sparrows, they won’t expect us there.”

“.....You might be right about that....” Ash muttered.

“Besides, if we break in, we could snoop around to find any maps and whatnot.”

“....Ugh, fine.” hissed Ash, nudging Finnegan with her right foot to cue him to fly to the right.

Once they arrived, Finnegan forced his way through the open window carved out from the wooden box Lady Red’s main office was set up in, and Ash and Dew hopped off to start tearing apart the room in search of items.

“What’re we looking for, exactly?” Ash asked, tossing out some beads and clothing.

“Some maps or blueprints.” Dew responded, scanning through Lady Red’s papers at her desk.

“Okay, uh... what do those look like?”

“..You don’t know what a map is?!” Dew gasped, peering up from the desk’s edge.

“I know how to kill a mouse in 5 different ways without hurting myself, do you think I can afford to know what a map is when I literally live outside?!”

“Ugh- listen, it has pictures on it! Pictures and words!” Dew hissed, diving back down to pull out papers.

“I have no idea what a picture is-”

“ASH!”

Suddenly, Dew heard footsteps and the sound of a curtain being drawn back. “Lady Re- OH MY GOODNESS!” a female voice exclaimed.

Dew peered up and Ash glanced over her shoulder to see a female servant staring in horror at the sight of the overweight, now wanted rebel, the dirty and pale child, both rummaging through her boss’ stuff, and an over sized black sparrow with piercing yellow eyes staring straight at her.

“G-Guards! Guards!” she cried, fleeing the room.

“Hey hey hey HEY!” Ash snarled, running after the lady and tackling her.

“....It’s probably better this way.” Dew muttered, going back to glancing at papers for maps that her mother could’ve written. Her eyes widened as she pulled back another one of Lady Red’s weird drawings of Clawface and Flicker without clothes on, and she found herself staring at the map. “Oh my gosh- O-oh my gosh! Ash! Ash!” she exclaimed, clambering onto the desk and jumping off of it.

“I found it, I found the map!” Dew said as she walked in on Ash raising the woman above her head. “I- ....What are you doing.”

“....Throw her into the water down below.” Ash responded.

“What?”

“Hey, it won’t kill her! It’s just water!”

Dew rushed over to the edge, and gasped as the lower levels were filled with rising water. “O-oh my gosh, no...! We started a flood!”

“What?”

“The lower ranking guards maintain the water levels to make sure the Haven doesn’t flood! But with the guards dealing with the sparrows and trying to find you..!”

Ash’s eyes widened as she realized the severity of the situation. “...O-Oh fuck.”

“We have to get out of here!” she exclaimed, pointing back to Finnegan in Lady Red’s office.

“Okay, okay, I’m on it!” Ash exclaimed, before throwing the servant into the water and running behind Dew.

As she did, she heard the sound of footsteps pounding behind her, and she shrieked as she saw Clawface and Flicker rushing towards her.

“Fuck!” she yelped as Clawface grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the ground. Meanwhile, Flicker leaped over Ash to deal with Dew and Finnegan.

“C’mon, Ash, we got-” Dew broke off with a gasp as she saw Flicker enter the room, with Clawface and Ash wrestling behind him.

“Hello, little child.....” Flicker wheezed, Dew trembling and backing away into the wall. Finnegan cawed and charged at him with his talons, knocking Flicker down, but Flicker drew out a knife and began to slash into the dark colored bird. Drops of blood splattered onto the wood, and Finnegan backed away, screeching in pain with his head held down.

Dew realized what had happened once she saw the blood pooling around Finnegan’s lowered head. Flicker had gotten Finnegan in the eye.

“Oh, how it’s always little childish bastards like you who cause such a mess...” Flicker snarled, pulling out a match from his belt. “Lady Red told me to keep you alive, but honestly.... She won’t torture you enough. She’s never heard the screams of a borrower or a human burning alive as their body’s consumed by the flames...” And with that, he struck the match.

“No, no no no no no, no, please...!” Dew whimpered, backed away into a corner now.

“Let’s see where to start the fire.... How about your pretty hair?” he snarled, grabbing her and yanking her closer to him. “After all, a dirty little street child has more flammable hair than a human child.... That’d be a great place to start. It’ll spread from your hair, to your face, to the rest of your body....”

Dew was sobbing uncontrollably as Flicker lowered the match closer and closer to her, feeling the heat of the gently bobbing flame increase. Then, suddenly, she heard the sound of talons clicking on wood behind her, and Flicker cried out in pain as Finnegan charged beak-first into him.

Flicker released his grip, and Dew pulled back, noticing he had dropped the match and the fire was starting in the corner Dew had previously been in. The fire, like a snake, slowly began to spread and slither about the walls and objects of the room. Dew, bathed in the flame’s glorious light, crawled away from it, and stared in concern as Finnegan remained by the fire, still bleeding heavily from his right eye. Until she noticed Finnegan had his foot pinned down on Flicker, refusing to let him up.

He was waiting for him to be consumed by the fire.

The air was filled with blood curdling screams as the flames reached Flicker’s body, and Finnegan backed away, knocking a rather heavy box onto Flicker to keep him held down. With that, he turned to look at Dew with his left eye, and ushered her out of the room, nudging the trembling child with his beak.

Once there, they had noticed Ash and Clawface still wrestling on the ground. Except Ash was on the bottom and she appeared to be holding Clawface’s knife away, which was inches from Ash’s face.

Finnegan charged forward and grabbed Clawface by the arm, ripping him off of Ash with extreme strength neither Dew nor Ash could imagine a bird could possess. Clawface was flung off of the edge, and fell onto one of the levels far down, down below not yet flooded. Ash hesitantly crawled to the edge and peered down to see if he was going to spring back up to try to kill her.

Then, the railing holding him up (composed of string, mind you) broke underneath his weight, and he fell face-down into the water with the servant still helplessly wading in the water. She tried to sit him up, until she felt his pulse, and she shrieked.

Clawface was dead.

Now, with the sounds of shrieking from down below and Flicker dying in their ears, Ash grabbed Dew and placed her on Finnegan’s back, followed by Ash. “W-we’ve got to get out of here...”

“I have the map,” Dew responded, showing Ash the now crumpled wad of paper.

“G-good.... C’mon Finny, let’s fly.” Ash whispered, stroking the grackle’s feathers. The bird approached to a balcony, and was about to take off until a guard from below shot at him, making Finnegan screech in pain again as he was hit in the wing.

