#and i am NOT going to risk slipping and falling and cracking my skull in the vaults when theres like one (1) other person in the building -

[violasmirabiles]

my work shoes: (squeak like some fuckin clown shoes as i walk through the archive vaults)

my hell brain: this is obviously real life foreshadowing because i am going to make a complete fool of myself after new years when my supervisor comes back and tells me ive been doing this all wrong and now no one can find anything ever again and -

me: man what the FUCK are you talking about

[buildmeafairytale]

Orc Boyfriend - Bash

Oh my gosh guys I just hit 160 followers! I honestly didn’t think I would have nearly this many when I made this blog, and I’m so thankful for all those who read and like my stories! Here’s another one featuring a gifted woman and her orc babe. If you like my work, please consider donating to my kofi, it helps me out a lot <3 Also, sorry if you’re seeing this twice, I had to fix the ‘keep reading’ thing so it wouldn’t be so long. NSFW

 I was a little girl when I heard the siren’s call. My parents were busy doing anything but watching me, and slipping away was never hard. I followed the voice through the forest near my home, the song notes pulling at me like strings tied around my bones. I saw a woman laid out near a creek, sick and dying. She was singing a mourning song for herself, so I sat with her and tried to offer her any comfort I could. She was scared of dying alone; that much I could tell from her pained wails. So I sat there and held her hand for as long as it took, and she thanked me with a gift. I felt the power come over me, blue lights whirled up my arm and through my body from where my hand was grasping hers. I didn't understand what had happened for a while, but it became impossible to ignore. I would whistle a tune and birds would start to follow me, or I would sing and my parents would suddenly want to spend time with me. I didn’t understand the strength of the power until I started school, though. A boy tried to grab at me and lift up my skirt, and the shrill sound that left me was anything but human. He was on the ground with blood pooling in his ears by the time my mouth sprung shut. 

I was more careful after that. Being different in my town is often a death sentence, so I learned to control it and keep this power to myself. I always figured my parents had a hunch, but as they didn’t spend time with me much I was unsure. That was until my parents sold me off, though. Then it was confirmed.

 The men came in the middle of the night. They were dirty and unkempt but dressed in good, although mismatched, armor. They probably had a single set of teeth between them all. I heard the commotion and came downstairs. 

 “Ah good, she’s awake. Go ahead and take her, I have no need for her here.” I heard my father say, his nose upturned and his awful fake accent exaggerated. 

 I watched my father be paid by them while my mother stood to the side. Her lips were pinched tight but she did not speak up in my defense. I looked back and forth in confusion, still half asleep and not understanding what was happening to me. They stood there by the large french doors, draped in their finery while I was sold like a broodmare. 

“She is a monster,” I heard my mother say, “do not be afraid to treat her like one.”

The men went to grab me, but I tried to fight. I squirmed and clawed, and they led me away as I struggled in their grasp. I opened my mouth to scream but I was hit over the back of the head before I could get a sound out.

When I woke up, all I could feel was pain blossoming at the base of my skull. As I got used to the pain, I felt a tender hand brushing the sweat soaked hair off of my forehead. I peeled my eyes open, and as they went into focus I found I was inside of a wooden box, the only sunlight coming in from little gaps between panels. We must have been moving, as I was only slightly aware of the jostling of my head when we hit bumps. The hand was attached to a small orcish girl, still a child. She couldn’t be very old, her tusks were still just nubs peeking out of her lips. It was then I saw her lips moving, the actual words taking longer to get to me.

“Shh are you alright lady? It’s gonna be okay, my papa and uncle are gonna come, I promise. I’m Sheely, and -” her words faded slowly, and I felt myself go unconscious again, her voice luling me out again. 

The next time I wake up is to the screams of the girl being held prisoner with me. I awake abruptly, and while I’m still in pain I move quickly. I see a man is trying to drag her out of the box we are in. She is clawing and fighting him with tears rushing down her face. I do not hesitate, and when I hear men comment about ‘breaking her in’ I let out a cry that has them all on their knees. Blood is running out of all the orifices in their head, like tears coming from their eyes, and a few of them have collapsed. Sheely is unharmed by me and my power does not touch her, which I am thankful for. I grab her and start to run. Everything is blurry for me but I know this is my chance to get us out of this. I don’t want to dwell on the intentions of those men, but I know enough to know we would be better off lost in the wilderness.

 The orc - Sheely is just a child, though, no matter that orcish children are almost as large as a human teenager. She is panicked from the men trying to hurt her, sobs still leaving her despite the running and she catches her ankle on a root. She falls to the ground, but I waste no time in trying to pick her up. I have not known hard labor in my life and orcish children are not easy to carry, though. I feel the panic rising in my chest, and I hold her to me tightly.

 I hear them, then. Some of the men have come after us, and I try to find somewhere to hide the girl. My feet scrape the ground as I try to haul her behind a fallen tree. It is no use, and soon the largest of the men is appearing in front of us. Before I can blink a long whip is wrapped around my arm, bringing us both to the ground. I sing and wail once again but while I can tell he is in pain, it does not stop him. I curse myself now, for ignoring the power I have. If only I had honed it, or practiced more, we could be okay. He backhands me, and I hear a crack.

The pain doesn't knock me out this time, although I wish it had. I am grabbed by the jaw, and I forget all about the pain in my head. Noise leaves me but not enough. and my voice is rendered useless. He glares at me with dark eyes, and all I see is hate in them.

“Are you going to try that again or should I crush your vocal cords too, siren bitch?” Spit flies in my face and I shake my head no to the best of my abilities. He increases his grip on my jaw harder, and if it wasn’t broken before I’m sure it is now. My vision swims with darkness, but I hold on. I won’t leave her alone with them. He lets go and pushes my face away and into the ground. 

“Get the fuck up then,” he tells me, and I obey. 

 We are dragged back to their camp, and I hold onto Sheely. I see several of the men still on the ground before we are thrown back into the wagon. My head hits the wall and I feel the wood splinter into my skin. I manage to position Sheely behind me. I am hopeful that the men are in enough pain to be deterred from their plans with her, but I don’t want to risk not being able to help her if they come back. 

I don’t know how long it has been but I have not had food nor water since I was captured. I had never known this kind of pain, this uncomfortable existence, but I refused to let myself succumb to sleep. Instead I spend my time trying to listen to the men and make sure no one was coming to get us

The words I hear from the men outside all melt together and paint an eerie picture of the life waiting for me. I feel as if I am living in a nightmare and just couldn’t make my screams heard or run fast enough to escape. Scenes play out before my eyes of the ways evil people mean to torture me and throw me away once I am used up. I hear screams and anguished cries, but it all fades into the horror playing behind my eyelids. The screaming dies down into a dark silence, and I can hear Sheely yelling from behind me, apparently awake. 

The last of my strength I spend covering her body with mine, pushing her further into the corner of our dank wooden prison. The door is ripped apart, and the sun has risen. The light blinds me for a moment, but then a large figure blocks it out. I turn my back to the figure and pull Sheely further underneath me. I don’t feel as though I am long for this world in my current condition, and she is so young. I want to give her a chance. 

“Uncle!” I hear Sheely yell this in the back of my mind, and the man yells out for Sheely too. I let go, then. I let go of her, and my will to stay conscious as well. I feel her relief and happy noises all around. I try to soak in her joy as I let go. 

I know enough to know I am not dead. I drift in and out, feeling bumps in the roads and rumbling voices around me. Everything hurts enough that I wish I was dead, though. A wish that refuses to come true, as I am suspended in pain for what feels like an eternity. 

The fog eventually clears and the heavy scent of medicinal steam hangs in the air. The smell is of a healers den, and if I am right then I am relieved. My vision is blurry but I see a shape run into the den, and Sheely’s voice. It’s the sweet voice of a happy and safe child, and I think I manage a smile. I see another shape duck into the tent behind her, as well as a deep voice coming from beside me. A gnarled and old hand comes into vision as well, holding a cloth to my face. The throbbing of my jaw and head is not gone, but muted. I feel bandages wrapped around my arm and feet as well. A small hand takes hold of mine, and when I fall asleep again I feel calm for the first time in days. 

The medicine is strong and leaves me in a daze for a long while, but as I heal they give me less and less, until I am able to understand and remember when people are speaking to me. Ungral, the healer, is a constant companion to me. He explains that Sheely is the much loved daughter of their chief, and I am being honored among the clan. 

“Sheely has painted quite the picture of you to us all, calls you a ‘screeching warrior’” Ungral informs me, his lips upturned in amusement.

“Oh goodness, everyone will be so disappointed when they actually see me. I am no warrior, although I did screech quite a bit.” I jest with him.

“Hush child, no one will be disappointed to see the women who took care of our Sheely,” He sets out food in front of me. It is a thick and meaty stew, and I am in heaven from the smell alone. 

 Sheely visits me everyday before her schooling and often before her bedtime, bringing me snacks and things to do. Her mother and father visited me early in my recovery, but I don’t remember very much. Sheely tells me they are planning a celebration for her return, and that they are waiting until I am recovered since I am an ‘honored guest’. I am grateful for their hospitality, but I feel I have not earned it. All I did was cower with Sheely in a corner while her family saved us both, but I would hate to insult them this way.  

The first day Ungral has me leave the tent to walk is more eventful than I like. The moment I leave the hut, orcs are thanking me and introducing themselves left and right. I am friendly and speak to everyone, but it quickly becomes too much for me. Right before I am going to tell Ungral I need a break, Sheely comes running up to me followed by three other orcs. One of which was a woman, in decorative armor and beads woven into her hair. She grabs my hand with tear filled eyes as Sheely hugs my legs. 

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe when I couldn’t,” she tells me. My eyes start to fill as well, just looking at her. 

“Of course,” I nod to her, my hands grasping hers back. I am starting to feel dizzy but I dare not disrespect her. One of the orcs with her, the smaller of the two men, comes up to me as well. This is without a doubt the chief. I know little of orcs and their customs, but the beads and armor he wears, as well as the tattoos covering him, seems to indicate this. 

“I am Sheelga’s father, and Chief of this clan,” He tells me, his voice loud and clear. “We are all so thankful for you and that you were able to protect her. You will want for nothing here, nor ever again. Be assured that the men who took you are no longer in this world and as soon as you are fully healed, I will have my best warriors escort you home to your family. If there is anything you need, please, just let us know.” He tells me this, and I am reminded that my family is the one who did this to me. I stutter out a thank you and feel my legs shake. Ungral is by my side quickly, the old man more nimble than I assumed.  

“Leave the girl alone, just because she is stretching her legs doesn’t mean you can all bombard her,” he waves off the chief and his wife, who just chuckle at him. 

“Yes, we will leave you be then. Please, rest and know that you are safe here,” The chief and his wife say goodbye and turn to leave, but Sheely runs into the healing den. Ungral and I follow after her, partially to see what is wrong and partially because my stamina is running too low to do much else. Her parents and the other large orc come into the hut too, and I see Sheely in her usual spot next to the bed with tears running down her cheeks.

Everyone goes over her and when I settle on the bed she hurriedly plasters herself against me. I hold and shush her, and I can make out some words between her broken sobs. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” she bawls out, and I immediately start to hold her tighter. 

Her father has crouched next to her, and his large hand is splayed on her back. “She has a family too, my heart, and we cannot keep her from them,” he tells her, but I speak up. 

“I don’t actually. Well, I suppose I do but they’re the ones who sold me to those men,” my voice wavers as all the eyes turn to me, mixed looks of anger and pity look back at me. 

“Then you have to stay here,” Sheely says, her voice firm. I smile at her, but I do not wish to impose on these kind people. 

“Now little one, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” I try to sound cheery, but it really just comes out sad. 

“I think I speak for everyone here when I say you should stay,” the other orc speaks up, and I no longer argue. He is the largest being I have ever seen, with dark green skin and long black hair in a single shining braid down his back. He has black swirling tattoos covering a great deal of his arms, and his deep brown eyes lock onto mine. His beauty stops the words from leaving my mouth. 

“Yes, brother,” the chief nods at him and turns to me. “You will stay then, it is settled.”

His wife comes to sit by me and I open my mouth but no sounds come out, I just nod and squeeze her hand. 

Not soon after this I start to heal more quickly. I am sure this has something to do with the lack of stress I currently have. I am surrounded by kind people who want to help me, and I get to stay. A large feast is held to not only celebrate that Sheely is back, but also to welcome me to the clan. It is loud and boisterous, and copious amounts of ale are consumed. Balo, the Chief, drinks so much in celebration that his wife Lorka is rolling her eyes at him. He is telling old war stories and spinning his daughter around, taking intermediate breaks to remind Lorka how in love with her he is. When he hears me laugh, though, he sends a large grin my way and starts a toast for me. I am embarrassed, but flattered as they raise their glasses to me. I drink some too, but Ungral warns me not to do much since it could interfere with some of the medicine he has given me. 

Sure enough, I feel the effects of the alcohol much more strongly than I would have thought, so I go outside to get some space from the crowd. I find a pretty tree nearby and stumble my way over to it. I see Sheely’s uncle leave the great feast hall not long after I do. He looks around until he finds me, then struts toward me. 

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got your name,” I squeak out the words as best I can, hoping I’m not sounding over eager or over drunk. He is large and powerful, and I cannot look away. He makes me feel so small, and it excites something deep within me. My head spins, and I am unsure if it is due to his presence or simply the mead. 

“My given name is Rhugro’bash, but Bash is just fine little songbird,” he nods at me and settles onto a stump next to me. He offers me a smile and hands me a plate stacked high with food. “I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you would still eat.” 

“Thank you, everyone is so friendly but I’m just not used to such big crowds,” I take the food eagerly, moaning at the flavors. I feel spoiled here, with a beautiful orcish man bringing me delicious food. I open my eyes to see Bash staring at me as I eat, and I almost choke at the look on his face. “Sorry, it’s just so good.” 

He throws his head back and lets out a guwaffing laugh. “Well then I am happy to have pleased one as lovely as you.” 

He reaches over and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m sure he can feel the heat coming off of my face. He stands and leaves quickly after, wishing me a goodnight in his deep rumbling voice. Oh gods, I think to myself, I am going to get myself in trouble with him. 

The next morning I wake up to a large breakfast and a flower set out for me. I ask Ungral about it and he laughs, shaking his head at me.  

“It seems you’ve caught a certain someone’s attention,” the old man gives me a wry smile, apparently amused by my confusion. He sits across from me with his herbal tea, and passes me a note. It says nothing on it but ‘From Bash’, so it does little to clear things up.

“But...why?” 

“The man wants to cook for you,” he shrugs, “wants to see to it you’re fed, and brings a flower? I think you can figure it out,” he chuckles at me then, and leaves me with a meal that was composed of more food than I would be able to eat in days. 

 Bash comes to visit with Sheely later in the day, who hugs me then promptly goes to hang out with Ungral instead. I thank Bash for breakfast and he goes from a warrior to a puppy in an instant. He lights up and breaks out in a breathtaking smile, the gold bands on his tusks shining brightly. The two of us sit down, and he sees the flower sitting next to my bed. I clear my throat, feeling much more nervous in his presence than the night before when I was emboldened by alcohol. 

“I hope it wasn’t too forward of me, songbird. I wasn’t sure how things like this are done where you are from.” He speaks so casually and directly, I am not used to that. 

“What kind of things do you mean?” 

He reaches over and folds my hand in his, his calloused palms brushing against my skin in the sweetest way. “Romantic type things. I want to court you.”  

“Can I ask why?” 

He laughs a bit and schooches his chair closer to me, a playful look on his face. He leans closer to me as he speaks, and his proximity makes my head spin. “You are strong, and brave. I like the way you look when I bring you food, and how beautiful you are. You love Sheely, and were ready to lay down your life for her. I cannot think of better traits for a mate.” 

My mouth is in an “o” shape, and he leans back with a satisfied look on his face. Sheely comes barreling back in and I am grateful for the distraction. 

Bash continues to send food to me, along with little gifts or trinkets. He gives me clothing too, as well as a homemade chest to put everything in. I appreciate it and everything he does makes me feel so special, but I hardly feel as if I deserve it.

 One day he comes to take me for a walk, and I voice this to him.

“I really do enjoy everything you do for me, I just feel like I am undeserving of all of it. You spoil me.” He finds a log to sit on, and pulls me to sit on one of his thighs. My arms wind themselves around his neck with his behind my back. The closeness is so effortless for him, it seems, while I feel my heart is going to pump out of my chest.

“Now don’t go feeling guilty, pretty bird. I like doing things for you.” He frowns at me, and makes everything sound so simple.

“I just feel bad I can’t give you anything in return.”

“You give me plenty,” he scoffs, “you gift me your time.”

You huff and adjust yourself on his knee, turning to face him more. 

“You give me that too though. I want to give you something and yet all I have are things you have gifted me.” I frown at this realization. They have welcomed me in but I’ve really just free-loaded. 

Bash taps a finger to my forehead, startling me out of my thoughts. “I don’t know what’s going on in here, but cut it out. You wanna give me something?” I nod, of course I do. He smiles, almost wicked. “Sing to me, bird. I want to hear it.” 

My eyes grow big. Of all things, I was not expecting this. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, playing with my hair with an exaggerated pout on his lips.

“I’ll do it for you, I’m just not used to singing nice things. It’s always been a bit of a defense mechanism.” I try to think back to when I was young and would sing to the birds and the flowers. I think about the feelings I have for Bash, the look in his eye when he sees me and the happiness he brings me. I concentrate and let my abilities take over. It’s natural for me, like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater too long. 

My voice sings of a new life, of a gallant rescue. I sing of new feelings and new family, how much more beautiful life is for me now. I sing of new beginnings, of spring. I let my emotions well up then pour out, and I am unsure how long I sing but when I stop he has tears in his eyes. 

I reach up to wipe them away, noticing how out of it he looks. He has pulled me much closer to him while I was singing and I am thoroughly pressed against him.

He whispers “thank you.” Bash presses his lips to my brow and we stay like this for quite some time. Once we hear crickets chirping he takes me back to Ungral’s.

The courting gifts start to increase and get larger after this encounter. He insists on cooking almost every meal for me, and I try to squash my feelings of being unworthy. I sing to him occasionally too, since he says it’s one of his favorite things. We often have the healers den to ourselves, since Ungral lives in a separate building behind it. I haven’t been to his house yet, as he said he is in the middle of building onto it.

The first time he kisses me, it is while he is cooking for me. I move to the kitchen to peek at what he is making, and he just leans down and pecks me on the lips. He pulls back and looks shocked at his own actions, and I get to see my great warrior flustered. I give him no chance to apologize. I lift up onto my tippy toes and pull him down, slanting my mouth over his. He holds his arms out awkwardly to the side at first, but soon drops the wooden spoon and kisses me back. 

He’s vocal and does not bother to hold in his groans. I pull at him until we are on the cot together, kissing and petting at one another. He moves to my neck, placing wet open mouthed kisses under my ear. The feeling of his tusks brushing against my neck sends chills up my spine. All too suddenly he rips himself off of me, running to the kitchen. The sound of soup boiling over registers and I hop up to help clean up the mess. Bash’s cursing turns into laughter when we look at one another, and I peck his lips again but the heated moment has passed.

I am adamant about giving Bash an actual tangible courting gift, and I ask Ungral about it. 

“It’s not frowned upon, if that’s what you mean,” he tells me, showing me how to blend certain medicines. “Not required either, but after one courts you a while giving a gift back is a way to accept the courting or encourage them that you want it to advance.” 

Winter is around the corner and Bash told me he has a lot to prepare for with his home, so I try to think of something good to get for him today. I talk to Ungral about this too, but it feels odd talking to him about my romantic life. He is more of a father than mine ever was, and I sense it’s a bit awkward for him as well. 

“Take this,” Ungral says, trying to shove a bag of coin in my hand. I push it back at him. 

“What, no! What for?” I ask him, “I already live here for free!”

He gives me a flat look in return “You help me with my work and Bash feeds the both of us with his excessive courting meals. I should still pay you for all the work you help me with. Go buy a courting gift and stop fawning, girl.” He turns around and leaves no room for me to argue. 

I do want to give something nice to Bash so I take it, but I vow to help Ungral even more to feel as though I earned it. I walk along the shops in the center of the village, and one tent catches my eye. Inside are glittering beads, hair ties, and bottles of oils and soaps resting on shelves. Bash’s hair is beautiful, and he knows it, so this would be perfect. I look along the beads and one instantly catches my eye. It’s a pretty blue bead and dangling on it is a bird. It’s absolutely perfect. I go to pay for the bead and the shop owner wraps it up in a nice box for me. I can’t wait to give it to him, and I hate that I have to wait. 

The hours could not go by any slower, but eventually Bash comes by to tell me goodnight. He walks in and kisses me, but I can tell he is tired.

“How was your day songbird?” 

I cannot help to smile in excitement, I probably look crazy to him.

“It was good,” I tell him, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh really? And what may that be?” 

“Sit here and close your eyes! I’ll be right back.” I sit him on the bed and get a sleepy smile in return. I go to get the bead and a snack for him as well. I’m only gone a moment, but when I return he is snoring. My disappointment is fleeting, he looks so sweet like this. I set the box on the table and get to work. I gently peel his shoes off and his more uncomfortable looking clothing as well before tucking him in. The bed is small so I decide to snuggle in, hoping he doesn’t mind the liberty taken. 

Bash is warm, and I find it was one of the best night's sleep I’ve had in awhile. We are tangled together in the morning and he is awake before me. A hand is petting my hair, and I just sigh and shove my face more into his chest.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” he whispers to me, and I have never thought him more attractive than now, with his groggy voice in my ear. 

“Shh, m’still sleepin,” I mumble into his chest, and get a laugh in return. We bask in the moment before I remember how excited I am, so I just roll over and hand him the box, jolting up to give it to him. 

“Open it,” I encourage, and he purposefully goes slowly. 

When he sees it he gasps, and I feel like I’ve done well. I realize why he enjoys doing things for me so much now. His excitement and happiness when he holds it up is my new favorite look for him. He has me braid the bead into his hair, and the blue is a stark contrast to his dark hair. 

“I have something for you as well, my songbird,” Bash gestures to his satchel, and I hand it to him. He digs around, and then presses a key into my hand. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. I look at the key then back at Bash for a minute before it sinks in. 

“You want me to...live with you?”

“Yes, I can’t think of anything I would want more,” he admits to me.

“I don’t need an answer right away,” he continues, one of his large hands caressing the side of my face. “Just...come by tonight if you decide to, otherwise I will see you in the morning and we can take things as slowly as you wish.” He kisses my stunned face and goes to walk away, apparently nervous for your reaction. 

I grab him before he makes his way out.

“Bash!” I stop him, and pull him down near me. “I’ll see you tonight,” I whisper in his ear, planting a kiss underneath. I can practically feel the chill that runs through him, but I usher him out anyway. I’ve never been to his house before, and wasn’t even sure where to go. I talk to Ungral a bit before I pack up my things. I leave most everything there for now, as my chest and other things are too heavy for me alone. I then go to visit his sister-in-law’s house for a bit of help. 

Later that night I walk up the cobble pathway in nothing but the silk nightdress Lorka has given me. My hair is down, and I feel every bit the siren I have been accused of being. The home is beautiful under the moonlight and the colors seem vibrant bathed in the blue of the night. Fireflies dance over the pond and the stone house is reflected in its depths. I open the heavy door and all the breath leaves my body.

Bash is waiting for me in the home he has built for us in nothing but his loincloth.  He stands proud and tall in front of me. Deep rumbles of desire come from his chest and mix with the sounds of the crackling fire; it is the most beautiful melody I have ever been lucky enough to hear. The fire gives his skin an otherworldly gleam and he looks every part the formidable warrior he is known to be. My formidable warrior, now. I walk toward him as if I am a newborn deer and I fear he can hear my knees knocking together, but one of his hands reaches out to steady me. 

His hand moves up my arm while his other goes around my waist, pulling me against him. His warm skin quells a shaking chill I didn’t know I had, and I let myself melt into him. He has barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run miles. 

“Let me take you to our bed, my songbird,” he says, and I nod my head. My eyes are wide gazing up at him and Bash smiles down at me. He bends down and lifts me up a bit to close the gap to place a soft kiss on my lips. His tusks brush against my cheeks and I gasp. He suddenly places his hands on my bottom and pulls me up with my legs around him. I squeal out a laugh and the nervousness is broken. 

He gives kisses and raspberries all over my neck and chest as he walks me to the bedroom. I squirm and laugh, and my hand ends up in Bash’s hair. I give it a tug and am rewarded with a playful growl as he tosses me onto the bed. The bed he has crafted is beautiful, and I am once again lost in his duality. He is a powerful warrior who can wield his warhammer like no other, and yet he created and carved the delicate wooden features adorning our headboard. He seems hard on the outside, so intimidating and yet he kisses me so softly. 

He climbs up with me and pulls my legs on either side of his hips, perched up on his knees. My hand splays across his stomach and I feel the muscle there, covered in a layer of softness that makes me find him all the more appealing. I gawk at him, tracing the tattoos and scared planes of his body. 

“See something you like?” His large hands run over my thighs, the fingertips dipping under my nightdress on each pass.

“I see a lot I like,” I quietly admit,  finally lifting my gaze to meet his. A pleased sound leaves him. He kisses me and pulls me even closer, so much so that the heat between my thighs settles on his manhood. I can’t help but grind myself into him. 

“I want to make you sing for me,” He tells me, and he slinks down the bed. I push myself up onto my elbows and watch his broad shoulders push apart my thighs. I can feel a deep throbbing in my core, and I gasp when his fingers trace the lines of my underclothes. His other hand moves upward and settles on my stomach before he pulls my underwear aside. 

His warm breath washes over me, and he places the gentlest of kisses around the apex of my thighs before licking a broad stripe along my folds. I fall back onto the bed writhing , my hands digging into the sheets. He starts to lick and kiss at my clit, and a strong finger finds its way to my entrance. My back arches and a moan leaves me at the pleasure he is giving. His other hand wanders up the bed to meet one of mine, untangling my fingers that were clutching the sheets. As his finger pumps into me in time with his mouth moving on my clit I cannot hold in my noises. 

“Bash, please,” I moan out to him, unsure what I am asking him for. His answering rumble vibrates through me and his tusks start to dig into my soft flesh. He adds another finger and I feel myself quickly tighten around them. The crooking of his fingers and the pressure on my clit increases and a knot builds in my stomach. The noises leaving me increase as well, but everything quiets the moment that I find my release. Fireworks go off behind my eyes, my legs tighten around his head and my hips jerk. He sounds like a man feasting, grunts and groans leaving his mouth. He does not relent until I am jerking away from the stimulation with a whimper, the ecstasy too much. 

“Bash, c’mere,” I pull at his shoulders, my request coming out a breathless whine. When he looks up at me he is debauched. His eyes are full of desire and my wetness covers his mouth and chin. As he moves up my body, he pulls my underclothes off of me as well. 

“Did you enjoy me, my songbird?” He inquires, laying kisses up my arm as sparks continue to dance on my skin. I give a breathy yes in response to him. I reach my hands out to pull him down over me, and his arousal is evident as it presses into my stomach. I arch into it and my desire is reborn. I reach down and run my fingers along his shaft over the loincloth still covering him. I pull at the edges of the cloth and it falls down, releasing his heavy cock. 

I feel my mouth water at the sight of it. It hangs beneath its own weight, and I bring my hand up to hold it. The hot flesh pulses in my hand, and I feel my entrance pulse in answer. It’s an even darker green than the rest of him, and more tattoos swirl near the base of it. Fluid leaks out of the tip, and I run my fingers over it, coating the head. When I look back at Bash’s face, I am not disappointed. His eyebrows are knitted together and his eyes are dark with want. I hold his gaze and give a tentative stroke, letting his hips jerk into my hand. My other hand comes up to caress his heavy sack, gently massaging him in time with the strokes. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come from your hands alone if you don’t stop that, woman,” he snarls out, but I only slow down my efforts.

“Don’t you want to?” I ask him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his neck. 

“Minx,” he scolds me in good nature, then leans down to snarl darkly in my ear. “I want to feel you come around my cock when I release. I want to fill you up so much you leak my seed for days, and any Orc who comes near you will smell my claim on you.”

His words alone cause a whimper to leave my mouth. “Please,” I breath out, wanting nothing more than for that to come true. He strips me of my nightdress, and I take his hands in mine and pull him back with me on the bed, curling one of my legs over his hip. His cock runs through my folds, my wetness coating him, before he notches the head at my entrance. He sucks and licks at my tits before smoothly thrusting into me, my nails coming up to dig into his back. My cunt is tightly wrapped around him, every vein of his cock pulsing inside me. He is so much bigger than me in every way, and I’m surprised he fits inside of me without pain. The stretch is uncomfortable at first, but soon fades as my pleasure crests. 

“Look how well you take me, songbird. Will you sing to me again?”  He punctuates this with a hard thrust, and I let out a long moan. I feel my power imbed itself into my voice, but I cannot help it. Tendrils of my magic reach out and touch him, caressing his skin and coaxing out more desire with my noises. His movements speed up, and I hear grunts leave him. Bash brings his face to my chest, growling into it. Pleasure builds in me again, and as I wail out my climax Bash follows me. He buries himself deep within me and pumps me full of his seed as he promised, his hands holding tight to my sides. 

Fucked out mewls escape my lips and Bash coos down at me, praises passing through his lips. He gently rolls off of me and lays beside me. 

“You’ve conquered me, my songbird. I don’t think I can feel my legs,” he teases, petting me sweetly as I come down from my high. He manages to clean us up before he throws blankets over us both. As I’m drifting off, I feel a kiss to my forehead and Bash mumbles to me.

“I can’t wait to cook for you in the morning, my love.” 

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For the BTHB: enemy turned caretaker with Villain whumpee and Hero caretaker ???

Thank you, your writing is amazing. Have a good day!!!

Thank you for the ask and lovely comment! I hope you don't mind that I gave the characters genders as my brain cannot write with neutral ones today, but feel free to imagine the characters as you like.

If you want to send in an ask: here.

Downside to the River

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: beating, intensive description of broken bones (including broken leg, ribs, and jaw), blood, minor vomit, losing consciousness, bathing, enjoying hurting others

~

Maybe she went a little too far.

Maybe, it was a possibility.

Likely? No.

Unlikely? No.

Did she? Yes.

Now, the real question was... did she care?

In the heat of the moment, that trilogy of words wouldn't dare cross her fired-up mind.

But afterwards? After the deed was done? After she tucked him into bed with a warm blanket?

Yes, she cared. She cared and regretted it.

Let's go back in time for moment, shall we?

July 15, 11:23 PM:

Her fist struck something hard, her ears heard a crack, but her heart felt victory. Her other hand dove in, earning the same satisfying sensation.

"Knock it off, will you?" The villain below her spat, blood circling in the sticky saliva. "I get your point ma'am."

Hero didn't listen. She kicked, landing a near-stunning blow on Villain's chest. He wheezed, coughing and wincing, but he didn't get much time for recovery before another kick sent him hurdling to the ground. He laid there, winded and exhausted, calculating his injuries for greatest to least- he doubted Hero would hurt him further; after all, he was already down.

Yet the otherwise positive premonition failed him. Hero slammed both fists into his temple. Way to kick a man when he's already down, Villain groaned to himself just as stars erupted in his already dimming vision.

He brought himself clumsily to his arms, legs still reclining against the wooden floor. They were on a bridge in the woods, a place that young couples would go for dates on. Though it was more than obvious that wasn't the intention for the late night visit.

Hero pounced, a flying fist meeting his ribcage. Crack! Hero pulled back for moment to allow Villain to collapse on the ground, grunting and moaning weakly, before hopping to her feet and jumping on his side.

"I get your point," Villain growled through clenched teeth.

