#and rolled right off a sheer cliff

[letorip]

somethin’ stupid

“and then i go and spoil it all, by saying somethin’ stupid like ‘i love you’”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: even knowing that your relationship with wednesday is one huge grey area, you can't help the words that come tumbling from your lips one night while on an expedition together.

warnings: blood, violent attack scene, angsty pining, mentions of sex, fear of the dark

word count: 4.2k

A/N: first post, kinda nervous. honestly pumped to start posting on here after being somewhat new to writing. will try my best not to suck.

===+++===

It’s only after you meet Wednesday Addams for the first time that you understand why storms are named after people.

In the near five months total she had been in your life, she had quickly climbed to the top priority, and you found yourself trapped in her rain bands, tugged under her dark, swelling tide and drawn to less direct ways.

Now and likely until the very end of time, you followed her through the forest, peeking around each passing tree and shining your flashlight into the dark. It was a knight's sword for you, and you held it like a weapon so as to ward off evil spirits or howling beasts. Only, half of the time it ended up being a squirrel.

It seemed antithetical, to walk into the pitch black forest that had killed several hikers and injured Eugene, -or more the big ass creature inside it had, but Wednesday had never cared much for what made sense, and you knew better than to argue with her.

The rain continued to fall around the both of you, splattering against the hood of your rain coat and rolling down your sputtering lips, tracing your nose on the way down. If Wednesday was at all affected by the rain, she hadn't let it show yet. Not that she let much show, that was.

You shivered from a sudden gust of cold, wet wind rushing over your knuckles from where they white-gripped the rubber wrapping of your flashlight. "Are we almost there yet?" You asked, squinting into the trees. "I have to get up early tomorrow."

There was no possible way Wednesday could know where she was going in the sheer amount of darkness fended off by a flimsy Acebeam, but she pushed through like she did. Maybe orienteering was just part of the outré magic she always carried with her, or at least that's what you figured it probably was. In another life she had been a cheerful girl scout, though you knew better than to suggest that aloud.

The same could not be said for you, who was an utter idiot about directions and probably would have driven off a cliff by now without the use of a GPS. Wednesday had once said you wouldn't be able to find your way out of a cardboard box, and offensively, she was probably right.

It didn't make sense why she chose you of all people to bring along, then. You had no special strength or sight, and virtually no knowledge on how to investigate a murder, especially the serial kind. The only ability you had allowed you to read thoughts and minds, though you never dared read Wednesday's, even when you itched to know what she was thinking.

Despite feeling more like an achor dragging her boat down, almost every evening, at around the same time after dark, she showed up on your doorstep to tug you off to some dangerous place.

Maybe you were secretly hoping for a reward of some sort. She often indulged you as such, lips like a heroin shot directly to your veins, powering you through the day as you watched the clock tick away into night anticipating the next rush. Enid was right. You were whipped for her.

"Your protesting doesn't make the journey any shorter," she replied, turning with the dark look that always lurked in the back of her eyes.

You knew the movements well: when she glared, her eyes lowered slightly and her mouth tensed. One could not help but watch in awe, storing the memory for later. Or, at least those ‘whipped’ for her couldn’t. She spun back around to face forward, your flashlight pointing over her shoulder into the brooding dark.

The rain only seemed to come down harder from there, punishing you both for slogging through the mushy leaves when sane people would be indoors. But Wednesday would not settle until she found Arcadia.

You cleared your throat, uneasy with the ensuing silence.

"Where are we even going, Wednesday? We've been walking forever," you said, looking down at the pale grey rocks as you stepped over them. You were grateful for being clever enough to remember hiking boots.

"We're finding evidence," she replied. "I was informed of a suspicious cave out in the forest, and-" Wednesday's words came rushing to a halt as her foot clipped the rock in front of her. She stumbled a bit, and you threw out an arm to her back, there if she needed something to steady herself on.

It was uncoordinated and it was clunky at best, and Wednesday was far from appreciative. She jolted back from your touch as if you had stung her, glaring as harsh as ever. "Sorry," you said. "I didn't want you to fall." The tips of your ears had begun to burn again, upon realising you were made the fool for another time in a row.

"You should have," said Wednesday, walking ahead. "It simulates dropping dead." Of course, on you, such a statement did not have the desired effect. Whereas most would have replied in shock or disgust, you laughed. Out loud, right at her. The gall. She whipped back to you, perplexed and annoyed by the noise. "Have something to share?"

