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denimbex1986 · 1 year ago

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'David Tennant and Cush Jumbo walk into the Donmar Warehouse’s offices, above the theatre’s rehearsal rooms in Covent Garden, and sit down on a sofa, side by side. Tennant has that look his many fans will instantly be able to call to mind of being at once stressed – with a desperado gleam in his eye – yet mischievously engaged, which has to do with the intelligence he applies to everything, the niceness he directs at everyone. He is wearing a mustard-coloured jersey and could be mistaken for someone who has been swotting in a library (actually, he has been rehearsing a fight scene). If I am right in supposing him to be tense at this mid-rehearsals moment, I know – from having interviewed him before – that it is not his way to put himself first, that he will crack on and probably, while he’s at it, crack a joke or two to keep us all in good spirits. But some degree of tension is understandable for he and Jumbo are about to perform in a play that explores stress like no other – Macbeth – and must unriddle one of the most dramatic marriages in all of Shakespeare’s plays.

This is star billing of the starriest kind. Tennant, at 52, has more triumphs under his belt than you’d think possible in a single career (including Doctor Who, Broadchurch’s detective, the serial killer Dennis Nilsen in Des, and the father in There She Goes). Jumbo has been seen on US prime time in The Good Wife and The Good Fight and in ITV’s Vera. But what counts is that each is a Shakespeare virtuoso. Jumbo, who is now 38, won an Ian Charleson award in 2012 for her Rosalind in As You Like It and, in 2013, was nominated for an Olivier for her Mark Antony in Phyllida Lloyd’s all-female Julius Caesar. More recently, she starred as a yearningly embattled Hamlet at the Young Vic. A dynamo of an actor, she is described by the former New York Times theatre critic Ben Brantley as radiating “that unquantifiable force of hunger, drive, talent usually called star power”. Tennant, meanwhile, who has played Romeo, Lysander and Benedick for the RSC, went on to embody Hamlet and Richard II in performances that have become the stuff of legend.

Jumbo settles herself cross-legged on the sofa, relaxed in her own body, wearing a white T-shirt, dusky pink tracksuit bottoms, and modestly-sized gold hoop earrings. She looks as if she has come from an exercise class – and she has in one sense – no need to ask whether rehearsals, at this stage, are full-on. As we shake hello, she apologises for a hot hand and I for a cold one, having just come in from a sharp November morning. She is chirpy, friendly, waiting expectantly for questions – but what strikes me as I look at her is how her face in repose, at once dramatic and pensive, gives almost nothing away, like a page waiting to be written on.

Max Webster, the director, is setting the play in the modern day and Macbeth, a taut and ageless thriller, is especially friendly to this approach. I want to plunge straight in to cross-question the Macbeths. Supposing I were a marriage counsellor, what might they tell me – in confidence – about their alliance? Tennant is a step ahead: “There are two versions of the marriage, aren’t there? The one at the beginning and the fractured marriage later.” And he then makes me laugh by asking intently: “Are they sharing the murder with their therapist?”

He suggests Macbeth’s “reliance” on his wife is unusual and “not necessarily to be expected in medieval Scotland” (another excuse for the contemporary production): “I look to my wife for guidance: I don’t make a decision without her,” he explains. “We’ve been through some trauma which has induced an even stronger bond.” Jumbo agrees about the bond and spells out the trauma, reminding us the Macbeths have lost a child, but hesitates to play the game (I have suggested she talk about Lady Macbeth in the first person): “I want to get it right. I don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t know what to say… If I improv Lady Macbeth, it will feel disrespectful because you don’t know if what you’re saying on her behalf is true. And then you’re going to write what I say down and she [Lady Macbeth] is going to be: ‘Thanks, Cush, for f-ing talking about me that way.’” She emphasises that, as an actor, you must never judge your character, whatever crime they might have committed. And perhaps her resistance to straying from the text is partly as a writer herself (it was her play, Josephine and I, about the entertainer and activist Josephine Baker, that put her career into fast forward, opening off Broadway in 2015).

She stresses that the great problem with Lady Macbeth is that she has become a known quantity: “She is deeply ingrained in our culture. Everyone thinks they know who she is. Most people studied the play at school. I did – I hated it. It was so boring but that’s because Shakespeare’s plays aren’t meant to be read, they’re meant to be acted. People think they know Lady Macbeth as a type – the strong, controlling woman who pushed him to do it. She does things women shouldn’t do. The greatest misconception is that we have stopped seeing Lady Macbeth as a human being.”

For Tennant, too, keeping an open mind is essential: “What I’m finding most difficult is the variety of options. I thought I knew this play very well and that it was, unlike any other Shakespeare I can remember rehearsing, straightforward. But each time I come to a scene, it goes in a direction I wasn’t expecting.” He suggests that momentum is the play’s great asset: “It has such muscle to it, it powers along. Plot-wise, it’s more front-footed than any Shakespeare play I’ve done.” And is it ever difficult for him as Macbeth to subdue his instinctive comic talent? “Well, yes, that’s right, there are no gags! But actually, there are a couple of funny bits though I’d never intentionally inflict comedy on something that can’t take it. I hope I’m creating a rounded human being with moments of lightness, even in the bleakest times.” Jumbo adds: “Bleakness is funny at times”, and Tennant, quick as a flash, tops this: “Look at our government!” (He is an outspoken Labour supporter.) Later, when I ask what makes them angriest, he says: “Well, she [Suella Braverman]’s just been sacked so… I’m now slightly less angry than I was.” Jumbo nods agreement, adding that what makes her angriest is “unkindness”.

It is Tennant who then produces, with a flourish, the key question about the Macbeths: “Why do they decide to commit a crime? What is the fatal flaw that allows them to think that’s OK? I don’t know that they, as characters, would even know. Has the loss of a child destabilised their morality?” In preparation, Tennant and Jumbo have been researching post-traumatic stress disorder. “PTSD is a modern way of understanding something that’s always been there,” suggests Tennant – and the Macbeths are traumatised three times over by battle, bereavement and murder. “We’ve looked at postpartum psychosis as well,” Jumbo adds. They have been amazed at how the findings of modern experts “track within the play”. Tennant marvels aloud: “What can Shakespeare’s own research process have been?” Jumbo reminds him that Shakespeare, like the Macbeths, lost a child. She relishes the play’s “contemporary vibe which means it’s something my 14-year-old niece will want to see. Even though you know the ending, you don’t want it to go there. It’s exciting to play that as well as to watch it.”

A further exciting challenge is the show’s use of binaural technology (Gareth Fry, who worked on Complicité’s The Encounter, is sound designer). Each audience member will be given a set of headphones and be able to eavesdrop on the Macbeths. “The technology will mess with your neurons in a did-somebody-just-breathe-on-me way,” Jumbo explains. “You’ll feel as if you’re in a conversation with us, like listening to a podcast you love where you feel you’re sat with them having coffee.” Tennant adds: “What’s thrilling is that it makes things more naturalistic – we’re able to speak conversationally.”

Fast forward to opening night: how do they manage their time just before going on stage? Tennant says: “I dearly wish I had a set of failsafe strategies. I don’t find it straightforward. I’ve never been able to banish anxiety. It can be very problematic and part of the job is dealing with it. I squirrel myself away and tend to get quite quiet.” But at the Donmar, this will be tricky as backstage space is shared. Jumbo encourages him: “When I’ve played here before, I found the group dynamic helpful,” she says, but explains that her pre-show routine has changed since her career took off and she became a mother: “These days, I no longer have the luxury of saying: I’m going to do five hours of yoga before I go on. When I leave home at four in the afternoon, I might be thinking about whether I’ll hit traffic or, whether my kid’s stuff is ready for the next day. You get better at this, the more you do it. The main thing – which doesn’t sound that sexy – is to make sure to eat at the right time, something light, like soup, because when I’m nervous I get loads of acid and that does not make me feel good on stage. I have a cut-off point for eating and that timing has become a superstition in its own way.”

In 2020, Tennant and Jumbo co-starred in the compulsively watchable and disturbing Scottish mini-series Deadwater Fell for C4. How helpful is it to have worked together before? Tennant says it is “hugely” valuable when tackling something “intense and difficult” to be with someone you are “comfortable taking chances with”. Although actors cannot depend on this luxury: “Sometimes, you have to turn up the first day and go: ‘Ah, hello, nice to meet you, we’re going to be playing psychopathic Mr and Mrs Macbeth.’” And Jumbo adds: “I’ve been asked to do this play before and said no. You have to do it with the right person. I knew this would be fun because David is a laugh as well as being very hard-working.” He responds brightly with a non sequitur: “Wait till you see my knees in a kilt…” Are you seriously going to wear a kilt, I ask. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he laughs.

It is perhaps the kilt that triggers his next observation: “We’re an entirely Scottish company, apart from Cush,” he volunteers, suggesting that Macbeth’s choice of a non-Scottish wife brings new energy to the drama. He grew up in Paisley, the son of a Presbyterian minister, and remembers how, in his childhood, “whenever an English person arrived, you’d go “Oooh… from another worrrrld!”, and he reflects: “Someone from somewhere else gives you different energy.” And while on the Scottish theme, it is worth adding that Macbeth is the part that seems patiently to have been waiting for Tennant: “People keep saying: you must have done this play before? I don’t know if Italian Shakespeareans keep being asked if they have played Romeo…”

I tell them I remember puzzling, as a schoolgirl, over Macbeth’s line about “vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself and falls on th’other” – the gymnastic detail beyond me. Tennant suggests that what Macbeth has, more even than ambition, is hubris. But on ambition, he and Jumbo reveal themselves to be two of a kind. Tennant says: “Ambition is not a word I’d have understood as a child but I had an ambition to become an actor from tiny – from pre-school. I did not veer off from it, I was very focused. When I look at it now, that was wildly ambitious because there were no precedents or reasons for me to believe I could.”