"I doubt that," Hero retorted, and stomped on Villain's outstretched hand.

"Nngh," Villain replied, pulling in his hand instinctively, but Hero didn't allow for that form of comfort. She placed her shoe onto his wrist and pinned it down.

"Shut up, will you?"

Crrreeeeaaaakkkk

Hero stood up straighter, giving Villain minimal, but relief nonetheless. When the eerie sound didn't come again, she continued her pin of victory.

Creeeeaaakkkk

Hero looked around again, shrugged, but stopped. There was something different in the air.

It was raining.

Not just a drizzle, but a downpour.

Hero looked over the side of the bridge to see raging waters hitting the wooden beams.

Oh crap.

It was a flash flood.

Hero pushed herself away from Villain and bounded to shore. She jumped over pools of mud and water, leaped over fallen branches, and slid over slick slides of leaves.

Before sprinting back home, Hero took a glance over her shoulder at Villain who was struggling to get back on his feet. For a moment, a pure second of temptation, Hero considered going to save him.

No, she told herself, silently shaming herself for those types of thoughts. He is a monster. He brought this upon himself.

Hero looked up again to see the bridge collapse. Villain's arms and legs gave out as a beam smacked into his back, right by the shoulder blades. She didn't have to hear his holler to know the horrible sound that escaped his bloody lips.

As he fell, obviously dazed and disoriented, his skull smashed into a stray piece of wood and he was enveloped by the muddy waves.

July 16, 12:18 AM:

Hero laid upon her bed, aimlessly wrapping a strand of her hair around her index finger, making knots and toying with the invention. Her mind was wandering. Was he dead? Or dying? Was he alone and cold? Or was he not even awake, only his body awaiting inevitable death?

Hero looked out the window and into the dark sky beyond. The consistent tapping on her window told her that it was indeed still raining- pretty heavily at that. But the rain wasn't her concern.

"He is cold," she whispered silently to herself, shaking her head, blonde curls bouncing off her forearms.

She tried to concentrate on her Game of Hair-Knots, but her restless legs walked themselves to the window, her inquisitive eyes looking outside.

Where was he?

She forced herself back to her bed and plopped back onto the comfortable cushioning. She laid her head against the comforter. Should go back out there...

No. She aimed to defeat Villain that night. The task was over, mission finished.

She didn't defeat Villain. The storm did. The intoxicating flash flood that more than definitely was making Villain suffer with dreadful hypothermia.

Save him.

But he is better dead.

It's not right.

I'm saving the world.

You're saving yourself. Go!

Hero rolled onto her back, groaned, and ran down the stairs. She threw on a jacket, grabbed a flashlight and trotted through the booming thunderstorm.

July 16, 12:56:

"Villain!" Hero screamed over the gusts of bellowing winds. She waved her flashlight around wildly. "Villain!"

She was following the river. He had to have turned up somewhere. She shuddered thinking of the waterfall not to faraway from where she was.

It was too crazy of one, but if he fell...

Hero didn't want to think of the "what ifs".

After a few more minutes of looking, she came upon said fall of water. Heart lurching, Hero madly searched around it, desperate to find him before the drop off.

He wasn't anywhere in sight.

Hero ran down the hill that caged the powerful waves up. She tripped over sticks and branches, and even fell a couple times, but kept going.

She had to find him.

And that she did.

His body was laying haphazardly on a rock, completely limp and seemingly unresponsive.

"Villain!" Hero yelled and crouched next to the injured person. Shining the light over his wet face, she could see all the bruises she left, the odd angle his jaw was in, and the smeared trace of blood on his temple where he hit his head earlier.

She let the light wander over the rest of his drenched, and nauseatingly bloody, body. A large wooden beam rested on his leg. His leg, in question, was sticking up on the other side, bent inward with blood staining the pale material of his jeans.

Hero shot straight up to look closer at his leg. If she moved it, she knew it would upset his injuries even further unless, of course, she woke Villain up.

"Hey," Hero tapped Villain's cheek until unfocused eyes open. "Wake up," she whispered.

Villain took a moment to get his bearings, but the moment he did, he screamed. "Hurts, hurts so much," he sobbed. Hero kept her hands rested on his shoulder until he shook them off.

"Get your hands off of me," he growled, glaring at Hero.

She didn't blame him.

But she did ignore him.

"You are trapped under that beam," she informed the villain, pointing to the heavy board that laid upon his lower body. Villain's gaze, still full of hatred, followed her finger.

"I have to lift it. The second I do, drag yourself away. Got it?"

Villain seemed to realize how dire his situation was for he nodded his head. Hero gave an encouraging smile and proceeded to lift the beam.

"Wait," Villain said. "How bad is it?"

"Bad."

Villain noticeably gulped and furrowed his brow.

Hero lined up to the board and wrapped her arms around the slimy material. "Ready? On the count of three. One... two... three..."

Hero lifted while Villain pulled himself to his feet- or foot.

The wood slipped from her hands. Even though her muscles trembled from lifting the beam- thanks to the blessing of adrenaline- she looked at Villain, who was swaying on his foot.

Then she looked down, at his leg.

The bone was popped out of his pants, white and ragged, with cracks running downwards. Hero felt bile rise up her throat, but the nauseating feeling was quickly succumbed when she noticed Villain's eyes roll backwards.

"Crap!" She exclaimed and caught Villain as he collapsed into her arms. His head lolled on her shoulder, body the human equivalent of a ragdoll.

July 16, 2:12 AM:

Hero dragged Villain into the bathroom and quickly got him out of his sodden clothes and wrapped in countless blankets. His lips were an unnatural shade of blue, fingertips waxen in yellow candlewax.

"C'mon bud," Hero murmured, rubbing his wrists to stimulate warm blood flow. She periodically checked hie temperature and smiled as it increased by the decimal.

His hair was matted in dirt and blood- he needed that cleaned immediately before it got into any open wounds. Hero found so many, so many little cuts and deep gashes that she lost count. He would need stitches, antibiotics...

His leg. Surgery was a definite.

But bringing him to a hospital would be suicide for him.

But wasn't I the one who just wanted him dead? The one who left him for dead?

Hero shook her head. That train of thought wouldn't help the situation.

The moment his body temperature was raised enough to safetly bathe him without the risk of even more pain due to the sudden change from cold to hot, Hero filled the tub with warm, vanilla scented water, and lowered him gently into it. She took the showerhead and tenderly rinsed out his hair, picking out hardened bits of mud and dried blood.

He slept through her motherly care, sometimes groaning, but Hero was quick to soothe him.

The next task in cleaning him was shampooing his hair. She scrubbed her coconut scented soap into his hair, then rinsed, dipping his head back to avoid getting it into his eyes.

When the bath was done, Hero wrapped him in a thick bathrobe, tied the front into a bow and carried him to her room where she wrapped a blanket around his sleeping frame.

The last thing Hero did before sitting in a nearby chair was call her friend.

"Caretaker? I kinda have a situation here."

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader x Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 3. Shorts Fired

First | Previous | Next

This chapter originally contained Daryl...Then I remembered that conflicted with Canon and changed it, but he’ll appear soon. Additionally, I got a request to start a tag list so if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me

Also in the event that the link’s don’t work I’ve started adding a hashtag to this series: AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires. 

“This is what we found sir,” Simon said, his team depositing a bag, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a knife with your name engraved on the side. Negan picked up the knife, eyeing at the dry blood on the blade.

“She put up a fight” he commented, a smirk on his face. “That’s my girl.” He looked back at Simon from his seat in the meeting room. “We’ll find her” Simon’s men looked at each other nervously. Simon found his mouth dry and had to clear his throat to keep talking.

“Sir...We found her...she”

“Then where the hell is she?” your father asked, interrupting Simon as you would interrupt him. The room went incredibly quiet.

“She turned, sir.” Simon spoke. Negan froze for a moment before falling back into his chair. “We...captured her... if you’d like to see.” Wordlessly Negan rose from his seat and rushed towards the exit, specifically to the van Simon had been out in.

The shutter raised and low and behold, there stood a walker. Her face had been devoured but she was wearing your clothes, right down to the military boots you never took off, despite how many nice clothes and shoes he’d find for you. ‘Just encase’ you said.

Looking at the walker growl and reach for him, Negan felt numb. He now realised he hadn’t dropped your knife. “Gimme a minute” he ordered, climbing into the van and closing the door behind him.

Now it was just Negan and the walker, he began to tear up. “I’m sorry y/n.” he whispered before reaching behind and destroying her brain. It fell and he cradled her in his arms as he wept. “I’m so sorry. I tried to keep you safe, princess.” he rocked back and forth gently, stroking it’s hair as he mumbled to himself “I’m so sorry”

The night of your escape you broke into a thrift store to get some new clothes, though it’d hardly count as breaking in as whoever owned it was probably dead. You found some old khakis, a tie-dye shirt, and a black sweatshirt that had seen better days. It wasn’t much but it was warm. If only they had socks. You pulled on a pair of trainers and ran, wanting as much distance between you and Sanctuary as possible before your old man got back.

From there it wasn’t easy. Food was gone, ammunition didn’t exist, and the closest thing you had to a bed was a car with the doors closed. Anyone else would crack under these circumstances, but not you. You had experienced stuff arguably worse than this. You were a trained soldier with experience on foreign battlefields, so a few undead going bump in the night wouldn’t stop you from sleeping. What did keep you awake was the memories.

“You shouldn’t take those with booze, ma” you interjected, your mother just gave you a filthy look from over the edge of her bourbon glass. “I am the mother, you are the child. Remember your place.” was the usual reply, and that was the reply you preferred. It meant she’d spend the night cursing you out, picking apart your flaws, and blaming you for your old man’s fooling around. The words were easier to deal with than dodging a flying glass.

You were 15 when your mother got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and your world went from sunshine and rainbows to cleaning up after your mother passed out so she wouldn’t be embarrassed in the morning and letting your dad in at 4 in the morning so the neighbours didn’t see him. In the morning your mother would make you pancakes to say sorry, even though any movement would hurt her. Your father would slip you twenty bucks for ‘being a team sport’.

You had accepted that your mother just didn’t have the nerve to confront your father on all his cheating because she was worried she’d leave him, and your father was an idiot that was more bothered by the parents at the school he teaches at finding out that he screwed around then what he was doing to your family. You accepted it. You understood it. That didn’t mean you forgave them. It also didn’t mean you wouldn’t call them every chance, that you wouldn’t send a hundred letters to them every year, that you wouldn’t kiss their cheeks while declaring ‘I love you’ to all that heard.

Every morning you woke at what you believed to be 6 am. It had been hardwired into you from your service. You’d start walking in the same direction, trying to get as far from Sanctuary as possible, though your speed was slow and you often stopped at towns or houses to scavenge. Now and then you’d stumble into houses that had gardens or farms that had been overrun. Usually, there were more walkers than food but you had secured a rather sharp knife to replace the arrow you’d been using to bring down walkers quietly. You also carried your things in a child’s school bag, being the most together bag you could find at the thrift shop. The bright pink glitter didn’t go with your desire to stay low but sacrifices had to be made, such as hygiene.

Your form was weak from a strong lack of food, your feet were raw from the constant walking, you were constantly exhausted. Taking down walkers with the kitchen knife had become muscle memory. Hand on chest, knife in head, hand on chest, knife in head, and so on. You felt more dead than alive when a gunshot fired somewhere behind you. You swirled around to see a clearly a few steps right of you and a walker being downed. You put the math together and knelt into the foileage. “Sasha what are you doing?” you heard a lady call from far off. A moment later you noticed your sleeve feeling more and more damp. A quick glance confirmed blood, making you curse under your breath.

The gun shot attracted more of the biters out of the forest and into the clearing to see this Sasha character, but three were more interested in the smell of your blood. You cursed again, jumping back and taking steps away from the clearly. You reached for your gun on instinct before realising it would probably attract the people, and you didn’t want that. To make matters worse your shot arm was your stabbing arm. Flexing the arm caused the blood to start pouring so you took the kitchen knife in your other hand, the walkers approaching you. Having little time to react you kicked one back, sending it into a bush while another lunged at you. You narrowly sunk the knife into its skull, though the combination of it falling on you and your lack of good footing sent you backward, banging your head off a tree. Your head began ringing when the third reached for you over the lunger, giving you enough space to swing your arm and shove it through it’s temple.

You turned to get the two corpses off you, settling into a squat against the tree as the first offending walker got to its feet. You flipped the knife in your hand as it wandered towards you, using the tree to stand up quickly and stabbing up through its neck. The last one fell and you heard more shuffling through the woods. “I’m coming with you”. Crap it was those people. You ducked behind your support tree, the sudden exertion making your arm bleed. You clasped a hand over it as you bit your lip, watching from behind the tree. Three women walked by, two following another with a large rifle. ‘Are they from an outpost?’ you thought. You waited a while for them to pass with short breath, not wanting to risk them looking for you.

When you were sure you were in the clear you ran, making note not to run in the direction they came from or were heading. You ran and ran until you found a gas station. There were a couple of walkers in there but you needed something to dress your wound. You took a step back and shot through the glass at the first, getting the second with your knife when it stumbled through the shattered window.

Walking in you noticed it was a treasure trove. Most of the shelves still had their goods and the first aid pack was still there. Taking off your shirt you were relieved to find the bullet had only grazed you and the bleeding was slowing. Still, you cleaned and dressed the wound, popping a lollipop in your mouth for good measure.

You only got a few bottles of water and some stale chips in your bag when a car pulled up. You dove behind the counter without thinking, pulling the walker you shot over your body. Cracking glass signaling they had walked in.

“I thought this place was locked up” a man’s voice spoke out.

“It was” another man’s voice replied.  “Whoever broke in didn’t clear it. Come on”. You heard shuffling, then felt someone kick your leg.

“Anything behind there?” the woman called.

“Nah, just a couple of dead ones.” you tried to maintain your stillness when what you assumed was one of the men, stepped on the back of the walker, and pushed the air out of you. It took everything to maintain your quiet when he reached for your bag, cutting it off your shoulder. You stole a look to see a man with long messy hair, a button-up opened over a t-shirt, and a sheriff’s hat rustling through your stuff.

“This one had a first aid pack,” he called, pulling everything from your bag into his own. You made a mental note to kill this man the next time you saw him.

You lay as still and as silent as you could until you heard the car drive off again. You pushed the dead off you and dived for your bag, looking through it just to confirm what you already knew. He took everything. Your bullets, your food, everything. You threw the bag across the floor cursing. You sat on the ground, your head in your hands. You stared at nothing until an old map caught you. You slowly pulled it out of the hole it had been shoved in between the counter and the register and unraveled it, wanting something to look at other than your distinct lack of supplies. The map must’ve been used by the previous manager, because your current location was clearly marked and the DC city limits weren’t that far out. Your eyes lit up

‘The only place left with stuff would be the city. They had a refugee centre.’ you thought. You sat there a moment longer, soaking in your helplessness. Standing up from behind the counter you realised how badly they’d empty the place. The shelves didn’t even have the dust on them anymore. You took off your shirt, using it to pick up a piece of shattered glass, then walked over to one of the walkers to start carving it open. If you were to brave DC without weapons you’d need a disguise.

After soaking yourself in undead guts you repurposed the walker’s shirt to hold your make-shift blade. The walk into the city was short once you cut through the woods. As expected the road was lined with cars and walkers, non paying you any attention. You walked into an abandoned RV to check your wound, making sure no infection had seeped in. Once you opened the door some walkers lunged at you, making you step in quicker. Immediately your nose filled with a vile stench, causing you to vomit into the entryway. In your new position, bending over with your hands on the floor sitting in your vomit, you could see the cause of the smell from the corner of your eye.

You walked over slowly to the back of the rv in case they turned, but also to clarify the image as the bodies had been decaying for so long. The blood spatter confirmed a gunshot. It looked like a woman in a summer dress and two young children. Pinned to a board above the bed were some pictures. Smiling children, older people with drinks in hand, and a happy family on the beach; A mother, a father, and two children barely out of their toddler years. You looked up and down the alley, no sight of a fourth family member.

“Coward ran” you mumbled to yourself. The covers lay at the bottom of the bed. You grabbed them and pulled them over the family.

A little bit of scavenging brought you a new ruck-sack in a dirty green colour, two bottles of water, some painkillers, and a pair of socks. You celebrated silently before you put them on, already feeling the old trainers rub your feet raw. As you closed the presses something in the bathroom cubby began to move. Clawing at the door but not sure how to get out. If he couldn’t get out then only one thing came to mind.

“Guess you weren’t a coward.”

You opened the door, the walker falling out and quickly meeting your glass, it breaking off in his head. You picked him up and laid him down with the family, noticing he was wearing the same shirt as in the picture above the bed. You felt jealous of the family, but you pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time. As luck would have it the walker was keeping a hunting rifle with a low power scope in his cubicle, along with five bullets. You picked it up, looking it over. You hadn’t used one of these before the world went to shit but what time better than the end of the world to get a refresher lesson.

Getting into the city was relatively easy, finding your way through the crowd, down an alley, on top of a garbage can, and in through an old apartment window into a complex with only a couple of the dead following you. They groaned and reached into the higher window, but you were safe in someone else’s sitting room. You jumped up when another walker strutted in from another apartment room. All you had were two guns and firing either one of them would drag too much attention.

You looked around for anything to use but it was on you before you could act, pushing you back towards the window. Pinned to the breaking frame by the undead and more of them reaching for you from the back you pushed against it with all your strength, its jaw snapping at you. You took in a deep breath and pushed back with all you had, sending it to the ground running to the other side of the common space. It rose confidently from behind the couch looking around there was a tv to your left and a dead potted plant to your right.

It walked around and lunged at you just as you got the potted plant off the floor, swinging it around and knocking it to the ground. Before it could get up again you dropped the plant on its head, followed shortly by the tv for good measure. You leaned against the wall, causing it to crumble and collapse, sending you back into a child’s bedroom. You coughed as the dust fell on you, pulling yourself into a sitting position. Looking into the sitting room you now noticed it featured a kitchen area, complete with a full block of knives staring right back at you.

You gathered up the knives and went up a floor, wanting some distance between the dead and yourself. It seemed the complex had been cleared, but that made sense since it was the city. You found an apartment with a street view and made your camp, pulling an old mattress from the bedroom into the common room to keep watch. You opened a window to clear a little of the dust from the room. You’d sleep here tonight then move more in the city later. You found some books in the apartment. ‘Jane Eyre’, ‘Little Women’, ‘Get Slime in 40 days’. It painted the image of some sad spinster trying to better herself to get back at the world. ‘The Woman’s Guide to Single Life’ added a frame to that image.

“Come on!” you heard a man yell, followed by a gunshot. You fell to the ground instantly, crouched over, and crawled to the window. Peering out there was a sight to behold. It was the same hat-sporting man, no a boy, and an older man with a beard with a herd on their heels. They’d be at your window. You loaded a bullet in the chamber of your hunting rifle, using the scope you had it on the older man’s head in moments since he had a larger bag on his back. All you had to do was squeeze the trigger and he’d be down, dropping his stuff and maybe the other would be eaten and you could take your stuff too. All you had to do was squeeze that trigger.

“Dad!” The boy screamed out when a dead grabbed his bag, your scope moved in a moment and the walker was downed. They looked around wildly while running. You made a rash decision and stuck your head out the window and yelled to them as you reloaded the gun.

“Hey you two, round the corner there’s a busted window! Get to it!”. They seemed to understand and began sprinting. You took down one behind the man that had gotten too close, then another. You heard a thump downstairs just as you ran out of ammo.

You walked out of your apartment just as they came up the stairs, you pointed the gun at them in defense. “Stay right there”

The two stood with their hands up. They glanced at each other and then you. The older man began to speak. “Thank you for-”

“If you wanna thank me, give me back my shit” you cut him short.

“We didn’t take anything from you.” the boy in the hat replied.

“Three bottles of water, two packets of chips, and the first aid kit.” you retorted, noticing the shock in the man's eyes. You motioned the gun to the boy “You cut the bag off my arm back at the gas station. The pink glitter thing.”

The man swallowed hard “We can’t. That stuff. We have people that need it-”

“I could have fucking killed you. Is that not worth shit?” The silence that followed made it all worse.

“Listen, I’m Rick Grimes, This is my son, Carl” He motioned to the boy behind him “We come from a place. A safe place with walls. If you let us keep your stuff you can come back with us. We can give you a safe place to live.” The rest of his words turned into white noise after you heard his name.

“Alexandria?” You questioned, a sad smile coming to your face. “You’re not gathering stuff for your own people, are you?” you lowered your gun a little.

“You know these people?” the boy asked, getting angry. You nodded solemnly.

“Look, I’m not going back with you, but I’ll offer you a deal. Give me the first aid kit and I’ll give you this gun” you said, holding up the rifle to further your point.

“We need it,” Carl argued.

“So do I.” You rose your short sleeve to show the bandage. “Some asshole nearly shot out there.” Carl reached into the older man’s bag, Rick immediately telling him not to.

“She saved us,” he argued, pulling out the red plastic pack.

“One good turn deserves another,” he stood up and went to hand it to you before you raised the rifle again, shaking your head no. You motioned to the ground, where he put it down. You once again motioned to the ground and he kicked it over. You knelt down, placed down the rifle, and snatched up the kit before diving back into your room, slamming the door shut.

You rushed over to your bag, grabbing it and shoving the kit in. “This is empty!” you heard Rick yell as you dove out the window onto the fire escape and descending back to the streets.

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@softsebastian​

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Ten, "The After"

Word Count: 6.3k /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: / Small Bump by Ed Sheeran (click to listen) / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death and miscarriage

"Life is never fair. I’m sure you’re well aware of that."

- Death Parade デス・パレード

Barely could I catch the thoughts that whirred through my skull, one after the other. Neither could I with my breath because with each one, the pain inside of my head grew. It couldn’t compare to what I felt when I turned my head to find the room empty. Becks was gone, somewhere else in this hospital having . . Shaking my head tersely, I let it fall into my hands as my hands shook.

“Get ahold of yourself, Harry,” despite the state of my throat and trembling lips, the muttering comes. The first words I’ve spoken in who knows how long. Yet, they always feel like my last, because this feels never ending, all of this.

I tried it for the third time now, breathing slowly in and out. It doesn’t work any better this time compared to the hundred other attempts. No matter what, I can’t feel better. Cursing, I shoot upright in the chair and fling my head back, staring at the ceiling for yet another few seconds. No, not that either, I think quietly before my eyes fall on it again. It had stared back at me this entire time of waiting, taunting me. Not only did it not seem real, but with each time I found myself looking at, it shouted at me to believe. There, her name sat on the whiteboard clear as day and a whole allotment of other things, but worst of all was The Plan. D&C Surgery at 11:30. I’d already known what it meant, hearing the risks and benefits of the surgery along with Becks earlier from the doctor.

Huffing, I sat forward, resting my elbows on my legs. They fought to stay there as my right leg bounced up and down impatiently. Checking my watch, I swear under my breath, wondering how it’s only been ten minutes. They likely haven’t even started the surgery yet and I’m already wild with worry, and with missing her. Whimpering, my fingers slide back through my hair and root themselves there, my scalp singing with pain as does my heart. For the hundredth time, I think no, this isn’t how it should be. We shouldn’t be here. No, not now. Not for another five months to bring our baby home, but now, we’ll be going home . . empty.

Through a thickness of tears, I watch myself dial the number, blinking the haze away once I press it to my ear. It rings as my heart beats on, aching and dancing against my chest. Words climb up my throat, but I can’t distinguish the right from the wrong, or find the energy to ever say any of them. Yet, I know that I have to and that I need to.

“Hare, hey. I can’t talk long, I’m on recess, but do you have an update on Becky? What’s going on up there?”

“I’m so sorry I had to leave My,” is all that I can manage.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered. Please, just tell me that you’re okay.”

Despite his well intentions, it hits me in the gut. It gets me good and sucking in a breath is harder than before. I try to fight it, but it drapes over me like a blanket that I can’t remove, because I can’t.

“No, My . . I’m not okay. W-We . . . ,” time to work there, lungs. I need you now, do you hear me? One breath. Two breaths. Okay, maybe I can do this. Just maybe. “We lost the baby,” I confess, pinching the bridge of my nose as the sound of cries finds a way past my lips. His silence is replaced by the choked sounds that I make, ones that I let lose to the air. To him.

“Oh, Hare,” he sighs, my heart cracking a little more at his voice. What I hear in it. “I can’t say h-how sorry I am, to you or Becky . . . I-Is there anything I can do?” a pause falls between his words, found in the breath I hear him take to settle himself. It’s the one that I can’t find.

“N-No, if there was I don’t know what it is. Just- I can’t even think about . . about going back to work anytime soon o-or for Becky. She- I don’t know how we’re going to do this, something like this h-has never happened. I-,” my footing is lost and the words fall haphazardly around me, no thought as to how to arrange them.

“Don’t even think about work, okay? Rose and I will take care of it, you don’t have anything to worry about, Hare. J-Just take care of yourself and Becky, and take all of the time the both of you need. I’ll figure out unemployment or something- it’ll be fine, okay?”

“Thanks, My.”

“No need,” he murmurs, words skidding to a stop. “Are you still at the hospital then?” not many other people could tell it, but behind the tears coating my cheeks, I can hear the ones in his voice.

“Yeah, probably for the good part of the day. S-She’s in surgery to . . “

“I’ve heard of the different um, treatments. Jeanie’s sister w-went through the same thing. It’s terrible. Fuck, I’m just- I’m so sorry, Hare,” some divine power breaks his voice on the curse, and if I weren’t sobbing, perhaps I’d find it in me to laugh. “Tell her I’m thinking of her, will you?”

“Of course.”

I wasn’t sure if silence was my friend right now, leaving me to the turbulence of my thoughts, until he interrupted it again. “Have you told anybody else, Hare? I know you, you shouldn’t be alone there, sitting in your thoughts.”

“My mom’s on her way, she w-was in town, so it’s only a matter of time,” I continue, pressing my thumbs against my closed eyes when the next thought arrives. “We . . . We were going to name the baby after her and Becky’s grandma, My. A-Annie. H-How am I going to tell her that?” I nod along with his coming words, my lips pressed together tightly, not letting any words slip past. Tears run over them, tasting of salt and something bitter. Loss. I’m not sure how long I sat there like that after he had to get back to arguing our case, leaving me in my whirlwind of thoughts.

It was all I could do, think. Well, that was before my legs kept me busy and I was walking circles around the room, trying and failing not to do the other thing. A silence had crept into the room long ago and refused to leave, even with the hum of the heating challenging it. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d fallen back onto the chair and gotten up again, fearing I’d never be able to get back up one of these times. No, I knew that I’d fallen off that chair somewhere in my head and didn’t even care to get back on. How could I? I was to become a dad. It was all that I could think about for the last nearly four months, and now- God. Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about how that had been stolen away from me in just a few moments. I woke up this morning, like any other recently, counting down the days to meeting our baby. I never would now.

I was long gone by the time there was a knock on the door, seizing my attention and any last whole piece of my heart that was left. Because when she walked through it, the only other person in the entire world who could make it all better was there.

“Honey, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that . . that t-this is happening,” my mom sobbed, pressing a hand against her mouth after the door closed behind her. I barely blinked and found myself standing, hiding in her welcoming arms.

If my heart hadn’t already fallen through my stomach and to the floor, it did when she brought my head to her chest, muffling my wailing. There was just something about crying on your mom’s shoulder that could never be rivaled, and if I couldn’t be with my Becks, this is where I wanted to be. I didn’t want it, any of this, but it’s like I was three again with an owie, and her hugs made it all better. Except, this time, the relief came and then it trickled away. It didn’t feel . . real, and through my tears, I cried harder, wanting for this one thing to feel real out of it all. But as her blouse grew wet under my cheek, it never came and very swiftly, I gave up on it ever arriving at all.

I couldn’t remember the last word that had passed between us, because all I could hear was the way her thumb drew waves on the back of my hand. All I could see was the hand on the clock ticking slowly with each passing second, and never quickly enough. A blaring of sorts went off in my head when the secondhand fell onto the 6, announcing 12:30. It had been an hour and still, nobody had come.

My Becks hadn’t come back, and neither had the tears. Somehow, they had come and gone with a ferocity that I’d hardly known. No, except for when it was her that I’d almost lost. This time, we actually had suffered a loss, and I wasn’t sure where to begin to process it. I’d lost my grandfather shortly after we’d reconnected and hers passed within a few weeks of knowing each other. Lola had gone in her sleep not long after, but that was the worst of it, if you could even say that. No, I hadn’t lost a parent or came close to it, like she had, but I’d still lost my best friends. I’d almost lost her, and she me, but was there ever anything that leaked similarity to that of losing a child? I couldn’t think of one, and I hadn’t known anybody who’d lost a baby before, I thought as the scribbled words on the whiteboard grew incoherent in front of my eyes.

A pang hit low in my chest when my thoughts dragged me back to that rainy day in February, just right after our first date. Skye had called and my entire world had came crashing down, and the same thing had happened to her not even six months ago. The calendar had only just turned to November then, and I’d only just flipped it to March yesterday. I’d seen it when I’d done it, the small handwriting of my own on next week’s date. ‘4 months w Baby P.’ It came after the stretch of days I’d marked for this case, and if my head wasn’t already in my hands at that, it is now.

I’d asked her, time and time again, if I should take this case, seeing as how I had to leave town to argue it. It’s only a few days and I’ll be fine, Harry, she had insisted, like she always had. She was a stubborn one from the very first day I’d met her, and it had never waned. I’d taken the case and she had helped me on it before leaving to assist Rose with hers, a criminal case that Becks had been interested in. Her and her curiosity of serial murders, but she’d only helped with research after we’d agreed on no high profile cases since . . since we’d found out about the baby. Exhaling, the sensation of pain comes to the front of my mind. Looking down, shocks of scarlet half moons look back at me when I turn over my palm. Gulping, I stretch out my hand before curling my fingers back in, ignoring the chorus of stinging now radicating my palm.

I shouldn’t have taken it, I knew it then and I knew it now. Something had told me not to. No, not with her pregnant. What if something had happened to me again, or to her while I was away? And it did. But I’d brushed the worrisome thoughts away, crediting them to irrational fear that didn’t deserve my time. Now, as I sit here, leaning forward with my elbows on my thighs, I curse myself for not being there. I should have, there’s no question about it. A new warmth gathers in my chest sourly as I imagine, for perhaps the fortieth time, her waking up alone to a nightmare. Blood pooling around her bottom and pain racking her insides as our baby died inside of her. Had it been this morning, last night, or days ago? I had kept wondering about it when Dr. Baker explained that they could have passed within the last few weeks and there was no way to know until her body recognized it, and . . began the process. If I were her, I’d be mad at me for not being there in the bed beside her when she woke. For not being there to drive her to the hospital, but instead, waking up in a bed two hundred miles away, unbeknownst to the storm today would bring. I could have-

“Honey, you have to stop thinking about what you can’t change,” somebody murmurs, weeding their way into my inner monologue. I don’t need to think for a second before knowing who it is, and that of course, they know.

“I’m not thinking about-.”

“Yes, you are. I’ve known you for the last thirty two years, I know how your mind works. How you work, Harry. You’re my baby, I-,” there, her voice breaks as if it’s a thread pulled too tightly, snapping. Something within me does the same, and I feel another chunk of my heart break apart. “I’m sorry, I know how that sounded. I didn’t mean-.”

“I know you didn’t, Mom, but I just- I can’t . . do that word right now,” I retort, pulling away from her touch, soon finding myself staring out the window onto the tops of houses for miles. Her sigh inches in through one of the dozen holes inside of me, taking hold as a rain droplet races down the window. A similar one runs the same race down my cheek. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s not you I’m angry at, I could never be. But, I just-,” cutting myself off, her eyes are already waiting on me when I turn around. As always, they’re soft as can be, and forgiving too.