“Back up, back up!” Ash hissed, as they re-entered the safety of the building. “Shit, okay okay okay, new plan, new plan, we’re just gonna... keep going up.” Ash responded, jumping off and leading Finnegan up to the higher levels, to avoid the fire, the smoke, the rising water, and the shrieks of that servant.

[h-o-l-l-i]

Fragile

Negan x Reader

Word Count: 1,800

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: Requests are open!

Part 2

Read Part 1 here.

Your eyes parted slowly as the sound of a horn rang in your ears. Your head hurt like hell and you raised your hand to your temple. You winced in pain and pulled your hand away, seeing the crimson red blood generously coating your hand. Panic began to set in. Where am I? What the hell happened? The sound of feet dragging and mindless groaning snapped your attention back to your reality. Shit. Walkers.

You began to frantically pull at the seat belt, your whole body ached when you moved but you needed to move fast. Your eyes rapidly wandered over the inside of the car, trying to find something to cut the belt when it failed to release you. Your eyes landed on your knife on the floorboard, using your feet to move it to where you could grab it.

With your knife in your possession you cut the strap and freed yourself. Walkers surrounded your car, the horn ringing the dinner bell for every walker for miles and miles. You busted open the fuse box and silenced the horn. Your ears still ringing, blood covered the side of your head and face and your body was littered with cuts and bruises.

Suddenly, your shoulder was grabbed and more arms reached inside the broken window. They had you. Your heart started to race and your mind was flustered. You desperately swung the knife around, cutting away at the dead’s clutch on you. You scooted your way to the back of the car, the rear window was broken. That was your only way out of this mess, you thought. It was a whole other story when you didn’t have the car as a barrier.

You squeezed your small frame out of the window and you hopped down off the trunk. Your boots hit the ground and you yelled out in pain, your hand covered your mouth to quiet yourself. You limped your way back up the hill that your car had rolled down. Your knife sinking into the head of a couple walkers that got a little too close.

Now up on the road, your head snapped from one end to the other, trying to gauge which way was safer to go, or if Negan had sent a search party after you didn’t show up. You had begged Negan relentlessly to allow you to go out alone, and just when he finally did, this happens. Fuck.

** two days earlier **

“Please Negan, this will give me some closure or some shit. I don’t know, but I know that I need this.” you pleaded with him. He looked at you, contemplating the idea of you going out alone.

“Three hours. That’s all you have. No. More.” he said bluntly. You smiled and lunged at him and wrapped him in your arms in a tight hug. He took him off guard at first then he relaxed and held you in his arms returning the favor.

“Thank you, Negan. This means so much to me. After this, my mind won’t be fragile. I have no one else.” you said to him releasing him from the hug and you stood up straight. He looked at you quizzically. “Uh, well, I mean, I have this place.” you stuttered, trying to speak quickly and gestured with your hands.

He chuckled slightly, “Doll” he leaned in to you, “Just don’t make me regret this. Please. Don’t think about runnin’ or some stupid fuckin’ shit like that.” he finished.

You looked into his eyes and spat out, “Don’t fuck it up, got it.”

“Don’t fuck it up, got it.”  you mocked yourself under your breath. Walkers began to close in on you so you did what this world programmed you to do. Kill. Dodging grasping hands of the dead, you sank your knife inside its temple, you pulled hard, yanking out the knife sending walker blood to come flying towards you. You didn’t have time to think, there was too many of them. Every walker you had killed was replaced by a never ending horde. Fear started to creep in, your anxiety was tightening its grip on you and you couldn’t shake the voice I your head saying, This is it. You’re already dead. You have nothing left in this world, it’s your time. You were starting to get backed up to the trashed car so you had to decide. Go down fighting or to surrender and be torn to shreds.  You began to kick and push walkers back in attempt to gain back some territory.

You succeeded somewhat but they just proceed. You were spent. All your energy that was left after the crash was gone. You climbed on top of the car and looked down to the outstretched arms of the many walkers that wanted you.

Your head snapped to the sound of an armada of trucks that turned the corner, you got to your feet as quickly as you could and frantically waived your arms. The trucks pulled closer and plowed right through a portion of walkers. A small army of Saviors hopped out of several trucks and began to unleash on the horde. You watched as the men, your Saviors began to get closer and closer to you when you saw Negan. You felt a mix of emotions, you were excited to be alive, frustrated because you knew you had to earn back his trust that was long lost by now, and disappointed because you in deed fucked up. Big time.

He heroically swung his bat and connected to the heads of several walkers, splattering their reanimated brains everywhere and coating his precious Lucille. You began stabbing at some of the walkers that surrounded you, helping all you can in your condition. Soon, the situation was under control for just a moment so Negan and his men could reach you and carry you back to the trucks and high tail out of there.

“Negan…I-I. Don’t know w-what happened. I don’t remember. I just woke up after the crash. The horn, the horn must have drawn the horde…i-…” you trailed off, sitting in the back seat leaned up to Negan. His eyes ran over your body, analyzing it for bites. His eyes darted to your head where blood dripped from.

“Shh, it’s alright, as long as you’re okay, everything else doesn’t matter. Are you bitten anywhere? Hey, hey, Y/N. stay awake. C'mon Y/N, doll, stay awake!!” he yelled as your eyes rolled back and everything went black.

“Hilltop. NOW! She needs a doctor.” Negan frantically yelled to Simon who was driving, and every once in a while looking back at you. Simon sped to the Hilltop.

Reaching the gates, Negan opened  up the door and yelled, “Get the Doc the fuck out here now!!” The gates opened and Negan carried your unconscious body inside.

“What happened?” the doctor asked.

“C-Car accident. She was surrounded by them, I don’t think she’s bitten, I looked and didn’t see anything.” Negan said quickly, laying you down, “If she dies, you all die.” he finished in a serious and emotional tone.

“Negan, please we need the room for the others to help her. You can wait outside.” one helper said.

“Fuck that! I’m not leaving her!” he yelled, voice shaking a little.

“I know, but you’ll be helping her by giving us the space to work on her.” she said calmly, backing him out of the room. Defeated he ran his hand over his head and down the back of his neck, slowly walking backwards until he was out in the hallway and the lady closed door.

“Leave it open.” Negan commanded and she nodded quickly before rushing to help you and the Doctor.

Negan stood there intently watching their every move and carefully watching their expressions, trying to gauge if their efforts to help you were working. He never left that spot. About an hour went by and he never moved.

The doctor turned and started to walk to Negan, emotion showing on his face, Negan’s stomach dropped.

“How is she?” he asked, trying to look around the doctor.