You grinned. "You can act cool all you want, but if you had actually landed in the mud, you would have been pissed." Her expression went from glare to glower impressively quickly, though you took great glee in the fact she didn't try to dismiss it.

Anyone who had just met her would have been terrified, but you knew that look meant she hated just how much you were right. Wednesday's moody eyes lowered to your jacket, as if she was looking for an insult to sling in response.

"Why are you yellow?"

You blinked, then shrugged. "Because for someone so intelligent I'm the only one who remembered a raincoat."

"The beast will eat you wether you're rained on or not," she replied reasonably.

You blanched at this. It was apparent the possibility had never crossed your mind. "It eats people????"

Suddenly the darkness of the woods only seemed to worsen and the rain seemed to come down even harder, as if life was laughing at the terror it was causing. You had never been one for haunted houses, and you decided in that instant that this was far worse than any haunted house you had ever been to.

Wednesday shrugged, and you were far from put at ease by that. She glanced at you up through mischievous lashes, entirely knowing what she was doing and enjoying every sadistic moment of it.

"I suppose we may find out tonight. I should offer up you, the yellow highlighter, first. You have longer bones than I do, and I'm sure it would appreciate a snack, after-"

"Ha. Ha."

As surprising as was Wednesday's capacity to joke, you knew that's all it was. Such falsehoods could not be exposed to the public, and she would rather die than admit she cared for anyone. That was her secret. You knew to keep it well.

It had been weird to see Wednesday attempt comedy at first. Often times you still thought she may be dead serious. But on these nightly expeditions it seemed she could joke freely. Sometimes she kissed you freely. You just had to know she didn't do it for you. She told you constantly, just to be sure.

From in front, Wednesday trembled from a sudden angry breeze and you watched her, sighing and tugging off your raincoat. You tossed it over her shoulders wordlessly; Wednesday didn't acknowledge it either. She put one arm in, then another, but didn't pull the hood up, and you rolled your eyes. "Pull the hood up, Wednesday. Don't be stubborn."

"I'm fine," she shot back, tone sharp and piercing to any sort of armour you could have put up. But even that didn't make you buy it.

"Your hair is like, stuck to your forehead, Wednesday. Just pull up the hood part."

"I don't even want to be in this dreadful thing, why would I want more of it on me. It's yellow."

"It's keeping you warm."

"I'm allergic to colours."

"Well then I guess it's great you brought a black one- oh, wait! That's right! You didn't."

She blinked at you unappreciatively, but your unimpressed expression made her give in, and she begrudgingly did as she was told. With a hood now over her, shrouding her soft hair from the harsh rain, you felt a bit better about her being out in the cold. After a moment she grumbled, messing with the sleeves. "Why are your arms so freakishly long?"

You didn't answer, biting back a response that included the word 'short.' It would have been entirely unproductive and probably earned a rock thrown at your head. Instead, you focused on the small row of houses you could see on a road in the far distance.

Their windows were small, warm boxes in the dryness, as opposed to the pouring, angry storm only a heathen of some sort would be caught in. It looked the same as it had the week before when you had passed the same area with Wednesday, and you recognised the same lamp that sat in the same spot of the same window on the second floor. It hadn't moved even an inch and neither had the flowers in the pot sitting next to it.

You hummed, "I love streets like those. It looks so warm and comfortable. I could be out here forever and it would still be the same warm place."

"Poetic," Wednesday dryly replied. Poetry had never seemed to move her much, beyond the grim ones from Poe about death and despair. She had tried to teach you about it once, during an impromptu "study session," which was what Wednesday usually called hunting you down after class and sticking your head between her legs.

It was the very first time she had let you stick around after, and the more and more often she let it happen, the more you felt yourself allowing for false hopes. Of course, accusing her of growing fond was a way to end up in an early grave and you knew better.

It had been a whisper, really, what she said with your head resting on her stomach, arms against the skin of her thighs. You were both sweating, terribly so, and then came, "years of love have been forgotten, in the hatred of a minute." It was only a whisper, and you weren't even sure Wednesday had spoken it into existence. But you looked up, and she was staring down at you, eyes unreadable. Her mouth was tensed into a grimace; a symbol for words unsaid.

"What's that?" You asked, leaning your head back.

She had shook her head. "It's Poe. He founded the school."

"I know who Edgar Allan Poe is, Wednesday. I meant what you were saying."

She looked away to the window, like eye contact then would have doomed her. "I'm not sure." It was a lie, and you knew it, but you couldn’t scan Wednesday’s thoughts and it was the first time she had let you stay propped up against her. You knew better than to ruin that.