“It’s okay, Harry, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I just don’t understand w-why this happened to us, Mom,” I whimper, words shaken by the persistent trembling of my lips. “What did we do to deserve this? Did I do something wrong? Because Becks didn’t. I know I shouldn’t have taken this case- or maybe, this is a punishment for the asshole I used to be. To everybody at work, even to her. I never should have treated her that way. I don’t even deserve her, and maybe I don’t deserve to be a father, either. I’d probably just fuck up their lives like my dad did to me. I-.”

“Harry Styles, you stop talking like that right now,” her voice is firm, something it rarely is. Her voice echoes around the room with its fervor and volume, as does the look in her eyes. “You did nothing to deserve this and neither did Becky. This is none of your fault or hers, it could never be. It’s not because you took a case out of town, or because you mistreated her in the past. That was all so long ago and you have to stop beating yourself up about it, you know that she would tell you the same exact thing . . Honey, you don’t deserve this, either of you. It wasn’t the baby’s fault either, and sadly, there’s nothing you could’ve done to stop it or to know it would’ve happened. You have to stop blaming yourself,” she finishes, rainboots stopping in front of me. I almost want to laugh at the pink butterflies covering them and the squelching sounds they make, but it’s far away now.

What isn’t far away is the warmth in her eyes and how it tries to thaw me from the inside out. The very thing that Becky had done to me all of those years ago, changing me from the icicle I was to the person I am now. Somebody that I hated I ever was to her with the things I said and did.

“How am I supposed to tell her that wh-when I don’t even believe it myself, Mom?” I whisper, feeling the weight pull at my words. “Sh-She’s going to blame herself, I know she already does. She thinks she did something wrong o-or that she didn’t love them enough. H-How . . How do I fix her, Mom?”

Shaking her head, for the first time, my mother doesn’t have a word of wisdom to feed me. Standing there, a storm paving its path outside and one having its way with my insides, I try to think of my mom never not having an answer for me. Until now.

“I’ve never suffered a miscarriage, honey . . but I’m not sure how you can fix her. I don’t think that you can or that you should try to. That’s something that she has to do on her own. When your dad and I divorced, it was one of the worst times of my life. Not even right afterwards, but for years before that, knowing what was happening to us . . You just- you have to be there for her, give her space when she wants it, and take care of yourself too. Sometimes, you have to be there when she doesn’t want you to be- I know it’s confusing, but you just have to do your best, honey. You will be okay, maybe not today or next month, but you will find it one day . . I’ll always miss my father and the family that I’ve lost, even my marriage to your father, but I still can find happiness. Everybody grieves differently and in their own way, and it’s okay however you may feel. That’s what matters, to feel it. Don’t hide in your work, Harry, . . or alcohol . . I know you’ve done that before with losing Becky the first time and then, your grandfather. Focus on the things that bring you happiness and take the time you need to heal. You’re going to want to ignore it and not feel it, but you need to . . A-And I don’t know how to say this without sounding insensitive, because nothing could ever replace this baby, but when you’re both ready, you can . . . you know what I mean.”

Pools of tears had collected on the front of my button down long ago, and they only grew wetter now. Heavier. Blinking, I secretly longed for sleep as I ruminate on her words, knowing that she always had an answer for everything. Her own kind of answer. Licking my lips, I part them to speak an answer, but another sound beats me to it. All words are lost when I hear the knock on the door and its opening creak.

“Harry? It’s Dr. Baker,” a voice says. It’s as if a switch was flipped inside of me, and all I can think about is her again. Becks.

“H-Hi. Did everything go alright?” I stammer, turning my body to face the doctor who walks in wearing the same scrubs, a blue cap now fastened around her hair.

“Yes,” she smiles, clutching a clipboard to her chest, making me wonder. “Becky’s out of surgery and everything went just as planned. She’s been in recovery for a while now as she comes out of anesthesia. I suspect she’ll be waking up soon and I think that you should be there when she does. She’s still going to be pretty groggy, but I can take you there now, if you’d like.”

“Y-Yes, of course. Please, I’ve been worried sick about her,” I express, swiping at my cheeks hastily. Remembering my mom, I turn back to her and hug her quickly, hearing her encouraging words in my ear as I follow the doctor to the door.

There I stop when she turns around, a misty look in her eye, “I can’t remember if I’ve said it, but I can’t say how sorry I am to you and Becky, Harry. It’s been such a joy to be with you both on this journey. It’s always my favorite to work with new parents, and to see their excitement . . I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s never easy when one of my patients loses a baby,” Dr. Baker says, forcing a smile as she blinks away the tears filling her eyes.

“Wow, um- thank you so much, from both Becky and I,” is all that I can find to say, especially when I find her hugging me. It’s brief but it knocks the wind out of me, for the hundredth time today. No, I’d never found my way back to breathing safely ever since that phone call. As I stare back at her, both of us lost for words, a few of mine creep out. “How are we supposed to do this? I never imagined this would happen . . I’ve always wanted to make her happy, and now . . I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how we’ll get past this, especially her.”

Nodding, she remains silent save for the way she pats my shoulder, “You’re already doing a great job, a much better one than some of the partners I’ve seen this happen to. You two have something special and that’s what gets you through terrible things like this. You’ll be okay. It may not be for a long time, and I’ll tell you the truth, you’ll always miss them, but you’ll be okay.”

I’m unsure of what else to do but nod my head and follow her out of the room. We turn right and find an elevator, and the moment’s lost. As the numbers fall a few and an electronic beeping fills the small space, she begins to read from her chart. They pass through one ear and out the other, her words about care. It’s only when we’re walking off the elevator and I know that I’m nearing Becks, do the words register with me. I’ll get to take her home later today, once everything is looking good. She’s blunt at times and I think I appreciate it. She’s going to be in some pain, but she’ll prescribe medication and the like to keep Becky comfortable, and it makes me feel like just maybe I can breathe again. It only lasts until she’s honest that she needs to rest as much as possible, and that depression is a danger after something like this. This will all be written down and sent home with us she says, but that for right now, I should go and be with my fiance, she says when we stop in front of a closed door. One that I know Becks is behind this very moment, waiting for me. I won’t keep her any longer, I’ve done it too many times to count now.

I’m not sure which hurt worse, that first time seeing her clinging to life after her accident, or finding her peacefully asleep knowing what had just happened. No, they each hurt in their own unique way, different than the next. I could hardly think about then, knowing the misery that overtook me, and a similar one now as I realized again what we’d lost. We’d lost our child, our baby. In a way, it still didn’t seem real, even as I sat beside her and took her hand in mine. Tears had already begun to paint my face and my lip quivered quicker at the thought of falling back into that hole. This time, there wouldn’t be a ‘phew, that was close’ moment. No, I’d missed that entirely. It had never been a possibility that things would be okay. I’d known it somehow from the second she called me sobbing, because she knew too. Our baby was already gone.

As I tried and failed to swallow past the unmoving lump in my throat, everything was difficult. Seeing clearly was and even when I did, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, just like before. I couldn’t rub the top of her hand with my thumb, because the IV and its tape were in the way. Her rings were gone, and it was unsettling for me, seeing her without her grandma’s two rings, and her engagement ring. The labored sound of her breathing was what occupied my ears, that is if the turning wheel of thoughts wasn’t already.

It went on and on as I watched her sleep, chest rising and falling with each breath assisted by the nasal cannula. It wasn’t long before my fingers were caught in her hair and I was just grateful that she was still here. I sat there, trying to be grateful but it was something I could hardly manage. Of course, I was more than happy that she was still here, but this isn’t how any of it was supposed to go. I was supposed to be a few hours north arguing and winning a case with Myles. She was supposed to spend the day with my sister and her kids, painting nails and making cookies with Harper. Now, what was going to happen? I had no idea at all and there was no pretending that it didn’t absolutely terrify me.

A few minutes later, my heart squeezed when she stirred and her eyes fluttered open, searching the room until they found me. It crumpled when a lazy smile came to her lips and she yawned.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi, buggie. How are you feeling?” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“I’m so tired. Mmmmm,” she sighed. A heaviness clung to her eyes and I knew it wouldn’t be long before she succumbed to it. I wished for it, almost.

“You in any pain, bug?”

“No, why would I be?” she almost giggled, letting her eyes fall shut. The doctor had warned me about this before I walked in, saying she may be a little loopy from the anesthesia. I welcomed it now, dreading the return to reality and all that it would bring. The heartache, something I didn’t want her to experience. “I’m going back to sleep. You’re boring.”

“Sweet dreams, Becks,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her head as the smile faded on her lips. Sniffling, a tear collected at the point of my nose, knowing that the next time she woke up, it would be real again for her. An ache began in my chest just at the thought, knowing what was to come. God, how are we going to do this, I wondered silently and yet ever so loudly as I put my head in my hands, sure there wasn’t a God at all.

I wasn’t certain what it was that I noticed when I first woke up. Was it the electronic beeping that I know too well? My own labored breathing? The odd smell of the place around me? Or was it the warmth around my hand, the only of its kind as a coldness covered the rest of me? The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was him, and the way he brightened. There wasn’t any pause from reality or waiting for it to hit me, because it already had. The look on his face said it for me, if I didn’t already know. No, the moment I woke up I did.

“Hi, buggie. How are you feeling?” Harry murmurs, cupping my cheek with his hand. It looks as if he’d just woken up from a nap himself, but it’s hard to tell for long as he grows blurry in front of me. “Oh, Becks honey.”

“No,” the word repeats from my lips, the weirdest of tastes in my mouth, but it doesn’t compare to the rest of me. More emptiness greets me when my hand darts to my stomach, and I know. “I was supposed to wake up . . . this was all supposed to be a nightmare, and I’d wake up and . . and it’d all be okay. The baby- would be okay,” I wail, overcome by the shaking of my chest as words fight their way out. He’s a blur of movements in front of me, and I don’t know what he’s doing until I feel him beside me.

“I’m here, Becks. I’m here. I’m so sorry, honey,” his voice breaks, and it only makes my hand press harder to my stomach, knowing what isn’t there anymore. Who. “I wish you would have woken up from this nightmare too, that we both could have. It shouldn’t be like this, any of it, and I’m so sorry.”

“I-It’s not your fault,” I whisper, feeling the assault of my tears already coat his neck where I hide my face. He’s careful, moving around the tubing and managing to wrap himself around me in this small bed.

“And it’s not yours, either, bug.”

“It feels l-like it, Harry,” I confess, my hands beginning to cramp at the way I ball his shirt up in my hands. “I should’ve known something might happen . . my feeling. I-It’s my own body, how did I not know something was wrong?”

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known, Becks. The doctor said so. You did everything right - you took all the vitamins, ate good, exercised- you did nothing wrong.”

I try to listen and soak up his words like a sponge, but I don’t feel like one for that. It’s as if I’m a mirror instead, reflecting what he says without taking it in. Shaking my head back and forth, I fight for breath as everything comes back to me. Waking up from the pain and feeling the wetness between- squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I try to forget but I can’t. Nor can I push away the silence when the doctor pressed the ultrasound wand to my abdomen, even though I knew it. I had been hoping I’d be wrong, that my feeling was incorrect for once, but it wasn’t. It never is.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s nobody’s fault. Not yours, not mine, not . . not the baby’s. We can’t blame ourselves, Becks,” his insisting words dance across my head and into my eyes, but I can’t believe them. I wish that I could, lying there feeling like an empty shell, unable to take my hand away from my stomach. But I do, I want to say and yet, I can’t find my voice. It’s somewhere hiding in my loud cries against his shoulder.

Until, my cries took the time to fall silent, and I’m not. Instead, I’m staring into the darkness hiding in the place where his neck and shoulder meet. The faintest of light lives there and if I could see the pattern to his shirt or the bedsheets, I don’t. Nor can I hear the song he sings to me. I can, but not the words soft from his lips, or the sweet things he assures me with. A never ending stream still leaves my eyes, but the ferocity of them has left, and I’ve never felt this empty.

He still whimpered above me when he turned on the tv and I heard the familiar voices of the Friends. I fought between hearing them and Harry’s singing, unable to move from where I was, even when the doctor came in after a while. A different softness had arrived in her voice, but I still refused to move from my favorite hiding place. It was everything I expected to hear, and yet, as I thought about how this was never how today was supposed to go, it wasn’t. He was the first one to break down when she announced she’d found out the gender from some kind of tests I didn’t understand. I remained quiet, and it grew deeper as he sobbed louder when she revealed if we had lost a son or daughter. I couldn’t decide, lying there motionless in his arms, if I had wanted to know. I already did in a way, but when she said it, something resonated inside of me as his heart broke inside of him. Again.

I hadn’t realized that she’d left or that he was talking to me, so removed from this world and in one entirely my own. Why should I return to that one, a world that had hurt me too many times for me to ever count? It had taken away the love of my life on several accounts, and tried to do so permanently. It had pitted us against each other day after day, and now, it had . . it had made our child die inside of me. I couldn’t come back to it but as the sound of his cries found purchase on something inside of me, they grew louder.

“A d-daughter, Becks. We were supposed to have a little girl,” his voice trembled, harder than ocean waves crashing against rocks. Somehow, my own voice was completely still- no, it was absent altogether. It took a walk down that same beach tens of minutes ago, and I was unsure of when it’d come back.

His body shook against my rigid one, and as he took the turn to drench my neck with tears, I lifted my head for the first time from his neck. Opening my eyes was something I didn’t think I could do ten minutes ago or even one, but I did and pointed them at the tv. Harry’s sobs filled my ears and so did the Friends’ voices. Relaxing my hands against his back, a tiredness had taken hold of me long ago. Now, I watched as their story unfolded beside ours as he buried his face in my hair, sobbing for our daughter. Something that I suddenly couldn’t do, and I didn’t even know why.

I despised it, the stillness that had surrounded us and refused to leave. It sat there, even as Harry’s snores threatened it, but it had already claimed me. It found it way inside of me, lying there in that hospital bed beside him, hooked up to beeping machines. Remain it did, when I pretended to listen to the care instructions of the doctor when she returned yet again. It consumed the space between us in the car, even with my hand tucked into his for the entirety of the ride home.

I couldn’t decide if stillness was my friend or my foe as I lay in the downstairs guest bedroom beside him later that night. The sounds of him sleeping had begun long ago, after showers for the both of us and a takeaway dinner I’d hardly eaten. I barely tasted the potatoes and beef of the pot roast meal, or felt the hot water kiss my body. The numbness that had filled my bones when the tears had stopped melts away, thawing into wetness that glides down my cheek. The clock reading midnight stared back at me as my throat tightened, my heart jumping back up it, as I gasped for air. It had been twelve hours since . . since we’d lost our baby. Next, it would be a day, and then . . Curling up into a ball, at last the stillness vanished as every part of me shook with feeling. Every ounce of it returned to me, overdue from the parts of today that I didn’t feel.

His own stillness frightened me, because I couldn’t feel this alone, and as much as I hated to wake him from his ignorant dreams, I had to. Sobbing his name, I scooched across the foreign bed until I was forcing my way into his arms. His snoring halted and then came a sigh.

“Becks,” he murmured, voice drenched with sleep. He moaned while stirring, opening his arms for me. A quietness came to him as my sobs grew in volume, soon finding a place against his chest. “I’m here, buggie. I’m here.”

“But our baby’s not. Wh-Why?” I weeped, feeling the warm metal of his necklace against my cheek. He held me against him, arms snug around me as every bit of stillness left my body. “They’re gone. I just shut down and- our daughter’s gone.”

“I know, honey. I know,” sorrow weighed down on every one of his words. My lips stung from pressing them together so tightly, singing from relief when I chased breaths.

“She’s g-gone . . Why can’t I wake up from this nightmare? I-It’s not fair, Harry, it’s not fair. We don’t deserve this,” every word wicked more strength from me. At last, I relaxed pliantly against him, giving up. “I wanted s-so badly to be her mom, it’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not, Becks. It’s not fair at all . . I wish I could fix it all for you, honey. I’ve never not been able to, but please, don’t disappear from me like that again. You wouldn’t hardly talk to me or look at me. I- I can’t lose you too, buggie,” he cried, sniffles adorning his words as tears filled them.

“I’ll try. I don’t know where I went. It’s like I went somewhere else, because . . because I don’t want to do this. Any of it. I can’t,” they’re the last words that I speak, muffled against his bare chest.

He fell back asleep first, his hand slowly dancing along my back until it stopped, but still I laid there, thinking. It was a long while until I joined him, hoping I’d get to dream about our daughter again, knowing that’s the only place I’d see her.

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Y’all know my theory at this point: when Raph was little he got separated from his family somehow and had to survive on his own for a while; the trauma from this caused him to develop DID.

It’s pretty clear Savage Raph formed specifically out of that isolation/survival trauma, but we met a third alter in “Pizza Puffs”, who I am calling “Red” for now. What’s his deal? When did he form and why?

-----

Raph: These guys are lost without me! Maybe I should help them.

Red: Make them do it themselves. It’s the only way they’ll learn.

Raph: But they’re just kids!

Red: And you can make them men!

-----

Raph: I gotta get in there!

Red: No. They’ll never learn if you always help ‘em, Raph.

Raph: But I can’t just sit here.

Red: This is for their own good.

-----

Raph: I knew you guys could do it.

Red: No you didn’t! I did!

Raph: Oh, you wanna go?

Red: Bring it.

-----

While Savage fronts when Host can’t handle being literally alone, Red spoke up in “Pizza Puffs” because Host was struggling to deal with being sort of... metaphorically alone? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and weren’t taking him or the situation seriously. Normally “it’s not good to be too dependent on others”, “kids need to grow up” and “sometimes you have to do things you don’t like” are good life lessons, but in this particular situation the life lessons should have waited until after the boys weren’t poisoned anymore. Sure, they pulled through, but Raph staying behind added an unnecessary level of risk. There’s a level of disjointedness between Raph and Red that I’m hoping will be explored and resolved in the future.

New alters form when preexisting alters are unable to handle whatever is going on in their life. What situation would Raph have been in for Red to form? When was “be independent/grow up/do something you don’t like” important? "Pizza Puffs” was the first time we’ve seen Raph do a solo mission, but it’s not the first time something like that has been mentioned.

“You went out on your own when you were [Mikey's] age.”

Thirteen is a very lonely age to be. I’m thinking events went something like this: Raph started hitting puberty at around 12/13 and Everything Was Awful. He was suddenly a lot bigger and stronger than he was used to, so he would accidentally break things around the lair more often, or get a little too rough when playing. I know we tend to poke fun at the “nobody understands me and everything sucks” mindset teens fall into, but as a mutant, Raph’s world was so, so small. Disconnected from his brothers, whose minds hadn’t hit the same milestones yet. Disconnected from his father, who would be passed out in the middle of a “Scorpion Treadmill” marathon whenever Raph needed guidance. Disconnected from April, a normal human girl who lived a normal human life he could never have.

Raph’s temper is relatively mellow now, but back then? Under those circumstances? He went too far.

And then he ran off topside, shame and nausea biting at the leftover fury in his heart.

In previous iterations, this is when he would run into a certain masked vigilante. But not in this universe. Not on this night. Casey wasn’t out pummeling pickpockets, she was training at the Foot dojo. They wouldn’t meet until “Hot Soup: The Game”, a couple of years later.

So Raph curled up on a roof somewhere with only his awful, awful thoughts for company. His little brother had been so scared of him... he couldn’t go back and face his family after what he had almost done. But he couldn’t stay up here alone either. What could he do?

Grow up.

He’s stronger now, and he has to be braver, too. He knows the way back home and there’s nothing out here that can hurt him. He can stand to be alone for a bit.

But he can’t stay here forever. He’ll have to go back home and do what he can to make things right, no matter how much it hurts.

So Red breathed in the cold night air for a while, and then retraced his steps back to the lair.

-----

But how are Raph and Casey going to properly meet? We saw her get kidnapped by that shadow thingy at the end of “Always Be Brownies”, so the resolution to that whole situation should be involved somehow.

Draxum gave Big Mama an orb covered in clawed, three-fingered hands. Then we see that Big Mama’s new assistant has such hands, as does the entity that took Meat Sweats and Casey. Clearly Big Mama is having her assistant kidnap people to fight in her “Fantabulous Battle Nexus Wizbang”. The turtles will be pulled into this because you can’t just not have your protagonists participate in the tournament arc.

We have yet to see Casey go well and truly Apeshit, because her previous fights have always had a certain level of shenanigans to them. Mikey fought her with an umbrella and a beach ball. Leo shoved a portal under her feet. She accidentally slashed up a corpse flower and fell into the goo. Her bonding moment with Splinter made her less willing to fight. The FBNW will give her the opportunity to show us what she can really do by pitting her against an opponent who is no-nonsense, one hundred percent ready to throw down.

Who could possibly be a better opponent for her than Savage Raph? (Perhaps Big Mama’s shadow captured the Sando Brothers, and they gave Big Mama information on a better fighter in exchange for their freedom?)

The two are evenly matched, of course, but the fight gets interrupted by the other turtles causing a mass breakout thanks to Leo’s emergency leader skills. Savage runs into his brothers amidst the chaos and they get Host to switch back in again. They defeat Big Mama and her shadow together and head home, yay huzzah plot concluded.

Casey, forgotten, also escapes and sneaks off to brood somewhere.

-----

A few episodes later, Red slips away to cool off for a bit (a habit that formed when he did, a way to decompress whenever they felt their temper getting the better of them) and happens to see some hockey mask-wearing lunatic picking fights with pickpockets. He hops down and holds her back, letting the would-be thieves get away with their skulls intact. “Listen, I get that you’re mad, but you can’t just go around-” And then he gets a baseball bat to the head.

"Back for round two, are you?!”

Red shakes the stars out of his eyes. That voice sounds familiar. “Hey, I don’t wanna fight you! Pops told us you left the Foot, we don’t have to be enemies anymore! Your heart’s in the right place with this whole crimefighting thing, but you’re going too far.”

Casey laughs a laugh that’s more taunt than humor. “Crimefighting? You think that’s what this is?” She gestures at the direction the thieves went with her scuffed and bloody bat. “This is training! You ran from our fight in the Nexus and I have been itching to beat you ever since. Die, coward!”

Red just barely manages to dodge the second bat swing. “What are you talking about? I never even saw you in the Nexus!”

They trade blows for a bit, Red’s attempts to calm her drowned by Casey screaming and cursing out this “lying turtle scum”. “Where is your fury? What happened to your viciousness? Why won’t you give me a real fight this time? Why are you holding back?!”

Her voice fades and all Red hears is the high shrieks and low roars of a crowd, harsh lights dulling the twin moons set in the green sky above as she lunges towards him and-

The bat hits his side with such force that the wood cracks a little, knocking the wind out out him despite his sturdy shell.

Casey stops bludgeoning him to better focus on gloating. “That move didn’t work on you last time. Did the first hit scramble your brains?”

Red kicks her feet out from under her and bolts, running back to the lair as quickly as he can manage with his head full of sights and sounds he can’t quite grab onto.

-----

Leo had stayed up to wait for his brother to return, so he grabs the first aid kit the moment Red emerges from the sewer tunnel. He starts to ask what happened as he unspools a roll of bandages, but Red asks a question instead. "What happened at the Nexus while I was... gone?"

Leo knows what he means, and the sun starts to rise as he fills in the gaps in his brother's memory.

-----

Casey’s ankle is twisted from Red's kick, so she can’t run after him for more than a few steps before falling over. Limping back home, she puts on her motivational Lou Jitsu playlist and begins to scheme.

---

For the record, I do think Raph and Casey will eventually become friends. But in the meantime... what kind of superhero doesn’t have a nemesis? :)

[risingsouls]

Conversations 6

[There I did it. It’s not overtly romantic but you know. More self-indulgent but shorter than the others have been xD]

"I almost killed you once."

Nabooru snorted, somehow more amused than unsettled by Vegeta's statement. "Do you say that to all the pretty girls or am I just special?"

"You're special." He regretted the response immediately when she shot him a smirk and a wink. "Tch, don't be foolish. Only in the way that I don't say that to others these days. Think it or something similar, perhaps..."

She sat down and unstrapped her heels, sliding them off her feet and dropping them off to the side of the couch. Earlier she had participated in a series of fights for Nappa, to which she had extended the invitation to Vegeta to stop by if he felt like it. To her surprise, he had shown up and watched her with Nappa in his sky box, an escort she arranged with the burly fighter chosen to vet the prospective audience members at the door. A risk, she knew, considering their history, but it was the best place for him to be away from the mob of fans and gamblers scrambling to make a buck on how well or horribly she fought. He hadn't killed him, even after the three of them ventured out for a few drinks, so she supposed things didn't go too badly.

"Mmhmm. You coming to watch me fight tonight as well as stomaching Nappa as long as you did suggests otherwise." She chuckled and the glare he pinned her with suggested he might have been considering ending her life in that moment. "When was it you almost killed me? Not recently I hope. I thought we were getting along."

“No, it wasn’t recently. At least not seriously.” Vegeta shrugged the leather jacket he had donned for and slung it over the corner of the couch. One of the few articles of Earth’s clothing he didn’t mind wearing when the occasion called for it. Not that anyone at the arena would have taken much offense or undue curiosity to his armor or training clothes, considering. It may have drawn more stares at the bar the Gerudo and his former advisor dragged him to afterward, however. More than the furtive glances toward their secluded table tucked in the corner the gargantuan Saiyan drew. The foolish men who dreamed of having a chance with Nabooru gawking at her and drooling over her from afar. He was simply glad it remained distant, save for a singular instance at the bar when she fetched their drinks; he didn’t know if it was her practiced and amusing strategy of not giving their flirtations a response or the glowering and intimidating company she kept that ensured they remained at bay.

“I guess there’s that at least,” she responded. “What brought on the need to tell me that, though? And when was it you thought you wanted to murder me? And why?”

A repressed or at the very least forgotten memory until a few hours before while watching her fight a horde of fighters hoping to score a few zeni with every hit they landed (there weren’t many; he learned later the few that did connect were purposefully allowed for business and entertainment purposes, which made far more sense concerning his knowledge of the woman’s combat prowess). Watching her had become nearing habitual, and he attributed it to nothing more than the close quarters of the dwelling that he had gradually made his temporary home over the past month or so. When she walked. When she fought him or ran through her own drills. When she stretched before spars or on the living room floor because she never sat still for very long without something occupying her. The more than few times she _insisted_ on completing her beauty regimen before joining him for training and he had perched himself on the corner of her bed, silently observing as she applied her makeup and dragged a brush in long strokes through smooth tresses before tying it up high on her skull. If she noticed any of it before he could pretend to look elsewhere, she kept her comments to herself. Something he wished Nappa had the good grace to do earlier that evening instead of making a lewd comment about his gaze trailing her as she crossed the bar to the restrooms on the other end.

The day in question he had been watching her, too. Though surrounded through nearly the entire duration of the event, he only saw her. Just as he had that day when he stood atop a plateau, a one man audience as she battled invisible enemies with a skill and ferocity that, in his right mind, he would have found impressive for a supposed Earthling. As he considered spilling her blood for no other reason than he could.

“It was after the Cell Games. When I was...figuring it all out.” He knew he didn’t need to explain the meaning of it; she had drawn the finer points of that statement out of him previously. “I spotted you training out in the desert, alone. I thought about challenging you to a spar, beating you, and killing you. Just to feel like the powerful destroyer again and not like the failure I felt I was.”

Had he admitted this earlier in their acquaintanceship, when she considered him a stranger who could easily pull that off if inclined, discomfort might have turned her stomach to lead and squirmed around beneath her skin. Nabooru was no stranger to threats, doling them out or being subjected to them herself, both on Earth and on her home planet from friend and foe alike. The difference here was that then and, to a lesser extent, now, she doubted she would have been able to fend off this particular desire to snuff out her life. However, the tale did little to crack the calm and comfort she had developed around him, for better or for worse; she had a better understanding of him, his mindset then and now through the conversations they had that often delved into the more difficult topics and intricacies of their situations than either of them typically offered anyone else. Not that anyone asked in her case, and she didn’t doubt his was dissimilar in that realm.

Instead, her easy smile remained on her lips. “I bet you’re glad you didn’t. You wouldn’t have gotten to learn just how truly incredible I am.” She laughed softly in the midst of the roll of his eyes, and, perhaps she imagined the flicker of a smile flash over his own visage. “But, in all seriousness, I can’t blame you.”

She pulled the hair tie from her locks and slipped it over her wrist. “The circumstances are pretty different but...well, you know how even now Avira still can’t help but scowl at me any time we’re within ten feet of each other, right? Well that’s not exactly a new tick she developed here.” It would be more shocking to Nabooru if the Soldier’s Bane ever genuinely smiled at her, in fact. “She’s despised me since I was eight and my combat instructors moved me up to train with the older girls for a proper challenge since I was outgrowing my peers with my skill. She hated that I became the youngest in recent history to be initiated as a Gerudo warrior, and she hated it more when I beat her out for the Second in Command position. To her, Valis, and a few others they could convince, I could never do right. They always had some reason my ideas were unsound or foolish, and did whatever they could to undermine me, even when I took over as leader.

“In our culture, anyone could challenge a leader or even a king to combat if they thought they were unfit to rule, no questions asked. Death was the penalty for losing for either side, and the request could not be refused,” she continued, stretching her legs out and propping her feet on the table between them. “I’m sure you can see where this is going. Avira challenged me. Stupidly, considering she had never once bested me in a fight. I guess she thought the Kavi Dorova and the injuries I sustained might have weakened me. Or she simply believed in her cause, that I wasn’t right for the Gerudo and that she had the gods on her side, perhaps. 

“No matter her reasoning, it pissed me off. When I defeated her, I wanted nothing more than to kill her as was customary. To prove a point to her, to everyone else would question whether or not I truly wanted the best for our people or question my strength as a warrior. To feel strong. To know I could strike down more than monsters that stood in my way.” Unlike for Vegeta she imagined, that darkness that invaded her consciousness as Avira knelt before her, yellow eyes alight and her expression as defiant as ever, had frightened her and stilled her hand. “I spared her, obviously. Something she probably resents me for since it went against our laws. She thought it was because I couldn’t do it, that I was a coward. And maybe she wasn’t completely wrong. Our people were already in danger and our numbers small enough without taking one more of them over our differences, and the rift of Ganondorf’s arrest and my promotion had basically split the tribe in two. She was our next best fighter, too. If we did end up in a war, I would need her strength.”

“You showed her mercy. Not that she deserved it, it seems.” Better than he did with his own dwindled race. Refused to revive Raditz if they got the chance. Killed Nappa for falling to Kakarot, even though he would himself not hours later. A decision he tried to forget he questioned on more than one occasion as he laid half dead on the floor of the gravity chamber or staring at the dark ceiling of his room at Capsule Corp. or considered what it might have been like to have the oaf around once in a while to talk to, someone that understood where he came from. Not that it mattered any more; the idiot had been revived on some fluke or another for over a decade now. “I wouldn’t have.”

Nabooru wasn’t sure if he was talking about being in her shoes with Avira or showing her mercy had he followed through with the violent thought he had that day, or whether he spoke generally or specifically about something else entirely. “Maybe she didn’t,” she acquiesced, tracing the seam of her jeans along her outer thigh. She chewed her lip; the topic her mind slipped to was one that neither he nor Nappa ever humored her on. And with the two finally sharing the same physical space, she had wondered once more how the two felt about the prince murdering the man who had shown him nothing but loyalty. Would he make the same decision today?

“It’s sort of like with Nappa, though. Only you--”

“Killed him. Yes.” Vegeta narrowed his dark eyes. “He could no longer fight, so he was no longer useful.”