“She’s stable. Hit her head pretty good, might be out for a couple of days but she’ll be fine. No bites. I took a blood sample to compare to walker blood and there are no signs of it mixing with her blood. I expect her to make a full recovery.” he said.

With a sigh of relief Negan smiled and put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder, “Thank you. Don’t think this won’t go unnoticed, Doc.”

“I’ll be right in that room, come get me if anything happens. I’ll have one of my nurses outside the room at all times to monitor her.” he said to Negan offering him a reassuring smile before walking into another room.

Negan walked to you carefully, he looked at you laying there, hooked up to an I.V. and your head wrapped and arm in a sling. His eyes showed emotion for just a second when they watered slightly at the sight of your condition. He pulled up a chair and took your hand into his.

“Don’t you fuckin’ do that again, you hear me. I can’t lose you.  I won’t lose you, Y/N. I knew something was wrong, I just knew it you know. When you didn’t come back when you radioed that you were on your way. I got that gut feeling that something was wrong.” he bowed his head between his arms and but his hands on the back of his neck and took a deep breath.

You grunted quietly and Negan’s eyes studied you, your eyes slowly peeled open and he leaned down with a big smile on his face and grabbed your hand again and squeezed gently. You tried moving and getting up from the bed when your body screamed in pain and Negan put his hand on your leg, silently saying stay put.

“Uh, look who’s fragile now. Those real tears, for me, Negan?” you said groggily in a hoarse voice. He scoffed and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Ha. Ha. Glad to see you still have your sense of humor.” he retorted. “Nurse, go get the Doctor, she’s awake.”

Seconds later the nurse and doctor came running into the room. The doctor looked at you very surprised, and checked your eyes with a flash of light a couple of times.

“Doc, I’m good. Head hurts a little, hell my whole body but I’m good.” you said.

“This is amazing.” the doctor said, “Uh, I mean, um, you shouldn’t be  awake, the trauma you sustained, I expected you would be out of it for about two days, at least.” he put his hands on his hips, shaking his head in amazement. “You are one tough woman, you know that.”

“Yeah she is, she’s strong as hell.” Negan said taking your hand again, looking at you.

Want to be added to a tag list? Let me know!!

Have any requests? Let me know!

@collette04

[jujubieberbae]

See You Down There

Requested: Can you do that imagine where jason and Y/N having a baby please ?

I MISSED WRITING!!!

“I gave you direct instructions which you have failed to fall through with. There is no excuse. You have ten seconds to fuck off.” Jason’s voice was stern, terrifyingly calm but underneath was an undying tone of anger for the man and his inability to complete a task.

I knew at that moment he wasn’t bluffing, when was the last time Jason Mccann had ever bluffed? And the trembling man before him obviously knew no better.

Or maybe he did - for he was in this situation after all as a cause of his reckless behaviour. Jason trusted the man with his shipment, directly told him to be here with his guns at seven sharp. Yet here he stood at Nine forty five with no guns and a terrified expression.

Sorry buddy, but you had this coming.

“Please Mr Mccann. You have to understand, I have a family!” 

“So do I.” Jason stated, directing his eyes over to me and my swelling belly. “That’s why when I’m told to do something, I get it done. I will not risk not coming home to them for filthy pleasures.”

“It was one time. I-I didn’t mean to!” The man pleaded.

“Last time I checked you don’t place a bunt in your mouth and smoke it on accident.” Jason spat. “That shipment was really important! My client was expecting me to deliver it hours ago but because of your ignorance, I lost an ally tonight.”

“Please Jason-” The man pleaded to which jason lifted a lip and snarled in anger as well as in warning. The man’s eyes widened, making quick to correct his error. “I mean, Mr Mccann. Don’t kill me. Don’t you have a heart!?”

Ooh. Wrong move buddy.

Suddenly, Jason’s lips twisted into an evil grin - one of menacing amusement that was somehow blank but full of meaning all at once. “A heart?” Jason questioned. “I used too.” He chuckled. “But you see, there's a problem now. My heart was stolen by a beautiful woman who is now carrying my child. It lays in her hands.”

That’s when Jason directed his eyes over to me, a look of love but that stern professional glare shining straight through, informing me that no matter how much he loved me, he meant business. “So tell me baby girl. What do you think I should do?”

A sudden wave of pain rush through me. It was dull but still much noticeable - something I had found was a very common thing in pregnancy. Decided to ignore the flood of discomfort for this really wasn’t a good time to complain about my pregnancy, I glanced around the room finding every pair of eyes burning sternly through my head.

Jason was the first I saw, a look of patient love but professional demeanor. Then the gang members guarding the room caught my eyes next. They all looked on with stern eyes, ready to pounce at the request of my decision, but the man sat with pleading eyes, begging to be spared.

This wasn’t a decision I was appealed to make everyday, so my mind at this point was rushing with thoughts of indecisiveness and fear.

This man had a family to go home to as well as his own gang to run, but over all he did us wrong and disrespected not only our request, but Jason himself. And no one disrespects my husband and gets away with it. I know Jason was giving me the choice to make for myself but deep down, I knew he hoped I’d declare this mans death.

And who was I to upset my husband?

��Kill him.” I spat.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, head whipping from side to side in fear as two guards began approaching each side of his body. “No! No please! Please! Don’t do this!!”

The two members of Bizzle gang roughly gripped ahold of the mans shoulder’s, ripping him up rather aggressively. The man’s cries and screams echoed through the entirety of Jason’s office, who must I say had a large and satisfied grin on his face.

Slowly, Khalil and Za dragged the man away kicking and screaming, yelling profanities of all sorts over his breath. But One sentence in particular managed to catch me off guard, his words burning through me and panging me with worry. A pang that was physically felt as a second wave of pain endured me.

“I hope your and wife and child rot in hell!” and at that moment, I watched as Jason’s face visibly twisted from one of satisfaction to a firing rage.

It was no less than point 2 seconds before Jason had flung his body out of his chair, face red and burning with anger. “Bring him back here!”

And not wanting to anger the boss, Za and Khalil dragged the boy back, holding him down on the chair forcefully. Jason leaned forward, his face mere inches from the man. His once honey eyes presented black and I was honestly scared for the man myself.

Jason snarled, teeth visible as he spat his words. So harsh that they sent shivers down my spine. “You will regret ever meeting me, let alone wishing death upon my family. I may be a murderer but I am a child of god. And so god help me, if they’re going to hell then I’m going with them. Just not going anytime soon.”