“For me, same,” says Jumbo, “I don’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.” She grew up in south London, second of six children. Her father is Nigerian and was a stay-at-home dad, her mother is British and worked as a psychiatric nurse. “At four, I was an avid reader and mimicker. I got into lots of trouble at school for mimicking. My ambition was similar to David’s although, as a girl, the word ‘ambition’ has always been a bit dirty…” Tennant: “It certainly is to a Scottish Presbyterian.” “Yes,” she laughs, “perhaps I should have said Celts and Blacks… Girls grow up thinking they should be modest, right? But I had so much ambition. I knew there was more for me to do and that I could be good at doing it.”

And what were they like as teenagers – as, say, 14-year-olds? Tennant says: “Uncomfortable, plooky…” What’s plooky, Jumbo and I exclaim in unison. “A Scottish word for covered in spots.” “That’s great!” laughs Jumbo. “Unstylish,” Tennant concludes. Her turn: “At 14, I was sassy, a bit mouthy, trying to get into a lot of clubs and not succeeding because I looked way too young for my age. And desperate for a snog.”

And now, as grownups, Tennant and Jumbo are, above all, keenly aware of what it means to be a parent. Jumbo has a son, Maximilian (born 2018); Tennant five children between the ages of four and 21. Parenthood, they believe, helps shape the work they do. “Being a parent magnifies the job of being an actor,” says Jumbo, “because what we’re being asked to do [as actors] is to stay playful and in the present – be big children. As a parent, you get to relive your childhood and see the world through your child’s eyes as if for the first time and more intensely. We don’t do that much as adults.”

Tennant reckons being a parent has given him “empathy, patience – or the requirement for patience – and tiredness. It gives you a big open wound you carry around, a vulnerability that is not a bad thing for this job because it means you have an emotional accessibility that can be very trying but which we need.” But the work-life balance remains, for Tennant, an ongoing struggle: “Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something happens,” he says, “and you have to recalibrate it because your children need different things at different times.” Jumbo sometimes looks to other actors/parents for advice: “To try to see what they are doing – but you never quite get it right.”

And would they agree there is a work-life balance involved in acting itself? Is acting an escape from self or a way of going deeper into themselves? Tennant says: “I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive though they sound as though they should be – I think it is both.” Jumbo agrees: “On the surface, you’re consciously stepping away from yourself but, actually, subconsciously, you have to do things instinctually so you find out more about yourself without meaning to.”

And when they go deeper, what is it that they find? Fear is another of the motors in Macbeth – what is fear for them? “Something being wrong with one of my kids,” Tennant says and Jumbo concurs. And what about fear for our planet? Tennant says: “There is so much to feel fearful and pessimistic about it can be…” Jumbo finishes his sentence: “Overwhelming.” He picks it up again: “So overwhelming that you don’t do anything.” Jumbo worries about this, tries to remind herself that doing something is better than doing nothing: “If everybody did something small in their corner of the world, the knock-on effect would be bigger.” Tennant admits to feeling “anxiety” and distinguishes it from fear. Jumbo volunteers: “I recognise fear in myself but don’t see it as a helpful emotion. It’s underactive, a place to stand still.”

As actors who have hit the jackpot, what would they say, aside from talent, has been essential to their success? Tennant says: “Luck – to be in the right place at the right time, having one job that leads to another.” Jumbo remembers: “Early in my career, I had a slow start. You have to fill your soul with creative things, which is not always easy if you can’t afford to go out. You have to find things that are free, get together with people who are creative and give you good vibes and not people who are bitter and jealous or have lots of bad things to say about the world. This tends to bring more creative things to you.” Tennant observes: “As the creative arts go, acting is a difficult one to do on your own – if you’re a painter, you can paint – even if no one is buying your paintings.” Jumbo chips in: “Because of that, it can be quite lonely when it’s not happening.” “Tennant concludes: “It’s bloody unfair – there are far too many good actors, too many of us.”

And are they in any way like the Macbeths in being partly governed by magical thinking – or do they see themselves as rationalists? (I neglect to ask whether they call Macbeth “the Scottish play”, as many actors superstitiously do.) “I am a rationalist. I’m almost aggressively anti-nonsense,” Tennant says. Jumbo, unfazed by this manifestation of reason, speaks up brightly: “I’m a magical thinker, I’m half Nigerian and that’s all about magical realism and belief in energy. If something goes my way, I think: God, I felt that energy. And the thing that drew me to theatre as a kid was its magic.” And now Tennant, alerted by the word “magic”, starts to clamber on board to agree with her – and Jumbo laughs as they acknowledge the power of what she has just said.'

#David Tennant #Hamlet #Richard II #Cush Jumbo #Deadwater Fell #Macbeth #Donmar Warehouse #There She Goes #Broadchurch #Dennis Nilson #Des #Doctor Who #As You Like It #Julius Caesar #Max Webster #Josephine & I #Gareth Fry

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dr-jem-nutcase · 2 years ago

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MvA: The M Files, take-a-peek pt. 3

For starters, thanks to all the likes, shares, & comments. I hope you've been enjoying this

Chapter 3

fake foods from Counterfeit Chemicals: a lot of fast food joints & every other generic food product in America. At least it tastes good...a lot of times. Like, Taco Bell is in no way authentic Mexican food but I LUV it 🌮

This place was Old Man Carl's in the movie and the same company that later brought BOB that ill-fated hotdog stand in San Francisco

That chart lol

Root beer flavored spinach. Sounds gross. I'd also be deathly afraid to try it. Reminds me of the late 1990s/early 2000s when Heinz made purple ketchup, which was NOT a success. But nowadays, different flavored snacks & desserts (particularly ice cream) can be hits every now and then. fake foods (or Old Man Carl's) could've been on the brink of creating a new trend! Okay, moving on

In case anyone has a hard time reading some of the text in the second panel, it says, "it doesn't taste any different from a real tomato". Sorry for the kerfuffle

Designed or created?

Btw, there IS actually a limited edition ranch flavored ice cream

Ranch-flavored tomato. Sounds great with a salad or some types of pizzas

Red 7 lol

This would be. mildly. terrifying. Wth was even in either one of those foods?

Runs away & claims BOB is homicidal. So judgmental & assuming! *fake shocked face*

How'd he grow an eye out of all this?

BOB's quite eloquent for being a "newborn"

Ooh! Monger's a sergeant now!

Eating the building isn't too different from both Blob movies but a much lighter tone than eating people alive. I never saw the newer one but I watched the OG one years ago. A guy walks into a doctor's office agonizing in pain and fear because his arm's covered in this goo that's eating up his arm and in a few minutes the guy is gone before the doctor could amputate the arm. Very G rated

Welp, so much for eating a police car (movie) or a city block (video game)

The third soldier's mouth is missing

Evidently they eat lead. Sorry, wrong story!

So BOB's eye is just part of his anatomy? Not some specially made artificial eyeball?

Like Link's chapter, this is a total jump away from the origin story in the movie. It's a good explanation for the genetically altered tomato & chemically altered dessert topping but a slightly censored telling of BOB's origin. That explosion on the two scientists was a bit satisfying. Again, kids' book *sigh*

Monger's hands are black

So...BOB named himself?

Big lips Monger isn't real. Big lips Monger can't scare you

"Lots of people don't have brains...a politician..." DW, is that supposed to be a burn? Hot dang! Let's get out some aloe vera, cold water, and maybe a trip to the burn unit at the nearest hospital

Some day, son. Some day, you will contribute to society. Just not today

I'm kinda surprised that this building hasn't toppled on top of anyone. Istg, Monger isn't afraid of anything

Now where's BOB gonna go? Also, is Link still on dry ice? Will BOB be on dry ice too? At the end of the OG Blob movie, the blob is frozen/encapsulated in ice and dropped off in the artic/antarctic. Did Monger go in this direction? Capture a monster and then freeze it like Han Solo? Hopefully that monster prison will be in the making soon. Like, REALLY soon. You can only freeze and store so many monsters! Btw, can you imagine trying to freeze the Invisible Man?

Again, this piece of work isn't mine. It all belongs to you know who. See you soon!

#monsters vs aliens #mva #dreamworks #general monger #general w r monger #bob mva #benzoate ostylezene bicarbonate #origin story #childrensbooks #kidsbooks

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princessfbi · 3 years ago

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do you have any (more) buck runs cold headcanons?

ALWAYS!

Buck has always been this way. He was the biggest snuggle bug when he was a baby and he never really grew out of it. His parents would scolded him for being too clingy but Maddie always indulged him. (Jee-Yun is a big snuggle bug too and there are a bunch of pictures of her and Buck snuggling)

It didn't matter how hot it was, Buck would always come out of the pool shivering and Maddie would meet him after the whistle blew with a sun warmed towel and a dollar to get a pretzel from the snack bar.

One of Buck's favorite things around Christmas time was when Maddie would take him sledding. They would both be shivering but when they got home, Maddie would warm him up with mac and cheese and they'd bundle themselves under her quilt to look up from beneath the tree to pretend the Christmas lights where little fairies.

When Buck turned about thirteen, his anxiety started to really present itself and the coldness would come creeping in especially on his neck and fingers. When he gets anxious that's why he rubs his hands on his thighs because he's trying to self sooth and get some warmth back in his hands.

He got into the habit of keeping a hoodie in his locker at school but he always usually walked in wearing one anyway.