Nabooru took that as her cue to drop it. Maybe there really was no more to it than that. The Saiyans were a warrior race like her own, and for the three that survived their planet’s destruction and served Frieza, their might was all he found useful. Perhaps if Vegeta hadn’t done it, someone else would have.

“What did you and Nappa talk about, anyway?” A compromise to the answers that truly piqued her curiosity. “You didn’t kill him this time. Or did you two just awkwardly sit in silence?”

Vegeta huffed. “Nothing important. Mostly what we have been doing all this time. Why we stayed on Earth. What you would expectl.” The corner of his lips twitched upward. “He was surprised you still agreed to fight for him since you’ve been training with me. Thought fighting a bunch of fools who couldn’t even harness ki would bore you, money be damned.”

“He’s not completely wrong. It is incredibly lackluster compared to sparring with you. I just have to make it fun.” She shrugged. “The money is good and I get to show off the skills I’m most proud of. Plus that, the time I fought in the World Martial Arts Tournament, and the few interviews and modeling opportunities I’ve had has inspired more girls on this planet to learn to fight, even if just for self-defense. And Nappa’s not so bad. Most of the time. He saw me as a warrior from the moment we met. I needed that back then.”

“Tch, no wonder you two get along. You’re both a couple of saps.” He ignored the twinge of jealousy over their bond. The one he had witnessed at the bar and one not so unlike the now broken one he used to share with the Saiyan general. “He tried to convince me to fight for him. He’s lucky he didn’t end up as ashes for it.”

Nabooru laughed, her imagination drumming up the comical sequence of how that conversation went over. “It’s good you refused, anyway.” She winked. “Your job is to train and get stronger. I would hate to embarrass you like I did Nappa, surpassing you right under your nose.”

“Don’t make me laugh. The day you surpass me is the day I’m dead.” He could admire her ambition, at least, no matter how unfounded. Though, her words brought him back to one of their previous conversations. Another instance where he spilled likely entirely too much to her while she soaked in the bath and he sat on her toilet, armor in tatters and frustrated with the messy corner he had backed himself into. He folded his arms over his chest. “Speaking of jobs and our training, I thought about your offer.”

Nabooru sat up straighter, her heart inexplicably skipping a beat. “Oh?”

“I want the house. I don’t plan on staying here forever, nor do I plan to return to my old living situation.”

She didn’t know how to describe the myriad of emotions that washed over her. Relief over his decision to forge a path all his own, controlled by no one. Hope for his future as a warrior. A smidge of excitement over having the house to herself once more. But another rode on their backs: the sinking, hollow feeling of that loneliness, even as she reasoned that his absence would not be permanent. After only a month, had she really grown that used to him living there? His company, the comfortable silences? The chats that ran late into the night because it turned out neither of them excelled at sleeping? Teaching each other about the war tactics and strategy they grew up using, paper with etchings of battle lines often littering the table? The ego-boosting stares that he thought she didn’t notice? The undeniable eye candy he offered her, likely without intending to do so?

Despite that, she managed a smile and clapped her hands together. “Well, that’s good.” She shifted to one side and pulled her capsule case out of her back pocket. She popped it open and selected one of the capsules, tossing it over to Vegeta. “I’m not sure what I would have done with this otherwise. Maybe just kept a second house on an island somewhere. I do like the beach.”

The prince caught the capsule and turned it over in his hand. Her aptness for reading him, understanding him, bordered on uncanny if not creepy. But that could be because he wasn’t used to it. He didn’t hate it, not particularly.

“This is in no way me kicking you out, by the way,” Nabooru went on, earning a snort from Vegeta as he pocketed the capsule. “Take your time figuring out where you want to put it and all that. You’re still welcome to stay here until you do. It’s already furnished, and I made sure it would hopefully suit your tastes: boring and plain. It’s pretty much like mine, layout wise, though the spare room I left empty so you could do what you want with it.”

“Sounds a little to me like you don’t want me to leave.” His smirk widened. “Was all the bluster about this not being permanent just a ruse?”

Nabooru rolled her eyes and ignored the heat in her cheeks. “I meant it. I’ve missed not having a short, grumpy Saiyan with a bottomless pit for a stomach stalking around my house.” Her own smirk returned. “And walking around naked whenever I want.”

Damn her. “Must you be so lewd?” he growled, pinning his focus to a smudge on his boot than her or the images his mind supplied to actualize her suggestion. “I never stopped you from doing that, anyway. You made that decision.”

Nabooru rose to her feet and stretched, arms lengthened above her head. “You wouldn’t have been as productive if I wandered around without clothes.” Her arms dropped again, and she rested her a hand on her hip, leaning her weight into it. “Besides, like I said before: seeing me naked is a privilege, not a right. You have to earn it.”

He had to ignore the implied challenge and his instinct to rise and meet it at that very moment. Asking what that entailed, exactly. He refused to play her game or let her win it, allowing her to rile him up like she had a stupid affinity for. He stood himself, suddenly keen on changing out of the damn Earth clothes for just about anything else. He headed for the hallway. “I’m going to bed.”

Nabooru giggled behind her hand and followed suit, sliding past him to get to her own bedroom. “Goodnight, Vegeta. Training in the morning?”

The Saiyan nodded and disappeared into his room, door slamming behind him.

[svrssnp]

Tag-Along🃏 - Joker x Reader [H.L.]

Summary: You convince the Joker to bring you along for a small heist operation, yet nothing is ever so easy, is it?

Rating: T / violence, light swearing, death / it’s the joker bby

Word Count: ~3,400 (oof)

Comments: if you wanna be updated for future joker fics, lemme know and i’ll create a tag list. also!! requests are open, so stop in! i have just been so grateful and overwhelmed from such a positive response regarding the first fic, so thank you all :,)

Joker didn’t have rules for you, or him, or anyone. But he did have principles—those trains of thought that wrecked their way into his mind—the little obsessions that he clung to, his own personal philosophy.

One of them, the one that you always heard, was his most serious: never cross business and pleasure.

But Joker had been aggravated as of late.

Coming home early, while you didn’t mind at all, flew up red flags. His private musings were longer than usual, as he hastily hung up phone much more aggressive lately. And every so often, while you were making breakfast or getting ready for bed, he’d come up from behind and rest his head on your shoulder, saying nothing but deeply sighing in discontent—the way a bored toddler would.

While appreciated, the gesture made you nervous. All in all, the Joker was bored, and if he didn’t have a decent enough distraction soon, you worried that his men—or you, even—would pay for it.

Grumbling in the hallway or stomping his feet too loudly accompanied him everywhere in the last few days, so when you’d seen him sitting at the vanity later in the day smearing on the white greasepaint across his forehead, you decided to take a gamble.

“So... what exactly are you doing tonight?” you asked with a knock on the door, looking in the mirror’s reflection to gauge his reaction.

His hand never stopped applying the paint, now reaching up to craft the haphazard black circles around his eyes. “Simple inventory restock. Need a few bazookas—Gotham’s armory should have a few to, ah, borrow.” The words were so nonchalant as he moved his head to see if there were any missing spots.

You walked into the room, innocent as could be. “Sounds a bit boring for you, isn’t it?”

He turned around with a grin, looking like a skeleton with only the white and black—eyes seeped into his skull.

“You’re beginning to know me so well, doll. Now,” he leaned against the vanity and offered up the red tube, “come over here and put a smile on my face, hmm?”

You raised your eyebrows, plucking the tube from his hand as you performed the little intimacy between the two of you. His lips puckered up mockingly as you traced them.

As you carved out the red smile, you couldn’t help but mimic it. Touching his scars had seemed so daunting of a task at first, but now... it was nice of him, you guessed, to allow one vulnerable aspect to show.

Joker seemed to enjoy the moment also, slowly closing his eyes at the familiarity, leaning his head back in relaxation.

He looked content. Almost.

The good atmosphere gave you the courage you needed. Clutching the lipstick a tad bit harder than necessary, you let slip, “Why don’t you bring me along, then?”

Immediately, his brows furrowed in confusion, and an eye popped open to look at you. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” you hesitated, taking a shaky breath while your hand curled to form the wide smile, “you’ve been restless lately... Something has obviously been bothering you! So I just thought—“

“No, no, no, no, no,” he shook his head and grabbed your wrist in hand, halting you. “Tell me, doll, have you been planning out this argument in your head all day, or did you just think up this terrible question now?”

“All day,” you said, pulling your hand away roughly, but Joker held tight, unyielding. “Because you’ve been so obviously upset all week.”

“And explain to me—no, really, go on,” he hissed, lunging down, “how you accompanying me to a heist would fix this?”

You huffed, throwing the lipstick down. “God forbid I try to cheer you up with something different.”

His other hand looped around your waist, pulling you in between his legs as he held you between them, then taking both his hands to grab your face, he pulled you close, as if your heads closer would transfer his exact thoughts.

“I do forbid it,” he whispered, lips almost touching your own, “and you know perfectly well why. I like you here, safe and untouchable—from all except me, of course—because you risking your neck is a liability, and I protect what’s mine.”

“Liar,” you said quickly, as you started going cross-eyed by looking him directly in the eyes so closely. “You let your men die all the time.”

He tsked, disregarding them quickly. “They aren’t, they’re aren’t mine. They’re their own mistakes. And I don’t clean up mistakes, I just direct them.”

“Oh, so what? I’m pure to you?”

“The purest,” Joker mumbled, voice growing dangerously deep as he leaned in to finally connect you two.

It was a shock—both physically and mentally. Every interaction with him was mental gymnastics. Every kiss was like an electric charge. It exhausted you, excited you.

You reached a hand up then to deepen the kiss, but that had been his queue to stop.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t get so hot on me when I have to leave,” he said, leaning away with a smack of his lips.

“But—“

“Hush,” Joker insisted, redirecting your head to press against his chest in an attempt to keep you quiet. His one hand looped around to pat your hair down. “I only want you to understand my point of view. Business and pleasure don’t mix.”

“But you said the business was simple!” you retorted, lifting your head up. “And you haven’t been very pleasant lately!”

“Doll, I am fine. In fact,” he licked his lips, already cracking the paint, “a smile never leaves my face!”

You didn’t think it possible, but when he smiled he managed to look even more unhappy.

“This isn’t just about you, you know... Maybe I want to accompany you because I’d like to,” you said, trying an entirely different approach to hopefully speak to his ego. “Maybe I’d like to see the your working side—the side that everyone else sees.”

At that, Joker grinned, already playing out all the fantasies in his mind. A laugh sounded from him until he waved a finger at you. “Hmph, you’re trying. You’re tempting me.”

“Come on,” you whined. “I know heists aren’t anything new for you—they’re boring!—but maybe with me it will be?”

You were grasping at straws, but you could see him cracking. A final push was all that was needed.

“Let’s say you go,” Joker pushed away, leaving you behind at the vanity while he threw on his dusty trench coat over top. “What will happen? You distract me in front of the men? You trip over a live wire? What?”

You started at him blankly while he began fitting on his gloves with a hard slap of the skin.

“Because the way I see it—the right way—is that you’ll distract me, get me going, make me...” he rolled his eyes at the thought of even saying the word, “emotional.”

And with that case of his, all your arguments flew out the window. Your mind struggled to come up with something that might appeal to him.

“Don’t you... um, want?” you cleared your throat, knowing this was a long shot. “To, well, show me off?“

“And have their eyes have the fortune of seeing you?” he purred, opening up the door to leave. “Never.”

“What if—“ you were going to argue, going to call him a name or throw a tantrum, but the more you thought, it just wasn’t worth it. The original goal was to make him feel better, after all, not worse. So you cut yourself off, arms falling to your side in defeat. “Fine.”

“You’re not going,” Joker said pointedly as he straightened his tie. “I’ll be back in a few hours where you will be asleep and not waiting up for me. Do you understand?”

You bit down on your tongue to prevent anything other than “Yes” to slip out.

“Good,” Joker replied, ruffling his hair up last-minute while he glanced at himself in a mirror. “You surprised us all and proven you can follow orders given—that’s important,” he mocked.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, turning your back to go get a shower. “Have fun stealing your bazookas.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, mimicking that of an old 1950s sitcom husband. “Oh, and one more thing?” You were about to leave the room, but stopped. “Get your shoes on—I’ve decided you’re coming along and that’s an order.”

Your mouth dropped, and frantically you slipped on a pair of shoes before you followed his laugh out the door.

——————————

To your surprise, you kept silent the entire drive. Joker proved himself to be a truly terrible driver—speeding in all the wrong places and swerving when completely unnecessary—but you had a feeling he was only showing off his failed skills to scare you.

Even he seemed impressed when the van finally parked outside in an alley two blocks down and not a word was uttered.

Without warning, he got out, flinging open the back van doors to get some bags. After throwing two over his shoulder, he tossed something at you.

“A mask?” your nose scrunched up at the painted clown face staring up at you. It was all chipped off too, as if someone else had worn it.

Joker threw you a look, grabbing various guns and dropping them into multiple pockets. “Put it on. Last thing I need is for your face to be dripping in greasepaint too.”

“Would I be able to get a fancy alter-ego then?” you laughed as you slipped it on and began to match his stride down the alley. “Though not a clown. Definitely not. I like you and all, but the idea of couple crime costumes is—hmph!”

His hand flew against your mouth, arms caging around you and throwing both of you towards the brick wall. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t necessarily feel him tense up. Joker was just on guard.

“Now,” he hissed in your ear, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheak, “there is a camera right around there,” he waved in a general direction ahead. “I am going to dismantle it and you,” he squeezed tighter, “are going to keep quiet and follow dutifully behind. Alright?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t let go. “Mm, mm, mm, no words! Nod.”

After nodding yes, he let go, stalking forward with a pistol in one hand and a bouncy step in his foot.

His eyes scanned the area around you two, and he must have found what he was looking for because quickly, he raised the pistol and shot, shattering some little black orb on the side of the building.

“And there goes... our... audience,” he hummed, arm hanging back down to his side.

“How did you even see that?” you muffled against the mask, eyes squinting to find what he apparently had.

“With my two eyes, doll, with my two eyes,” he muttered, slipping the gun back in his pocket. “Now, climb that ladder instead of stalking me.”

“Admiring. Observing,” you insisted. “And... why me first? There could be someone at the top waiting.”

“There could be,” he conceded, but didn’t shy away from placing your hand on the first rung, “and if there is, that’d certainly mean that they’d learn from their mistakes. But,” he clicked his tongue, “they’re not as smart as that.”

You sighed, “It’d make me feel better if you had your gun out... all the same.”

“How can I say no to that?” Joker smiled, pulling out a short shotgun and resting it over his shoulder. “Now scat.”

He poked you in the back with the nose of the gun, and with a grumble you began climbing.

The building wasn’t too tall—only a few stories high —but the wind nipped with it being so late in the night, and you kept having to push the too-big mask back on your face.

Before you climbed the last few rungs to look over, you hesitated, knuckles turning white from your cold grip.

You looked down at Joker. A toothy smile with crinkling eyes meet you while he lazily held on with a hand, rocking back ‘n forth on his heels. Hair and jacket billowing in the air, he didn’t look the least bit worried.

“Promise me there’s no one up here waiting for us?” you whispered.

“Cross my heart and hope to die~” he sang, gun swinging in his hand, “though, that’s how I always am.”

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, your hands grabbed the rooftop, hoisting yourself up to throw a leg over, and—

He was right, of course.

Feeling like a baby once he made it up also, Joker couldn’t not take the opportunity to tease.

“No one here. See?” he said, ruffling your hair obnoxiously. “Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time with me. You’re starting to get a little, ah, dramatic.”

“It’s not funny,” you muttered as he shot the door lock off with a silencer.

“Relax, doll. Aren’t you here to entertain me on this bring-your-kid-to-work day experience?” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Bad manners...”

“I’m a kid?” you scoffed, following him down the stairwell the door opened to. “I think not enough people know the truth.”

“Of?”

“Just how young you look underneath all that war paint. We almost look like a proper couple.”

Joker stopped immediately, holding out his hand to throw you a nasty look. “Talk like that again and we won’t be anything for much longer.”

Repressing a smile, you held up a hand to show him zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key. That seemed to appease him as you both continued on.

Though the further down you got, the more serious he seemed to become. Joker took greater care with his steps and turned back every few seconds to assure that you were doing the same. Several flights later, and the two of you exited the stairwell, working your way into a hallway. After a confusing amount of turns, you found yourself at a foyer with an opening looking down to the main floor of the building.

Two guards were down there, as far as you could tell, at least. One posted at the door, and another sat behind the main desk. Either way, their backs were turned from each other and they seemed like easy targets from an objective point of view.

Except that they had automatics strapped against their back.

Joker looked at them uncaring, as if he were a god looking down on mere mortals.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be this quiet,” you whispered after a few seconds of silence and him patting down his pockets to find something.

“I’m usually not,” he said with a hint of a whine in his voice. “If I were with my men, we’d have just gone through the front door—play a game of shoot out. But with you, I thought it best that we be the only ones in attendance.”

“That’s considerate,” and you had to hold back a laugh at his look of disgust. “Though we aren’t the only ones. There’s also these two guards.”

At that, Joker found what he was looking for and pulled out yet another gun, flipping a lock and pulling the trigger before you even had a chance to comprehend what was happening.

“One,” he corrected, as the guard sitting behind the desk slumped back in his chair, Joker’s bullet firing right through his head silently. You gasped, but Joker just had a bemused look on his face. “Learn to count.”

Your mouth fell open upon seeing the man lie completely still, a faint trail of red running down his white shirt. Joker grabbed your arm, leading you around the foyer to a new angle where you could both better see the other guard by the door. He was totally calm.

“I know, I know,” Joker said upon seeing your shocked state. “Shooting people’s the dull way, and all work and no play makes me a dull boy, but we’re not here for a thrill. Just goods.”

You shook your head, not quite expecting everything to move so quickly. “Can I ask a question?”

“My face is an open book.”

You reached out your hand to him, needing something to hold onto with all the terrifying possibilities of what exactly could happen tonight racing in your mind. “Were you ever like me, at one point?” you whispered, feeling so much dread pool in your stomach. “Did you ever feel like I do right now?”

“Look at me,” Joker kneeled down to be eye-level with you. A gloved hand came up to lay against your cheek as he hummed, licking his lips once. “How do you feel?”

Your eyes flicked down to the dead man. “Guilty.”

“At me, not him,” and he turned your head to his. “Life is, ah, subjective. The codes that people live by—they made them, doll. Not anything else. So the definitions of good and bad?” His fist tightened before flexing, showing an empty hand. “They vanish.”

“Joker, I know this already,” you murmured, pulling your cheek away. “You’ve said this all before. There’s just a difference between hearing and actually seeing it.”

He frowned at you, and you tried your best not to feel bad at how frustrated he was, fists coiling up once more. “Look, look there,” he spit harshly, pointing a finger at the guard standing by the door. “That man right there, with the automatic strapped to his back. Would you kill him?”

“Joker...”

“If I asked you to, would you do it?”

You looked over the balcony, mouth set in a frown to see how young and healthy the guy looked. “He seems like a nice family guy,” was all you said.

But Joker didn’t care, snapping his fingers. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, alright?” you hissed at him, stalking away from the balcony. “What kind of question is that? If it was between you and him shooting at each other or something, then obviously I’d try to save you.”

“But would you kill him?” Joker pressed on, following you regardless of the glared you fixed him with. His eyes looked darker than usual, pupils blown wide. He circled you, looking up and down. “Because I’d kill them all—you know that. That family man that you feel bad about? If he even so much as glanced—BANG!“

“You’d do that on any day.”

Joker made a noise, pinching the back of your neck to make you jump into him. His eyes narrowed in on your scared form, holding an amused expression. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, releasing with a loud pop of the lips. An apology.

“Stay here then, doll. I’ll finish off our, ah, family man,” he cleared his throat and only smiled at your sad face, “then grab what we came for.”

Then he was walking away, opening the door to the stairwell and ready to slip out until you stopped him.

“You’ll be right back?”

“Ten minutes,” he announced, crossing his fingers in a promise and holding them up for you to see before he kicked shut the door and left you alone. “Ten minutes.”

So you waited, a chill seeping its way down your spine at the silence around you. The feeling of being watched threatened all comfort that you had when Joker was around, and it eventually got to the point where you almost dared to get up and pace. You couldn’t sit still.

After a few minutes, you took a deep breath and peaked over the balcony. Sure enough, family man was dead, laying on his stomach.

More minutes passed, and although you didn’t get the exact count right, you knew it had to be longer than ten minutes by now. Yes, your nerves were jumpy, and even then short minutes felt like an hour, but you just knew.

But you sat still, because you also knew that he’d be back, and the last thing you needed was to take one false step and set off anything.

Until you heard a gunshot. Heard it. You never heard Joker. He didn’t work like that.

Again, you waited for a few seconds to see if any sound followed, but it was silent.

So you ran, struggling to carry yourself with shaky legs. Your hand clutched the gun as you trudged down stories of stairs trying to find any indication of where he might be, but there was none.

You made your way down to the main floor, trying your best to avoid the sight of the two dead men. Finally, as you roamed, you found another set of stairs leading downward. The door was hanging open, so you walked slowly, gun out in front. You barely knew how to use it, but you figured the last thing Joker would do is have the safety lock on.

So you’d just have to point and pull, right?

You crept, winding your way to the basement component. Here, the lights were neon bright, illuminating everything in a sick glow reminding you of a hospital. You felt light-headed suddenly, wondering where Joker had gone.

Your sights narrowed in to another room, one looking like an entrance to a safe due to all of the fancy gadgets surrounding it.

God, you just wanted to run, to get in the van and keep driving. It was probably best to leave Gotham all together.

But he could be hurt. What if he was hurt?

Much less suave than you would have liked, you crept into the safe. You saw another dead man. It looked like he was stabbed in the neck also, as his one hand, now frozen, was on his throat, as if trying to do the bleeding.

You glanced down at his other hand and saw a gun lying right next to it, his finger still practically on the trigger.

It happened in slow-motion—seeing him. All the events seemed to stall in your brain, struggling to make sense of what you saw. You only turned your head a quarter of the way when you saw another crumbled body on the ground.

And there lie Joker.

Red painted the floor around him, blood going this way and that. The bags, filled with those stupid, stupid bazookas, were right next to them near his forgotten trench coat, revealing all the knives he’d loved like children.

His eyes were shut—thank God—because you’d scream if you had to see his eyes like... that, devoid of everything.

Everything of him was gone.

Your mind went into a frenzy, running after him. But it wasn’t fast enough, nothing you did was enough now.

His name spilled from your lips a thousand times as you kneeled down, hands going to his hair, his face, his arms, and tie—anything to anchor him to you. You shook his frantically, begging him to get up, to have any consciousness left. But all that did was cause even more of his poorly dyed green hair to fall in the red puddle coming out from him.

“Joker...” you gasped, bringing you head down to rest on his chest, straining to hear a heartbeat.

Nothing.

“Joker, please. Please, please, please...” Cries escaped your lips as you looked down upon him. His lips were parted, and you had to hold back a sob at how broken he looked. The scars stretched his face so unnaturally then, making his corpse look inhuman.

He looked like a monster, laying in blood with knives and scars surrounding him.

“This is all my fault,” you choked out, giving into gravity and falling into him completely. Burying your face into his dress shirt, you breathed in the awful smokey scent that always accompanied his suits. That you’d always complained about. “I shouldn’t have been here... You shouldn’t be here! We should be home! We should be... be...

“We should have done more. Should have left this stupid, stupid city. You—you weren’t supposed to die here, damn it! DAMN IT, JOKER, COME BACK!” Your hands started shaking, and you had to pull away at how angry you felt, how... how beaten down.

But you couldn’t move far. Those hands had always managed to find a way to pull you in. That face had always managed to convince you to stay. That voice...

“This can’t be the end. It can’t. You can’t die like this—like, like some person.” Then suddenly your hands were in his hair, wiping it away from his forehead to view him again, to remember those smile lines and forehead wrinkles.

Panic started to rise once you thought of what to do next. You couldn’t carry him to the van, and even if you did, what then? Did you contact his men, telling them what happened? Did you leave him here?

But you didn’t want to give up, to walk away from everything he’d shown you. He wouldn’t leave.

“You’re better than them. You said you were. And I thought so too… so don’t die like them.”

Leaning down, you pressed your lips to his forehead—so painfully similar like he’d done to you only twenty minutes before—and had to hold back yet another sob.

“Say it’s just a bad joke,” you whispered into his hairline, not daring to open your eyes to face the truth once again. “Say it.”

Until a voice filled with so much offense replied back, sending a bolt of electricity through your being, sending feeling back into you.

“I’ve never told a bad joke in my life, doll.”

That deep and perfect and raspy and infuriating voice.

“Wha—JOKER! Joker, oh my god. Oh my god!” you screamed, tears flowing even more at the whirlwind of emotion.

He chuckled then, throwing his head to the side while pure, unadulterated glee filled his eyes. Immediately, you threw your arms around his neck, crawling into his lap with such urgency that he barely made it sitting up.

“Ooh, doll, calm down,” he teased, finally getting the laughs under control enough to examine you. “I’ve only been gone, ah, twenty minutes at most, and you’ve been crying all this time?”

“You asshole!” you yelled, slapping him in the arm that he’d wrapped around you. But you still leaned in, never daring to leave. “You absolute bastard—I thought, I really thought that you’d—“

But you couldn’t even get the words out without collapsing against him in tears again and again.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhhh,” he murmured, resting his chin atop your head. “You were right in your cute little euology—I am better than that.”

He giggled once more, and you couldn’t help but smile a little upon feeling the rumble of his chest. It was moving again. It was alive, and you felt yourself beginning to grow hysterical.

“You weren’t breathing.”

“Yeah?” he replied in a tone so obvious that it threatened your sanity.

You sat up in his lap, still never letting his tie go, but enough to get a look at him.

“You were... you were dead, Joker.”

“Mmm, no. Death doesn’t have as many possibilities as this.”

Suddenly, he surged forward, tongue immediately finding its way into your mouth as you moaned deeply into the kiss. He growled, bending you in half as he sat up more also, squishing you fully in his lap.

It was so backwards—everything that he did to you. Tears were still wet on your face, but you couldn’t stop giving in to him. You thought you’d lost him, for God’s sake.

“I—I can’t believe you did that to me,” you said, barely even knowing what to say as you broke for air and stuffed your face into his shoulder.

“Please... It wasn’t even that bad. I debated on making it much gorier,” he said so casually, still finding the situation amusing. “Did you really expect to go on a field trip with me and not have any, ha, education?”

Your head shook, commonly disagreeing with him. “You’re terrible. You’re terrible and I’m never coming with you again in my entire life if you act like this.”

“I warned you,~” he lulled you back into false security. And you suddenly felt nauseous understanding that this was probably his thought process for letting you come in the first place. It was all meant to terrify you, to scare.

And it worked.

“Just take me home,” you sniffed in his shoulder, and tried your best to maintain dignity and eye contact at the same time. “Please.”

Joker reached up, wiping a tear from your eye. His bottom lip was puckered out, mimicking your pouting. “Doll, I’d want nothing more.”

And with that, he stood, pulling you up alongside him while he collected his jacket and bags. You felt like a child, but insisted on holding his hand the entire way up the steps of that basement, and probably all the way home too.

“Oh, heh, actually, almost forgot.” He stopped once the two of you reached the main floor, and reached into your pocket to take out a playing card.

It was a simple black and white Joker, complete with two Js on each corner.

“When did you put that in my pocket?” you asked as he pulled out a red marker, doodling something on the glass before pocketing it.

He simply shrugged, licking the back of the card before sticking it to the front door of the building. For a finishing touch, he took the mask you’d been wearing and hung it right above.

“Tricks of the trade.”

[facesofthefog]

[Punishment and Reward meme: No longer accepting] @a-swines-baptism

TW: Use of a dead name, transphobia, suicide mention, self-harm mention, abusive behavior

To say he enjoyed the Pig’s realm would have been a lie. Yes, he was impressed with the atmosphere it provided, he loved to witness the terror of his survivors who were forced into the Gideon meat plant, but he preferred to stay as far away from it as possible. Not because he feared it or because he was disturbed by the multiple bodies, but rather because for the first time in his life the smell of blood and decay enhanced by the stuffy atmosphere was irritating his nose. Sight, smell, sounds, touch. All of the senses were still new to him, still oversensitive and the body he possessed was not responding well to the sour scent of rotting flesh. At least he did not have to stay for long.

Still, he could not complain about his new body. He was the wolf in sheep's clothing and accessing survivors and killers that deserved punishment was so much easier when he looked weak and normal. It was especially easy to approach his friends, punishing him in the process. There was so much pain he had already inflicted on others, showed his will over the realms, was in the process of bringing new order. The other Entities were lazy. He needed to show those pests which they brought into the realm that they could not simply do as they pleased. But his time was slowly coming to an end, he could feel it and, on his list, there was only one more person up for punishing.

His control over the survivor’s body was improving. Whilst the eyes remain golden, his hair was the natural dirty blond it normally was. For now, the Entity could not risk losing the remaining grasp on the survivor, but he did not entirely care for perfection. He doubted that the killer would be bothered about what he looked like after he was done with her. She would come for vengeance after her own torture and after learning of what he did to Jude.

Speaking of the devil, he thought, sensing her approach. The roaring ambush that startled the survivor on multiple occasions was not considered as threatening by the Entity. The man moved out of the blade's way with ease, letting the force of the attack carry the assailant away from himself. To the Pig it might have looked like a simple lucky move from a startled survivor that jumped out of harm's way. The act worked its charm for she followed the missed attack with a slash, aiming to dispose of the unwanted guest as quickly as possible. Unfortunately for her, the slippery piece of meat was neither planning to die nor to leave. His focus lay in something else entirely and he dodged her second attempt. 

"Come on 'Mandy, this is no way to treat your guests, is it now?" the question sounded smug, a smile of similar quality drawn on his face. 

The second charge was dodged as well, the third countered. There was no mentioning of third time working the charm in Amanda’s case. A soft shove was all that was needed for the killer to be toppled over by her weight forcing her to come crashing down headfirst into the hole presenting the bottom floor. The impact was enough to make Amanda lose her consciousness. She was lucky it was not the real world, or she would have not gotten out of it with only a small head wound.

 "Hey. Hey! Wake up, Mandy. You are not dead, are you?” he sounded and looked concerned, but that was a rhetorical question. He was aware that he had not killed her, that was not enough to kill a killer. His fun was only beginning and the act he started had to be seen until the end. “Oh, you are alive! Thank goodness. I only came to talk, and this is how you greet me. But I must be honest, that fall was kind of funny until I noticed you were not moving. I hope you don’t mind me taking your mask off. I wanted to make sure that you have not cracked your skull open.”

With those simple words, he pointed towards the pig’s mask lazily discarded on the floor. Taking more of her surroundings in, she could have noticed pig carcasses hanging from the ceiling, the frozen-over ground of the tight room that served as a storage for the meat. Soft clouds left his lips with every word and he shivered from the cold, rubbing at his crossed over arms.

“Oh, the chair? Yeah… I- Well, I am sorry for that. I had a feeling that you might be enraged after you woke up and I really need to talk to you. I had a feeling that unless I tied you up, you would simply continue trying to attack me. And that… Trap… It was the only thing closest to a gag I could find. But don’t worry! I am not going to set the timer. It is just there as a gag. Nothing else.”

His eyes run around the space during the lengthy monologue, gaze stopping on her face every so often only for short intervals. He seemed nervous, cold and truly sorry for his actions acting like a twisted version of Samuel. Something between the Entity and himself, kindness and cruelty surprisingly mixing into one. But it was not like Amanda would notice the difference. She did not know the survivor on a personal level and would never realize there was anything different about his behavior.