Then he smiled, one to send even the strongest of men running. A psychotic, treacherous smile. “See you down there.”

And with a swift movement he had drawn his gun, clicked the safety off and pulled the trigger all before I could blink. The sound rung throughout the room and I flinched ever so slightly at the echo of the shell clattering to the ground.

The sight before me had bile rising up my throat, pooling in my mouth. The sight usually wouldn’t phase me but this pregnancy was making it hard to keep anything down. Blood splattered the room and the mans body lay lifeless on the seat, a hole of nothing in the center of his forehead with blood oozing down it.

It was all too much and I was found doubling over besides me. My breakfast was fast to exit my body, relieving the nausea’s feeling pooling in my stomach.Though Jason was quick to run over to me, a hand on my back as I began to stand straight again.

“You okay baby girl?” He questioned with a sincere tone. He was used to my constant nausea episodes and found it quite normal that I had thrown up.

But yet again, another wave of pain fell over my body, a burning cramp riding up from my stomach, extending as far as my torso reached. This one was a lot stronger than the last, and I was found once again doubling over, but this time in pain.

A groan of misery was emitted from my throat, a hand reaching up to clutch my stomach. Everyone in the room stiffened, eyeing me with worry as I stood back to lean on Jason’s shoulder.

“It hurts!” I yelled. “Jason it hurts!”

He was quick to grab a hold of my body. He lifted both my arms, wrapping each around his neck with both arms around my waist to stabilize me. His eyes held worry with a glint of fear - something you never saw Jason feeling. “What is it baby?” He frantically asked. “What’s hurting?”

It took everything in me to muster up the words “M-My stomach! It hurts!” I Groaned. “I think I’m having c-contractions.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he glanced down at my stomach. He had read the pregnency books I asked him to read after a litle begging but none the less still asked, “What does that mean?!”

That's when It hit me, and I began announcing the words we had been waiting to hear ever since the day I  found out I was pregnant. “I think I’m going into labour!”

Just like Jason’s, everyone's eyes largened, and I almost wanted to slap them for just staring at me while I groaned in pain.

“Well don’t just stand there, do something!”

And then everyone was off. Jason began instructing the gang to start up the car and grab my hospital bag from upstairs, a few rushing around to follow Jason’s orders while others proceeded to cancel all jason’s meetings for the rest of the day.

But Jason instead stood by me, his forehead leant against mine with his eyes closed.

“I’m scared.” I announced.

Jason licked his lips, lifting a hand to caress my face. “It’s okay baby girl. Just breath.”

“But I’m not ready.” Tears brimmed my eyes and I felt like I was about to colapse right then and there.

Jason shook his head. “Shh.” He cooed. “You're ready. More than ready. You're going to do great. Just think about it, in a couple of hours were going to be right back here, but this time with a beautiful baby girl.”

I chuckled. “Boy.”

“Baby, It’s a girl.”

“I think It’s a boy.”

Justin shook his head, a smile present on his face. “It’s going to be a girl. I can feel it.”

There was a few more seconds of smiles before I once again groaned in pain, lighting everyone back to the situation at hand. Jason opened his eyes, looking down at the bump then back to me with excitement. I just wanted to kiss him, hold my baby in my hands and never let go.

“Y/N.” Jason whispered.

“Yeah.” I hummed.

“Let’s go have a baby.”

[followthereaper]

Request: “Can you do a Chibs imagine where the reader is younger than him and someone (maybe Nero) asks them to help her because she has a stalker and eventually the club ends up caring about her but mostly Chibs. Her and him end up becoming really close he ends up being like a mentor to her. He secretly makes sure she's okay and that she's happy. But both of them are too proud to admit they care about each other but the club can see it and they think it's adorable. Their relationship is platonic.”

Nero and Chibs are two of the hottest old guys, I swear! I hope you guys enjoy! xoxo

-----------

“Nero, I’m heading out,” you told your boss before closing down your computer.

He nodded, “Alright mami, be careful.” You had been working as Nero’s assistant since you graduated high school three years ago, and the two of you had developed a strong relationship over the time, you looking at him as a father figure.

You sighed as you walked in your house, taking off your high- heeled shoes. You were sipping on a glass of wine, playing on your phone when it went off in your hand. It showed a blocked caller and your breath hitched in your throat, but you answered anyway.

“Hey Y/N,” the caller said, laughing when you said nothing in return, “Miss me pretty girl?”

“What the fuck do you want from me?” you asked through gritted teeth. This had been going on for weeks now. This person would call you, and say weird things, never telling you who they were or how they knew you.

He laughed again, “I want you in general really, but I’ll have that soon enough. Right now, I just wanna talk to you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby, you son of a bitch. Please leave me alone,” you begged as you double checked the locks on every door and window in your house.

“You don’t mean that baby. Why are you trying to keep me out?” the man asked, anger clear in his voice, “You think those locked doors and windows would keep me out if I really wanted in?”

At this point, you were freaked out, and hung up, quickly calling the one person you needed right now.

---------

Nero was at your doorstep within ten minutes of you calling him. You fell into his arms sobbing as he came in, but you soon realized he wasn’t alone. Two guys with cuts on came inside behind him.

“Shh, it’s okay Mami,” Nero soothed you, “These are a couple of my friends, Jax and Chibs. This is Y/N.” After introductions were made, you explained to them everything that had happened in the last few weeks.

Nero sighed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I didn’t wanna worry you, thought I could handle it myself.”

Nero grabbed your hand before leaving you with Chibs to go talk to Jax. “So, you guys are Sons. I’ve seen a few of you in Nero’s place,” you told him, attempting to make small talk.

Chibs nodded, “Aye, we are. Are ye alright?”

You nodded, “I feel better with you all here, but you can’t be here all the time, and I don’t wanna live in fear for the rest of my damn life.”

“We’re gonna take care of this, lass. Nero asked us to help, and we will,” Chibs told you, squeezing your hand briefly before Nero and Jax joined the two of you again.

“Alright, we got a plan,” Jax said, “We’re gonna have someone stay with you each night. Your boy will make a move at some point. Tonight, we’re gonna leave, head down a block or two, and one of us will sneak back in and stay the night.

“You guys don’t have to do this. You don’t even know me,” you told them.

“Nero does though,” Jax said, “any friend of his is a friend of ours. Plus, we don’t take too well to people fuckin’ with women. We’re gonna handle this shit.”

Nero hugged you as they went out the door, with Chibs sneaking back in later. Chibs stayed away from windows in order to keep the guy from seeing him if he were out there. It was hours later when you woke up to glass breaking. Chibs was immediately next to you, gun drawn, “Stay in here.”  