He started to become the hoodie guy though so a girl on the cheerleading squad taught him about ✨ layering✨

One of things Buck took when he left home was one of Maddie's old blankets because one part of it was for the warmth and another part is the comfort the texture brings because I'm very much in the "Buck finds comfort in certain textures" Camp as well.

Buck doesn't mind sleeping without a shirt on but he needs something under his arm. That way when he inevitably gets cold he can curl up under the blanket.

Part of the appeal to sleeping around for Buck was also the fact that the bed felt less cold when there was someone else in it with him.

Buck has a habit of burrowing which can be quite humorous since he's so big. Chimney and Hen spotted him the first couple of 24 hr shifts literally burrowed into the mattress with the pillow half out from under him and the blankets tucked over his head.

I say blankets plural because Buck keeps a couple of spare ones in his cubby in the bunk room.

Buck couldn't get warm after the plane crash rescue for hours and his muscles were sore too. He slept in his heaviest sweats that night.

Anytime they come in from a call where it's raining or they end up wet, everyone knows to give Buck a few more minutes in the showers because otherwise he'll be shivering for the rest of the day.

Eddie freaked out the first time he felt how cold Buck's feet were when he was helping stretch his leg after a pretty brutal PT appointment. Buck had to assure him that no he wasn't losing circulation many many times.

When Buck's doctor warned him about some of the side effects about the blood thinners, he'd mentioned cold but he didn't say anything about freezing! Buck felt like he was never going to be able to get warm again and he practically lived in his cabin socks.

He and Maddie get each other a pair of cabin socks for Christmas. Maddie likes the wool ones with the aloe vera infused fuzzy stuff inside while Buck likes the ones that reach his ankles.

Buck ordered three of the LAFD hoodies because for the longest time, he would freeze his ass off at the station in silence until finally Hen showed him the catalogue with all the hoodies and fleeces that were within uniform.

Buck prefers long sleeves but he pushes the sleeves up anyway. It's more of quirk than anything.

Buck gets warm especially when he works out. It's just he's not the type to get overheated and when he does, he doesn't notice it. He had to learn that his body's temperature regulation is a little off when he was building houses with a construction crew after he passed out.

Buck sent Eddie one of his hoodies after the well incident because Eddie's skin was like ice when they carried him to the ambulance and Buck knew from personal experience how cold the hospital could be. Eddie never gave that hoodie back.

Buck usually doesn't notice the cold when he's really and truly comfortable. Like if he's going to Maddie's or Bobby and Athena's he'll put on a t-shirt but anywhere new? He's probably got a sweater or a hoodie on or near his person. Preferably with a texture because again he finds comfort in texture.

Weekend Sleepover Asks

#Evan 'Buck' Buckley #Weekend Sleepover Asks #Fleurdebeton #ask #answered #Evan Buckley #Maddie Buckley #Buckley Siblings #Eddie Diaz #Hen Wilson #Chimney Han

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

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Before You Go, Was I Someone You Loved? PT. 6

A Shay Cormac x Reader Story

Word Count: 1,444 Warnings: Slight Angst

Author’s Note: I actually started another story and I’m too much of an idiot to tell myself NO. So how’s your life doin’ so far? -Thorne

Her hands moved with a practiced ease, unclipping the clothes from the line before folding and moving onto the next piece. The past few days had been graced with a pleasant temperature and clearness, allowing for the laundry to be washed and hung. She did it all while she had the time. She paused at a particular shirt, fingers brushing under the fabric to appear at the hole torn in it. A frown etched onto her face—she hadn’t noticed the hole when she was washing.

Footsteps sounded behind her, followed by a familiar voice. “Got into a scuffle with some assassins the other afternoon. Didn’t realize one of them had cut me until after.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I thought I told you to be safe, Shay.”

“You did, (Y/N). But I can’t exactly keep from getting injuries.” He grinned. “It’s all in the job description.

(Y/N) frowned and slung the shirt over her shoulder, picking up the basket. “Try harder then.” When Shay tried to take the basket from her, she switched it to her other hip, ignoring his kicked-puppy look with, “Have you had the injury checked by a doctor?”

“Nay. Cleaned it and wrapped it up myself.”

“You’re a fool, Shay Cormac.” He opened the door for her and though she thanked him politely, she nodded to the desk. “Go sit on the desk and I’ll get some supplies.

“You don’t have to—” she sent him a withering glare and he shut his mouth, raising his hands in surrender, obediently walking to the desk. Perching himself atop it, he undid his jacket and set it aside, the cotton tunic following with it. The heat of the fireplace reached him, sending warmth up his spine. Shay waited patiently for her and when she arrived, (Y/N) set down a bottle of alcohol, a needle and some thread, some slimy looking gel in a bowl that made Shay a bit wary, and a clean wrap of cloth.

She busied herself with unwrapping his own bandage before uncorking the bottle of alcohol. “It doesn’t look infected,” she murmured, dousing a piece of cloth with the whiskey. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep it dry.”

“Easy with the—Ouch!” he yelped when she ran the cloth over the wound. “That hurts!” The fresh cut stung every time she wiped it.

“Wouldn’t hurt if you’d told me about it earlier.” she countered and set the cloth aside. For a moment, she examined it, then surmised, “I don’t actually think you need stiches, but a fresh bandage will do you good.” (Y/N) picked up the bowl and dug her fingers into it, smearing the gel onto his side.

“What—is this?” Shay griped, expecting a foul smell, yet none came.

“Aloe vera gel.” She answered. “Helps to heal wounds.” When she was finished, she placed a small cloth against it. “Hold that while I unwind the wrap.” He did so, watching her with a fondness—her care was gentle despite her harsher words. (Y/N) wrapped the bandage around his waist and tied it firmly before wiping her hands on the rag at her side. “There. Should start to feel better soon.”

Shay smiled warmly at her. “It already does.” He raised a hand, gently tracing her cheek with his fingers. “Thank you, (Y/N).” For a moment, a rare smile was returned to him and it made his heart flutter in a way he’d never felt before. The pure joy that was becoming clear in her eyes made a fire burn in his chest, partial regret for two years before, the other a searing love that made his fingers twitch to hold her close.

(Y/N) seemed to regain herself and cleared her throat, pulling away after a few seconds. “You’re welcome. Try to be more careful next time.”

He huffed a laugh and hopped off the desk, spinning to grab at his shirt. “Aye, I’ll try for you, lass.” He picked it up and fumbled with the opening. “Will you patch me up if I get anymore wounds?” He expected a witty comeback, but when her fingers brushed against his left shoulder blade, he froze like she’d pressed a flintlock to his back. “(Y/N)?”

She said nothing, delicately tracing the knotted flesh on his skin with trembling fingers. Shay didn’t move besides a barely visible shiver, simply letting her feel him. “Does…does it hurt?”

He let out a heavy sigh, weighing between telling her the truth and giving her a lie. Shay wondered which would hurt her more. “Sometimes.” Her free hand settled on his waist and he felt goosebumps rise across his skin. “I wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat…like I’ve just hit the ice after I fell.” He felt her press her forehead against his back, just between his shoulder blades. “Sometimes it’s sore, like it’s still open and bleeding. Sometimes it’s not.” (Y/N) thumbed the scar. “Phantom pains, so I’m told they are.”

Her hand left his shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. Her breath came out in a shudder against his skin and Shay couldn’t help but place his hands over hers. “I want you—” she started, but went silent, and Shay felt something wet slide down his spine. “I want you to tell me when it hurts—even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

“Aye?”

Though it was said with a bit of humor to ease the tension, (Y/N) responded firmly. “Yes.” She laced their fingers against his middle. “I have oils and creams and herbs that will help ease the pain and I’ll help you—”

Shay’s brows furrowed and he shifted her grip enough to turn around and face her. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” She didn’t look at him, keeping her head bowed and he gently cradled her face, tilting her face to look at him. “(Y/N), it’s okay.” Her lips pursed and Shay brushed a thumb across her skin. “I’m okay, (Y/N).” he promised. “You don’t have to worry yourself abou—”

“But I do!” she insisted. “You are still so brash and reckless, and I will not lose you again!” His eyes went wide, and she reached up, grabbing his wrists. Tearfully, she whispered, “I will not lose you again, Shay.” (Y/N) squeezed his wrists, digging crescent moons into his skin. “I can’t lose you.”

He regarded her with an empathetic gaze. “…(Y/N)—I—” he murmured.

“I’m not strong enough to go through it again.” She admitted, with a harshness that made her throat hurt. More tears gathered in her vision and she shut her eyes, faltering, “I’m not…strong enough.” She leant forward and Shay pressed his lips to her forehead, shifting his hands from her face to her neck, holding her close. (Y/N) sniffled, letting out a humorless huff. “I wish I could still hate you.”

“I know.” He murmured.

“I want to be angry at you.”

“I know.”

“I want to be able to scream and yell and tell you get out of my sight.”

“I know.”

“I want to hate you, Shay Cormac. So greatly does it weigh on my chest that I do.”

Shay let out a breath through his nose into her hair. “I know you do, lass.”

(Y/N) pulled back, staring into his eyes. “And yet, I—”

A knock sounded at the door, startling the two of them and she untangled herself from his arms, quickly wiping her eyes with the rag at her side. She cleared her throat and walked to the door, opening it. “Master Kenway, please, come inside.”

The Grandmaster stepped into the mansion and she shut the door behind him, “Thank you.” He paused for a moment to look her over, stopping at her face.

She nodded and turned to Shay. “Master Cormac, should I prepare tea?”