“I wanted to talk to you about Jude” his tone became serious, gaze focusing on the pig’s carcass hanging close. Depending on how their “talk” went, there was a chance that his little Piggy would end in the same way. It was all based around his shifting mood. “I like him. More than that in fact and I do not think that you are good enough for him.”

A short pause was taken, and he walked around the chair seemingly to keep in motion and warm up his body. Maybe to even let the information sink into her, check for her reactions and make sure she knew what and who he was talking about. He needed to be patient and the sweet rage that would come with each word, that amazing emotion mixing with fear would be the best reward.

“Well, you see, I don’t think it is good for a survivor and a killer to spend so much time together. He keeps on sneaking out into the woods and now I know why. He was even attacked because of you. Because he wanted to see you. This is just not fair. You must end this little thing you have going between the two of you and that is what I came to ask of you.”

Stepping too close was a mistake and a one he could have avoided. A kick landed to the side of his leg, pushing him away from the chair and onto the ground. The survivor groaned out in pain and shifted further away, checking to make sure she was not ripping her binds. She had to feel in power, she could not start wondering why a survivor was so sure of himself. He had to act weak and whilst it was frustrating, it was also somehow amusing.

“Calm down. I said I don’t want to hurt you, so why would you try and hurt me?” he stood up from the floor and kept his distance this time. “You have to man up, Daniel.”

He appeared grumpy, as he massaged the aching thigh before snapping his attention back towards her. For the first time, his gaze met with hers and stayed there. His eyes showed fear, his lips curled up into a faint smile and his head tilted to the side displaying curiosity. A disturbing mix of emotions coming from one person.

“Oh, sorry. I should not have said that, shouldn’t I? Oh well, it has already happened” he shrugged, his gaze dropping down over her body. “Not too hard to work it out, your little “secret”. Vile thing you are. Honestly, you are too weak to be a man, so you go around claiming that you are a woman instead. Do you honestly think that is what Jude wants? I wonder if he already saw your body. I bet he would be repulsed by it.”

There was another pause, during which his focus was taken by the mask instead. He picked it up and gently caressed its snoot, before throwing it away again with disgust written on his face. It was as if only now he realized that it was in fact flesh, previously thinking it to be a handmade prop. His body shivered and he looked back to the captive killer.

“I never thought my previous job would come in handy in the realms. I was a reporter, you know. Finding out dirty little secrets about others is what I am good at. I have to be observant and you were not as hard to crack.” Slowly he approached the pig once more, keeping to the back of her body where she could do less harm to him. “And by watching you I know that you will not agree with my terms. You will not leave my Jude alone. So, we are left with two options here. I can… Leave you tied up to the chair, you will fit the other frozen pigs hanging in here. Or-“

The blonde grabbed at the metal of the trap and turned the stopwatch around not checking how much time he managed to give her, as her violent thrashing forced him to move away from her if he did not want the metal to connect with his face.

“Wild one, aren’t you? But it has been done. My curiosity will be fed. I want to know if the killers can be killed too. I wonder if you will return from your grave.” He returned to her front and slipped her hidden blade out from behind his belt observing it with interest. “I wonder how many times you have stabbed and cut me with this weapon… I could show you what it feels like but compared to you I am kind. I will leave it for you to save your life. You can either… Break your binds and search the pig carcasses for the key, I left it in one of their guts. Ooor… You could always slice at your wrists since you are rather good at that, save yourself the pain I feel every time you put that device over my head. Regardless of your choice, I would hurry if I were you.”

The survivor forced the knife into the arms-rest of the chair, cutting slightly into the rope that bound the killer’s wrist to the piece of furniture. He would have offered it into her palm, but he knew there was a chance that Amanda would chase him rather than seek the key and he needed time to escape. Now she had the option to cut more of the rope, possibly harm herself in the process, but it did not matter. He just had to get out, still having a view of the scene back in the cold room. He was the Entity after all and saw everything without having to physically be there. The lovely show almost excited him. Maybe he should find another of his pets whilst he was in the mood for it.

[trashscenariihxh]

Kastro x Fem!Reader NSFW

for @m3v3​!  There’s precious little Kastro content out there, so I hope this small offering can help fill that void a little bit.  To avoid the bonus angst, just skip the last little segment and stop reading after the smut.

Prior to Kastro’s first fight with Hisoka in Heavens Arena, you’d always thought that the hardest part about being in a relationship with a man who fights for a living was knowing that he could be killed at any given time in any number of ways.  After all, you’d seen it happen time and time again.   A cracked skull here, a decapitation there... the wails of loved ones in the audience... Yes, you had been sure that the constant cloying worry about whether or not Kastro would survive his fights was the hardest part about being with him.

Your opinion changed after the fight.  Kastro had lost, but not without getting a few good hits in on his opponent.  You’d rushed to his room as soon as you’d managed to extricate yourself from the crowd, expecting to find your boyfriend looking beaten, bloody and defeated.  You’d hoped, a bit selfishly perhaps, that the loss would put him off fighting.  Alas for you, it was not to be.  When you'd seen Kastro then, you saw a look of determination and passion that you’d never seen before.  Determination, passion, and... was that anger? Exhilaration?  You weren’t sure, but seeing that look in Kastro’s eyes, had made you realize that not only did he not care that he was lucky to be alive, he actually seemed excited by his near demise.  

Excited, and angry.  “He made a mockery out of me!”  The words were hissed through gritted teeth as you gently wiped the dried blood from Kastro’s face.  “Did you see the way he looked at me?  The way he smiled?  Like it’s all a joke...”  You’d nodded sympathetically, unnerved by the palpable rage in his aura.

That night as you’d lain next to him, your body still sore from the uncharacteristically rough way he’d taken you, you decided that you had been wrong: the worst part about being with a man who fights for a living wasn’t the fact that he could be killed at any time.  It was the fact that he thrived off of the idea.  It was the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never truly be enough for him.  It was the fact that he’d never give up risking his life in the Arena for anything, not even for you.

You stopped watching his fights after that.

***

In the days leading up to the fight, the long-awaited rematch with Hisoka, you found yourself avoiding Kastro.  He was just so focused on training that he paid attention to little else; you admitted to yourself that you felt neglected whenever Kastro was like this, perhaps even a bit resentful of his violent devotion.  You also found him hurtful in this state; he rebuffed every worry you expressed with either a laugh or a derisive snort.  One instance in particular stuck in your mind: when you’d begged him to reconsider the match.

“Don’t worry about it, _____.  Hisoka is a charlatan.  His cheap tricks don’t stand a chance against me.”  When you didn’t respond, Kastro’s confident smiled wavered and his eyes narrowed.  “Or do you not have faith in my abilities?”

“Of course I do.”  You’d bitten your lips in worry so many times over the past few weeks that the skin was cracked and raw, but the pain did not deter you as you bit them again.  “Just... look at his record.   Kills and no-shows.”  You secretly hoped that the magician wouldn’t show up for the match.  Kastro’s pride would suffer of course, but surely that was better than the alternative.  Your stomach squirmed at the thought.

“He had better show up,” Kastro continued as if he’d read your mind.  “If he doesn’t, then I’ll just keep challenging him until he does.”  He paused a moment before continuing.  “You’ll come, won’t you, _____?”  His voice had grown softer, all traces of bravado gone. 

“Kastro, I...”

“Please.”  His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.  “Please come.”

“I’ll think about it.”  The disappointment in Kastro’s eyes made your chest ache,  but the thought of watching him fight against a homicidal maniac was far more painful.  

You excused yourself and hurried back to your own hotel room, silently berating yourself.  Kastro was days away from the most dangerous, the most important fight of his career and you couldn’t even bring yourself to tell him you’d watch.  What kind of a partner were you?   You should have been with him, encouraging him, spending what could quite possibly be your last few days with him, and instead you were running away to spend your evening alone because you couldn’t do one thing for him.  

You couldn’t watch him fight.  Couldn’t watch him die.  You tried to banish those thoughts from your mind, and promised yourself that you’d make the next meeting with your lover much more enjoyable.

***

When you went to Kastro’s room the next day, he greeted you with a warm smile and an invitation to have dinner and share a bottle of wine with him, which you gladly accepted.  Warmed by wine, the conversation was light-hearted, for once.  You leaned against your partner as you sat next to him on the sofa, chattering on about your day. Kastro smiled and rested his cheek on his knuckles, seemingly enraptured by the mundanities of your daily life.  

“So wait, did you buy the 2 for 1 lavender soap, or the slightly more expensive one that you prefer?”  His face was a mask of concern, serious, but his voice shook with the barest hint of a laugh.

“Hey!”  You playfully nudged his shoulder.  “We can’t all be prospective Floor Masters.  Some of us are normal people, living normal lives.  Looking for normal jobs. You know- ah!” You squealed in surprise when Kastro grabbed your hips and lifted you with an almost comical lack of effort, pulling into his lap, facing him.

“You’re still looking? ____, I’ll take care of you.”  He regarded you warmly.  “I mean it.  I want to look after you.”

“But I need something to occupy myself when you’re busy training all day.” You gave him what you hoped was a playful smile, but you couldn’t stop the slight trace of bitterness tingeing your voice.

Kastro, observant man that he was, picked up on it immediately.

“I’ve neglected you.”  Soft lips pressed against your cheek as lightly-calloused fingers stroked your hair.  “I’m sorry.”  He tilted your chin down and offered you a small, apologetic smile.

If you were being perfectly honest, you wanted to yell at him.  He had neglected you for weeks!  Shrugged off your worries, forgotten your dinner plans, even rejected your sexual advances.  In your opinion, “neglected” was an understatement.  Still... you weren’t going to start a fight the night before the biggest match of his career.  Besides, the instant he gave you that warm, soft smile your heart melted; you moved in closer and kissed him.

Kastro smiled against your lips as his arms encircled your waist.  “I really am sorry,” he murmured between kisses, his hands running over the small of your back and over the swell of your backside.  “Let me make it up to you.”  He began to kiss along your jawbone as his hands slid beneath your waistband to gently cup and squeeze your ass.

You gasped when you felt his teeth begin to lightly graze along the delicate skin of your neck; you drew back for a moment to lift your shirt over your head and toss it carelessly on the floor before threading your fingers through his soft silver hair and pulling him into another kiss.  His hands were still travelling beneath the fabric of your pants when you pulled back to look at him again.

“You want to make it up to me?”  You bit your lip as you reached out to rest a soft hand lightly against his cheek.  “How do you propose to do that, Mr. Almost Floor Master?”

Kastro turned to kiss your palm before resting his cheek against it again.  His lips curved upwards in a tiny smile as his deep blue eyes quickly swept over your body.  “Do you want me to show you?”  He gave your ass another squeeze.

“Yeah.”  You wiggled your hips against his crotch as you ran your thumb over his lower lip.  

A split second later Kastro picked you up as if you weighed nothing, kissing your face, your mouth, your neck, anywhere he could reach as you wrapped your legs around his waist to keep from falling.  For all his strength, Kastro moved clumsily, jostling against a wall and nearly bumping into a chair as he carried you over to the bed, upon which you were unceremoniously tossed.  You furrowed your brows indignantly, only to be interrupted by another bruising kiss as skilled hands made short work of your remaining clothing.  

It didn’t take Kastro long to remove his own clothes either; once naked, he crawled on top of you, nudging your legs apart with his knees as you both scooted further up the bed.  You felt his hard cock against your thigh as he positioned himself over you, his mouth on your chest, kissing along your collarbones.  You arched up into his kisses with a soft hum of appreciation, running your fingers through his hair, down his neck, over his shoulder blades.  How long had it been since you’d been with him like this?

You felt his cock against your entrance and gasped, fingernails digging lightly into your lover’s back.

“____, can I?”  Kastro’s lips pressed against the skin below your ear.  “You’re so wet already... ‘s it okay?”  His cock nudged against you again, the tip slipping in ever so slightly.

You sighed out a soft “uh-huh” and spread your legs a bit wider to accommodate him.  He’d barely touched you, yet your groin felt warm, wet, sensuously taut.  Air caught in your throat when you felt him slide in; it took a couple gentle, firm thrusts for him to enter you completely.  He stilled when he was fully sheathed inside you, then pulled back, bracing himself against the bed, his hands on either side of your head. 

You bucked your hips against him, willing him to move.  When he didn’t comply, you whined impatiently.  “Kastro, move.”

He groaned in response.  “You’re so tight, ____.” He moved his hips in slow circles against you.  “You okay?” 

You responded by tightening your inner muscles around his cock, drawing out another surprised moan from the man on top of you.  You had to admit that there was something viscerally, primally erotic about having one of the strongest fighters at Heavens Arena in such a position: on you, in you, barely holding it together.  “Yes.  Now move.  Please.”  You felt Kastro’s cock twitch inside your core; after a few moments your lover swallowed thickly and finally began to rock against you.

It didn’t take long for his self-control to melt away.  With an almost-growl, Kastro quickened his pace so that he was slamming into you with an almost-bruising force.  When you wrapped your legs around his waist to hold him in place he lowered himself onto his forearms and covered your mouth with his own.

You arched your back as he kissed you, allowing his arms to encircle you before reaching up to embrace his shoulders.  His thrusts had become less frenzied; his cock stayed deep within you as his hips rocked against yours.  His pelvis put pressure on your clitoris as he ground himself into you with smooth, undulating thrusts; you felt the sweet tension of impending release coiling within you.

“____, you’re so, you feel so...” Kastro’s words were interrupted by throaty moans and choked sighs as he moved.  The months without physical intimacy had clearly been harder for him than he was willing to let on.

Warmth, affection, and pure, ecstatic love for the man radiated through your body as you somehow held him closer.  “Baby,” you cooed into his ear, “you’re gonna make me cum.”  To emphasize your point, you clenched your walls around his cock again.  Usually it took more to send you over the edge, but the months of deprivation and unexpected rush of emotion sent delicious twinges throughout your core to pool between your legs.

Kastro hissed out a curse when you tightened around him again and picked up the pace.  It only took a few more thrusts to bring you to orgasm; you held him close, drawing him into you with your legs as your walls spasmed around him.  He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, though his breaths had become ragged and uneven as he chased his own release.  When he got close, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours and raspily asked “_____, can I cum inside?”

You granted him permission with a short nod; he buried his face in the crook of your neck and rutted into you.  It took only a few more hard, heaving thrusts to bring about his release; Kastro slammed his hips against yours and came with a gasping, panting groan.  He took a few breaths before dipping to press a soft, deep kiss to your lips.  

You sighed, slowly, shakily unwrapping your legs from his waist and letting them fall to the bed.  Moments later cold air hit your body as Kastro rolled off to your side, flopping down next to you on the mattress.  He smiled and pulled you to him, holding you against his chest.  

You left to go and get cleaned up, only to return shortly afterwards.  Kastro finally broke the silence.  “So did I make it up to you?”

You nodded, suppressing a yawn.  “I’d say so.”

“Good.”  He fell silent again, his fingertips drawing idle circles against your skin.  “____, you’ll come tomorrow, right?”

How could you say no? You smiled, leaning in to kiss him.  “Of course,” you assured him, doing your best to suppress the familiar feeling of rising dread.  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

Nothing can ever quite prepare anyone, you realize, for just how horrifying it is to watch someone die in Heavens Arena.  The blood.  The sickeningly dull thud of a body hitting the floor. The grotesque surrealism of hearing thousands of spectators cheer whilst the love of your life bleeds out.  Bile rises in your throat when you hear the commentator boisterously announce “Hisoka wins by a knockout!”  A knockout? He’s dead. 

An anguished cry tears itself from your throat as you run, desperate to get to the ring.  You cling to the tiniest, barest of hopes that he’s somehow survived.  Perhaps he can be saved.  Perhaps the wounds weren’t so bad.  Perhaps he’s only stunned...  Perhaps he won’t have to die alone.  

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

The Infiltration

Eh? Who the fuck are you?

Um. Apologies...I got a call about a broken light?

Oh...so you’re the repair guy? Arrived quicker than I thought...

I like to be on time...

Well good. Yeah, a couple lights on the second floor of the building went kaput...We were thinking the circuit broke or something...The main box is on the outside of the building, just down the hall to your left.

Thanks. But um...Sorry if this seems like I’m being too personal, but would you mind if I took a look at the indoor circuit too? 

The fuck? Why?

It’s just to get a better look at the whole system...yeah, I’d rather not bore you with the details...I don’t wanna do it either, but it’s company policy.

Don’t worry, I won’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.

Hm...Fine, if that’s the case. There’s a security office on the left.

Thank you very much.

So...Security Office.

*He takes out the walkie-talkie that he had hidden in his pocket.

Hey, this is Shuichi. What’s my next move?

Kyoko: Good. You’re inside. Where are you right now?

I hid away in the security office. There’s no one in here with me right now...

Kyoko: Ok, good. Keep an eye out in that room. There should be a map of the whole building.

Ok, I found it...Ok, so Eje Karma’s room is on the top floor, and it looks like there are three ways up...The stairs, the elevator, or the fire stairs outside...

Chihiro: I think the best course of action would be to take the the fire stairs. The electric box is out that way, so you wouldn’t get caught...What you do from there, I don’t know...

I’ll figure something out...It’s just to my left out the office, right?

There’s the box that Chihiro cut...Sorry buddy, but I guess you’re not being fixed today...

Hey! You!

H-Huh?

You. You’re the repair dude, right? Here to fix the lights?

U-Um...yeah, I am...

C’mere a sec...got somethin’ ya need to look at...

O-Ok...(Shoot...Don’t have a choice...)

*Shuichi follows the guy to the second floor. He leads him into an office.

Look at this. Our fucking TV’s not working...Mind fixing it for us? Powers on but nothing’s showing up...

Um...Well, I’d like to, but unfortunately, TV’s aren’t really within our expertise...

Oh Bull-fucking-shit! Look, you’re an electrician! TV’s run on fucking electricity! Get the fuck to work, and maybe I’ll pay ya extra...

(Dammit...What to do...)

Kyoko: Shuichi? What’s going on?

Huh? What’s that? I just heard a voice...

Oh, s-sorry, that’s my work radio...L-Let me switch it off...

*Shuichi reaches into his pocket and turns off the walkie-talkie

(That was close...but I’m still in deep...I’ve never even fixed a computer before! How am I supposed to fix a whole Television!?)

We’re waiting...!

S-Sorry um...

Hm...It looks like the TV itself isn’t broken...The connectivity isn’t right...

Don’t you gotta take off panels and fiddle with the wiring and shit?

No, there’s no need for that...I’ll just have to...

S-Sorry for this...

*Shuichi smacks the top of the TV. Unfortunately, this gets no reaction...

Hey, don’t break the damn thing...!

I know, I’m sorry, but it’s really just that simple...Mind if I hit it a little harder?

Just don’t crack it or nothin’

Th-Thank you.

*His face profusely sweating, Shuichi hits the TV with his knee. Surprisingly enough, it works, and the TV turns back on.

(Y-Yes!)

Damn! That’s cool! Didn’t realize it was that easy.

Well, I can’t say I blame you. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders...

Whatd’ya mean?

Normally when these types of things stop working, a lot of people try and give it a good smack to get it working again.

Guess you didn’t want to risk it...

Ah, I see...well, thanks for that. Sorry ‘bout all this...I’ll letcha get back to work...

Thank you...

*Shuichi goes to leave the room, but then as he does, someone else walks in.

Huh? The fuck are you?

Oh, s-sorry...

Captain Karma! This is the dude who came to fix the lights. We just had him take a look at the TV.

Yeah, what he said...(It’s him! Eje Karma!)

...

I-Is something wrong sir...?

You...You ain’t the usual guy...That’s kinda weird...

Oh...(They have a usual guy!? How often do the lights go out in this building!?)

(Then again...this place does look a bit run down...and there’s so many people taking refuse in here...)

This is the first time anyone else’s come for us...What happened to him, huh?

Tch...I’m gonna get to the bottom of this...

Ah, sir wait a moment!

What is it?

Th-The thing is...um...

I feel like there’s been a bit of a mistake down the line...What company did you have your men call?

Huh? Called in Light Electrics...Ain’t that the company where you work...?

Ah...I see the problem...

What?

I think you might have called in two repairmen...I’m from a different company.

What company...?

It’s called...Um...

Kalls: 1. Breaks: 0...

“Kalls: 1 Breaks 0?”

Yes, Calls spelled with a K. K1-B0 for short...

Can’t say I’ve hearda you...

Yeah, so I guess someone else called me in accidentally...

...

...(Please buy it! Please, for the love of Atua, buy it!)

I see...Well, sorry ‘bout all this...You gonna get back to work then?

Yes sir, if you’ll let me. I’m terribly sorry about all this...

Nah S’okay...Just a bit of an error I guess...

Need me to pay you or somethin’

No, it’s fine. Someone already told me they’d sort it out after I was done...

Well, you do your thing. Sorry ‘bout all this, again...

*Eje goes up the stairs to his office.

(Wow...I am surprisingly good at lying!)

(Well...at least I tricked him...That was terrifying though!)

*Shuichi hides in a quiet corner where no one can see him and turns his walkie-talkie back on.

Kyoko: Shuichi! Respond! Please respond...!

Sorry Ms Kirigiri, I’m here...I didn’t mean to worry you...

Chihiro: Oh thank god...You’re ok. I feared the worst...

So did I...I had a run in with Captain Karma, but I was able to trick him.

He’s probably back at his office above me. But in order to get there, I need to take the stairs...

Kyoko: So, what’s the problem?

There’s a locked door, and I can’t get in...It’s a security lock too, so I can’t pick it...

Chihiro: Hm...You’re on the third floor, right Shuichi?

Yeah, I am?

Chihiro: Would you mind going to the window and opening it?

Um...ok...

*Shuichi opens the window and recoils in surprise as Chihiro’s drone flies in through the window.

Ah!

Chihiro: I worked with Kazuichi to make a modification to the drone...Stand back.

*The drone flies to the lock and a small, screwdriver looking instrument extrudes from it. A few electrical sparks glow as the screwdriver touches the lock, and then it suddenly opens.

Ah! It worked!

Kyoko: Those stairs will take you to the roof Shuichi. If you go up there and go down the fire escape, you should be able to get to Eje’s office.

Got it...

Er...

*Shuichi gets to the roof and witnesses a couple of the gang members having an argument. More specifically, it seems like a brawl is going on and a bunch of people are making bets.

Chihiro: I can see about...14 gang members there...

Kyoko: They look busy. I think you should try and sneak past them...

Got it...

*Shuichi scales the edge areas of the roof and works his way around several pipes and stacks of crates that are just lying around on the roof. He easily manages to sneak past the fight and then runs into a fence. In an attempt to climb it, he scales over and unfortunately lands on an unbalanced pile of crates.

Uh...AH!

*He loses his footing and slips, which attracts the attention of the fight observers...

Hey! Who’re you!?

Ah w-well...

*Before Shuichi can reply, three gang members strut up to him and grab him.

Alright...Screw it!

*Shuichi removes his hat and in self defense, headbutts the man who grabbed him. He dodges punches from some other assailants and then jump kicks another guy.

Ah...WAH!

Oh no!

*After being knocked back, the guy Shuichi kicks falls backwards off the roof of the building. Shuichi, at the fastest speed he can run, rushes up and grabs his leg, saving him from falling to hsi death.

AAAAHH! H-HELP ME! I DON’T WANNA DIE!

Easy...now!

*Shuichi, with as much strength as he can muster, is successfully able to pull him back up onto the roof. The thug passes out from the shock of the situation though. Shuichi sighs in relief, but that relief is washed away when he realises he’s surrounded.

Who the fuck are you, you bastard!?

I’m...

Wait...!

Huh?

C-Captain...

*Eje struts onto the scene...

...

Captain Karma...?

Let me guess...You really ain’t some maintenance guy, are ya?

Apologies, no...I wanted to speak to you about something of utmost importance, and unfortunately, this was the only way I could do so...

Awright...Tell me something pal...

Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have your skull smashed in with a slab o’ concrete!?

...

Simple...You owe me...

Huh!?

Your buddy was just about to fall off the roof and I saved his life...In this gang, you believe you should repay the people you’re indebted to, right?

I don’t know about you, but I think that includes me now...

...

Captain Karma, don’t listen to this fuckers talk! He’s trying to buy his way outta this...

I should also tell you that my allies have already have us surrounded secretly. If you kill me, there’s no way you’re getting my body out of this building...

Tch...

I don’t know what you want, but tell me who you are...and maybe I’ll consider it...

My name is Detective Shuichi Saihara.

Detective? Wait, you’re a cop?

No, not exactly. I’m a detective, but I don’t work for the police.

...

Fine...

What!?

Hey, assholes, get back to work!

Spud! Chum! You two come with me and...Shyhara, to my office...

Thank you for your hospitality Mr Karma...

You got this Kyoko?

Kyoko: Yes. We can see you with the drone. Looks like you got caught huh?

Sorry...I failed you again...

Kyoko: You did no such thing. Your mission was to get an audience with Karma, and you’ve succeeded. But do me a favour. Don’t tell him about your walkie-talkie unless you absolutely need to.

Got it...!

*Shuichi follows Eje and his goons.

[grim-faux]

20 - Shepherd’s Apostle

The world faded into a thick haze, like a memory I wanted to recall but the further I reached for it the harder it was to grasp.  The hard carpet dug into my cheek, it was soothing to lie down like this and just put everything out of thought, out of mind.  It was impossible to describe how tired I was.  But I had to press on.

I couldn’t open my eyes.  Everything had turned dark in an instant and I was alone, in silence.  But for a dull throbbing.  My heart, I decided.  I felt my steady breath, about the most of my movement that I could manage.  Okay, just for a while I’ll lay here, then I’ll be ready.  I couldn’t recall where I was headed initially, but I was standing on the ground floor watching the lobby.