It seemed like an eternity before Chibs came back to the bedroom, blood splattered on his face. “It’s over,” he told you as you rushed to hug him.

--------

“Is she okay?” Chibs asked Nero as he looked at you through the office window while they shared a drink at the picnic table. It had been three months since the accident, and you remained close with SAMCRO, helping them out when they needed it.

Nero nodded, “She says she is, and I believe her. You seem to really care for her.”

Chibs shrugged and silently cursed himself for even asking, “She’s a vital part of the club now, does a lot for us.”  

Nero nodded, but didn’t buy it, “well she cares a great deal for you.” As he said this, he finished the last of his drink and left the lot, Chibs going into the office.

Today was one of the days the club needed you as Gemma was sick at home, so that means you were doing office work for the day. “Where do the work orders go?” you asked Chibs who had walked in and sat on the couch next to the desk.

He nodded to a filing cabinet, “Right in there, a prospect will grab them soon.” Chibs had helped you learn everything in the office considering that is where you typically worked. Occasionally, you stepped in as a bartender, but that wasn’t too often.

“You two are adorable,” Tig said, joining the two of you in the office.

“Christ, Tig,” you said, rolling your eyes but laughing. Tig was followed by the rest of the guys. “How am I supposed to get any work done with you all in here?” You asked, but you secretly enjoyed the company of your favorite guys.

“We gotta talk to you about something,” Jax said, smiling while propping himself up on the desk.

“Cut the shit, guys. What’s up?” You told them, laughing.

“Nero and us are goin’ into business together, opening up a new shop. We all talked, and we want you to run it,” Tig said.

“What? Are you serious? Why me?” you asked.

“There’s no one else we trust more than you, Y/N. Plus, you’ve been helpin’ Nero run the smaller business forever. You know this shit inside and out, and you’re SAMCRO family,” Jax explained.

“What do ya say lass?” Chibs asked.

“Hell yeah.” You exclaimed.

“Party tonight to celebrate,” Jax told you before all of the guys left you to relish in your newfound position.

[squick-writes]

The White Day Massacre

AO3 Link Rating: Mature Warnings: Gun violence, blood Relationships: Trip/Virus (DRAMAtical Murder) Additional Tags: White Day shenanigans + Yakuza bullshit (you’re welcome) Summary: Virus and Trip are laden up with gifts and ready to pursue somebody - but who will be their lucky recipient?

It was still March 14th for me when I posted this, shh. Read below or on AO3!

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"If you eat all of those by yourself, you'll get sick again, won't you?"

"Don't care."

Trip was sitting slouched against the champagne-ivory cushioning of their sleek white rental limousine, his jacket open, his tie loose, untucked, coming out of its clip and dangling unattractively over his crotch. He stared straight ahead into nothing, lost in thought as he stuffed his face with one marshmallow after another. The decorative chiffon drawstring pouch was perched open upon his knee, already half empty.

Virus sat across from him at an angle, not quite as prim as he would normally be in the company of others but still somewhat more tightly held in demeanor when compared to Trip, who he had been watching for several minutes until he noted the speed with which the marshmallows were disappearing. Virus was very close to sighing in exasperation. Instead, he merely allowed his eyelids to flutter shut for the briefest instant.

"Don't you think that might not be such a good idea, on a special day like today of all days?"

Trip only paused for a second before offering the bag to Virus. "So help me."

"No thanks. I don't like marshmallows very much."

Trip put the pouch of marshmallows back on his lap and made a long, drawn-out, inarticulate noise of complaint. "We didn't even want these, did we? They just pushed it on us with everything else."

"Mm," Virus agreed. "Nothing sends a message like a generic, uncustomized White Day package. Although I suppose it's so extravagant that nobody should care. It's only a consideration, after all."

Having apparently been sated, Trip ceased snacking on the marshmallows and instead casually flipped the tag over on the enormous bouquet of flowers on the seat beside him to read the fancy hand-penned script off the back.

"They got the right names on, at least."

Virus hesitated a quiet moment, then reached forward to scoop his fingers into the abandoned bag of marshmallows still balanced on Trip's thigh.

"Maybe I will have one."

One turned out to be a couple, before they finally arrived at their destination: an office building towards the back of the Aqua Forest District of Platinum Jail. Stepping out of the limo, they carefully gathered their rather heavy sheaf bouquets of long-stemmed white flower arrangements from the backseat and Virus approached the security guard standing outside the glass front doors with a friendly smile.

"Good evening," Virus greeted him, bowing his head politely. "We're here to answer Suzuki-san's Valentine chocolate. It's to be a very special surprise for White Day, so could you please let us go up the back way? She works on the 10th floor."

The security guard, who by now had probably seen more than his fair share of White Day deliveries and seemed quite tired of it already, merely waved his hand for them to follow and directed them to the service elevator around the back of the building.

"Those are some big flowers," he commented as he unlocked the elevator for them. "Be careful swinging those things around, yeah? Might knock someone out." He shot them a cringe-worthy smile at his own joke before he left.

Trip chuckled lowly to himself the minute the doors closed, slinging his massive bouquet over one shoulder. "You think he got any Valentine's chocolate?"

Glancing sideways at Virus, something suddenly caught his attention.

"Oh. Shit," Trip muttered a curse, reaching out to rub his thumb over a gelatinous red substance that had stained the waist of Virus's white jacket in the mysterious shape of a fingerprint. "This blood?"

Virus twisted his body and pulled at the fabric to look, then clicked his tongue loudly in annoyance at his suit being ruined already.

"That's from you. Must've gotten some on your fingers from the jelly donuts you had this morning."

"Ahh.. Sorry," Trip grinned. "Those were good though."

"Mn," Virus responded noncommittally. He listened to the grinding of the elevator for a moment - no innocuous music playing for the service entrance - then looked down at his wide bouquet of flowers and buried his nose in one. "I used to be allergic to these flowers."

Trip was apparently thinking of something else entirely. "What do you like about doing this sorta thing?"

"Eh?" Virus looked up curiously.

"Like, what's your favorite part? I guess."

"Oh. I don't know." Virus folded his arms around the flowers. "I suppose it's fun to get dressed up and pretend. What about you, what do you think?"

Trip adjusted his stance slightly in anticipation, holding the bouquet over his shoulder with one hand and idly stroking the wrapping paper with the other. He both heard and felt it crinkle satisfyingly beneath his fingers.

"I like the way it slides right in.. and when it gets stuck."