"Why do you like that kind of poetry, anyhow? It's awfully depressing."

"It's a reminder," she replied, eyes still away and tone flat. "You and I will be in the ground someday, or maybe I will be in the family crypt. 'As you are now, so once, was I.' And other such ruminations. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Her gaze sliced back to you, as if she were gaging your reaction. "Either way, we're doomed."

You hadn't known what she meant by that, and you still didn't know, walking through the forest. She spoke in riddles, and it was impossible to know if she wanted you to decipher them or leave them as they were. Her vagueness with emotions was her armour, maybe.

Wednesday was usually cold and efficient and exact, in a way you could appreciate. You were far warmer, and though you seemed to constantly trip over yourself, patiently waiting for any sort of warmth to be returned, she stayed with the same chill that kept you close enough to bring comfort to her fingers, but never close enough to make her melt.

"When we get there, I want you to stay outside and keep watch. Don't come inside with me, I want to look around alone. If you hear anything or any noise or thoughts over the rain, give me the signal I trained you on," said Wednesday, looking through the bowers and thread veins of roots so as not to trip again.

"You're not my boss, Wednesday, and I'm not your henchman," you said, the words spilling out in annoyance. You hated when she went into work mode. She looked over at you, eyes giving an intense challenge.

"What am I then?"

You rolled your eyes at this. "Like my hobby, at best." It wasn't true, and both of you knew it.

"Do you kiss and sleep with all your 'hobbies,' then?" Wednesday's eyes studied you.

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I don't really kiss and tell." Actually, you hadn't kissed anybody since she had made out with you two days prior, and you hadn't kissed somebody other than her since she had first kissed you two months ago.

You knew, though, that Wednesday had done similar peregrinations with the normie boy, Tyler, from town who worked at the Weathervane. Sometimes you wondered if she put her lips on his, too. Other times, you couldn't help wondering if either of you really mattered to her.

She had said no when you asked her that once before, but slow danced and made out with you immediately after answering, at the Rave'N, so your confusion was understandable. It was like she both hungered for you and hated you for it at the same time, and you knew getting thrown around like that wasn’t what you wanted. But if it gave you her, even for a brief moment, you were all too eager.

From behind the both of you, you heard a branch snap, spinning around as the rain poured. There was nothing visibly there; your stupid flashlight didn't reach out that far and no moving through the brush could be heard. "Did you hear that?" you said to Wednesday, freezing completely. She nodded, but did not seem phased even slightly, turning to watch your terror with an eyebrow raised.

“Likely an animal," said Wednesday.

You were still frozen to the spot, staring into the dark as fear screamed at you to run away. “Are you okay?” she asked, puzzled.

You shook your head, sticking your hand out towards her. “No.” It was a question that needn't be asked. Wednesday examined your fingers closely, like she was contemplating if it was a bad idea, but then grabbed your palm and held it tightly in hers, locking the digits in with her own and squeezing it gently. It was an immediate comfort and you unfroze, Wednesday pulling you into the dark.

===+++===

"Your obnoxious coat is warm...thank you." She seemed to spit the last part out with a bit of reluctance, but you appreciated it nevertheless. For around the last half mile, you had been getting rained on instead. Droplets dripped from your hair, rolling down your cheeks and over your lips before dribbling from your chin.

"You can keep it for a while. Until you get your own, I mean," you said, absentmindedly playing with the flashlight. You would rather die than admit you were nervous aloud. Luckily, it didn't seem you needed to.

She stopped short at your words, grabbing your collar roughly with her hand and balling it between her fingers. It was harsh and it was passionate, like Wednesday always seemed to be in flares. Her mouth crashed into yours, teeth clinking together, toes poking into the mushy ground so she could even reach your face.

Unfortunately, it was over as soon as it began, and she pulled away quickly, walking away and leaving you behind, panting awkwardly as your mind began to spin. She was all too much, everything about her. You couldn’t stop yourself. "I love you,” you blurted out.

From the way she whipped back to you, it hadn’t been nearly quiet enough. Silence seemed to echo through the clearing, even in the raging storm around that pounded into trees and pooled in mushy puddles. She stared at you, and all you could do was stare back. Wednesday stomped back over, cheeks red and dark eyes shining with an unusual capriciousness. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Talking to myself.”