There was a charge in the air.  Palpable thickness as if something was happening or was to happen, I was on edge.  People were presently on their rounds, dressed in clean uniforms, formal.  They looked like normal people. I managed to crack an eye open and gaze blearily into the musty carpet.  The House of God.  That’s what I was looking for.  The dull tingle worked its way through my marrow, it unnerved me.  I closed my eye and returned to the fresh ground floor, just as people were running.  I felt liquid trail across the bridge of my nose and soak into the carpet under my face.  Blood soaked the floors, the desks.  Organs twisted, bodies crumpled, skeletons splint from skin.  The red droplets glistened oddly under the bright lamps. One of Murkoff’s security held a small Beretta between his hands, he turned the gun wildly on the walls and floor.  The glass of the upper hall cracked but held against the bullets.  I’m sure there should be a deafening clamor, but I can only make out muffled voices, sounds you’d pick up on underwater.  He turns his weapon on a colleague as the individual is shredded from the inside out, muscle and lung drench the carpet below his skin.  The panicked man shoots the mist as it evaporates.  I open my eyes and stare at the carpet.  I want to get up, but the pain in my skull refuses to relinquish its hold.  If I lay here in this doorway for too long I will be discovered, and without a doubt, killed. When I shut my eyes, I’m in a white room with the mangled pieces of a body beneath me, wet blood spilling down the drain of a shower.  The water left running swirls the black and reds into anemic pinks. My eyes snap open and I lay for the longest time gazing at the doorframe across from me, my heart beating fast.  What the fuck did that come from?  Reports, files I had read too deep into.  Too deep.  Therapy was going to seem like a vacation. I waited for the throbbing to subside to a tolerable degree, until I felt stable enough to get up on my feet.  I couldn’t afford to lose anymore time.  The sewers, filthy and diseased, the shears Trager used to tear off my fingers.  I had contracted something and it would kill me, unless I got out.  I needed X-rays, antibiotics, I needed some real sleep! Documents flashed through my mind — MKULTRA, the Hypnotic therapy, the Walrider legend, autopsies revealing tumors of lead.  I was feeling sick all over again, but I had to push on.  Take steps.  I was so close, I could feel it! There was still no way through the blockade of furniture crammed throughout the hall.  My hand ached as I recalled the chair that had fallen on it, I learned my lesson.  It was rare when that happened, but sometimes I did.  I was defeated and I admitted it, I wasn’t sure what I was admitting to, but I was done with this bullshit.  I eyed the fracture in the wall on my right, metal sheeting had been torn out of the plaster and left on the floor.  Looked like a path the patients used, due to the blockade.  I squeezed through, first spying the patient, or disciple I should say, bent over a grungy bed and praying.  His head low and hands clasped tightly in silent confession, I couldn’t make out what he was mumbling about.  His lips might’ve been damaged or he had lost his teeth… or his tongue. A shiver trailed up my spine, and I held my face as the wave of pain it brought subsided.  How long could I go on like this? Till I die. I wouldn’t die.  I refused to.  The tangible quality of my old proclamation and what it meant, hit me with such a force that it sent me stumbling back into an empty bookcase.  I froze, fearing the commotion would set the man off.  He made no note of my presence.  I recovered, consciousness whirling.  The camera was between my palms, trained on him.  The room was simple, only the bed and a nightstand, chair, desk on one side, on the other, a lamp cracked on the floor.  What more did he need? These rooms had originally been the residences of the staff before everything turned bad.  Small but cozy, employees provided with everything they would ever need, by the ‘non-profit’ Murkoff cooperation.  Now with the former occupants slaughtered and marinating the halls, the formerly suppressed rise up to take control.  How poetic.  I realize that not all of those affiliated with Murkoff deserved what happened, there had been good souls concerned for the cooperation’s victims.  They simply didn’t want to see what was happening around them.  People were like that.  It was human. The disciples legs were scarred, as were his arms, I imagine that was the least of the damage done.  I crept from the room, shutting the door softly behind me.  I still was wary of them and what intentions they could have.  Trust no one. It looked as though I went ALL the way around, from where I initially came up the stairs, just to get to this side of the hall.  I scoffed, but nothing to do about it.  Just keep my steady pace and try not to falter.  I at least had a small break, though I couldn’t recall what I had eaten ten minutes prior.  I remained famish and the humming grew worse, as though there really was a choir in this hall behind one of the doors.  I stood beneath the bright lamp and swayed.  If I kept my heart pumping, I would be fine. The hall reserved its featureless standard, the walls extending through the shadows that both welcomed and rejected me.  To my left was another lavatory, I poked in and went through the stalls, startling flies from their nest.  As I ventured from the glaring lamps, the little buggers gave up their pursuit, further reinforcement that the light remained my greater foe. One door on my left had a starved and shirtless patient, in prayer as I’d seen the two before.  The room was simple as I’d come to expected, bed, a desk, sometimes chairs.  The room down from his was much the same, aside from rain and thunder pouring through a shattered window.  I gave each room I came upon brief audience, filming the people, before I moved on to the next.   I was shocked by the number of people absorbed in this process.  Was it a mass Hallucination driven by MKULTRA?  I couldn’t tell anymore.  It was clear they had faith in Father Martin and his preaching’s, but why?  Questions buzzed through my thoughts as I tried to piece what I did understand together, but felt I was missing some vital component to the machine.  That eerie trill.  The sound I heard, a choir or was it a hymn?  It didn’t matter, maybe they were hearing it.  I was tempted to ask what it was, but I feared one might answer.  I feared someone would notice me at last, and I would be trapped, lost and confused as they brought about my bloody conclusion.   Aside from the room full of cold rain and thunder, I could see no way out of here.  Let alone, I didn’t know what I was doing here aside from ‘witnessing’ the disciples of Father Martin lost to prayer.  I revisited the rooms, in perpetual fear that the trance would break.  But I had nothing to lose as far as I could see.  One room I stumbled into with its withered disciple, holding his head high as he spoke, had a folder placed on the desk beside the door.  It was filled with pages, most held a handwriting style I was familiar with. “I am an unworthy supplicant, who can serve our lord only by feeding our lord. Please take me, Walrider. Let my shepherd’s Apostle see it and spread it with his lies for a greater truth. Your time upon the world has come. My flesh longs for your beautiful wraith. My blood is filled with you and waiting to be set free. This is my prayer. Write your gospel in my flesh.” For some reason this absolution unsettled me.  What was it he planned to do?  I feared the truth behind these walls. With no other path available, I decided to risk the harsh rain in the window.  The patient remained absorbed in his words, and as expected did not notice me as I climbed onto the soaked bed and stepped out onto the windowsill.  A flash of light cuts the sky, I shut my eyes from the sting and saw images I didn’t want to see.  Everything I wanted to forget.  I placed my hand on the jagged glass and stared down, my footing uneasy. Three stories up.  If I fell from this height I might not die all at once, but I’ll pray for death.  The lightening flashed, brightening the courtyard and thunder clashed against the stone building.  I forced my feet to move and hold my weight as I slipped along the icy wall of the Asylum.  Shapes flashed at the edges of the broken garden, I risked tucking my camera away as a precaution.  Light stretched from the windows at my backside, but there was not enough radiance to brave the merciless storm.  My heel slipped and I stared down, water trickled over my face and damaged hands.  The sky sparked and shrieked,  and below, I thought the skeletal shape of a person was there staring up, waiting for my body to fall and hit the pavement, starved to behold my guts torn loose to wash like crème down the drain.  I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting away my dreams.  I focused on the ledge, on the dark coloration of my coat.  Water splattered my pants and shoulders, but the eaves kept the torrent from soaking me to the bone.   I trembled with something beyond cold and fear when I climbed into the next window.  A lightly decorated room with one bookshelf, a portrait on the wall, and a bed with another of Father Martin’s disciples speaking to the Walrider.  I didn’t want to think of the blessings mad men asked for.  Maybe just the simple relief from living and life, maybe to think as other men do?  Or maybe for the world to be as they are. The door of the room was open wide, encouraging me along.  I kept caution close as I checked around the frame. God hates sickness Was scrawled in blood on the wall in large letters.  Candles lit below flicker calmly, despite the draft on my backside.  The wall flashed with light as another scream of fury came from the storm.   My left was blocked by stacks of metal shelving and chairs, I wiped the water from my hands as I struggled to fix my grip on the camera.  The only relief I could find was that my right hand didn’t seem to be swelling anymore, but the index finger and middle finger were stiff and painful to test.  I considered myself fortunate, despite it all.   More messages and candles awaited on my right, competing with the artificial light of the corridor that refused to diminish.  A cross was drawn on the wall, the blood peeling down appeared fresh.  A plate on the wall read simply Chapel.  That would be a House of God.  The corner bent left and I leaned over to find, yet more candles beside the wall and the message above God hates money I spun back at the door slamming shut, and the firm click of the lock splint my head.  Curious, I returned to try the handle and found that indeed, I was locked on this side.  Away from the ground floor and the elevator.  I sighed.  My luck.  It was a good thing I was never one to buy into stocks. Voices drifted from the hall, and that sharp pain returned to the back of my head causing my vision to blur.  I massaged my brow with my palm and continued, turning the corner and resumed the path now cut cleanly for me.  The soft candle flames became an almost welcome change, compared to the harsh blaze of the NV.  It made the walls and floors look soft and bearable, in spite of everything I knew that was buried in these grounds.  I pause and looked to my left, upon familiar scratching in the plaster.  I recognized the form and some of the words “Rest in peace”  “He did not kill” Father Martin’s preaching?  The camera scolded my hesitance, but I waited it out to gain a clear image.  I was nearly beyond my limit, but I could hold out.  I was good at holding out. God Annoys… I blinked. God always provides a way I looked from the wet message and the cross, to the scarred patient standing before me, blocking my path.  Head bowed and a candle clasped between his hands, he was emaciated to the point I couldn’t believe he was standing.  And the smell.  This… was the first fucker to lunge at me from a wheelchair! “Am I ready?” I stepped away from him and looked over my shoulder, to where the voices echoed from in somber reverence.  A chapel, candles lit and burning above a pristine tile floor, an entrance chamber that led directly into the cathedral.  It didn’t appear very large, with carved beams arched under a plain white ceiling, tinged yellow from age.  It was a simple structure, but ornate and charming in its own way.  I closed one eye and pressed my hand to it, the sound I couldn’t escape.  I had to keep my senses keen.  Beside either stained glass door that opened into the main wing, stood a twin, glowering on me as I gave one a look, then the other.  I straightened myself out to the best of my ability, I couldn’t appear defective to them. “You are.  We will join the Walrider in just a moment.”  That was Father Martin.  I was staring from where I stood, and I think he was nailed to a cross. Holy crap, what was I doing here?  I debated on just leaping from that window now and accept the fate meeting me beneath the rain, then I recalled the door was locked and I was trapped here with these people.  Whatever was to come, I would fight until my heart was ripped from my chest.  Which, given circumstances, could be very likely. I took a deep breath and proceeded into the chapel, directly between the twins as they tracked my slow movement with their hostile stare.  They reserved their right to freely expose themselves, though I kept my gaze forward and my camera close to my side.  My hardcore reporter instincts told me soon I would need it.  The doors gave a firm CLUNKof finality as I approached the podium, and the disciples of Father Martin.  They were disturbed but not aggressive, they, like those I had passed to reach this wing, were wholly oblivious to my presence, or had been requested not to acknowledge it.  Their attention was set on the man nailed to the wooden cross; I don’t doubt they were upset by this revelation.  They spoke and murmured, plead and mourned.  It was all together and all at once, I couldn’t make out a handful of what they were saying.   The crucified man gave a sharp gasp at my approach, the act so sudden I recoiled.  “My job.  You alone shall escape to tell them.”  Father Martin paused to gather his breath, he must have been in a good deal of pain.  “This is your penultimate act of witness.  The promise of the prophets was always the freedom from death,” he groaned.  “And here it is.”  He pulled at his arms, as though trying to relieve the pain, despite there being no escape.  My only response was to blink. The patients clustered about him, and the collection of timber at his toes.  They pray and spoke in soft sentences, some bowed and sobbed.  For the Walrider?  Or for Father Martin’s Gospel?  The accumulated resonance caused the hair to bristle on my neck. I moved to the side into the pews and sat down, making sure the camera was fixed on Martin.  The frail patient from the hall stepped around the podium, to stand near his Prophet and gazed at him with sunken eyes.  Martin whimpered, and resumed speaking, “You will watch and record my death, my resurrection.  And together we will be free.” Martin let his head drop onto his shoulder and took another tight breath.  “You are no longer in any danger.  I’ve fixed the elevator.  It will take you to freedom.  We will all of us be free.”  I had to set my head down on my arm.  That sound….. “Now, my son.” I jerked my head up when Martin’s tormented shrieks echoed off the high ceiling and walls.  The patient that was holding the candle lit the timber beneath his feet and the Priest was on fire, twisting and howling in pain as his robs burnt like dry cotton and his flesh scorched and popped.  I gawked wide eyed trying to hold my camera steady, trying to keep myself from tearing out of that seat and racing away.  My stomach knotted at the harsh sting of burning flesh, reminding me sharply of the scorched bodies burning in the cafeteria.  I clasped my free hand over mouth, it was all I could do to keep from buckling forward.  Not here, not at a time like this. His raving sobs finally died out as he succumb to smoke inhalation, or the heat cooked his brain inside his skull.  He gave an oily groan before he went limp and the flames settled into his bubbling flesh. When I shifted to reach for my notepad, I realized with a start I had bitten into my palm.  Not deep, but the edge of my teeth had cut into my stained flesh and blood seeped from the shallow tears.  I wasn’t sure what to make of that, or the fact I hadn’t noticed before I moved. “I can’t believe Father Martin one-upped Jesus Christ himself in shitty ways to die.  And I don’t believe I’m going to miss him.  A way out.  If he’s telling the truth, now I’ve got a way out.  And a story to tell.  He wants me to spread his gospel.  I’ll tell the whole fucking world.” I sat a moment watching the patients mourn for their Prophet, and weep for his sacrifice.  I didn’t know what they would do now without their Guide in this twisted world, but I didn’t want to hang around and find out.  I gathered myself up and slid out of the pew.  I took up the key gleaming gaily on the red velvet podium.   The twins stood still behind the stained glass doors.  From a safe distance I stopped and observed them.  Would they end it now, with Father Martin gone?  Was this the time they would conclude the chase?  I checked the room over, finding no other windows or doors, aside from the ones they stood behind.  If I could lure them back into this room, I could get around both of them.  If they cornered me, that was it. I walked forward trying not to look at them, I needed to get by and find my way out before I was stabbed in the back. They pulled the double doors open simultaneously to my approach, and I dithered before continuing forward.  I doubt they needed weapons to kill me. The bald one on the right clutched his head, angry or plagued by the sounds.  I stepped between them quickly and got halfway down the hall before I remembered the door was locked.  Or was it?  I passed the final messages of Father Martin only to find the door was still locked tight.  I returned to the chapel, looking to the twins for some sort of guidance but quickly gave that up when I spied the area, beyond where the wheelchair patient had been poised.  A bookshelf, among other furniture pinned in the archway of the hall, encyclopedias and other tomes spilt from the shelves, clearing enough space I could wriggle through.  But above was a vent in the ceiling, its panel off.  I could reach it, and they couldn’t follow. I stuck the camera in its hoister and grabbed the edge and kicked at the wall until I was safe inside and felt around for my path.  The piece of fabric shifted oddly in my gash, I poked around the backside of my shirt and felt only mild dampness but no excessive bleeding.  I squeezed my eyes tightly and crawled along the weak metal.  I was getting out.  Damn Priest guy said I could go, I would not stick around. But damn, I couldn’t believe Martin was gone.  In no way did I feel safer with his suicide, on contrary, it didn’t feel like anything had changed.  What had he been trying to prove?  The only fact I could take comfort in, was that I wasn’t the one nailed to that cross.  Didn’t mean I was no longer in danger, notwithstanding what he proclaimed.  I’ve heard that song and dance before.  Probably why it felt like his death was so unreal, in truth nothing had changed.  The whole event had meant nothing to me. The notion left a sort of emptiness inside me.  I don’t know how to describe it.  The next flue I had to force with my weight, as result I nearly fell through to the floor below.  I managed to clamp my arms over the metal sides, before the rest of me tumbled out in a painful heap.  I dropped and stumbled to my ass, god damnit.  I sat letting my body settle and gave where I was a scan.  The shelves and furniture I bypassed should keep Martin’s disciples from catching up to me anytime soon.  For the moment, it was safe to bide time and plan my direction.  I needed to find that lift and get the fuck out of here.  It was in the other wing of the Asylum, outside the kitchen.  I could reach it through this side, down this hall? I stepped into a patch of light from the lamps gleaming in the hall on the right, and sat down to think.  If I was to reach the elevator, I needed to go through the kitchen, but I couldn’t, that door was locked.  I needed another way around… I could really use a map.   If my sense of direction was right— I looked up as a dark shape began from the opposite end of hall.  I couldn’t make out who it was.  A twin?  How did he find me?  But as I gawked, the figure picked up speed, upon spying me huddled in the sloping light.  I knew who that was. I lunged to my feet taking the bright hall on my right, as he gave a thunderous snarl.  I could feel his steps quake through the floorboards of the Asylum.  His chains churning with his pace, gaining three steps with every one of mine.  Needed a place to hide, needed distance!  The hall was perpetual, same as those never ending roads in your dreams that extended into eternity.  I glanced at the dried blood splattered at my left, staining the upper wall and floor, the hard copper hit me as I gasped.  Above, the lamps flashed against my skull, doors lined the walls every few steps, many nailed with plywood and planks.  He snarled and huffed gaining, his ire snapping at my neck.  I couldn’t bring myself to pause and try doors, I wanted to run forever. When would the big fucker just let up!  It was obvious he wasn’t one of Martin’s followers.  All along, had he been against the Gospel of Sand?  I couldn’t know!  That was not important!  He would kill me regardless my affiliation with the Church of Walrider! The hall came to an abrupt end, reluctantly I tried a plain door on my left expecting it to be locked.  Trapped at long last, after I had succeeded at beating their game.  I barely turned the knob before I shoved the door in, grunting against the sudden lurch in my rib.  I swung the thin barrier shut after me and checked through the nightvision, but saw no worthwhile space to hide.  The room was well lit, particularly on the left side where a flat screen sat on a table.  I could crouch behind the two love seats set to view the screen, but three steps in and Chris would have me. The door cracked in the frame, I was amazed it held when the raw rage slammed into it.  I dashed across the room as the floor and walls shook, my head spinning, bits of light flittered through the cracks in the door as it absorbed another blow.  I curled up in the darkest corner behind a thick armchair and stared through the NV as the visor buzzed.  A final shattering blow and Chris plowed through, tumbling to the floor before climbing to his feet.  I shrank down behind the couch and watched as he scanned the room over, huffing through his teeth he began pacing to the left.  It was my right, the way I was facing him— “On point.” While his back was turned, I crawled towards the gaping portal.  One long step, I set my foot outside the doorframe and slipped out.  I could hear the noise of the big fucker chains as he turned, to check the side of the room I had hidden.  He’ll make the conclusion, I needed to buckle down and think.  Where was it I needed to go?  What doors were open?  I had to rattle handles. The next door I tried was on my right, it opened into a small office with a desk, and the usual dead plant mandatory to Murkoff’s memory.  I entered and listened as the big fucker reentered the hall, grumbling about the pain of living.  I shut the door gently and sat in the dark struggling to gauge his position, as his steps grew louder and heavier.  I flipped the NV off as he continued past my door, and down the hall a ways before his steps halt.  I could hear my breathing, but Chris was as silent as death. I jerked back when the thuds of wood cracking vibrated through the hall.  I braved pulling the door open a crack and let some light in, he was not far, just across the hall.  With a final swing of his fists the pitiful door snapped apart, he kicked the pieces aside as he stepped into the small room.  His backside quivers as he pants, blood leaks from deep cuts that never healed in his broken skin. As before while he’s distracted, I took the chance and slipped out of the room.  He was going to hear me, he would detect my movement, smell me, something.  He would turn around and grab me, and that would be it.  I’ll be pulled apart, my body torn out from under my head like so many of his victims.  My last moments, watching him toss my flailing torso aside. But Chris was still examining the dark cubicle of office before him, and I made it past the doorway without a creak from the floor.  Overhead, before the intersecting hall hung the large, bold red words EXIT.  This was the way.  I was nearly there! Getting away from the patients and their mass congregation had helped to high levels.  My head still throbbed but it wasn’t the twisting pain it had been an hour before.  I wouldn’t be too run down once I returned to civilization, I might be able to get medical attention before I had to start answering questions. All right man, focus.  Pat yourself on the back later, first things first.  Find the way out.  I was still so fucking lost, it was a crime.   I ducked into a doorway on my left when I picked up on Chris’ chains slithering into the hall.  Once I was on the elevator, I was home free.  Warm heater, familiar surroundings, just all around good things.  Keep thinking good, clean, healthy thoughts Miles.  Keep positive. A lavatory, very little to hide in.  Most the stalls were shut, blood on the tile and flies lapped at the sticky mess.  Their wings hummed impossibly loud against the hard walls as I disturbed their perch, I was terrified the sound would give me away.  I ducked into the stall on the far end and climbed onto the toilet.  The lamps blazed down warming the edges of my coat and neck, I didn’t need the camera.  Neither would the big fucker if he decided to roam through. Chains dragged across the tile clinking with each step.  Images of the sewer and bloated bodies became my vision, pellets scuttling through pipes.  Shadows and shapes, faces in static.  I pressed my nose into my bloodied shoulder and tried not to breath.  Stay calm.  Stay.  Calm. “Where?…fuck.”  He sounded dubious.   If he would just leave.  You’re seeing things like the rest of us.  Go look somewhere else, this place is empty. I cringed when the first stall swung open.  Damn.  The next door creaked open, and I situated myself to crouch on the bloody toilet.  One. Two. Three— Chris pulled the door open, seeming genuinely surprised to find me there.  He made a strangled snarl through his mutilated sinuses and lashed out, as I sprang at the top stall and propelled myself over the side to the far end of the bathroom.  I hit the floor and tumbled, searing white pulsed through my eyes and my concern went immediately to the camera even as I shoved my feet under me and charged out the door. “Can’t let contamination reach local town…”  I ducked down as I passed the doorway, barely missing his arm as he tried to swat me.  His wrist struck the tile near my head, dust and brick cracked under the impact. I stumbled out the door, hands clasped over my head fearful he’d knock it off next.  The broken segregation frame swept around me as I breezed through, first turning to the vent I initially dropped down before reminding myself of how bad an idea that was.  I pivoted and dashed into the dark hall.  The big fucker emerged from the lavatory, and snarled my way as we made eye contact. I brought up the NV as I felt myself tilt, I could see light at the halls end but I was having difficulty keeping my balance.  The big fucker was somewhere behind me keeping pace. End of the hall.  End of the hall.  Door.  A door that leads to the cafeteria.  I had no idea where I would wind up.  I needed another lounge, a room with space I could maneuver or hide from Chris.  It could have just been me, but it felt like he was desperate to kill me at this point.  The idea caused my throat to dry out, I gagged as I panted.  But I felt elevated, that perhaps Father Martin had been earnest and that I was now done with this place.  That I was to be free once I stepped out of those doors. Had to reach them first. When I hit the light, I took a sharp left through the last doorway entering into a room full of tables and chairs stacked everywhere, some scattered over the floor.  The cafeteria!  But I was still skidding in the direction towards the windows, my momentum out of control.  The patient that had been here staring out the muggy glass was now absent, or dead.  The rain that once furiously struck the glass had diminished to some degree, the luminous beads of water now less and thin. The door.  There was a door on the left side of the room, across from where I just blazed through.  Something strained in my knee as I twisted, and spun about as the big fucker came charging into the room after me.  Door!  Had to get to the door!  I zipped around tables or chairs, struggling to maneuver anything between us, to slow him down.  The big fucker bellowed, and ripped the obstacles away like weeds in the garden, I heard several crash into the darkest reaches, echoing under the high ceiling.  I was only thankful he hadn’t the presence of mind to throw one my way. I had plenty of distance on him by the time I reached the door.  I twisted the handle— Locked!  Door was locked!  How was I supposed to reach the elevator?! That was to be the least of my concerns.  I cued in on the heavy breath of my pursuer as he sliced through the room, and felt his dead eyes on the back of my head.  I barely whipped aside when he swung out, grazing my back, I lost consciousness for an instant as my brain sputtered out.  The chains stunned my shoulder and I tumbled to my side, my vision blurred as sensation swung back into me at full force.  All I could make of Chris was his shape looming over me snarling, his eyes blazing.  I swore, they burned like fire in the dark. “Get up!”   Fuck you!  I crawled pitifully on my hands and knees across his boots to curl up under the nearest table.  The big fucker took it in his hands and tipped it over, sending chairs crashing across the floor.  I bit the camera strap between my teeth and ripped it off my hand, and scrambled away as fast as I could while he hurried around to intercept me.  If I kept the windows in sight I could see where the table legs barred my way. He couldn’t see where I was exactly, he could only hear my panicked breath as I shuffled in the cramped dark.  In response, the fucker gripped another table and hefted it up then slammed it down over my body.  But the locks where the legs fit in didn’t snap away completely, I lay there for a moment believing I had died and the big fucker might’ve thought the same.  He was panting hard, hissing through his exposed teeth as he wandered around the set of tables seeking to find my broken body. My mind was wracked with questions, my ears buzzed and my bones tingled with that tremendous calamity.  Out?  Where was out? I reached a trembling hand up slowly and took my camera strap from my teeth, I was nearly pinned on my stomach with just enough room to squeeze out.  But the fucker would hear it in the dead silence that consumed the room.  I coughed and tasted copper, I don’t think a lung was punctured, at least I couldn’t feel it yet.  I turned my head scanning the room where the door was locked.  Damn inconsistencies.  A light shone from a square slot in the wall above, where a vent had snapped off.  There.  That was it!  He can’t follow me. The big fucker moved to the other side of the table, ones he hadn’t tipped or slammed down, and began pulling them out and scoping the floor beneath.  I slipped free of the broken table and pulled my body out from under the line of table legs.  The big fucker must’ve seen my shape when I stood, he barked out a cry as I dashed to the fallen vending machine and clambered up.  I was a little tipsy when I stood on the slick plastic cover, but managed to snag the flues edge and haul up into the tight space.  A cold pain dug into my side, but I pushed the sensation away as I paused to gather myself.  I was in one piece, mostly.   Below, Chris snarled his contempt for my success, but I knew deep in me, this would be our last encounter.  I spared him a brief glower, the closets to pity I could express for him, before I turned and crawled along the top of the vents rigged from the ceiling.  The muffled growls faded in my ears, as the familiar tingle resumed residence.  It wouldn’t last, I assured myself. I never thought I’d be so happy to be in a kitchen before.  A revisited and empty kitchen, but it was tame territory.  I carefully climbed off a cabinet and hit the floor, wincing at the pain in my ribs.  It was okay, nothing a little rest and no movement wouldn’t help.  That’s all the doctors ever said, there wasn’t much else that could be done.  I took some slow, easy breaths to acquaint myself with the pain.  I’d feel even better when I was in my jeep with the heat cranked up, and this place far-far behind me. I found the door at the other end of the kitchen and half expected the damn thing to be locked, though it was clearly open and the dark hall visible from where I stood.  Across, at only a few steps, the lift waited, with nothing in sight, no psychotic patients, just the wavering shades that haunted my memories.  I kept shuffling the worst case scenarios to the forefront of my mind, geared for the despair that I was now accustomed to.  What could possibly go wrong now?  Nothing.  Unless the computers had a massive crash in the hours I’d spent lost in this hell of an Asylum, my challenge now would be hacking the security systems. I groaned when I realized, I’d never opened the main doors.  I hadn’t even begun, damn Martin had to drag me off…. It was all behind me now.  Get to the Security room, hack the system, and say sayonara to this fuck awful place. I dithered before entering the welcoming gleam of the lift.  I had bad experiences with elevators.  Bad memories.  Once I was inside, I’d be trapped.  But I was only riding to the ground floor.  Before I could have another thought on the matter I stepped inside, and turned to the panel.  I set the key in the lock and gave the panel a firm punch and let the metal gate shield me in.   No insane doctors to interrupt me this time.  No burning cafeterias, no deformed giants with fuck started faces, shrieking specters, or cannibalistic twins.  I was out.  Done.  Gone.  Bye bye Insane Asylum! The elevator made the short but noisy descent to the ground floor and stopped.  I put the camera in its hoister and tried to pull aside the gate.  It should open, shouldn’t it?  Of course it would.  I peered through the large gaps and saw, indeed those doors were locked.  I was hyped and ready to start this, it wouldn’t be easy, but I would get it done.  Sooner I started the better. The gate should open now.  I poked at the panel and tried turning the key, maybe it unlocked it?  Or maybe I shouldn’t have done that.  The lift shifted and began descending all over again.  I looked up alarmed as the exit, my doors to freedom vanished from sight. No.  No-No-No-NO!  What was this?  The elevator was fixed, I was supposed to get out, up there!  That was my floor!  Stop!  I tried to pull the key from the slot, but it was stuck tight.  Safety precautions and such, I was locked in!  Where the fuck was I going?!  Darkness filled the tiny space I occupied.  The basement!  I could find my way out of the basement easy.  I vaguely remembered the layout, and there would be light too. But I knew I was not going to stop at the basement.  The lift continued to descend, and the air changed. I stepped back and crouched down resting as what seemed like hours passed, but in truth it was only minutes.  I had no idea where I was now and had a feeling I would never know.  It finally ground to a halt and I glanced up as the gate slid back, allowing me to exit FINALLY.  I glared beyond the doors, into a near pristine white brick corridor, above lights flashed and pulsed, a glitch in the wiring.  I shut my eyes against their irritating glare. My lip curled back over my teeth and I pushed myself up to stand, I set a hand to my side where my ribs warned not to push it.  I was hurt, I needed to get out.  What more did this place want from me? A “penultimate act of witness” as ‘Father’ Martin put it.  His last words.  I should have been more keen to pay attention to his speech, he had told me precisely that ‘my job’ was not done with his death.  Idiot!  You walked right into this!  This is all on you Miles!  Walked into Hells Kitchen, and now you’re eating what they’ve served!  If I die—NO!  No.  No.  And NO!  I am not going there!  I will get out of here because I refuse to have endured EVERYTHING these bastards fabricated, and then die at the VERY end of it!  I was getting out!  And I would make sure the world knew what I went through, what they’ve done to all these people, and what they tried to cover up!   But I still had doubt.  I stepped through the doors and gave my new surroundings an indifferent glare.  It was brisk, the air slightly fresher than the upper floors, a lot of tubes and thick cables ran along the walls.  Probably recycled air.  But…it was there.  The old decay, the stale tang of rust and death.  I was not done, not by a long shot. I stumbled and brushed against the wall as I collapsed to my knees and sat there, staring at the two doors before me.  The strobe light overhead flickered but held its illumination. I lowered my head and exhaled a coppery sigh.  Not by a long shot.  I raised my butchered hands to my face and buried my eyes in my palms, seeing only black.  The cool, enveloping black that had been my ally throughout this entire nightmare. Would there be no more shadows for me to hide in?

[trashpandaorigins]

Stop for Me

During the GOTG Comic Run Faithless, Rocket is dying. He's run away from the Guardians and cannot be found. It is implied/stated later by Groot that Gamora actually found the ringtail and was secretly going back and fourth to see him and drink with him. She was keeping his location and condition secret, killing any of his enemies before they could get to him so that he could die in peace. She was, according to Groot prepared to bury the ringtail and honor his desire to choose how he gets to be remembered. It's all tragic and emotional and sappy so I leapt at the chance to write this. My interpretation of that behind the scenes.

I'd recommend googling a summary of the gotg comic run Faithless before reading this fic. It will help you understand things. I jumped around quite a bit so be warned.

Heather Douglas aka Moondragon has the ability to invade someone's mind and control them.

Also I am basing this off my understanding of the comics. I don't know where Gamora actually was, her status with the rest of the team etc. This is my interpretation.

*Warnings: Themes of death/dying/mortality. Implied animal abuse, torture, scenes with hospitals/medical equipment (not explicit but mentioned).*

“Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.”

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Emily Dickenson

Tyressel - Deserted Forest Planet 11th Quadrant

Target locked, armed with two Kree evart guns. Gamora crouched in the branches of a large tellwart tree, squinting between the branches at the lone Estarian down below. The fool stopped, glancing around the dark trees. She lunged, landing on the Estarian’s broad shoulders and disarming her in one fell swoop.

“Where is he?” Gamora growled, pressing her blade to the assassin’s thick purple neck. She flailed, twisting, trying to reach her arm out for her evart gun, scattered across the forest floor. “I know you were after him, where is he?” The alien made to bite, cursing in some foriegn tongue.  Gamora pressed the blade harder, keeping her grip tight. “Take me to him and I will make your death painless.”

“Wh….who are...y...you?” The Estarian whimpered through her beginning to weaken under Gamora’s weight. She could feel it in the way the assassin’s muscles tensed and loosened, tensed and loosened again.

“I,” Gamora seethed, watching blue blood pucker from the Estarian’s neck, “am the most dangerous woman in the galaxy. Take me to your target or I will gut you like an orloni on a spit.”  

Gamora, sucked a breath, counting down before she made her move. One, two...three, she flicked her blade from the assassin’s mouth, instantly checking her in the temple with the helm of her sword. It worked. The Estarian stumbled, in time for Gamora to leap off of her and grab the tossed guns. The assassin stumbled weakly to the side, tripping on an unassuming root. Gamora sprinted after her, taking aim best she could with the cumbersome weapon and shot. The assassin screamed, buckling.

“Take me to him NOW!” Gamora shouted, voice cracking. Assuming he is still here. He’d better be.

“.....I’ll….t...tale you to him...if you promise not to k...kill me.”  Gamora caught up to her, tackling the alien unceremoniously to the ground, pinning her once more. ….I’ve come too far to give up now. Risked too much, lied too much. The thought of it made her stomach churn. She shook Peter’s face from her head; turning again to the Estarian bleeding on the ground.

“Deal.”

---

“H….here,” Gamora stopped, smirking. A Tellinian cruiser, I might have known.  She tightened her grip on the limping Estarian. Dragging the wounded assassin closer and trying to stifle the panic rising within her. What if she was too late? What if all the lying was for nothing? What if it’s not him?  Gamora held her breath as she neared the ship. A window on the port side.

“What’re you w...waiting…” Gamora clamped her hand over the assassin’s mouth, tightening her grip.

“Shut up.”

She peered through the window, heart dropping in her chest. All the imagining, all the speculation and wandering had not prepared her. Her hand tightened over the assassin’s mouth, trying to stop her own shaking.

“Rocket!” She pounded her fist against the metal door. “It’s Gamora! Open up! Now!” She sucked her breath, waiting for any sound. “I mean it! open this door or I will….hey!”  Gamora spun, realizing the Estarian had slipped from her grip and was darting away through the trees. Forget this, she gave me what I wanted. Gamora fingered the evart gun, holding steady, aimed and fired true. The assassin went down without a cry, the bullet going straight through her skull. She ran, I had no choice. She would’ve come back and finished Rocket off some other day, Gamora rationalized. She unloaded the gun and dropped it to the ground. Waiting in the heavy silence. Now it was just the two of them. Her stomached flopped again, her arms shaking. Every time she thought of the image she had seen through the ship’s window Gamora swallowed down the panic. I knew it was bad...I didn’t realize it was that bad.

“Rocket,” she tried softer this time. “It’s just me. The others are quadrants away. I’m here alone. Please, open up.”  She waited, some distant bird called in the canopy above. Through the trees she three green suns cast emerald light around her. It would be a pretty planet, if it didn’t reek with rot and swamp water and muck. What a fitting place Rocket had chosen to die, she thought darkly.  Something inside the ship shuffled, metal against metal scraping. She waited, standing square before the ship’s main door. Finally, the red door slid upward. Gamora took it in by degrees as Rocket slowly came into view, from the claws on his paws, the shaking legs, the thin whip of a tail, no longer bushy and ringed but dull like a piece of frayed rope. A sunken chest.

Calm yourself.

Gamora ordered, swallowing a lump in her throat. Rocket’s neck was thin, eyes red and swollen nearly shut, patchy fur dull. Bandages fixed to his arms, an intravenous line on each limb, tubes stuck out every which way. If she didn’t know better he may have robbed the nearest emergency room on Retaok. That is most likely exactly what he did. She watched him pull down the clear breathing mask that was strapped across his muzzle. He looked her up and down, cocking his head.

“Staring is rude Gamora,” he wheezed. She did her best not to flinch.

Of course he wouldn’t want to be found.

She tried to ignore the sight of his lungs under paper skin, pushing against his ribs with the effort.  She strode past him.

“Got anything to drink?”

“I th….thought...thought you’d never aa..ask!”

His hollow laughter only made her want for more alcohol.

“G...gams, what’s with the ...d...dead b..broad?”

She stopped, turning.

“That dead broad wanted you dead. She was on her way here to kill you.”

Rocket shrugged.

Gamora turned on her heel, taking off down the corridor. The screech of metal halted her step. Rocket limped behind her, dragging the metal poles that hung heavy with liquid bags. Inexplicable rage mounted in her, misplaced. She stormed back over to him, forcing herself to calm down and walked in step with his lame gait. It took everything within her not to offer help but she knew what would come if she did.

“You...you said it's just you?” He sounded so uncertain. Refusing to meet her gaze. She walked consciously slowly, allowing him to lead the way with his equipment until they made it to the ship’s main bay and low and behold an makeshift bar.