"Fufu," Virus chuckled. "Really? Me too, I guess. But.. well, I don't like shooting inside."

The elevator dinged as it came to a halt and the doors opened.

"Here we are," said Virus. "Ready, Trip?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The inside of office buildings in Platinum Jail were brightly designed to promote better productivity; their digital holographic "windows" currently displayed a pleasant cloudless day, around 11 o' clock in the morning, which contrasted sharply with the permanent nighttime that encompassed the city outside. Virus and Trip moved past several glassy, new-age cubicles without attracting attention to themselves, silent but for the rustling of their suits and the flowers they held ready. They located the receptionist's desk in a matter of minutes.

"Hello," Virus greeted her brightly. "Suzuki-san? You are personal assistant to Ishikawa-sama, right? Is the head of the company in her office? We have a special White Day delivery surprise for her."

"And these are for you too," said Trip, reluctantly withdrawing a box of white chocolates from where it had been pinned inside the bouquet. "Here." He tossed it to the receptionist, who barely caught it. She was blushing harder than anyone he had ever seen.

"Oh my goodness, thank you.. May I ask who these are from? I've never heard of a White Day service like this before.."

"The names of our employers are on the cards," Virus explained, closing his eyes with a smile and tapping his bouquet. "But like we said, it's a surprise, so you'll have to wait and see."

"Of course! Come right this way."

The receptionist led them around the corner, where she knocked a few times on the tinted glass door to Ishikawa's office before entering and bowing to her superior, a stern-looking woman - visually in her mid-to-late thirties but probably older - with slight frown lines and her hair styled on top of her head in a neat black bun.

"Sorry for the interruption, but these men have White Day presents for you."

Surveying them with shrewd, glossy dark eyes, Ishikawa replied impatiently, "Did I not say to keep any gifts at your desk so I could come and get them later? I'm about to make a very important phone call to the mainland."

"Our instructions were to deliver this message in person. It won't take but a minute, we promise," Virus assured her smoothly. "Could you come stand over here so we can get your picture, please? Hold this too, if you don't mind."

Ishikawa seemed to be developing a smile in spite of herself. "Well, this is rather impressive.. I suppose I can humour you for just a moment," she said as she rose from her desk.

Virus pressed a white lily into the hands of both women and guided them closer together in front of the artificial window display. Once he had Suzuki and Ishikawa standing next to each other, flattering them with many briefly teasing, lingering brushes of his hands against their arms and waists, Virus stood aside to allow Trip to snap a picture on his temporary phone - the two women smiling against the faux digital backdrop of a sunny day - which he did while looking bored and balancing the cumbersome bouquet against his leg with one hand.

"Now, for the main event."

Virus and Trip knelt down before the two businesswomen, bowing their heads and holding out the bouquets lengthwise to present them by the base first, as if for the women to take hold of them, the heads of the white floral arrangements resting on their shoulders. Neither Suzuki nor Ishikawa noticed their other hands slipping into the flowers.

"Happy White Day." Virus and Trip glanced to the side to meet each other's eyes, then looked up at their victims. "From the Yakuza."

They waited just long enough to see the dawning horror in the women's eyes as they began to understand their situation, then squeezed their own respective triggers, having pushed the flowers apart and reached into the middle of the bouquets which disguised their weapons. Muffled by twin silencers, gunshots fired through the wrapping paper, which began to smoke.

Blood splattered backwards onto the white petals as the bodies crumpled to the floor.

The holographic window display behind them had also fractured violently, bathing the entire office in the calming artificial darkness from the coolly lit streets outside. Pieces of glass littered the carpet, some glimmering in the women's clothes and hair as the parts of digital screen that remained intact went haywire before shutting off.

Virus and Trip stood up, tugging their white camouflage rifles roughly out of the thick flower arrangements where they were hidden and sending sprays of loosened blossoms showering down around them. They carelessly dropped the rest of the bouquets to the floor.

"That should do it," said Trip, bending down to pick up the box of courtesy chocolates he had given the receptionist. "Shit, window wasn't s'posed to break though. Think anybody heard?"

"Most likely," Virus replied, suddenly sounding tired. "Although these buildings are designed to be pretty soundproof. Who knows?" He nodded to the woman Trip shot. "So, is there an exit wound or did it get stuck inside?" Virus asked, referencing what Trip had said he liked earlier.

"Dunno." Trip leaned back down to roll the body over. He took a minute to check for bullet holes. "Nope, looks like it went clean through. Must've been what broke the window."

"Oh well, that's a shame. Better luck next time."

"We've never shot anyone point blank with these before," said Trip. Wriggling out of his white jacket, the back of which was now covered in cherry-red droplets of varying size, he draped it over the deceased head of company and tucked it in around her shoulders. Apart from the stains, it made her look like someone who might have just passed out drunk after a night on the town. He snapped another picture on his phone. "More or less blood than you were expecting?"

"More," Virus grimaced in response. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

They got away by climbing through the broken window onto the fire escape, leaving the bodies behind amidst the mess of flowers, and hid their guns inside a dumpster behind the building, to be picked up later by one of their lower ranked yakuza associates.

"So, how should we celebrate?" Virus asked cheerily, back to his usual self now that he had divested himself of his own stained attire.

Celebrate what, Trip almost asked as he disposed of his tie and rolled up his sleeves, but then thought better of it and said instead, "Think that new cake shop will be crowded? We could grab one to go and think up a better story to tell the guys at the bar later."

"How can you even still think of eating," Virus began, his eyes narrowing accusatorily, "after consuming half an entire bag of marshmallows by yourself in one sitting?"

Trip shrugged, popping some of the white chocolate into his mouth.

"You've got blood in your hair, by the way," Virus pointed out.

Trip tried to do something about it, but only managed to rub it further into his scalp.

Virus chuckled. "Now you look like a red-head again."

"What? Nuh-uh."

"You do, your roots are showing."

Trip moved to catch his reflection in one of the nearby windows as they passed by, then rejoined Virus on his other side.

"Bullshit, shut up."

Virus laughed again, leaning closer for a brief moment. "You know for someone who eats a lot of sweets, you really have got a filthy mouth."

"I'll leave the sugar-coated words to you," said Trip as they rounded the corner. "So what are you going to tell the guys?"

"Well, we could pretend that it was harder for us to get in... Maybe you had to bribe someone with a kiss or two, hm?"

"What, and I kept them distracted while you did all the cool dirty work? Not a chance in hell."

"Okay, so maybe it was me who did the kissing."