He almost pulled a face at the usage of his name, but he managed to hide it, simply shaking his head, and tugged on his jacket. “No worries, (Y/N). Master Kenway and I will go to the Morrigan.”

“Dinner, then?”

Shay looked at Haytham and the latter nodded. “Aye, have something prepared, please.”

(Y/N) tipped her head and opened the door. “Of course, sir.”

Haytham was the first out the door with another nod to her and as Shay left, she reached out and grabbed his arm, causing him to look at her. “(Y/N)?”

She tried for a smile but in the end, it was more a grimace. “Be safe, Shay,” she whispered so the Grandmaster didn’t hear.

Shay nodded and winked at her, closing the door behind him.

#shay cormac x reader #shay cormac imagine #shay cormac imagines #shay cormac x reader imagine #shay cormac x reader imagines #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue imagine #assassins creed rogue imagines #ac rogue #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine #shay cormac #haytham kenway #templars #assassins

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to-pick-ourselves-up-7 · 4 years ago

Text

The Marks of Running Ink pt.85

The Walking Dead [Soulmate AU]

Pairing: Negan x Tory Miller (ofc)

Summary: History had never been wrong about the lengths human beings would go for survival, for pride, for love… Tory Miller never thought she would see it unfold with her own eyes, not after the end of an era, but she could understand. Now, their war was being fought in all fronts. Negan’s was for pride, Rick’s was for survival, both of them were unstoppable forces. And her war? Tory’s war was for love.

Warnings: SLOW BURN, angst, swearing, death, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, child endangerment, general trauma, drama, mentions of infidelity and polygamy, general lack or morals, mentions of nudity, graphic sexual scenes (nsfw), mentions of blood, apocalyptic world. As always, I don’t want to give the story away in the tags, read at your own risk.

Author’s note: so, I was out of tumblrs all of yesterday, DNS error or something. Anyway, I published in AO3 first, wich is...weird.

You’ve been waiting for this chapter too. It’s been four years in the making.

gif credit

••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• •••

War

Doveport, VA

Tory tried to keep her hands from fidgeting as Rhodes prepared the instruments for Vera’s c-section, but it was difficult.

“I haven’t done one of these since my resident years.” The good surgeon commented with a self-deprecating smile that shot her nerves to the stratosphere.

“Not a good look, Rhodes.” Tory muttered with so much acidity she surprised herself.

His green eyes fell on her with a gently understanding expression and he continued preparing in silence, but it didn’t actually last.

“You remind me of my wife, she didn’t appreciate my sense of humor either.” Henry…Rhodes, looked away. “She was a registered nurse, got infected and we didn’t realize, I had a late shift.”

She knew what came next, the doctor would tell her his story, and Tory didn’t think she could bear with the knowledge of what happened to his family.

“N-”

“She’d bitten our son, devoured him actually.”

Tory’s stomach churned uncomfortably at the words; no, it was actually her Peanut moving; but it was still as awful.

“How…” Rhodes turned to look at her. “How can you say it so calmly?”

“I can’t change it, nor the fact that I buried out largest kitchen knife in her skull with all my might.” The doctor’s words fell flat, but his eyes were ignited, a fury she could hardly reconcile with his gentleness was burning in his irises. “Have you ever had to do something like that?”

She nodded.

“Many times, for many different reasons,” Tory paused and then looked him in the eye. “some I even enjoyed.”

Henry Rhodes smiled at her apparent cheek.

“You don’t seem to be quite as savage.” He commented.

“I guess this brave new world has taught us that we are all barbarians in a way.”

Like Negan? Her inner dialogues were getting on her nerves these days, but that little voice was not wrong.

Her new lover said nothing, but he seemed to agree with her.

He’d made his work area look decently like a hospital set-up, but the fact that they were severely lacking didn’t escape Tory. There was no anesthesia save from a few milligrams of morphine and lidocaine. Vera would have to be severely drugged with one or simply numbed with the other, and her friend was lucky too, for remembering her blood type, which Roy was compatible with, surprisingly.

They had actually started keeping a little blood bank in one of the precious freezers that Charlotte had pilfered from a warehouse near Greenbrier. They hoped it would not be needed.

Doctor Rhodes straightened his spine and gave her one last look.

“We’re ready.”

It was stupid.

They were most definitely not ready, and Vera was infinitely angry at them, not that she had a chance to express her anger. Chase bore most of the brunt.

“You did this to me, you asshole!” she hissed as Henry cut through her uterus and Tory tried to drain the fluid as fast as she could, while Addison readied the soft flannels to clean the children.

“I am sorry, my love, I promise you,” Chase held her hand, not even flinching at the iron grip of her fingers, which Tory definitely admired. “We are not doing this again, you know that.”

Time would come to prove him wrong, but they knew jack shit at the moment.

“You have a boy.” Rhodes interrupted and Vera burst into tears as the boy started to cry weakly, visibly aggravated at being taken out of his warm cocoon. Once the umbilical cord was cut, Addison took the little boy and cleaned him with the specifically warmed water placed beside the bed.

“He is beautiful, Ve.” Addison whispered, before placing the little boy on his mother’s chest. Vera kissed his dark blond head as Chase whispered softly at his wife.

Rhodes took the opportunity to reach for the remaining twin, who was even tinier than the first.

“Also a boy.” Rhodes smiled and cut the cord, passing the baby to Addison again, while Chase tried to help Vera latch the first little boy.

Tory watched as Rhodes cleaned and detached Vera’s placenta, it was not…for the faint of heart, and this time, her stomach definitely protested at the sight. Tory admired the swift work of Rhodes’ hands as he cleaned, sew closed and sanitized Vera’s wound.

“The tie’s done, Vera. Now we need to dress the wound properly, okay?”

She simply nodded, but both parents were too busy with the little ones to actually pay decent attention, but Tory simply understood.

She helped Rhodes as he applied a bit more numbing before cleaning again and then properly dressing the wound. That required Addison and Chase’s help with the babies, as Tory kept Vera sitting upright and Rhodes bandaged her whole abdomen.

Vera kept as much composure as possible in the face of her pain, but her smile was radiant as Rhodes carried her to another bed and Tory gathered the soiled bed clothes and put them in the washing bin dedicated to the infirmary.

Chase and Vera were talking quietly when Tory came back to congratulate them, Addison was sitting at the end of the bed with a smile in her lovely face as Vera helped her youngest in latching to her breast. The baby fuzzed a little but finally took and he started gulping greedily, much to Tory’s amusement.

“Are you going to tell us the names? She asked the newly minted parents, who shared a look.

“We actually wanted to ask you something Tory,” Vera started softly. “You’ve said little about certain things, but Chase suggested…Thomas and Peyton.”

It was a terribly beautiful thing.

Tory hadn’t even thought about names for her own child, not really, who would in her situation? And here, Vera and Chase were offering their babies the names of her dead family members, but they were leaving Henry for her. Tears came unbidden to her eyes and she nodded, unable to speak through the sudden knot in her throat.

“It would be an honor, really guys.” She whispered, barely able to let the words out.

Chase gave her a grateful smile and Vera took his free hand.

“Thomas and Peyton Owens.”

“Welcome to the family.” Addison declared as she patted Tory’s hand and smiled.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

A week later

Negan woke up, and even though his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, he was hardly taking in the details of the drywall work.

It was the middle of the summer, and he was sure he felt cold all the same as he sat up on his mattress. The bed felt entirely too big for him alone, but he hadn’t dared call for any of his wives, he’d actually sent them away to help out to the bullet factory.

Finally, he got out of the bed and into the shower, it wasn’t the appropriate moment to be wasting time idly, contemplating all his past and future decisions.

Negan had a plan and that plan had to work.

I can’t watch you destroy him or watch him destroy you.

He scoffed at the words rolled through his thoughts, Tory had abused her moral standing a bit too much, and he wouldn’t admit that it had hurt to know she’d fucked someone else not even a week after leaving the Sanctuary, or that she kept doing it constantly enough to show in his arm.

Some part of him wondered if this was payback for what he’d made her suffer the past twenty-four years with his lack of care and disregard for her. It was a definite possibility.

Tory was a good person in the general sense, but she could be incredibly vindictive in very self-destructing ways, as Negan had realized once he got to know her better, and she played dirty, somewhere between grey and dark grey, if he was being specific.

Not that it mattered now.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

He watched the crowd under him and wondered if they were still here because they believed or because he was that fucking powerful.

Another thing that didn’t matter as long as he won today.

“Look at me, looking at you,” Negan forced a little chuckle. “in case it’s not abundantly clear why I’m grinning from ear to ear, it’s because you magnificent creatures are about to usher in a beautiful day.” His audience was captive, but he could see the disdain in some eyes, his wives included in that category, which stung. He’d been warned, hadn’t he? “Now what Rick and his mini-pricks, dicks and hicks don’t understand is that there are winners and there are losers. You lose, you die, you live, you win, you got a prize, you get the shit and that shit gets you more shit!”

His eyes fell on Eugene, whose expression was a mix of fear and determination, smart and still a coward.

“We got Eugene from Ricky! He made us enough bullets to blast their asses into the stratosphere, we live, they’ll die. See, what Ricky doesn’t understand, he thinks that everybody wins, that everyone lives, that’s cute, that’s bullshit. We show people the truth so they can be saved…” Negan stopped, just for dramatic effect. It finally dawned on him, right there, looking down into what he’d built.

Negan felt incredibly alone.

“Before it’s too late, that is who we are. We are Saviors!”

The roar of his people didn’t feel as jubilant as he wished it did.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Tory flinched a little and Rhodes turned to look at her.