“Yes, it’s just me.” She snapped, reaching for a bottle of clear quasian liquor. It’s stinging taste burnt her tongue and tingled her stomach. She set it down with a firm clink. Watching him take the bottle with trembling hands and pour it liberally.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gamora spoke through jaw clenched frustration. “We will find some way to stop whatever is happening to you. Come back to the ship. To Peter and Groot….come home Rocket.”

His ears twitched, looking away. She watched him take a drink. The veins in his neck swelling as he swallowed. When had his fur begun to fall out? He tapped his claws against the glass.

“I ain’t going soft.”

“What’s wrong with being soft?”

Rocket shook his head,

“It’s..” he devolved into coughing. Gamora took another drink. “I’m protectin’ them!” He sputtered.

“You’re being selfish.” She snapped back, the fiery alcohol adding a bite to her voice. The ringtail poured himself another drink.

“I never got no say in this,” he gestured weakly to himself. “Didn’t get much say in anything. So let me have a say in this.” He whispered, staring into his glass. “Lemme have a say in how I go.” He looked up at her, eyes glossy, unfocussed. He looked at her without seeing her. Gamora shifted uncomfortably. Pouring another drink. “I…I’m not going soft,” he repeated.

That was it. Gamora slammed her fist down on the table, sending the glasses scattering.

“Why not choose life?! We can get you help. There are places all the across the galaxy that can save you.”

“I ain’t going nowhere!”

He tried to yell but it came out a grating whisper. Too late, she’d seen it already. Fear. Terror. Horrific speculation that whatever it would take to heal him would be worse than that which was already happening. She twinged with sympathy, what an awful choice...what would I do..? If I had to go back to Thanos or...or die?   What kind of a choice is that? Gamora steeled herself. Determined. There was only one way to find out.

Gamora snatched one of the tubings, a clear chord running from the raccoonoid’s mouth to the oxygen tank beside them. She pinched it, kinking the tube, the whine of the gass erupting. Rocket went rigid.

“G...Gamora!” He shook, thin chest heaving. She glared even as he collapsed. She knelt, looming over him. He gagged for air. “G….Gamora...I...I can’t.” Red eyes bulged, kicking weakly.

“What?” Her fingers tightened around the coil. She knelt over him, watching him struggle. His nostrils flailing. “You can’t what?”

“G...gmora…”

She held her own breath, whole body tense. Her sweaty hands held fast to the tube, the squeak of the building gas arched, building her anxiety. Beneath her Rocket shuddered, eyes roving. His chest puffed in and out, limbs going heavy. Gamora had seen it plenty of times. He looked at her, making his choice.

Gamora let go, the rush of the air spouted back through the tube. Rocket arched upward, tubes and contraptions shuttering. Gamora reached out, gingerly taking his fragile arms and helping him upward, her own heart sinking.

“So you’ll die alone and in pain for your pride?” She fumed. Gamora had long prided herself on measured emotions and logic, it was the only thing that had kept her alive for most of her life, it was what had allowed her to survive. But this? This she could not muster through. Confused, helpless rage coursed through her. She glared at the raccoonoid with righteous vitriol.

Rocket fiddled with the monitors attached to his chest, still panting.

“I’ll….die with...d..dignity the way I want.”

“Because drinking yourself into oblivion, stumbling around in your own piss and shit is so dignifying!” Gamora snarled, blazing. Rocket bared pointed teeth,

“Then why’d you even come Gamora? Did the tree put you up to t...this?” The ringtail heaved for breath from his outburst, lifting the oxygen mask and taking three deep breaths. Gamora looked away. He teetered for a moment on his shaking feet, but watched her carefully like a deer wary of a coming wolf. For her part Gamora wrung her hands together; as soon as the rage had flooded her, it was gone.

“I came,” she began slowly, “because I watched my parents die in front of me...and I was helpless to stop it.” She took a shaking breath, trying to suppress the memories. “But not this time. This time I can do something,” she continued with renewed determination. “I’m not standing by while someone I love....”  

Rocket’s mouth fell open, his whiskers twitched.

“You….you l..love me?” He breathed.

The most dangerous woman in the galaxy rolled her eyes, then stopped realizing his genuine shock. She stopped short, stepping closer to him.

“Why do you think I’m here Rocket?” She whispered gently, “Why do you think we’ve all been searching for you since you left? Why do you think I went behind everyone’s backs to come here?”

Rocket looked away, coughing for a moment. Gamora reached out a hand impulsively but he shook it away.  He’d made his choice. He has a right to his own decisions.

“If this is what you truly want, fine.”  She watched him cling to the pole for support, sucking a few more breaths of air. “I’ll be back in two Xandarian turns. Medicine, bandages, supplies, whatever you need.”

“More booze?” Rocket gestured to the spilled liquor and remaining bottles.

“There will be others like that Estarian,” she thought aloud. “You’ve pissed off a lot of people and they will be coming. I’ll take care of it. If you are determined to die,” she forced the words past the lump in her throat, “you deserve to do it on your own terms.” Rocket nodded. “I’ll keep your location secret for now, but they’ll find you eventually. Either Heather will with her powers or Groot will find you by sheer force of will.”

“If Groot’s gonna find me you better grab this oxygen tube again and be done with it,” he fingered the clear tubing in his claws, managing a wheezing laugh she did not reciprocate. Instead she turned back down the hall of the ship, making for the exit.

“I appreciate you doing this for me...” Rocket called after her softly. Gamora turned, looking down at him. Something gray and heavy overwhelmed her inside, taking her reason and dashing it to pieces. Her chest synched.

“Of course. That’s what family does for each other,” she managed, tears welled the rims of her eyes. “They respect the wishes of their loved ones. No matter how much they h...hate it. No matter how much..it hurts. And you’re right. You never got a say in how or why you were made. They never gave you that right. But you have it now. And I respect that.” She sniffed, watching his own large eyes dampen. She forced a smile. “And besides, you’d do the same for me.”

Rocket punched the controls, opening the large door of the ship.

“I’m gonna miss you Gams,” he managed.

Gamora sniffed once more, wrapping her grief around resolve. She straightened, clearing her throat and smiled good naturedly.

“I’ll see you in two turns....and every two after that.”

---

Thirty Three Xandarian Turns Later

The Benatar:

“Where is he?” Groot bristled, angry thorns erupting from his broad shoulders. Gamora planted her feet on the metal floor, folding her arms.

“I’m sorry about this Groot, but I’m not going to tell you.”

Groot grimaced, before she could react he unleashed one long arm, seizing her in his vines and lifting her off the floor, slamming her into the hard wall of the ship’s bay.

“Unhand me Wood God...I don’t want to hurt you,” she leveled with him, staring into those ruthless brown eyes. Who knew Groot would go from easy going and peaceable to stalwartly angry so soon after Rocket disappeared. The flora colossus’s tight grip loosened.

“You already have.”

Gamora twisted, landing on her feet just in time. She swallowed her shame. Groot stalked past her, sitting heavily in the co-pilot's chair.

“He wants to be left alone Groot,” she tried. “I know it’s...it’s terrible but...it’s his decision. I told him I’d honor that.”

“No it’s not his decision.” Groot growled. “It’s ours. He is part of this team,….I won’t just let him...,” the flora stopped short, words choked. Heather reached out gently touching the flora’s shoulder.

Peter looked up from his hands, wary.

“Groot’s right Gamora, we have to do what’s best for Rocket. But..what’s best for him and what he wants...might be different.”

He’s right. You know he is.

Gamora grumbled.

“Gamora,” Heather reasoned, “I don’t want to do this, but...if I must…I will make you tell me where,”

“Try it,” She dared, casting a glare at the woman.

Groot stood abruptly, turning for one of the small pods.

“I’m going to find him. I don’t care what he wants.”

Gamora stood, hand going to her sword but Peter jumped between them, raising his arms, placating.

“Gamora, let him go.”

“I’m going with him,” Heather stood, following the Flora colossus. She returned Gamora’s contemptuous look before disappearing down the hall.

Gamora stepped forward, startling as Peter gripped her shoulder,

“Let them go. If they find Rocket and manage to talk to him, well….if anyone can get him to come back, it’s Groot.”

Gamora frowned,

“I doubt it Peter.”

---

The Benatar After The Battle

with The Universal Church of Truth

“What are you doing?!” Gamora shouted over the sound of gunfire as the Benatar sped away. Peter frantically punched coordinates into the ship’s navigation. She stood, looking over his shoulder, sweat beading on her forehead. She sucked a breath, heart nearly stopping.

“Halfworld?!”

“They are the only people who know Rocket’s biology and how to fix it. If anyone can save him it’ll be them.”

Gamora rounded on the Flora colossus, who held Rocket tight to him in a protective cocoon.

“We're not bringing him to Halfworld! They were the ones who tortured him!”

Gamora’s unyielding restraint and reason were crumbling, fast. She knew it but at the moment there was no time to care. Groot only stared straight ahead as the ship lurched across another jump point.

“Groot!”

Gamora beat her fist against him in a rage. The ship raced onward, she curled her fingers into his arm for stability, and in anger, pieces of bark flaking off.

“He’d rather die than go to some hospital or lab, never mind Halfworld! You bring him back there, you're no better than the people who created him! You'd hand him over to those sadists! How could you do that?!” Her voice cracked. Groot grunted, throwing her off of him with a single uncaring shrug.

“Guys….” Peter tried from his position at the wheel.

Gamora regained her stance, only to have Drax’s impenetrable arms wrap around her. Any other time, she’d easily free herself with her sword but her mind was not working, not focusing on tact or precision. Somewhere amid all those branches Rocket lay without any life-saving equipment, his own cybernetics rebelling against him. He was being unmade and he’d only sped up the process trying to save them. And this...this was how Groot was returning the favor? She’d seen the hollow terror in the raccoonoid’s eyes when she even suggested getting help. Now that fear was becoming hers.

“How can you do this to him?!” She screamed, thrashing in Drax’s hold. “He doesn’t want to hurt anymore Groot don’t you get that?! He doesn’t want to be put back together again and again!”

“Gamora we will be with him the whole time,” Heather tried to intervene. “We won’t let anything happen to him.”

“You can’t take him back there, you can’t betray him like that! Groot!” Her voice rose to a shriek, unable to contain her outrage. Groot, Groot out of all of them. That was the worst, most heartbreaking part of it all. Rocket trusted him, loved him above everyone else and Groot was going to hand him over to them.

“He’ll die! And if he doesn’t die he’ll suffer! They'll make him and unmake him again! How can you live with that?!”

When the flora finally looked at her it was with eyes as cutting as steel.

“I’d rather do something than nothing.” he rumbled. “At least I could say I tried to save him ....unlike you.”

Gamora only gnashed her teeth, trying to free herself.

“Halfworld coming up,” Peter announced.

Gamora twisted, elbowing Drax in the ribs and darted forward, blade out and aimed at the wood god, who’s attention had returned to Rocket. Gamora ran, swinging the sword upward and...fell to the ground, Heather’s presence crashing into her mind. Heather now possessed control of her body and, despite Gamora’s will, steered her to the copilot seat, strapping her in. Through the large windows, the forbidding planet loomed, half forested with pinkish trees, half bare and covered in buildings visible even at this distance. Halfworld.

I’m so, so sorry. Forgive me Rocket.

She’d failed him.

---

Halfworld BioEngineering Facility

Keystone Quadrant

Four Terran Days Later

Gamora bypassed the security on the door and entered the small, sanitary room with caution, her stomach one wrong motion away from expelling itself at any given moment. Rocket lay motionless in the too large bed, monitors beeping steadily, which if nothing else she assumed was a good sign. The scientists at Halfworld had welcomed Rocket into their care, perhaps a little too enthusiastic at the prospect. Going so far as to offer “further enhancements.” But between threats and constant vigilance however the team more or less agreed to allow the procedures that would save the raccoonoid’s life. For her part she’d reserved herself to silence. Trying to recover the embarrassment from her outburst on the ship. It had all happened so fast. Heather had not released her from her possession until they’d whisked Rocket back behind the O.R. doors and by that time she was too exhausted to fight anyone.

She crept closer, Rocket appeared to be sleeping soundly. His little chest going in and out still unnervingly skinny but breathing better. Gamora stopped short, only just realizing Groot. He sat hunkered at the bedside, a freshly grown bouquet of flowers on the nightstand, adding a pleasant smell to the otherwise chemical stench. His eyes only stared at Rocket, still as stone.

“I should not have yelled at you.” Groot murmured after a time. Gamora remained stoic but took a step closer eyes surveying the chart that hung on the other side of the bed. She plucked it up, reading the report.

“They completely upgraded his mods,” she read aloud. “Skeletal, muscular, nural.”

“I know what it says.”

She threw the chart down on the nearby table and collapsed  in the chair opposite Groot, watching the subtle fur on the raccoonoid’s ears twitch with every tiny motion. She ran a hand across her face, her own exhaustion catching up with her.

They sat in tense silence. An occasional beep or innocuous announcement interpreting their brooding. She watched Groot who watched the ringtail. He picked at his own bark mostly, doing anything but looking at her.

The blankets shifted, Rocket stirred. Gamora’s heart leapt into her throat only to fall when he did not open his eyes, but fell back into a steady sleep. Groot stood, and beant down over his friend, gently touching his own brow to Rocket’s, one large hand cradling the raccoonoid’s face and closing his eyes.

“You are the most important person in Rocket’s life,” Gamora whispered, rotating the rings on each index finger, anything to avoid looking at the imposing flora.  “You were right. His choice to run away and die affected all of us, you most of all. And I was going to let him die without saying goodbye.” Tears threatened to resurface.

Groot withdrew his embrace and stood, looking down at her; that rigid cracked face unreadable.

“You were honoring Rocket’s wishes without question. Protecting him. Sacrificing your own feelings to do so. You were going to bury him.”

“Yes.”

Groot nodded.

“That takes more honor and more of a different kind of love than even I could muster.”

Gamora glanced up at him, raising a brow. Groot only opened one large hand, and she watched in memorization as a small blue and white flower grew from his palm.

“Rocket will like that,” she attempted a lighter tone.

“It’s not for Rocket,” Groot held it out to her. “I was right, that he is a part of this team. This family. His life and his death do not belong solely to him. But you belong to this family too.”

With that the tears escaped her, she took the flower, gently snapping it away from his palm.

“I am sorry,” Groot professed. She watched him walk around the bed carefully to her and open his arms. Gamora fell into the hug with as much overwhelming joy as exhaustion. The strong bark steady and assuring.

“I’m sorry too Groot. I didn’t want to hide things from you.” He’d never know the insatiable guilt that had wracked her during those months. He’d never know how it took everything within her not to say anything. How it had haunted her. “But I promised him I’d honor his choice and I know he’d do the same for any of us.” Groot’s arms tightened around her. “He didn’t want to come back here, he’d rather die and...I’d make the same call if I had to go back to Thanos.”

Groot’s large head leaned on top of her own, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

“I know.”

She let herself remain in the flora colossus arms a moment longer, a safe warm place. No wonder Rocket liked to curl up with the tree creature when he went to sleep. Gamora finally reluctantly withdrew, tucking the flower behind her ear.

“I’ll give you two some privacy. He’ll want to see you when he wakes.”

“You can stay Gamora. He’ll want to see all of us.”

The rest of them filed in later, after the Halfworlders approved it. They gathered around the raccoonoid shortly before he woke up, cursing but relieved.

“I know I’m not doing any good by lying here. I’ll get better,” he breathed.

“Hey,” Peter took the ringtails hand. “Don’t worry about that, take all the time you need.” Rocket surveyed them all. Gamora stood beside Groot, her heart light for the first time in her recent memory.

“I knew we got a whole galaxy to save….”

“The galaxy can wait.”

Rocket nodded, happy tears formed around the edges of his eyes. He moved from person to person, finally landing on Gamora.

Thank you,

The raccoonoid mouthed to her. Her heart hitched in her chest but she grinned, standing there with all of them. Rocket would be okay. Groot forgave her. She’d kept her word after all. Peter was right, the galaxy could wait. For all of them.

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: Chapter 10

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(on ao3)

Wei Wuxian.

                                 Wei Wuxian.

         We’ve been waiting, Wei Wuxian.

                                                            Do you remember, Wei-gongzi?

You can’t control it, Wei Wuxian.

                                                                            You promised.

              You promised, Wei-gongzi.

                                               Wei Wuxian.

Let us out.

                             Let us out, Wei Wuxian.

                                                                 Don’t you want to?

            Wei Wuxian.

                                                   Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian.

                                                                                  It’s time.

Half-spectral, ash grey—

“Wei-gongzi, please.” Blood on his teeth, an open grave empty of bones— Revenge— Don’t you want revenge? Wen Chao laughing, sneering; Wen Chao trembling, peeling his own skin off in bloody strips. “Do you know what it’s like to starve, Wen-er-gongzi? Do you know what hunger tastes like?” Tears running hot as fresh blood, broken fingers closing around a seething hilt. Resentment cuts through him, splinters bone and tatters veins. His heart thumps hollow with the two-beat rhythm of revenge. “Wei-gongzi, please, you need to calm yourself.” Calm yourself. Restrain yourself. Chenqing hissing under his hand. Of course they can attack him as they please, but when it comes to protecting himself, he must hold back, curb his strength. How fragile they are, these all-mighty gentry. How thin their pride, how feeble their strength. The crack of bone breaking, a punched-out gasp. A valley of undead swarming two golden sparks. Jin Zixuan swaying, surprise breaking bloody over his lips. “A-Li—” Wei Wuxian comes to in the feeble light of candles. A tear slips hot down his cheek and he doesn’t let himself brush it away. How obscene, how wrong, to feel sorrow when he’s the one who’s brought this down on all of them. He is the architect of their ruin and he has the gall to weep? Absurd. He’s been lying to all of them, pretending he’s anything but a weapon, trying to hide his sharp edges under the swaddling of smiles and laughter. As if he could ever be anything but what he made himself. He’s a demon with a smile, a curse in human skin. “Why?” he asks. “Why him? You could have killed anyone else — why did you have to kill him?” He sits up, somewhere outside of his body. Nothing hurts anymore. All those aches and old breaks have been replaced. Reverse ossification, where once was bone is nothing more than resentment, dark hunger swallowing him whole. He understands. His body is not his own. His hands close around Wen Ning’s collars, clenching the fabric as if to tear it off or fling Wen Ning away. Wen Ning puts up no resistance, uses none of that terrible strength Wei Wuxian forced onto him. “Why did you kill him?” he demands. “Why did it have to be him? What is shijie supposed to do now? What am I supposed to do?” “I’m sorry,” Wen Ning bursts out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” Wei Wuxian stumbles back, releasing him. Wen Ning is a weapon. Wen Ning is a blade in careless hands. He drags his fingers back through his hair, digs his nails into his scalp. “What am I supposed to do? Why did I choose this path?” he mutters, begs. “What on earth should I do? Who can tell me?” His nails bite into his scalp, blades of pressure against his skull. His body hums, sings, is brought to life with his grief and rage. Black sand scrapes through fragile capillaries. “What can I do?” he wails. “Who can tell me what I’m supposed to do?” Slipping down his skull, his hands clench around his hair, tugging, before they drop to fists at his sides. His own voice falls dead on the cave walls. There is no one here to guide him. He is alone, utterly and wholly by his own making. “Wei-gongzi?” Wen Ning’s voice is so tentative, hesitant and fearful. Fair, he thinks. Fitting. He remembers only snatches of the pass; he remembers enough. Fear, anger, blood, his own will rising like the tide and drowning out Wen Ning’s, the current dragging him under. Wen Ning had only ever wanted to be a cultivator and a medic, to make his sister proud and help his family. He’s only a kid — only nineteen when he died and only nineteen forever, trapped in a slipshod eternity. Wei Wuxian had thought he was helping when he did it — or was that only another lie he told them? He can’t remember his thoughts at the time, can only recall anger and grief and thrumming, screaming power. This is his own disaster. No one can fix this. His grief and panic cool, solidify like iron dropped in a bucket by the forge. Tempered, honed, he steadies. “Wei-gongzi, there is a message from Yunmeng. It came the night before last.” Wen Ning’s eyes are wide and worried; he watches closely even as he extends the arrow on shaking hands. Wei Wuxian takes it, and the spelled shaft unfurls into a small, tight scroll. He recognizes Yu Bujue’s hand, and before he has even read the first character, he knows the naïve hope that is to follow. ‘Da-shixiong, there will be an attack the day after tomorrow. All the sects have pledged forces.’ How innocent of a-Jue to think this warning would be either news or helpful. He’s always been like that, just enough younger to always seem a child even when he was fighting beside them in a war. Of course the sects are coming. Wei Wuxian has killed the heir of the Chief Cultivator himself. There is no other path they could take. “Perhaps if — if I turned myself in,” Wen Ning suggests. Wei Wuxian shoots a sharp look his way, silencing him. Wei Wuxian has done this. He started all of it, and he puppeted Wen Ning in the pass. He will not let another take his punishment. “No,” he says, straightening. He can feel the resentment now more than ever. It distorts his edges, blurs the boundary of his skin. His heart no longer pulses for his own blood but to set a steady beat for the burn-song replacing his veins. Every movement is a half-conscious command, a sequence of notes directing his limbs as Chenqing leads ghosts and ghouls. “No,” he says. “Leave. Go anywhere away from here, but do not turn toward the sects. There is a desert far to the north. Go there, go to the mountains, to the sea, but do not ever turn back here.” “Wei-gongzi—” Wen Ning protests. His dark eyes are wide and fearful. Wei Wuxian turns to him, crumpling the talisman scroll in his hand. Wen Ning’s throat bobs once before he squares his shoulders and faces Wei Wuxian stubbornly. “Wei-gongzi, I cannot leave my family,” he says. “I can’t leave you to face the sects alone. I did it, I was the one who attacked. Let me help you.” Help? What help will he bring but his own destruction? Does he really think there is any way Wei Wuxian will walk away from this? The end is here. There is no escape from the encroaching night. “If you won’t go on your own, I can make you,” Wei Wuxian says. His voice comes out cool and even, and Wen Ning flinches back. Wei Wuxian has always promised that Wen Ning was his own person, wasn’t a puppet, wasn’t just a tool. He’s made a lot of promises over the years. “Wei-gongzi—” Wen Ning starts, taking an uncertain step forward. “Wen Qionglin, leave this place,” Wei Wuxian orders. “Leave and never look back. I don’t need Chenqing to command you.” Some part of Wen Ning still seems to protest; his gaze searches Wei Wuxian’s face, begging, pleading. Wei Wuxian meets it, flat and uncaring. He promised Wen Qing he’d keep him safe. He owes them too much to do anything else. If Wen Ning will not save himself, Wei Wuxian will give him no choice. Wen Ning takes a faltering step backward. His face is so still, but there’s the faintest start of a frown. If he were alive, he’d be crying already. Wei Wuxian holds himself tight and still, strings pulled taut through the hollows of his bones. Wen Ning’s hands are shaking as he brings them before him, bowing low and solemn. “I’m sorry, Wei-gongzi,” he says and his voice trembles. Wei Wuxian doesn’t watch him leave, but he can feel it; the threads still connecting them, thin and stubborn, stretching farther away. He’ll feel it when Wei Wuxian dies. He’ll know when he’s free. Now, Wei Wuxian turns to his work. There are forty-eight of them living here. With Wen Qing and Wen NIng gone, that leaves forty-five villagers to protect. He doesn’t need to factor himself in, doesn’t need to calculate his own protections. That cause has long been lost. Everything is thinner, sharper-edged. He flickers on the threshold between realms, yin energy replacing his blood and bone. It scours the backs of his ribs, bites into the soft tissue still lingering like meat that hasn’t yet rotted from the bone. There were lessons Jiang Cheng took alone growing up, as sect heir, ones where Wei Wuxian would wait outside the hall and then talk them over with Jiang Cheng when he emerged. The duties of the Head Disciple weren’t limited to teaching, after all, even if that had always been his favorite. An attack on the Burial Mounds, on the Yiling laozu, will warrant full forces from all the sects. Now, he sketches rough estimates of the army coming for his head and prepares. The Jin sect will be the greatest force, both because they are the most offended and the most powerful. Next, the Nie sect — martial and brutal as their sabers. The Lan sect will hold back a little, still nursing wounds from the burning of Cloud Recesses; like Yunmeng Jiang, they haven’t fully replenished their numbers. He draws in a steadying breath. Yunmeng Jiang will bring the smallest force, but they won’t be able to winnow their numbers in his favor without risking the sect itself. They will come to fight, even if they don’t want to. He calls up disciples’ faces, draws up his shidis and shimeis, Yu Bujue and the new swordmaster Cao Xingtao. He pictures Jiang Cheng. The Burial Mounds have always liked him, ever since they tugged him down the first time. It reminds him a little of the lakes of Yunmeng, how he’d been able to feel the living energy swirling and flowing around them. The lakes had always pulled to him like the tides, ebbing and flowing, giving and releasing. Every Jiang disciple knows the harmonies of the waters, recognizes the disturbances caused by common problems: water ghouls, drowned spirits, and the like. The Burial Mounds are not so forgiving. The dead do not love by halves: they are made of hunger, of want. He’d bartered and bargained and dealed the first time to make them let him walk away. They’d resented having to give him up even temporarily, jealously clinging to this new song he composed from their screams. There are no concessions this time. He will not walk away. They give back fully, energy rushing up to greet him with seething delight. The qin-wire strings of his existence resonate with the force. There are no more lines between them anymore. He is the Seal is Chenqing is him. The Burial Mounds open up and welcome him. He cuts into his palm and begins painting. The array will be a focal point, the center of his force. The parched stone soaks in the scarlet of his blood, the thick lines spreading into the cracks of the rock. He chooses carefully, selecting with intent. Amplification, exclusion, repulsion. He is his own arsenal; he arrays his forces in the patterns of talismans and wards. With each cut, each stroke, he feels the resentment take firmer root. A spreading snarl of roots knotting through his chest, wrapping around and cracking open bones. The voices are louder now, shrill screams echoing in his ears as if reverberating through his own hollow shell. A bitter wind scourges his skin as the Burial Mounds opens itself to his crooked hands. “Wei-gongzi?” Popo and Uncle Six stand side by side, shoulders curled as if they’re only barely keeping themselves from cowering. Popo’s veiny hands shake where they’re clasped before her ribs. “Wei-gongzi, how can we help?” Uncle Six asks. They are so frail before him, so small and fragile. He can feel their qi, dull and quiet against the raging resentment all around them. Only the faintest brushes of yin energy shadow their own souls; they are peaceful people, gentle. They don’t have that shuddering quake to their bones. “Go inside,” he says. “Close the doors and do not open them. No matter what you hear, do not come outside.” Uncle Six swallows, shaggy brows furrowing as if in worry or perhaps fear. Popo reaches out a shaking hand but pulls back before touching his sleeve. “Wei-gongzi,” she says gently, “your eyes…” Her hand creeps back to curl close to her chest. He does not feel regret. They should have known from the beginning, should have been better warned of the monster walking among them. Wen Ning was never the one to fear. “Go inside,” he says. There’s a long hesitation before, finally, they give little bobbing nods. He can feel the rest of them watching, the uneasy shuffle into their hard won homes. The houses are small and flimsy, put together with hard work and meager materials. There are no wards that can make the dark wood stone, but he can seal them once they’re closed. It will be something at least, a barricade of broken table legs. The sects have their swords and spiritual weapons, but they can still bleed. A hundred thousand needle pricks can drain an elephant. Drawing out the Seal, he picks up Chenqing and begins to play.   The screaming night of the Burial Mounds and the yin energy of the Seal have always been of two different fabrics. They share the common thread of resentment, but they’ve been woven in separate ways. Where the Burial Mounds is raw, unfinished grief and rage, the Seal is refined and condensed, a purer form of resentment. Ghosts and spirits are drawn up from their shallow graves in the Mounds; the Seal gives power with nothing but corrosion tagging along. Chenqing sings for them, drawing and plaiting them together. She hums with this overload of energy, this sudden flood soaking into her wards and walls. She was forged here, too; she carries the Burial Mounds in her edges the same way he does. The boundary is reinforced, then new walls of protections pulled up. He plays new seals into being and builds up walls of the living dead. The spirits echo his own music, and the notes reverberate through the Seal. Each passage, each resounding chorus, strengthens and solidifies the spells. “Xian-gege?” The voice is thin and frightened as it interrupts Chenqing’s dirge. Playing out the last notes of the spell, he lowers the flute and turns. A-Yuan stands at the edge of the array, his little shoes just shy of the blood. A paper butterfly is clutched tight to his chest, wings crumpled in his small fist. “Xian-gege?” he says again. “A-Yuan,” he says, lowering Chenqing. It takes him a moment to recall the name, to draw up the identity of the child before him. The resentment stirs, uneasy at this interruption, but recedes enough for him to reach out a hand. “A-Yuan, why are you outside?” The doors have already been sealed, blood painted in tight arrays along the walls. He could feel the huddled bodies behind them, the fear marinating in their four walls. “Xian-gege, I’m scared,” a-Yuan says, tears bright in his eyes. He can feel it, sublimating off his little frame. He’s not steeped in it, but it’s wound into the young fibers of his core. Resentment in the form of his arms circles around a-Yuan, pulls him up to rest on his hip. The boy nestles in close, his heart racing rabbit-like under his skin. He can’t feel his warmth anymore; there’s a gap between sensation and his soul now, the chasm filled by the prickling dark. “Xian-gege, will you sing for me?” “Of course,” he says. He hums as he walks, a melody untouched by the writhing anger around them. It rises from deep inside him, slips between the shadows of his shattered soul. The spirits do not touch this song, do not attempt to echo its refrain. This is his his his. It is a last bloom on a mountain of ash. They will not taint it. A-Yuan hums along, holding tight to his collars. He’s so little still, small for his age and always skinny. They’d given him extra portions whenever they could, everyone slipping something off their plate for his, but even still, there has only ever been so much to go around. Now, he fits easily in Wei Wuxian’s arms and hardly weighs anything at all. “I need you to be good, a-Yuan,” he says. There’s an old tree at the edge of the clearing in which they made their fragile home. Black rope-work scars it, and the bark peels back from the gash of the lightning strike. It’s an old wound in an ancient tree, and the edges have been worn smooth by wind and rain. “A-Yuan will be good for Xian-gege,” the boy promises solemnly. He offers up a smile, hopeful, even as his big brown eyes are dark and worried. Settling him up in the hollow, Wei Wuxian smooths back his mussed hair. “Be good and stay quiet,” he says. A-Yuan bobs his head in a nod. His little hands fold tight around the butterfly, clutching it close to his chest. “And a-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian says, “don’t look. I need you to promise me.” There are tears gathering in his eyes, his brows pinching toward each other in distress. Wei Wuxian cups his cheek with his palm. “Xian-gege, are you going away?” he asks. Wei Wuxian swallows, hums an affirmation around the knot in his throat. It was easier moments ago, when he was alone in the storm welling up inside him. So much resentment has threaded itself through his skin that he hardly remembered who he was if not an extension of the hurt and rage of this place. “Xian-gege, please don’t leave,” a-Yuan says, fat tears welling up and breaking. “Please don’t leave. I’ll be good, Xian-gege, I’ll be really good.” “Mm.” Wei Wuxian clears his throat and leans a-Yuan’s head forward to brush a kiss to his forehead. “It will all be alright, a-Yuan. I promise.” “You’ll come back?” Such a small voice, already breaking. Wei Wuxian settles him, smooths flyaway hairs where they’ve slipped from the tie. It’s only one more lie. “I’ll come back,” he says. “But you have to promise you’ll be quiet and you won’t look. Alright, a-Yuan?” After another tremulous pause, a-Yuan nods. “A-Yuan promises,” he says. A smile flickers on Wei Wuxian’s lips, shaking even as he suppresses it. It’s quick work to ward the tree, to seal it against the coming attack. Cruelty, even in this — to imprison the boy in an unmarked tomb. Perhaps his spirit will forgive him. He’s always been a kind boy, quick to forget his own tears. It’s too much to hope for, but it’s the smallest wish he can make. Perhaps, in another life, he’ll have the chance to say ‘I’m sorry.’ For this life, there is only so much he can do. Turning from the tree, he walks back to the center of the clearing and raises Chenqing once more. There are still a few loose ends, unraveled edges of wards. The corpses shuffle closer to the edges, congregating on the border toward Lanling. The Seal, still halved, hangs suspended at his sides. It hums, all hunger and thirst. Its filigree burns, rings with the white-hot heat of want. Sibilant words sing out from it, memories and reminders of the power that it holds. All he has to do is fit both sides together, slot them into place, let the power flood him. How strong they’d be if only he let them. He holds off. Perhaps some stubborn hope still lingers where he thought he’d drowned it. Maybe it’s Jiang Cheng’s insistence that they can figure it out; maybe it’s shijie’s assurance that the three of them will be together. He doesn’t really want to die, even if he knows he’s long past living. If he connects the two halves, it will be surrendering any hope of return; he will be lost in a way even death can’t fix. He’s been planning to destroy the Seal for so long, he knows the process by heart. If he can only get through this — if he can just hold off the sects and keep the Wens safe — then he’ll break it apart. He’ll be done. At least he’ll be able to do that one last good thing. He just has to hold on a little longer, dig his fingernails in and cling to his fraying control. There’s a ping against the wards, the first sign of an approach. It hums through him like the echo of qin strings in a cave. Reverberating through his chest, it’s caught and overwhelmed by the tearing sensation as the wards are broken. Pressure mounts, spiritual energy a rising crescendo against the seething resentment called up around them.