"Better. Keep going." They had reached the busier street in front of the office building. "So what else did you do?"

Virus hesitated, looking for their car, then smirked when Trip poked him in the side. "I'll tell you the rest inside the limousine. You killed like six people though. It was a massacre."

"Sounds good. I wonder if the limo driver can supply us with popcorn."

"We'll probably have to kill him too."

THE END.

[archivemisora]

The Steel Maiden of Coerthas

“Listen to me, brother. Falling skies and shooting stars can never take the truth away from you. Now go!”

Artessa jolted awake with sweat on her forehead, instantly chilled by the brisk Coerthas air. She reached for the silver medallion on her neck and shoved the covers off of her, pulling herself out of bed to start some coffee. The small cottage had housed many mercenaries and warriors in its time. Though she shared with three (or was it four?) others, she had it to herself that morning. It was a good thing, too. Solitude was the best place for her mind after dreaming. Dreaming seemed too cruel when it mirrored reality.

As the coffee began to drip into her mug, she ritualistically curled her long, blonde hair and lined her pale blue eyes with black makeup before sharpening her sword. Her mind shifted to distant memories as she created sparks against the steel.

An adolescent of 17, Artessa d'Orguille wore her hair in a short, pixie style cut and wielded a bow which she restrung carefully. Her mother knocked on her already cracked door before letting herself in. “Artessa, darling, a moment of your time, if I may?” The lady of the house was the walking image of grace and beauty. Though her own beauty was a bit tomboyish, it was clear that Artessa was growing up to look just like her. “Yes, mother. Is everything alright?” She put her bow to the side and shifted to one of the plush chairs in the corner of the room, inviting her mother to take the seat next to her. Lady d'Orguille reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from Artessa's eyes, smiling a bit. “Of course. You're growing up so quickly. Soon, you'll be of age to join the knights. You've been practicing so hard that I worry you don't leave yourself enough time to enjoy the last of your youth.” Artessa rolled her eyes and smiled. “That's not what you're here to talk to me about, is it?” “Not at all, but it slipped out nonetheless. I digress. It's about Milliardo. When you were his age, your father took you to the Dravanian Forelands to chose and raise his own chocobo.” Artessa nodded. He had done the same for her other three siblings, too. “There is a lot going on and your father is hard at work, I fear he cannot get away to help Milliardo to the Forelands. Instead of putting it off, I thought that, well... you are quickly becoming a young adult. Wouldn't it be nice if you could take your youngest brother on this rite of passage?” There was a little bit of exhaustion in lady d'Orguille's smile. For a moment, Artessa was awkwardly dumbfounded. An unsupervised trip with the responsibility of her eleven year old brother seemed rather sudden, but an aspiring knight would never back down from a challenge, no matter how strange or out of place it may seem. “You know what, mother? I would be delighted.” She always had a particular fondness in her heart for her little brother, perhaps because of the age gap. Her mother smiled proudly and placed her hands over Artessa's own, nodding in thanks.

“Seven hells, woman, aren't you cold? Put some pants on.” Artessa snapped out of her daze and looked up blankly to the other warrior who had just broken her solitude. She stood, wearing an armored top and a pair of tight shorts, shrugging a bit. “Don't drink my coffee, Claude.” The highlander man cackled at the elezen woman as she finished dressing with no real hurry. “I'd never go out of my way to upset The Maiden,” he teased, unphased by her icy glare. “Relax. Is it just you here right now? I was going to make my way to town and pick up a few jobs. You can come with me if you'd like, you're probably getting pretty broke. You've been cooped up in here for over a week.” Artessa turned her nose up. “It's really none of your business, but I was also on my way to town. I suppose I could suffer your company for the day.” Claude laughed again. “Cold as ice,” he stated in defeat. Once she armored and finished her coffee, the two set out town to scope out wanted posters at the local pub. “You know, Tessa, people would probably take you more seriously if you didn't doll yourself up to go to battle.” “I don't give a damn what you or the other sellswords say. Do you think I'm getting pretty for you?” she snapped, tossing one of her ringlets over her shoulder. “I enjoy the look of shock and humiliation in my rivals' and opponent's faces when I attain victory.

“You're a godsdamn mess, you know that?” Claude laughed. Artessa did not give him the gratification of a response. As they made their way into the pub, she nodded at the barkeep before taking a few posters from the corner table. “Rabid beasts. All of these. Oh, and a heretic,” she stated as she flipped through the papers. Claude took them from her and flipped through them as well. “Don't take my jobs, you oaf.” “Let's just knock them out together and split the profits. We can cook one of them for dinner and be done with it.” Artessa rolled her eyes, refusing to admit that he was right as she reluctantly and silently accepted his company.

Young Millliardo d'Orguille seemed more  than happy to have a chance to spend some quality time with his busy oldest sister.  Glowing with pride for her new sense of responsibility, Artessa took  all measures necessary to keep her brother safe and happy.  On the day of their departure, she put his platinum hair into a cropped, tight braid and a tailored red traveling coat she purchased for him with her own allowance.  The first night in the Dravanian Forelands found the young boy discouraged and scratched from a rough encounter with a wild chocobo. The siblings set up camp while Artessa did what she could to lift the spirits of the discouraged young boy. “Tessie, it didn't like me at all,” he complained.  “And it broke my amulet!” Milliardo held out a pendant on a broken silver chain in distress. Artessa took the pendant and placed it in her coat pocket. “I'll fix it for you later, Illia.  Did you know that it took me an entire week just to catch Tempest?”  The youth watched here in wide-eyed curiosity.  “It's true.  She was the most stubborn bird in the forest, I'm sure of it.  But there was something about her resilience that I was drawn to.” “Stubborn just like you, right?” Milliardo laughed.  Artessa smirked. In the span of four days, they captured and tamed the bird.  Milliardo had a way with the animal unlike anything she had ever seen.  The kindness of her little brother inspired and humbled her. Her next priority would be to see him home safely with his newfound  companion.

The ravage of their house and massacre of their family was the last thing she expected to find when they arrived back home.

Artessa's blade cleaved a ravaging gator in half.  The blood of the beast splattered over her breastplate and into her hair.  Though she did not feel as if she  had exerted herself more than she normally would on a hunt, she felt short of breath and dizzy.  Staggering, she slammed her sword against the ground and drug it through the snow to cleanse the blade of the reptile blood. “Easy there, Steel Maiden.  We just need one of the four jaws to prove we killed it.” Claude peered at Artessa as she pulled herself back up, trying to blink her blurred sight back to normal.  He made a face at her, staying back as he sawed off a jaw.  “Can we eat this?” he mused more to himself than anything.  “That takes care of the beasts. All in a day's work!  Now let's see if we can find this heretic.”