“What is it?”

“There’s something wrong…” she rolled up the sleeve of her left arm, and sure, her eyes fell on Negan’s scrawl, it looked like a freshly made tattoo.

Now you don’t have a damn thing.

Rhodes gave her a long look and then sighed.

“What are you going to do?”

A thousand things went through her mind in that moment, and the glimpses of a workable plan started to form.

“I need to talk to Roy, excuse me Rhodes.” She said, her mind already away from them.

“Name’s Henry.” He corrected teasingly.

“I know.”

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

He knew he was a decent shooter, but Negan relished the trueness of his aim as he made a little triangle in the dummy with Rick’s name painted over it.

It felt strange, there was no remorse when he sent the group of idiots that would set the trap for Rick and his merry band of idiots, they had betrayed their own cause after all.

Eugene was suggesting a firing line, all aligned to fire at maximum capacity he said.

To take as many of them out as possible, one gun in every hand would be ideal.

Negan liked that.

It was perfect, almost poetic.

He looked at the priest, Gabriel still had trouble to properly focus his gaze, not that it would change things.

There would be a cleansing after this.

He would confess.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Tory entered the room where she knew her father was holed up with a talkie while fixing the numbers for crops and rationing for Doveport.

He didn’t even lift his head when she entered, nor did he make a move to stop her when she turned the radio on. Tory’s intent was on getting anyone to communicate her with Negan.

As she turned the talkie on, she heard Jesus’ voice first.

They were talking about coordinates that she knew had nothing to do with the Sanctuary, or…anything to do with shit.

“That’s the Old Mill Road.” Roy mentioned absentmindedly.

“What’s there?” Tory asked while dialing, looking for the right frequency.

“Nothing.”

So, she was right.

“Though,” Damn it. “there’s a big horde close to those parts.”

That intel was completely unknown to her.

Her father turned to look at her and smiled.

“You wouldn’t know, it’s something I saw years ago, that herd has been there for ages.”

A voice came from the talkie and Tory perked up.

Again, coordinates, this time from somewhere else, they mentioned a clearing and a hill.

“Roy, you remember Lucas’ frequency?”

“He didn’t have one,” Roy answered patiently. Her baby brain was really showing these days and Tory hated it when it didn’t let her explain herself.

“God, I miss cellphones.” She groused.

“Tory?”

“Yeah?”

“Today is supply day.”

Tory’s eyes widened.

“I thought we stopped that after what happened with the whole biter invasion of the Sanctuary, Roy.”

He tsked softly. “It’s actually just a check-up that Doveport is not about to raise in arms against the saviors.”

Tory blinked. “Do you imagine these people would do that?”

Roy shrugged. “Not precisely this lot, but you’ve seen Rick, and then there was Charlotte’s brother before that.”

“Charlotte had a brother?” Tory asked, truly surprised.

“Had is the operative word. He is dead.”

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Lucas sighed as he arrived at the wooden doors of Doveport and hung his head, propping it on the wheel. He was tired.

Martha had been awake most of the night, worrying about what would happen and how they would all survive if something happened. Lucas had no answers for her. She was right now, the person with most experience at the Sanctuary, everyone else was with Negan, setting up the trap for Rick.

“You look like shit, and that’s something coming from me.”

Lucas smirked at the sound of Tory’s voice and he lifted his head.

“Really, is that a way to welcome a friend, California?” he asked, watching as she rolled her eyes so hard, he couldn’t see the grey of her irises.

“I didn’t come to welcome you. I came to ask for a favor.”

“Whatever you want to use me for, Tory.” He joked. She grimaced.

“I want you to take me to Negan.” Tory asked, her eyes soulful and nervous.

“Except that.” Lucas answered.

“Lucas, please, I have a bad feeling.”

There was a moment of silence in which they just looked at each other. Lucas knew her, if he didn’t help, Tory would do something stupid on her own, and if he did, he would put her and her kid right in the middle of a fucking battle.

“Don’t make me do this, Tory.” He pleaded. “You got out.”

“I know, and you know that I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important.”

Lucas turned away and took a deep breath. What could he do? She was saying the truth, and he could do something to protect her if he came along, even if Lucas hated the idea.

“Get up, loser, we’re going zombie hunting.” He relented.

“Is that a pop reference?” Tory asked with a confused expression. Lucas frowned.

“Don’t you dare talk to me if you didn’t watch Mean Girls.”

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Tory was pensive as Lucas drove, watching through the window of the car as they sped over the old road.

“What is on your mind, California? I can’t have you distracted out there.” He said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I always have a lot in my mind, Lucas, not like you don’t know that.” She snarked.

He chuckled softly and threw a look her way.

“You’re a shit liar when you’re distracted.” Lucas pointed out, getting his eyes back on the road. “You’re thinking about how to stop them, aren’t you?”

Tory nodded. “Yeah, I don’t see a way, those two want to do away with each other, and I’m not against it, this brave new world is not for people like Negan and Rick to be in such close proximity of each other.”

“What would you do?” he asked, his voice serious and considering.

“The previous leader of Alexandria was a senator; did you know that?” Tory asked, looking at Lucas. “She was a good woman, a bit naïve if you ask me, but that was her prerogative, she had lived sheltered until Rick came and hell broke loose for us.”

“I’m sure you have a point…” the former paralegal said.

“Yes, she once said that politics and governance was about doing what was better for the people, even if it was horrible, but never to the extent that it would destroy you or crush you.” Tory sighed. “Negan and Rick don’t have that, they are driven through their survival instinct, through what they have done to get here, and that will destroy them.”

“Not one or the other?” Lucas wanted to know.

Tory laughed, it was a bit bitter, but still a laugh. “No, the both of them will lose, sooner or later, no matter who wins today; there’s always something out there.”

Silence fell between them for a while.

“Remind me to be the fun uncle to your Peanut baby, they will need it.”

Lucas ignored the quiet murmur of ‘asshole’ as he exited the main road.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

They had a good vantage point.

Negan could see as the group of armed people as soon as they came to the clearing; Rick was leading them, Daryl at his side.

He made a sign and the whistling started. They looked around them, unable to really identify where the noise was coming from. Negan almost laughed. He would have, if he didn’t think his men would feel overconfident. Rick had demonstrated over and over that he was an unpredictable rival.

“Well, damn Rick, look at that,” he mocked, “pegged again, pegged so very hard.”

Yet, they were confused, looking for him now, they only had to advance a little bit.

“I ambushed your ambush, with an even bigger ambush.”

“How about you step out and face us?!” Rick roared.

“Oh, I am everywhere, Rick,” he said, now smiling to his walkie, impressions be damned. “some more bullhorns, more walkies, pick a direction and run. See how you do, make it fun for all of us.” He turned to see the neat line of Saviors around him. “Guess what else I did? I brought some of your old buddies back, your friend Eugene? He’s the person who made today possible.”

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

The car came to a stop and Tory perked up, Lucas was looking ahead still, hands around the wheel.

“It’s over there, right over the hill, they are waiting for Rick.” He explained. “A neat line of people with their weapons; fully charged to massacre whoever Rick brings here.”

Tory nodded, looking the same way he did; she could hardly imagine how that would end, she didn’t want to.

It wouldn’t be nice.

“Look at me, Victoria.” Slowly, Tory turned to look at Lucas, whose expression was dead serious and concerned. She could count with one hand, and she’d have fingers left, how many times Lucas had called her by her given name.

“You have a baby inside you, you have to be careful, for them.” He said. “If I say run, you will fucking run, no fighting, no snarking, no shitshow, you will run. Swear it.”

“I swear.” Tory conceded.

Lucas nodded and then gave her a gun. “Use it wisely, it has only six shots, got you something though.” From behind his back, he handed her Henry’s old hunting knife.

Tory blinked back tears as she took the familiar, well-loved handle back.

Maggie, Michonne, Carol, Morgan...

“How…I…”

“You are handy with that, use it, whoever comes for you is a foe, even if they were a friend once.” Lucas said.

“Okay.” Lucas smiled at her answer.

“Come with me, then, California.”

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

“…Gabe, he’s gotta go too.” Negan cocked his Glock at the back of the priest’s head. “We’re cleaning house today, Rick, then…there’s you.” He sighed. “It never had to be a fight, you just had to accept how things are. So, here we go. Congratulations, Rick.”

Negan turned the walkie off and turned to Eugene; the man didn’t even hesitate.

“Three.”

The line started to advance on them, Negan would have given anything to be able to watch from the other side.

“Two.”

Everyone aimed.

“One.”

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Lucas stopped and Tory slammed into him at the same time the echo of the shots rang cleanly through the air.

Shots and screams of agony.

It took only a few seconds before Tory felt the burning pain in her right hand.

“Fuck.” She hissed. “Lucas…”

“I know, we gotta run.” He said.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Negan’s hand hurt like a motherfucker. He groaned in pain, trying to gather his wits as he stood. Eugene was watching him, as if he had no idea how it was going to work out for him.

“Eugene, you son of…” He had no chance to finish as the good for nothing fucking priest punched the hell out of him, but still, not enough to completely throw him.

Good ole’ Lucille was there for him, and Negan didn’t hesitate to hit Gabriel, or Dwight; he tried to punch him with his tied hands, the idiot.

But Negan knew, he had to run if he wanted to make it.

The sound of the shots followed him.

“He’s running!” he heard, but only barely, over the sound of his panting breaths, and the throbbing pain of his hand and cheek.

I can’t see you destroy each other.

Of course! Of course, he would grow a fucking conscience now, of all times.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Tory heard the groaning before she saw the walkers shuffling their way.