Closing his eyes, he lifts Chenqing and begins.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Rude Awakenings

A giant angst warning on this one. Read at your own risk. This is what my depressed brain churned out and I thought I’d share. (No one dies, don’t worry. It’s just emotional pain.) 

---

Link woke up with a heavy hand wrapped around his waist. A faint snoring came from beside him. He felt the regret weighing on him; it felt heavier than it usually did. His head was spinning a bit and he had a hunch that the alcohol from that last round of shots was still coursing through his veins. His stomach churned and he swallowed thickly trying to get rid of the taste of dregs from his mouth. It almost felt like his skull was rattling painfully inside his head.

Link slowly opened one eye and celebrated the fact that he was in fact home. At least he didn’t have to do the old walk of shame for once. The man next to him shifted closer and turned his face towards Link. Link took a peek and sighed. He had only a few clear memories of last night; a pair of dark green eyes and a bearded face. In the soft light of the morning the resemblance was merely wishful thinking. Alcohol was hell of a mind altering drug. Link could’ve sworn last night the guy had been a spitting image of him.  

Link closed his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep but all he could think about was why do I always do this to myself? He knew why. Of course, he knew. It was him. Always him. Everything Link did was for him – the good and the bad. Recently, especially the bad. The nights filled with alcohol fumes and sloppy kisses against bar walls had become more and more frequent. Link wondered why. Nothing had changed recently. Link loved him as he had these past 35 years. He didn’t love him back. Well, he did but not in the same way. 

Like a brother. 

It was like a curse; wretched words made to embitter and pierce. The words soured Link’s tongue and misted his eyes.

Link took a hold of the man’s hand with his fingertips – he had no memory of his name – and moved it away. It flopped limply on the mattress between them. Link felt a shiver of nausea running through him. He waited a moment, trying to decipher whether he actually had to throw up. He came to the conclusion that he was physically fine, just disappointed with himself again. Link poked at the guy’s side.

“Hey,” he whispered. The guy moved away from his prodding finger and muttered something unintelligible. Link sighed again; the walk of shame had its perks.

“Hey, you gotta go,” Link said louder and nudged the stranger with his palm. The man slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus his gaze on Link.

“Mm, what time izzit?” he mumbled and lifted his head looking at Link with hooded eyes.

“It’s eight am. I gotta go soon, you need to leave,” Link fibbed. He had nowhere to be today. He just wanted to be alone and wallow.

“Eight?! Are you serious? Fuck, man, it’s Saturday. This is inhumane. Let me sleep,” the guy grumbled and his head thumped back on the pillow. Link sighed and nudged him again.

“Sorry, I know it’s early but you gotta go.” He was getting annoyed; he just wanted to be left alone. The guy inched towards him and his hand slipped under the covers finding its way to Link’s morning-semi.

“Or… We could go for round three,” the guy muttered with a sly smile and pressed his face against Link’s neck. Link felt a sharp tongue lapping at his skin and his cock immediately responded to the pressure of the man’s hand around it. Link let his head fall down and closed his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

The guy was good with his hands. And with his cock. Link was sore from last night. It was the good kind of sore, but the intense need to be taken had been sated last night and what was left was only a deep sense of sorrow. It was the wrong hands. Wrong beard. Wrong lips. Wrong cock. Wrong eyes looking at him. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

Link shot up and pushed the guy away.

“Hey, watch it!” the man huffed when Link’s shove made him roll out of the bed. Link lifted his knees up and wrapped his arms around them.

“Just go, dude. We had fun last night. Let’s leave it at that, okay?” Link muttered and pressed his face against his hands.

“Asshole,” the guy groused to himself as he walked out of the bedroom.

Link heard the door close and crumbled back onto the bed. He closed his eyes and thought of him. Waking up next to him. Kissing his lips. Ignoring the morning breath. Enjoying the nasty as much as the nice. His hands on Link’s body. His mouth on Link’s skin. His voice, angelic and sweet, spewing filth at Link as he took him hard and proper. Him calling Link’s name when he came. The praise Link would give him. Their bodies intertwined after. Soft whispers. Loving words. Link’s hand squeezed around his awakened cock as the tears started to roll down his cheeks. I’m a fucking mess.

“Hey, you’re space-age door is not letting me out,” a rough voice jerked Link back to reality. His head whipped towards the bedroom door. The guy was standing there, still shirtless, smirking at Link.

“Already missing me, sugar?” he asked with a suggestive smile, nodding towards Link’s crotch. Link moved quickly to grab his underwear and scowled at the guy. He had no idea how he could’ve found him attractive last night. Link pulled on his boxer briefs while the man looked at him appraisingly.

“You really have a nice, tight body. Wouldn’t mind taking that for another ride. You wanna give me your number?”

“No,” Link simply said and marched past him. He jumped when a sharp smack landed on his barely covered buttocks and turned to glare at the man. The guy just winked at Link and motioned for him to show the way. Link shook his head angrily and stomped to his front door. He’d forgotten the new digital lock. He punched in the code and opened the door with an angry jerk.

“There! Now get the fuck off,” he growled. The guy’s amused gaze flitted from Link to the outside.

“Hey, there. Are you here for seconds?” he asked with a lewd laugh. Link’s head whipped around. All the color drained from his face and his hand flopped down from the door handle.

Rhett was standing on his doorstep, all morning fresh and perfect with a hand lifted to ring the doorbell. He was looking at them wide eyed and jaw hanging slack. Link was suddenly very aware how obvious the scene was. He was in his underwear. The guy was still not wearing a shirt and like a weirdo was even carrying his shoes. He also kept on blathering horrific nonsense.

“He’s a decent ride, I’ll give him that. You’ll have fun. A bit loud for my tastes to be honest. Kept calling me by the wrong name like a goddamn slut. All I heard from those pretty little lips was…”

“Stop!” Link cried out just in time startling both himself and Rhett.

“Just go.” Link’s words came out hoarse and weary. Rhett finally snapped his mouth shut and scowled at the guy.

“I’m pretty sure he told you to fuck off.”

“Whatever. I don’t need this drama. Have fun,” the man said sweetly and blew Link a wet kiss before walking off barefoot. Link shuddered. Never again, he promised himself, already knowing he’d break that promise sooner or later.

“So, you forgot then, huh?” Rhett said. His voice was strained. Link’s eyes turned to him and suddenly his heart was hammering again.

“Forgot what?” he asked quietly.

“We’d agreed to go camping this weekend,” Rhett snapped. His brows were furrowed and Link could plainly see the disgust in his features.

“Oh,” was all Link managed.

“Oh? Oh!? Wow,” Rhett was laughing now. It wasn’t his normal hearty, warm laugh; it was thin and sharp. It cut to Link’s core and made a mess of his insides.

“I’m sorry,” Link muttered. His head hung and his cheeks burned. Rhett snorted.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. So sorry. Or are you maybe confusing that with the word sore? They’re pretty similar! And seems like he got you good. Christ. Seriously?! That is the reason you forget out plans? Him?” Rhett was yelling now waving his hands at the receding figure of the guy walking down Link’s street.

Link tried to draw a breath after breath but all he got in his lungs was what felt like ash. He was suffocating in it. He was drowning in his regret. His eyes were prickling with the tears and he felt his nose starting to run.

“I am sorry,” he repeated, fighting to keep the sobs inside his chest. They hurt; they pressed on his rib cage as they tried to claw their way out. Link pushed them down, forced them to live in him. He could deal with the pain. He had already lived with it for decades. 

Rhett was looking at him with pure vitriol. Link couldn’t understand the intensity of reaction. Yes, he’d forgotten. That was horrible of him. But it wasn’t like it was a proper trip or an event or something. It was just camping. 

“I – “ Link started again. He wasn’t sure what he was about to say. Maybe apologize again. Maybe try and explain. But his words got stuck in his throat and all he managed was a sad whimper. 

Rhett closed his eyes and drew in a breath through his nose like he was trying to calm himself down. Then his eyes opened and suddenly they were filled with tears. Link took a step back, his own tears falling free now, as he looked at Rhett’s pain deforming his usually soft features.

“Why?” Rhett asked, voice small and pleading. “Why him?”

Link opened his mouth to answer but he had no time to get anything out before Rhett delivered the final blow. His next words almost cracked Link’s heart in two.

“Why not me?”

[shurisneakers]

espresso [8]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: swearing, angst (????), pining lol

A/N: surprise bitches i’m back but will disappear soon again for months at a time this is my entry for the exuberant @viktordrago‘s writing challenge (it took me like 20 minutes to find you kumi i2g) thank you to the best beta @samingtonwilson love u and our cinema boi  the fact that i had to fuckin gif this myself shows how desperate i am

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 7 || Espresso Masterlist

Everyone has probably met that one person who is very different from the rest. Someone so profoundly boring, you had no idea you’d rather watch a tap faucet drip for eight hours straight than to ever be within a feet of them breathing.

That would be Vision.  

Vision talked like he had a thesaurus up his ass, smelled like mothballs, and had ideals much too similar to a less-funny, almost less-human Dwight Schrute.

“Hey birthday boy,” you excitedly hushed into the phone at midnight.

“Hey there,” he replied softly so you could nearly feel him smile through the phone.

“How does one more lap around the sun feel?”

“More or less the same. Hold on.” He paused for a second. “Yup, I feel normal.”

“You’re a bore, Bucky Barnes. You’re supposed to be excited or something,” you could hear Nat and Clint giggling about something in the room adjacent to the kitchen where you’d snuck to call Bucky.

“It’s just another day, my dude.”

“It’s your birthday!” you protested, filling up a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

“Meh.”

“What do you have planned?”

“First off, bold of you to assume I thought I’d live this long to actually plan something,” he snorted and you could hear papers shift under him.

“How edgy.”

“Secondly, I’m sleeping till noon and I’m seeing you today,” He cleared his throat. “You all, I mean. The group.”

“Sounds ideal.” You took a large gulp of water before leaning on the counter.

“What about you?”

“Currently; an all nighter with Nat and Clint to complete assignments.” your eyes flitted to the doorway which you realized had gone quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “Other than that, I got nothing else to do other than your birthday thing.”

“Oh yeah, funny story by the way,” he laughed nervously. “I forgot to remind you that your next date is today.”

“Bucky I still don’t get it,” you straightened up immediately. “Today’s your birthday, why would you set me up today?”

“You’re busy through next week and then you have midterms after that,” he defended himself weekly. “And besides, relax. He said it’s an afternoon thing. He’ll drop you off before it starts.”

“Who is it?” you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Jarvis; also known as Vision.”

You were silent for a moment as his name registered in your mind. “Why have you forsaken me this way?”

“Just give the guy a chance,” he chuckled, before yawning. “And remember, be at my place by five.”

He checked his rearview mirror again before turning his head back to the road.

You didn’t know if he was doing this on purpose, but he was driving at the slowest imaginable speed and you thought you’d reach the café faster if you just got out and walked.

He also happened to speak as slowly as he drove. “Can’t take my eyes off the road, you know. Road safety is a number one priority.”

“The world simply would not turn without capable drivers like you,” you murmured, sinking back into the seat that smelt vaguely of hospital-grade disinfectant.

The chances of you dying in an accident with him as a driver was much smaller than you dying of old age in his car.

He didn’t speak, a look of concentration as he made a turn at the curb, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“I thought Vision and Wanda were a thing,” Nat remarked, peering over your shoulder and into your phone when Bucky texted you. Regardless of the content of said text, you smiled anyway when you saw it was from him leading her to completely invade your privacy.

It was just a stupid meme anyway- something that he thought would be an apt goodnight message.

“Wanda doesn’t even remember him.“

“Ouch,” Clint winced from beside you. “That’s gotta hurt the dude in the feelings.”

“Assuming he has more of an emotional quotient than a potted plant,” you muttered grabbing your pencil from under Clint’s hand.

The three of you had assignments due next week, which you decided to do together over many cups of coffee and energy drinks.

“I’m gonna fail this stupid fuckin’ thing. We had to do a meta-analysis of this stupid novel and all I’ve done is watch the fucking movie,” Nat groaned, burying her head in the sheets right by your leg. “I can’t believe I paid a school thousands of dollars, which I don’t have, just to write a meta-analysis, which I haven’t done.”

“Get up, c’mon. You can do this,” you said, nudging her with your foot. She swatted it away, choosing to lie there.

“Nat, I’m too broke to make it rain at the strip club you’ll work at if you drop out. Come on. Let’s get this grade.” Clint rolled his eyes, prodding at her with his pencil.

“You’re so mean, Clit. I’d never invite you to my place of strip anyway.” She raised her head to pout at him but rolled over nonetheless to sit up straight.

“Strip club. And I told you to stop calling me Clit.”

“Whatever.”

As you pulled into the coffee shop eight hours later, you reached over to open the car door only to have him damn near hiss at you.

You reeled back in surprise, watching him shake his head vehemently and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“It’s dangerous out there, especially with those zero-traction shoes. Over 17,000 people die annually because of slipping and falling. Twenty percent to thirty percent of people who slip and fall will suffer injuries like hip fractures, or head injuries.”

”Zero to a hundred real quick, my friend,” you stated, nevertheless not moving. “I know it may not seem like much to you, but I do know how to walk. Been getting enough practice all my life.”

“This is a matter of life and death, Y/N. What if you slip on the sidewalk and crack your skull open? I’d be the one who would have to account to the officers about the lack of awareness when it comes to winter treading and it wasn’t fun the last time it happened,” he said, all in one breath, his head moving side to side furiously.

You stared at him, unable to form any words. Absolutely nothing.

He got out of the car, one foot at a time before slowly standing up and assessing his surroundings. Finally, he took one step forward before pausing and doing it again until he finally reached the other side of the car to open your door.

Wonderful.

“Be careful, don’t jump out too fast,” he commented, holding his hand out to you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“It was made very clear to ensure your safety at all times. James was very, very–“ he looked like he struggled to find the words “—fastidious about it.”

“Oh?”

“Say, Y/N, why exactly is Barnes setting you up with such… specimens?”

“He asked if I needed help in finding someone ‘dateable’. I agreed.”

“Your reasoning being?”

“Why not?”

“Excellent logic.”

“I was bored, Clint. He looked like he genuinely wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t he just set you up with himself?” Clint twirled his highlighter around his fingers. “He missed a great opportunity to pull the greatest plot twist of the century.”

“I really don’t think-“

“It’s probably not the best plot twist. He’s making it pretty obvious with the whole intense staring and heart eyes and writing on your cup thing.”

“Okay, first of all, there is no heart eyes or intense staring or- wait, what writing on my cup thing?” you caught yourself mid-sentence.

“Clint!” Nat hissed, glaring at him.

Clint looked between Nat and you for a few seconds before letting out the most apathetic and monotone, “Oops.”

“You just ruined it, you shit-eating fuck hammer. Bucky’s going to kill us both and then himself when he finds out.”

The place Vis took you was actually decent. It was the nicer of the two coffee shops in town, the other one being where Bucky worked. Still, something was missing and soon you felt yourself missing the chipped tables and fake plants of the other joint. You liked it much more than the pristine white walls and cold plush chairs here.

“Can we get a table for two? Preferably away from the noise-“

You glanced around to pinpoint what noise exactly he was talking about but came up blank.

There were two people in the shop.

“-And away from the sunlight?”

It was cloudy outside.

“Also, could you reduce the heat, please? It’s rather suffocating.”

It was winter.

“Do y’all have tables in the restroom?” you asked blankly.

He blinked at you, expressionless, “The restroom is a goldmine for germs and particles of fecal matter. Surely you know that, Y/N.”

“I just- it was a-“ you sighed. “Okay.”

The waitress however was a sweetheart, and you made a mental note to leave her a good tip before you left. She led you to a quiet corner, meeting all of Vis’ demands before leaving you alone with the menu.

“I think I’ll just go with an Americano.” Lord knows you needed it after last night.

Vision let out a tsk of disinterest, eyes scanning over the card tediously.

“Coffee can damage your liver, increase your risk of osteoporosis, and increased blood pressure. Especially the concentrated form in espresso shots.”

“Oh bother, well, I’ll just have to take that chance.“

“I prefer tea; rich in oxidizing properties. It’s also a wonderful material for composting,” he continued, ignoring your statement. He snapped the card shut, smiling knowingly at you.

The both of you gave your orders before returning back to the non-existent conversation at hand.  Vision chose to keep his hands on the table in front of him. It felt like he was about to give you The Talk. He looked straight into your eyes, never faltering or looking away.

“So,” you dragged out the word, pressing your lips together when he didn’t respond or shift his stare. “What’s u-“

“Do you compost?” he asked suddenly, not breaking eye contact.

“Compost?”

“Yes.”

“I would, but I can’t-post.” You grinned at him, expecting a laugh or at least a groan.

“I compost,” he said stoically.

“That’s great, Vis. What else do you-“ you tried to veer the conversation in some other direction because you had a very good idea of where this was heading.

“I have my own compost. Have you tried making one of your own?” he asked simply. “It’s very simple.”

“I gotta say, buddy, I’m not wildly passionate about it right now.”

“Do you want me to tell you how to make one?”

You blinked at him. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

You screamed internally, smiling at him nonetheless.

It was 4:40. You’d be out of there soon enough.

“Why would you tell her that?!”

“What the hell are you both talking about?” you demanded, shoving your things aside and sitting up straight.

“How would I know she didn’t know?” he ignored you, instead answering to Nat, who was beginning to look somewhat like an angry parrot.

“Jesus Christ, will someone just tell me what don’t I know before I start throwing hands?”

“The shit James writes on your to-go cup every time you show up at his workplace.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you nearly shouted to match their volume.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen them! They’re so glaringly obvious, he might as well be sticking neon signs declaring his love on them.”

“I have never seen any of what you’re talking about except the ‘Mario’ he writes.”

“That’s only one side. Haven’t you seen the other?”

“No! Why would I?”

“He writes really cute messages on them,” Nat said quietly. “Some of them are normal stuff, like “I hope you have a really beautiful day” the others are like small bits of poetry that I think he writes.”

You stayed quiet, trying to absorb this information as much as possible.

“It was pretty clear that he didn’t want any of us-“ she glared at Clint who finally looked a bit guilty –“to tell you.”

“I genuinely thought you knew. He’s been doing it for months now.”

“I didn’t,” you muttered, sinking back. “That explains the weird thing he does whenever I throw away one of the cups.

“You what?!” Nat screeched, leaping to her knees. “Why would you throw them away?!”

“Hey, I didn’t know!” you defended yourself, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I literally found out about them thirty seconds ago.”

“Can you imagine how shitty he feels?”

“Now’s a good time to stop.”

“Just watching the girl you love throw away things you’ve made an effort to make?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“And that would be intimidating if you were… well, intimidating.”

“So once you finish one layer, you move onto the next and so on and so forth.” Vision stirred his cup for what seemed like the twentieth time and at that point, it was much more interesting than the shit coming out of his mouth.

He had been speaking for composting for what felt like a good hour, not allowing you to get a word in sideways about any topic that would be infinitely more interesting than this.

“Y/N, did you hear what I said?”

“What?” you jerked your head when you heard your name. “Oh, yeah.”

“Did you like a part in particular?”

Fuck.

“Loved the part about the… layers.”

“Layers are really the key to this whole thing, if you don’t have enough-“

“You know what has layers?” you said quickly, sitting up straight. “Onions. Ogres are like onions. What is your favorite movie?” if you had to hear him speak about soil and manure one more time, you were going to drown yourself in your tears right then and there.

You could feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, but you didn’t bother answering it before putting it on silent, feeling like you at least owed him basic etiquette.

“I’m not done,” he said blankly, “Now, as I was saying, layers really bring out the-“

You bring your hand down on the table a little too harshly but quickly cover it up with a smile. His voice faltered slightly before pausing when you looked at him expectantly.

“I don’t have a favorite movie. I think they’re all too dependent on suspension of disbelief. There is no true realism. None of them truly cater to what I want.”

“You’re a film major.” “So I can make films that capture the true essence of-“ he inhaled deeply before gesturing with his hands “—everything.”

The same waitress from before asked you if you wanted a refill, to which you agreed, Vision doing the same. You fiddled around with your cup in silence for a while, not knowing how to continue.

“Do you want to hear my idea for a script?”

“Sure.”

“It starts with a twenty minute shot of the ocean. Just lets you get into the tone of the movie. Then the next shot is of a horse stable. Then the next is of a wilted meadow. Then an opening door. Then an unruly bed. Then-“

“That sounds great, but what’s it about, Vis?” you emphasized, hoping to speed things up.

“I’m getting there, but please remember this desire for narrative has been fed to you. Without narrative, we truly push away from the comfort films provide and embrace a reflection of the world around us,” he insisted. “The next shot is a branch. Then a towel. Then-“

You nearly banged your head on the table.

“A church. A running tap, just to introduce motion, you know, to get things moving-“

“You need to make a move. Tell him you know about the cups.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

It was 4am and all of you had collective taken a break from whatever it is that you were doing around thirty minutes ago and were now just laying there, waiting for the caffeine rush to wear off.

“Why not?”

“Why do you care so much, Clint?” you asked, slightly irritated.

He moved his hands to rest on his abdomen. “I don’t. It’s just agonizing to watch.”

“Don’t watch then.”

“Fine I’ll date him then. I’ll get him to write me love letters too.”

“Go for it,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe I will. I’ll ask him out today, just watch me.”

“Don’t let him break your heart, babe,” Nat encouraged him.

“He’d have to reject me to do that.”

“Why on earth would he ever do that?” she poked at his cheek, watching him grumble and shove her away.

“I think he and Dot are a thing,” you said suddenly, facing the ceiling.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look too invested.”

“They hang out a lot now, did you know?” you continued, ignoring Clint.

“You should ask him. Set the record straight.”

“I think I’ll keep all my feelings to myself and then die, thanks.”

“Just tell him, man. It’ll make your life much simpler,” he rolled onto his stomach to look at you. “Sweetheart, I love you, but all this pining isn’t helping either of you. Tell him, and if he likes you back, great. If he doesn’t, well, at least you’ll know, right?”

“That’s easy to say, but try doing it yourself.”

“Oh I did. The first one rejected me straight out, and it fucking sucked balls, but I could move on. Sometimes it’s better to take that chance.”

You were silent. You couldn’t believe you were actually considering what he’d said.

“Alright fine, here’s the deal. If I can gather the guts to ask out Bucky, you’ll have to do it too.” Clint held out his hand for a handshake and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Fuck outta here. You’d do it without any regrets.”

“True, but you look like you need a push and I’m offering you one.”

“I appreciate it Clint, but it’s never going to happen. I’d rather choke.”

“I’m not gonna force you, but just think about it. It’s all about a leap of faith.”

The three of you remained in silence before Nat broke it, giggling to herself.

“Are you going to ask him out though?”

“Hell, maybe I will. Five o’clock, right?” Clint looked at his watch.

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna do it, watch me.”

Five.

Five.

Five.

Fuck.

You suddenly broke out of your train of thought and scrambled for your phone, interrupting Vision’s marvelous idea for an Oscar winning script.

Your heart stopped beating altogether.

It was nearly 6:30 and there were nearly twenty unread messages and around ten missed calls illuminating your notification bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed steadily before standing up, your chair scraping against the floor behind you.

“Is something wrong?” Vision asked delicately, still clearly immersed in his thoughts.

“We need to leave now.” You pulled out enough cash to pay for your share, tugging your jacket back on hurriedly. “Now.”

“Why?”

“I’m late. I’m really, really late and we need to go now.” You had no idea that much time had gone by, scolding yourself for not keeping track of how long you were there.

“Alright, but are you-“

“Now, Vision.” You glared daggers at him until he relented, paying his amount and walking to the entrance at his own pace while you were nearly running.

From Becca:

Where are you???

From Becca:

We’re waiting for you to cut his cake

From Steve:

Hey, are you on your way?

From Becca:

McFucking Dot is here why tf is she here who invited her and why is she so touchy with bucky

From Nat:

I swear to god if you’re off making out w/ that boy instead of being here

From Wanda:

hey, we just cut the cake without you, hope you don’t mind. Where are you??

From Becca:

Someone “”””””accidentally””””” spilled their drink on dotzilla she’s all wet now

From Becca:

I can say with 80% accuracy that it wasn’t me

From Nat:

Becca just spilt her drink on Dot what the hell

From Clint:

Dot just left the room to go change because this dumbass turd just poured beer over her. now’s my chance

From Becca:

Yo where tf are you

From Nat:

We’re just sitting around, watching a movie. Are you showing up?? Why aren’t you answering our calls? Is everything okay?

From Becca:

Clint just asked out Bucky wtf sdjhgdkjfhgkdjfhg

From Clint:

I asked him out. he rejected me. I think I’m gonna keep trying

From Nat:

Clit’s bribing Bucky into saying yes

From Clint:

He said no im leaving this bullshit party

From Becca:

I just told Bucky you’ll be running late are you even showing up where are you

From Bucky:

Date going well? Hope you’re safe. Saving you a piece of cake 🍰

“Can you drive a little faster, please?” you urged him, furiously responding to everyone’s texts as quickly as you could.

“I’m already going as fast as I can,” he replied, driving at almost half the speed limit.

“Sweet Jesus,” you breathed out, running your hands through your hair. “Alright Vis, detour. Drop me off at this address.”

__

You didn’t wait to catch your breath as you ran up three flights of stairs to his dorm room, hands repeatedly slapping against the door.

A minute later it swung open, revealing a slightly panicked Bucky.

“What the-“

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so fucking sorry. I lost track of time and I didn’t even realize, it was entirely-“

“Woah, hey- hey it’s okay. It’s okay. ” He opened the door wider, a mix of confusion and concern on his face. “Take a second to catch your breath.”

As you did, you noticed he was wearing a black t-shirt that had no business looking that good, grey sweatpants, and his hair was pulled into a half bun, having grown longer due to months of not trimming it. He looked beautiful.

You took a moment off of staring at his stupidly attractive face, and beyond his shoulder into his dorm. You could see the empty beer cans littering his living room, the clear signs of a party.

“Everyone left?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago.”

“Shit, Bucky-“ You sighed, frustration evident in your voice, feeling your heart sink. “I never meant to miss this, I promise.”

“I know you didn’t, don’t worry. I see you almost everyday, Y/N, it’s definitely okay to miss one evening.” He laughed lightly, shifting his weight to his other shoulder.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Like I said, it’s just another day.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing too big.”

Stop staring at his fucking chest.

“I bought you something,” you blurted out, tightening your grip on your bag. “A birthday present, I mean. I bought you a gift. For your birthday.”

Stop mumbling, you big oaf.

“Y/N,” he complained, “We talked about this. You didn’t have to-“

“It’s a journal,” you interrupted him, scrambling through the contents of your backpack to find it. “Each page has a question. 365 days, 365 questions. I mean, theoretically, it doesn’t work for leap years but, you know, this coming year isn’t one and I-”

You finally grabbed hold of the brown, leather bound book, pulling it out with ease and holding it out to him.  He looked back at you without a word.

“And I know how much you like writing, I just thought it’d be nice to look back on how much you change or how much your thoughts change over the year.” You pushed it forward gently, urging him to take it. He held onto it silently, running his fingers along the pages before flipping open to the first page.

You keep records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them. If you want to Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education, it’s history.

You watched him read it, his eyes widening slightly once he realized where the excerpt was from.

“That’s- that’s from-”

“The Catcher in the Rye. Yeah.” You shifted uncomfortably when he fell silent again, staring at you without a word.

Great.

“I know it’s stupid and nowhere near anything you’ve gotten me and I can get you something else-”

“I love it.” The look in his eyes made you want to melt. “So fucking much.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide the surprise from your voice.

“It’s probably one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever given me.”

“There are some really stupid questions in there, like about memes and stuff because I thought you’d like it, but the rest are relatively normal.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.” He blew a few strands out of his face, letting his hands fall to his side. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead he shut it again.

It was probably the silence that ensues that made your fight or flight instincts take over because the next thing you realized is that you had both your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, earning a small ‘woah’ from him.

It took him about a second but he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, if that was even possible, dropping his forehead into crook of your shoulder. He smelt of fresh laundry and cinnamon and you couldn’t help the breath that escaped your lips. You could feel his breath tingling your neck and the warmth he exuded seeping in through your sweater. It reminded you of home.

You unwillingly pulled back, stuffing your hands back into your pockets awkwardly. “Happy birthday, James.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, biting his lip. “I, uh, saved you a piece of cake.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Finally he shook himself out of whatever he was thinking, moving and holding open the door invitingly. “Do you- uh- do you want some?”

Just tell him you like him, for the love of God.

“James I-“

“Bucky? Do you know where the tissues- oh hey Y/N!” There was no mistaking who walked out from Bucky’s bathroom. Bucky whipped his head around, confused, before who it was registered in his mind and he turned to look at you again.

“Hey Dot.”

“We missed you today,” she chirped, approaching the doorway, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” Something was amiss about her before you finally caught on.

She was wearing his shirt.

Oh.

“Um, I better get going.” You swallowed. It felt like you were missing something crucial. Why would she be wearing his shirt at his place?

“Wait, I thought-“ he furrowed his eyebrows, straightening up.

“It’s getting pretty late, I gotta go.” You half-smiled, pointing behind you to the setting sun. “Maybe some other time.”

“At least let me drop you back. Let me just grab my keys-“ he turned around, ready to walk back into his apartment.

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, taking a step back. “I could use the fresh air.”

“It’ll be dark out soon.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, continuing to walk backward before waving at him. “I’ll catch you later, Buck. Bye Dot.”

“Y/N-“ he tried again but you just waved again before spinning on your heel and walking off, waiting till you were out of eyesight before fumbling for your phone and calling Nat to come pick you up from his dorm because sure, you may be feeling like shit, but that didn’t mean you were going to walk home in the middle of winter, alone.

Leap of faith, my ass, you thought.

Leap off a fucking cliff was more like it.

Part 9