“Not interested.”  Artessa winced and grabbed the jaw piece from Claude, shoving the bloody part into her travel bag.

“What's the matter, Tess?  You afraid of heretics?”  Claude's playful tone suddenly dropped as he reached for his own sword.  “Or maybe you are one.”  

Milliardo fell into a grieving silence.  House d'Orguille had been slain—all but Milliardo and Artessa.  Instead  of finding comfort in neighbors and other noble households, they found awful rumors and suspicious stares.  Musings about the voidsent risen from the catacombs under the estate.  Correlations between the Calamity and these voidsent. Orders of execution.  Heretics.  HERETICS. With no more  than what they had left home with to take with them, the siblings fled to the icy Coerthas Western Highlands with Milliardo's newly acquired chocobo.  Even Artessa's own Tempest did not survive the purge. Several days were spent hunting, hiding, and traveling as far away as they could go.  As much as she wished to slip away unnoticed, it became dreadfully apparent that they were indeed being hunted. “Shh, let's wait it out, we'll be okay,” she whispered to her trembling brother as she held him tightly.  They crouched beneath a hollowed stone formation on the side of a mountain from the sound of footsteps and steel.  Artessa gasped out loud as she felt her heart stop.  A pair of eyes fell upon them and a scowling face struck fear into her very being. “HERETICS!”

“Heretic.” Claude tilted his chin upwards and spun his sword around tauntingly. “Artessa d'Orguille.  You know I could still fetch a good price for turning you in to the Holy See?” “I'm Tessa Soreil. Artessa d'Orguille is dead,” she snapped, knowing that there was no use trying to talk him down.  A forced companionship brought to a quick end... a typical scenario in the life of the scorned Steel Maiden of Coerthas.  With one hand, she clutched her sword and drew it forward.  The other, she held over her eye in a quick effort to soothe the uncomfortable pulsing sensation in her head.  As Claude charged towards her to strike, she felt her body beginning to move on its own as dizziness overtook her and her vision became blurry once more.

Artessa quickly drew her bow and knocked an arrow into the shoulder of their attacker, then shoved Milliardo down behind her. “Get back, Illia!” she yelped, trembling as the heretic  hunter reached for her neck.  While gasping for breath, her hand reached for the arrow in his shoulder and pulled it out, driving the sharp end directly into his neck, grinding and twisting it until she was free. “C-curse upon your gods-damned vo--” the man spit blood up, gargling his words.  “Voidsent, y-- he... tic!”  He raised his sword, slicing it across Artessa's leg weakly, but enough to tear her boot and rip her flesh.  Though she cried out in pain, she found the will to take her bow and knock another arrow into the man's back as he fell forward.  He lay on the ground, his blood spilling from his neck and from his back while his body twitched and reached for his weapon.  For a moment, the girl could not hear the gargling sounds of the dying attacker, nor could she hear the wailing of her youngest and only living brother.  She heard a ringing in her ears and an indecipherable voice coming from what seemed to be the sword. Calling to her.  Beckoning. In a half-conscious daze, Artessa killed a man.  Guilt and remorse poured over her as her innocent brother cried in quiet horror.  “...Quickly,” she beckoned, taking both the bow and her newly acquired sword before helping Milliardo mount his slightly crazed chocobo. “Tessie, you're bleeding,” Milliardo finally whimpered after they began their staggering travel.  She looked behind her, seeing a stream of smoke rising in the distance.  Possibly torches, definitely danger. Memories of the manor flooded into her mind.  All of the  things she wanted and all of the people she loved were gone forever.  All of them except for Milliardo.  Artessa felt a sick twisting in her heart as she saw the dusk beginning to fall.  To keep him safe at all costs, she knew what she had to do. “Illia.  We won't live if we stay together.”  The tears in her brother's eyes were almost too much for her to take. “Artessa, no, I can't make it without--”

“Milliardo, stop it,” she said sternly.  Carefully, she looked over her shoulder to gauge how much time she had.  She lifted her quiver of arrows from her back and handed it to Milliardo along with her prized bow.  “Ride into the direction of the sunset until you find shelter.  Ride until you can't go any further.  Do you know how to use this?”  He stared at her, nodding.  “It will keep you safe as it has until now... it will just be in your hands this time.” “Tessie, please don't leave me!” he protested.  Artessa placed her hands on both of his cheeks, looking up at him from his vantage point on the back of his bird. “You are a d'Orguille.  No matter who you have to be to keep safe, it doesn't matter.”  She focused her intense blue eyes on him, hoping that if he only remembered one thing about her when he grew old, that  this would be it.  “Listen to me, brother. Falling skies and shooting stars can never take the truth away from you. Now go!”

She startled the chocobo and sent her beloved brother off towards the sunset, away from the dangers of a home that has rejected them so carelessly.  The pain of her wound did not compare to the ache of loneliness she felt when she reached into her pocket, finding that she still has Milliardo's amulet that she promised to have fixed for him. Artessa's pace slowed and the heretic hunters eventually caught up to her.  The sword beckoned her again.  Artessa fought and lost herself.  When she came to, the hunters were all fallen.  All alone in the cold, she broke down and wept bitterly.

Artessa Soreil regained her focus and found Claude laying motionless in a mound of bloody snow.  She cleaned her blade  off and shrugged her shoulder to crack her neck, making sure to take the proof of the slain hunts with her while leaving the highlander's corpse to be slowly buried by the snow.

The pub was slow.  She tossed her spoils onto the counter along with their accompanying wanted posters, looking the barkeep in the eye. He stared at her for a while before finally asking what he seemed to already know the answer to.  “Claude's not coming back, is he, Tessa?”  She did not respond, she only stared at him coldly.  He sighed a bit and scribbled a name on the back of one of the posters before counting the bounty to pay.  “Did you lose consciousness again?” he asked more quietly this time. “A little, yes.” She stared at the note and pocketed the gil.

“Croix Straus.  Is this an under the table job?”

“An unorthodox exorcist.”  The barkeep stared at Artessa and nodded. “You need to go to Thanalan to find him... but I really think you could use some answers, Tess.  And you're not going to find them here.”  Her hand slid off  the counter and she waved a bit as she walked away.

“My thanks.”

The Steel Maiden's journey to Thanalan began.  After all, a woman with nothing had nothing to lose.