“Run, go get that idiot soulmate of yours!” Lucas ordered.

“But-“

“Tory, I fucking told you!”

Tory took off.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Negan ran, stumbling a little as he saw the tree in the distance.

He heard the shot and ducked, barely on time. The glass breaking was amplified by the escalating headache that came from the pressure, from the pain, from the running.

He barely had a moment of reprieve, Rick was far enough, and was enough of a good shot to fucking nail him if he got out from behind the tree.

It was too quiet for a few moments; Negan knew that Rick, harebrained idiot he was, was most likely running his way, so he prepared, steeled and turned around.

Sure enough, Rick was running at top speed towards him, hand already out, throwing the first blow.

He ducked and grunted as Lucille collided with Rick’s middle.

Rick threw Lucille off of his hands and finally nailed the first blow; a mean right hook to his chest. Negan punched back, but it hurt him, more than Rick; even if he cried out in pain. Rick, bastard that Negan knew him to be, didn’t miss a fucking beat as he tackled Negan to the ground. They rolled over the dried leaves, crushing them as they almost went downhill.

However, Negan did to get Rick off of him? He didn’t know; who cared? Negan got to his feet and kicked him. Ribs and liver.

The satisfaction of hearing Rick complain was so good, Negan almost felt free of pain for a moment.

He picked up Lucille, relishing on the familiar weight, thinking if he should bash Rick’s head in.

“Just so you know,” Negan panted out. “eeiney, miney moe? Bullshit, I made a choice.” Rick glared at him, burning hatred in his ice blue eyes. “I just didn’t wanna kill a kid’s dad in front of him.” Then he went in for the kill. “Turns out, that would have been the best thing I could’ve done. Had I done it, that kid would still be alive.”

Rick kicked him hard.

Right in the fucking shin.

They both groaned in pain.

“You’re beat…your people are down.” Rick growled.

“I’ll get out of it, I always do.” He got up first. “Is just you and me Rick; and you… you’re torn open.” He wheezed out a little chuckle. “I’m bigger, I’m badder, and I got a bat.”

Rick panted. “We can have a future.”

“I know I will.” Negan pointed out. Tory came to his mind, shaking her head at him, smirking as if she knew something he didn’t, screaming at him without fear…telling him she loved him. Yeah, he had a future.

“Just give me ten seconds, so I can tell you how-”

Negan almost laughed, was Rick trying to pitch him something like a bad sales rep?

“No.” he growled.

“Ten seconds…for Carl.”

Fuck, Rick knew how to throw low blows.

Negan had really licked Carl a fuck ton. He was a smart kid and a badass. He was too fucking young too.

“Ten. Nine.”

“Carl said- he said it don’t have to be a fight anymore-” Rick heaved.

“He was wrong.” Negan growled. “Eight.”

“No, he was right.” Rick contradicted. Negan had never felt so furious in his life, so furious he couldn’t even speak, and for the first time since he was a kid, Negan felt frustration come in the form of tears as he gripped Lucille.

Rick looked at him, his eyes low.

Fuck, he should have paid attention.

••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Tory ignored the pain in her side as she ran when she saw them, a few hundred yards away.

She would recognize Negan’s form anywhere, she knew it.

And Rick.

It was weird.

Probably because it wasn’t her life, but Negan’s at stake in front of her. She kept running a few more yards, Negan was raising Lucille and then he stopped, lowering the bat slowly.

She was so close. So very, very close.

Then…

Then... Tory noticed.

It was a minimal glint, a bit of a flash, and then Rick moved in a way that was so very familiar to her. His body turned a bit to the left, then he opened an arch to the right, slashing through the air.

The scream she wanted to let out was lodged in her throat as she stumbled; a feeling of despair blanketed her as Tory kept running, while her legs felt like lead.

Negan fell to his knees.

Then he fell on his side.

Rick looked up. He saw her, she knew, it was evident that he didn’t care.

Blind hatred pushed her forwards, her eyes zeroing on Negan’s prone form as he laid on the dried leaves. She ignored the crowd behind the leader of Alexandria.

Whoever comes for you is a foe, even if they were a friend once; Lucas told her.

Tory came to her knees right beside Negan, his eyes were closed. Her mind was blank.

In the sight of his blood, of understanding that Negan would actually die, her mind went completely blank.

No training, no knowledge, no ideas.

Nothing.

Only him.

“You, damn idiot.” She whispered. "You absolute asshole, I told you so..." she sobbed.

He opened his eyes, just a bit.

She saw the man approach her and her hand went to her gun.

“I’m a doctor.” He said, no fear in his voice, only kindness as he knelt and checked on Negan’s wound. “Can you apply pressure?”

Tory nodded.

“You can’t fucking die, you understand?” she whispered, barely containing another sob as her hands became bloody. “You can’t die in here, we’re having a baby.”

#negan #negan fic #negan angst #negan x ofc #negan x tory #the walking dead fic #twd fic #the marks of running ink #negan soulmate #my writing #chapter 85 #you did your waitin 4 years of it

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printvirgo6 · 4 years ago

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frostywindmademoan · 8 years ago

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A Worthy Adversary

Pt. 6 in a multi chapter OC fic featuring Michael Gray

“I saw your face back there. You enjoyed watching him die.” Michael commented as he hopped up to sit on the kitchen table and Clara removed his shirt and wet a rag so she could clean him. “Of course. He was a scumbag, a scumbag who thought he was such hot shit that he assumed my smile meant I wanted a fuck. I didn’t mind watching you kill him. I only hope he had the time to connect the dots and realized I played him.” She ran the cool rag across his neck and chest.

Michael grabbed her hand to stop her. “You didn’t mind it? It didn’t scare you to see me like that?” Michael knit his eyebrows in concern.”No, it didn’t scare me. I noticed you’re establishing a pattern with the whole knife to the throat thing. I’d suggest avoiding the jugular so you don’t end up ruining all of your suits. If you come up from behind you can stab them in the back of the neck between the C1 and C2 vertebrae. This will at the very least paralyze them from the neck down. If you’re forceful enough it’ll kill them and get the job done well. There are plenty of veins in the back of the neck, but It won’t splatter like with an artery. In theory it should be rather clean.” Clara suggested. “Who the fuck are you.” Michael scoffed. “I’m a nurse who knows more than most of the doctors at that fucking hospital. A little anatomy goes a long way.” She explained. “I don’t even know what the fuck a C1 or C2 is.” Michael couldn’t believe she was offering suggestions like this. “Here, I’ll show you. They’re about right here.” She ran her finger along the back of his neck, just below his hair line. Her touch left goose bumps on his skin. “That’s going to take a bit of practice on my part. I’m not a genius like you apparently are.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why are you mad at me?” Clara looked up at him with concern. “You’re giving me killing advice for fucks sake, do you really think that’s normal?” He stared incredulously at her. “I’ll keep my mouth shut next time. You can keep showering in blood if that’s really what you want.” She threw the rag on the table next to where Michael was sitting and began to storm out. “No, babe, stop.” He hopped off the table and stopped her by wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… well, the first time I shot a guy I cried. I couldn’t even help it the tears just leaked out. You just saw a pretty brutal death, and then you gave me helpful tips. I’m just a bit concerned is all.” He whispered in her ear from behind. “Honestly, it’ll probably all sink in later. It’ll probably hit me hard. I’ll try my damnedest to not let anyone see it, though. I’m only telling you this because, well because you’re you. As far as the helpful tips go, I just thought you might want to avoid making such a mess. That blood’s easily tracked. It might come back to bite you.” She leaned back into his embrace. “You are a genius.” Michael kissed her neck. “You’re a pretty smart guy yourself.” She chuckled. “I love you Clara Behmen.” He whispered in her ear. She turned around to face him so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. “I love you Michael Gray.” Clara whispered against his lips as she began to kiss him. Yep, Michael certainly wanted to marry her. No one else was a match for Michael quite like Clara. “I’m going to need you to run that C 1&2 stuff by me again.” He said against her lips. She laughed at him. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

After the events of Michael being stabbed and Clara being used as bait, Clara’s role within the Peaky Blinders shifted. She became their go to nurse. Really she was more like a personal doctor. She saw everything from busted noses, to broken arms, to stab wounds, to bullet holes, and everything in between. Clara was also enlisted a few more times to be bait. Michael hated it every time and threw a fit, but she was actually quite the little actress. She was a wiz with accents so she’d pretend to be Jenny from Edinburgh, Gwen from Cardiff, she was once even Vera from New York. The scheme worked like a charm every time. Michael had even adopted the C 1&2 killing technique. Clara had to show him quite a few times what vertebrae they are in one of her anatomy books, but he eventually got it. Polly, however, was becoming concerned that there was even a need for Michael to develop a killing technique. She knew it was just a matter of time before Michael, or Clara, or both got seriously hurt. The couple quickly earned the nicknames of ‘the Prince and Princess of Mayhem’ from the other Peaky Blinders. It was clear to everyone that they were a good fit for each other. They would bicker and argue and push each other’s buttons, but a quick resolution typically followed. They knew each other’s deepest secrets, things they would never tell anyone else. The mutual fear that had started their relationship was now mutual trust. The idea of marrying Clara stayed with Michael. He never brought it up to her because when he first had the epiphany they had only been together for a few months. Clara would have laughed in his face. Enough time had past since then that he was really considering asking her, but part of him was still afraid that she’d laugh in his face. One morning he decided he’d try to test the waters. “You know, it’s almost been a year since I bought you that first gin.” He reminded her. “So it has. The drink that started it all.” Clara smiled fondly. “We’ve been good, haven’t we? We’ve been good partners in crime.” Michael hesitantly asked. “We’ve been excellent partners in crime.” She walked over to where he was seated and straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He rested his hands on her bum. “I’d quite like to keep the partnership up.” Michael looked her in the eyes, waiting to see if she would catch his drift. “I see no reason why we should stop now.” She replied. Of course, only Clara could give such an ambiguous answer. She saw no reason to stop, a positive, but she sees no reason now which means that maybe she will in the future, a negative. “You’ve got a crease between you eyebrows.” Clara gently ran her finger down the bridge of his nose to smooth out the worry. Her hands were a great comfort to Michael. They were actually one of his favorite features of hers. Her hand would look good with a ring on it. “What are you thinking?” She hummed with curiosity at him. “I’m thinking that I just thought of an errand I need to run. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Michael removed Clara from his lap, grabbed his wallet, and headed out the door. He was going to buy a ring.

Michael knew Clara most likely wouldn’t want anything too fancy, but he wanted to spoil her. He chose a ring with a nice sized diamond in the middle, and with smaller sized diamonds cut to look like leaves around it, giving the impression of ivy. She’d like that. After purchasing the ring. Michael swung by Arrow House to find Ada. “Can I ask you something about a rather… sensitive matter?” He attempted to find the correct word. “I’m a bit afraid of what you’re going to say, but go ahead.” Ada folded her arms across her chest in preparation for the worst. “If someone were going to propose to you, how would you want to be asked?” Michael was a bit uncomfortable coming to Ada like this. “Oh my God! You’re going to propose to Clara!” She exclaimed. “Shh, nobody knows! I want to make sure I do this right. You know how she is about genuine affection and romance and shit. I have no idea whether she’ll actually say yes or not. I need it to be perfect.” Michael explained. “Right, well if it were me being proposed to I’d want it to be romantic. With candles and roses and such. Clara would hate that though. She’ll want it to be casual. Clara only likes attention when she’s playing someone. Keep it honest between you two.” Ada suggested. “Alright, yeah she’ll like casual. How do I accomplish that?” Michael was clueless about these matters. “You know her better than anyone. You’ll think of something.” Ada assured him. Finn then came into the room, prompting Ada and Michael to abruptly end their conversation. “I’ve been looking for you Michael. Do you know where Clara is? Isaiah dislocated his thumb or some shit like that, but we can’t track her down.” Finn asked. “She isn’t at mine? Or her’s?” Michael’s eyebrows creased. “No, and she’s not at the hospital either. We’ve checked the betting shop, the Garrison, even the fucking bakery. Isaiah is being a bloody bitch about the pain so if you could let us know where she’s at we can shut him up.” Finn complained. “Clara doesn’t have a shift today. She told me she was going to get some housework done. She should be at house.” Michael’s voice grew concerned. “Well we can’t find her bloody anywhere.” Finn shrugged. “Thanks for the advice Ada. Come with me.” Michael ordered Finn. The two rushed back to Michael’s house, the last place Clara was seen. “She should be here.” Michael looked around desperately. He rushed upstairs to the bedroom for any sign of her. It was there in the bedroom’s adjoining bathroom that Michael realized something terrible had happened. Everything from the counter was knocked onto the floor and strewn all over the place. The mirror was shattered with cracks spreading out from a single contact point that was marked with blood. “Fuck!” Michael screamed. “Shit.” Finn gasped when he walked in on the scene. “Look for anything that’ll tell us who did this!” Michael barked at him. “Look over here! There’s some hair here that is too dark and short for Clara’s. It’s a bloke’s. And see here, a fucking nasty looking bloody tooth. This can’t be hers.” Finn pointed out. “She put up a fight.” Michael observed. “Still doesn’t tell us who did this.” Finn sighed. “Call everyone and get them over here.” Michael instructed.

Chapter List Here

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ragingbookdragon · 5 years ago

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Earning Trust Doesn’t Come Without Its Struggles PT. 4

An Adrian Tepes (Alucard) x Reader Story!

Warnings: Explicit Language Author’s Note: Honestly I don’t even have anything to say lol. Enjoy! -Thorne

The morning after (Y/N) met Adrian marked a new month, which she was all too happy to start, except he wasn’t. He spent the first week actively ignoring her, and she knew why, but it still pissed her off to no end. The second week, (Y/N) decided that she wasn’t going to be ignored any longer, which is why she decided to start with breakfast. She climbed the stairs, Cezar at her heels, and when she reached the top, she strode to Adrian’s door, knocking at it. “Adrian, it’s time to get up.” No reply came from inside and she cocked an eyebrow. “Look pal, I can wait out here as long as it takes, but I’m gonna keep knocking until you do open the door.” True to her word she raised her knuckles, rapping quickly. After a few seconds of uninterrupted thumping, the door swung open revealing a disheveled and glaring vampire. (Y/N) wore a grin as she placed her hand on her hip, eyeing the bedhead. “Good morning Sunshine. Did you sleep well?” His glare seemed to darken as she added, “Breakfast is ready. Come downstairs.” Adrian scoffed at her before slamming the door shut in her face. (Y/N) blinked in shock then felt her eye twitch as she griped, “I know he didn’t just do that.” Narrowing her eyes, she began knocking again; a few seconds passed by then he threw open the door and grabbed her wrist, hissing,

“Stop that!” She jerked her wrist back from him and countered,

“Then don’t slam doors in my face like a child throwing a tantrum!” The two glowered at each other before she took a deep breath and calmly said, “We have things to do today, so you’re not going to sleep in until lunch. It’s nine in the morning. Get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast.” Not waiting for his response, (Y/N) spun on her heel and marched to the stairs, calling out, “If you’re not at the table in ten minutes, I will come back.”

When she got back to the kitchen, she busied herself plating their food, and as she turned to the table, Adrian walked in. (Y/N) offered him a smile as she placed the dishes down. She pointed to a seat. “I assume you’re at the head of the table, so I’ll sit here.” As she moved to sit down, he shifted past her, pulling the chair out for her; she smiled as she sat down. “Thank you.” He grunted in response, sitting adjacent to her. He looked down at the plate then asked,

“What…is this?” (Y/N) glanced down then puzzled,

“Zacuscă on Tara Paine?” She picked up her toast. “There wasn’t any Telemea, so I used Feta instead.” Pausing, she asked, “Oh my god, you’re not one of those that can’t eat cheese and milk...are you?” Adrian’s eyes shot up and he replied,

“No…I just…wasn’t expecting so much to eat.” (Y/N) nodded in satisfaction as she took a bite, chewing for a second, then swallowing.

“Well, my uncle always said that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.” She gestured for him to eat. “Besides, we have a lot to do today, so we’ll need strength.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” (Y/N) smiled as she took a sip of her juice.

“You’re gonna help me clean the observatory, and then we’re going hunting.”

“And why am I going to help you?” She eyed him and quipped,

“Because you’ve spent an entire week cooped up in your room and it’s good to get out and do something once in a while.” He rolled his eyes as he ate, muttering,

“I wonder what the reason is for me staying in my room. Perhaps it’s the human who won’t leave my home?” (Y/N) stared at him with an unimpressed look before going back to her breakfast and retorted,

“At least I don’t mope like a child who’s been punished.” She could feel his glare against her head but she paid him no mind, adding, “I need you to help me lift the bookshelves and apparatus that have fallen over and move them back into place.”

“Why? I’m not using the observatory.”

“I am. And I’m not strong enough to lift those things on my own.” She took another sip of her drink. “And, helping each other will be a good bonding experience!” Adrian scoffed.

“So you can gain my trust only to turn around and stake me?” (Y/N)’s eyebrows shot up and she grumbled,

“I don’t blame you for making a conclusion like that, but damned if you don’t leap far.” She wiped her hands on her napkin. “Again, I don’t plan on killing you Adrian.” She stood from the table and pushed her chair in before placing her dishes in the sink. “Since I cooked, if you will, wash the dishes. When you’re done, join me in the observatory, please.”

She patted Cezar on the head as he curled up in the corner of the room before moving to the telescope at the end of the room, beginning to pick up the scattered books and papers. A few minutes went by then she heard him enter and she looked up, watching as he walked over to her, quietly helping her. (Y/N) placed the books and paper on a table then swept the shards of glass into a pile. Adrian pulled one of the apparatus up straight, then paused, looking at the table that she’d been working at for the last week and half; he gently traced the words she’d hurriedly scribbled across the parchment, remarking, “Being an alchemist seems like an incendiary type of profession for a woman.” (Y/N) huffed as she placed another set of books on the table.

“Believe me Adrian, you’re not the first to tell me that.”

“Who was?”

“It was my uncle in fact. The very one who taught me alchemy.” She walked over, uncapping the alembic to check its contents. “I’m not just an alchemist. I’m a physician too.” Champagne eyes regarded her carefully as he asked,

“You’re a doctor?” (Y/N)’s face pinched and she shook her head, reaching over to add another ingredient to the alembic.

“Not a doctor-doctor. More like a doctor’s assistant. I can treat wounds and conditions, but I’m not advanced like other people are.” She glanced over at him. “I’d always wished I could’ve met Doctor Tepes before she was murdered. I heard her skills were legendary. I could’ve learned a lot from her.”

“She wasn’t an alchemist though.” (Y/N) tipped her head side to side, arguing,

“Technically, one who practices any form of medicine or healing is an alchemist. What is a mixture of medicine but simple alchemy? Those that carry alchemy titles are usually developing potions of destruction rather than those with doctoring titles who are developing medicines.” She paused, then stirred the mixture. “I’ve been trying to develop a way to make a poison known as ‘The Quiet Death’, but I’ve never been able to get the right ingredients.” Her fingers moved in a familiar flow, twisting knobs, and stirring.

“Why?” (Y/N) chuckled as she placed a dish in front of the opening.

“Because a good half of the ingredients aren’t native to Wallachia. I’d have to travel the seas to find them.”

“What? No, I was asking-” Adrian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I meant why do you want to make a poison like that?” She looked over and reasoned,

“Because I’m an alchemist? And the best way to prove you’re good at what you do is to make something that only a few of the best in your field can make?” She went silent for a second then mumbled, “Perhaps mentioning that you want to make an extremely fatal poison to a paranoid vampire isn’t the best thing to do.” (Y/N) glanced at him, reassuring, “Don’t worry, if I was going to poison you, I’d give you something that would incapacitate you, then shove you out a window.” He gave her a look and she waved a hand. “But really, I want to make the poison because it would prove that I’m a capable alchemist.” He cocked an eyebrow but kept quiet and she dropped her gaze to the dish that had filled with a thick, dark liquid. Smiling, she picked it up and brought it to his face. “Smell.” Adrian recoiled slightly and she rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the incapacitator, Adrian. It’s a salve. Smell.” Keeping a cautious gaze on her, he leaned down a sniffed it, and she watched his face relax. “See? Smells good, doesn’t it?” He nodded.

“It does. I can smell eucalyptus in it. What type of salve is it?” (Y/N) winked at him.

“Good nose Adrian.” She lowered the plate and scraped the salve into a small container. “It’s an inflammation reducing salve. It contains eucalyptus, aloe vera, coconut oil, honey, and lavender in it.” She handed him the bottle. “Here you go.” His eyes drifted from the bottle to her and he asked,

“Why are you giving me that?” (Y/N) shrugged.

“Because it’s tradition to give gifts to people who are sad.”

“Since when? And I am not sad.” She grinned as she placed the bottle in his hand.

“Since now, and yes you are. You’re so sad that you make onions cry.” Snickering she walked past him. “Now come on, we have a deer to hunt.” She spun on her heel, walking backwards as she asked, “Does this castle have an armory?” Adrian nodded, careful to keep a distance between them.

“It does. What do you need from it? Are you planning on fighting something?” (Y/N) winked.

“I’m no good with swords but I can shoot a quail out of it’s nest at two hundred yards.” He cocked an eyebrow at her declaration.

“That’s quite a feat for a human to complete. You said we were hunting earlier. Why?” She placed her hands on her hips and responded,

“That didn’t exactly sound like praise Sunshine. I’ll have you know that I’ve trained in archery just as much as I have alchemy. I’m deadly from afar.” (Y/N) huffed. “And we’re hunting because we don’t have any meat and consuming meat is good for the body. Besides, I’m getting tired of dried-” She cut herself of with a gasp as she placed her foot backwards but didn’t land on firm floor. (Y/N) flailed as she fell backwards, and on instinct, shot her hands out to grab onto something to stop her fall. A warm hand curled around her wrist and jerked her forward, sending her tumbling forwards instead of reverse. She fell into Adrian’s chest, her free hand curling in his shirt as she sunk down to her knees. The hand around her wrist uncurled, moving to her back, rubbing softly.

“Are you alright?” (Y/N) nodded, placing her hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding underneath.

“I-I’m fine. Thank you.” He moved his hand to her shoulder, pulling her away so he could look in her eyes and proceeded to admonish her.

“You need to watch where you’re going. If I hadn’t been here to catch you, you’d probably be in a heap of broken bones and bent limbs at the bottom of this staircase. There’s nothing in this castle that could hurt you, but that doesn’t mean you should go and find something to do so.” (Y/N) felt her neck disappear into her shoulders as she mumbled,

“I haven’t been reprimanded since I was a child.” Adrian raised an eyebrow as he pulled his hands away.

“Then perhaps I need to treat you as if you were one.” She glared at him as she straightened her tunic.

“There’s no need for such an extreme.” She paused and murmured, “But…you’re right…I should’ve been watching where I was going.” For a moment, neither of them spoke, then he rose to his feet and offered his hand to her. (Y/N) took it, letting him help her up, then he said,

“Follow me. I’ll show you the armory.” She blinked in stunned silence then smiled and chased after him.

A Few Hours Later:

She didn’t even look at him as she plucked twigs from her clothes. “This is your fault. I hope you know that.” He grunted at her as he pulled leaves from his hair.

“You’re just as guilty as I.” (Y/N) scoffed.

“I wasn’t the one who shoved us both into ravine.” Adrian turned, glaring at her as he spat,

“You were going to shoot a doe.” She met his eyes, defending,

“No, I wasn’t!” She plucked another twig from her shirt. “I saw the doe cross in front of the buck just as I was about to loose my arrow. I was un-knocking the arrow when you shoved me!”

“And you pulled me with you!”

“Because I was being shoved into a ravine!”

“You were going to shoot the doe!” (Y/N) threw her hands in the air as she stomped up the stairs.

“Oh, you’re the most insufferable vampire I’ve ever met!” She listened to him scoff as he climbed the steps behind her.

“Well from one insufferable being to another, you’re one to talk!” She spun around as she reached the top step, glaring into his eyes.

“I am not insufferable! I am perfectly sufferable, thank you very much!”

“I’m glad you’ve recognized the fact that being around you is suffering in itself.” (Y/N) felt her eye twitch as she resisted the urge to roundhouse kick him back down the stairs and she turned on her heel, marching to the bathroom.

“You are an ass! A giant ass.”

“You have nothing but insults, have you, (L/N)?” She glared at him over her shoulder.

“These insults are about to be joined by molotovs if you can’t learn to be nicer!” (Y/N) turned as she came to the bathroom doors and reminded, “Like it or not Adrian, you gave me one month.” He crossed his arms over his chest and inquired,

“And what does that have to do with this?” She narrowed her eyes and hissed,

“Perhaps in that time I can teach you to be civil!” Not waiting for his response, she shut the door and twisted the lock. Grinning she turned her back to the door, only to stop in her tracks as her jaw went slack. “Wha-How-You!” Standing in front of her was the very vampire she had locked outside. (Y/N) pointed to the door. “How did you get in here?! I locked that!” Adrian crossed his arms over his chest and informed,

“Contrary to your belief that I only stay in my bedroom, I’ve lived in this castle my entire life. I know every entrance and secret door in this place.” Turning his back to her, he gripped the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head; (Y/N) recoiled, blurting,

“What are you doing?!” Adrian leaned over the large tub, pulling one of the handles.

“Taking a bath.” She scowled as she marched up to him, listening to the water fill.

“Uh, no you’re not! I was in here first!” He whirled around, purposely showing his canines as he dared,

“Are you going to stop me?” (Y/N) clenched her jaw as she glowered at him and after a second, he turned back around, unbuttoning his pants. Her eyes shot to the ceiling as he shucked them off and stepped into the tub, sinking down until his shoulders and head rose above the water; he smirked at her and quipped, “When you leave, shut the door, please.” (Y/N) dropped her gaze from the ceiling to him, and with a burst of sheer spite she yanked her tunic and pants off, slipping into the tub at the opposite side. She flashed him a look that irked him, because all it screamed was, ‘I win’, as she sassed,

“If we were playing chess, I do believe this would be ‘checkmate’.” (Y/N) propped her feet up on the rim, stretching herself out until the water lapped her neck. She let out a sigh as the day’s tension began melting away. “I know the Roman’s used bathhouses, but whoever built this tub was a genius. It’s a shame that with the fall of the Roman’s, hygiene went with it.” She looked over at him, but her eyes quickly fell to the angry red marks lining his arms and chest. Feeling golden eyes boring into her she quickly diverted her gaze to the window, watching the sunlight fall across the forests.

“If you’re curious, ask.” (Y/N) cleared her throat, murmuring,

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Adrian.” He scoffed.

“You’re a terrible liar (L/N).” It wasn’t the insult that made her frown, it was what he said after, with such a tone of self-loathing. “You saw the scars. Aren’t you curious to know how I received them? Intrigued to ask who gave them to me?” (Y/N) swallowed thickly and glanced back at him, this time, only staring into his eyes and not at his body, admitting,

“I do want to ask. But I’m not going to. Your scars are yours alone. The incidents are not mine to know until you have deemed me ready to hear them.” A stunned silence filled the space between, and she bemused quietly, “Though we are in a rather intimate setting, so I’m sure it’s as good a time as any.” Adrian huffed, a small smile crossing his lips, and the two stared at one another for a moment before they burst into laughter. When they calmed, he recounted,

“The one across my chest was given to me by my father over a year and a half ago…the ones on my arms, legs, and torso were given to me by the corpses outside.” (Y/N) drug her eyes over the ones on his arms, examining the jagged lines running up his arms. She shifted, stretching her hand out, but stopped when he tensed, and she softly requested,

“May I touch them?” Adrian watched her like a hawk as he raised his arm, allowing her to run her fingers across them. She caressed the raised skin, whispering, “They’ve healed nicely…well, as nicely as scars can…” (Y/N) peered into his eyes and avowed, “Tu es superstes. Scriptum super corpus.” Golden eyes widened at her words and she squeezed his arm as she rose from the tub. “I’m going to change then start dinner. I hope you’ll join me when you’re finished.” Wrapping the towel around her waist, she unlocked the door and slipped outside, closing it behind her. Adrian stared at the door for a minute then placed his hand across his chest, whispering,

“You are a survivor…written on the body…” A frown crossed his lips, and it deepened as his heart gave a heavy thump.

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