But she didn’t believe you. In previous attempts by you to draw out any indication of her affections, she could blatantly ignore it or change the subject without answering. Now, she was frustrated by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. And this time, how your words demanded she do the same.

“What did you say,” she demanded. “Tell me right now, or I’ll-“

“I said I love you, Wends,” you cut her off before she could make a threat. God, she stared. She stared and stared and stared at you with her eyes in the dark, looking like she would be the one to read your mind and not the other way around. The humidity of the rain was suffocating you, but the powerful wind filled your lungs with air again, in a vicious, heaving cycle.

She took a small step forward, tilting her head up at you like she was inspecting you up close. “You don’t mean what you say.”

"I really wish I didn't, but I absolutely do." Your tone burned with a relieving candor, and Wednesday's eyebrows furrowed, before she backed away again. Your flashlight turned towards the ground, lowering your face into shadow.

"I told you, I don't want anything more from you," she said. "You're spoiling what we already have." She seemed more agitated than anything, but you stood your ground.

"But I feel like there's more here, Wednesday. I know I'm not crazy, you can feel it too. So I don't know why you're being all tough, when I just want to take care of you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Learn to want for something else then," she argued back. "We can't work, we won't, I-"

"Why?"

"I told you why," she replied, crossing her arms. "Years of love-"

"No no, none of that bullshit you know you want to confuse me with. Just lay it out, plain and simple."

She bit her mouth shut, then narrowed her eyes at you before giving a huff. "Have you been reading my thoughts?"

"What?" Your forehead creased into lines, staring at her intently. "You know I don't."

"I don't know if you're aware, but I see you, in my visions sometimes. I actually think about the same one often, when I'm with you."

"What am I doing, then?" You asked, feeling a sickness come to your stomach. You didn’t know what future event you would be up to, but you could guarantee Wednesday you would stop yourself from hurting her.

“You’re being killed. By the beast.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re running far away, being chased. I see you get tackled or hit, and you fall into the dirt. Then I see your face being slashed over and over again by a creature, and you appear to bleed out on the floor of a forest.”

“Wednesday, that won’t come true.” You tried to assure her, but a small hand came forward, covering your mouth, shushing you. The gentle palm pressed against your soaked lips, fingertips ghosting the lines of your cheeks.

“I would hate you for it, dying. What I hate even more is that your closeness to me is likely what causes this. I don’t love you, (Y/n). I can’t. Stop trying to make me. It’s only pitiful and painful for the both of us.”

You reached up for her hand, pulling it away. “But how do you know it’s definitely you that ruins it? What if it’s something else, or what if it’s you saying no?”

“Because as painful as it is, I’m certain I break your heart if I indulge you.”

“Wednesday,” your voice shook a bit. “You’re breaking my heart right now.”

“This,” she said, “This is why I cannot give you more than I already have. I’m not my parents, (Y/n). Can’t you just be happy with our current relationship? You always try to complicate things. Like a stupid little puppy.”

You took a step back like a wounded animal. “What? You’re being mean.”

“Maybe if I am it'll get through to you. We won’t work, and if we don’t try to make it work, I won’t end up breaking your heart, and you won’t run away.” Her speaking volume was getting louder now.

“That’s a stupid plan!” You said raising your voice.

“And you’re a fool!” She said back. “I’m trying to protect you and take what I can get at the same time."

"You're hurting me."

"You're hurting yourself. I keep pushing you away. Stop coming back."

You frowned, feeling your face grow hot. "I come back because I care, and I know you care too."

"Caring for you gets me nowhere. You're doomed, (Y/n). I'm trying to protect you, so do us both a favour and get as far away from me as possible. Don't let me pull you back."

"Wednesday, I-"

"Go, you idiot." You swallowed her words. She was still wearing your yellow raincoat, looking at you with the most steely expression you had ever seen. You stepped forward in silence, only the mushing of the leaves filling the space between you. You unwrapped the armband of the flashlight from around your wrist and extended it out to her.

"Here. For the cave." She blinked at you, then she took it. Without another word, you did as you were told, stepping off into the dark and pulling against the magnetic field. With your ability to break past her facades turned off, you couldn't see the deep regret that wormed its way into her stare, watching your back retreat into the tree line.

===+++===

It only took around five minutes for you to regret not having the flashlight. The storm had turned to complete and utter chaos, and you could hear thunder and lightning booming and cracking against the night sky. Everything was so much darker than before, and it seemed to grow up and out like a giant ladder, turning to shadow and fog a few feet in front of you.

Part of you was still mad at Wednesday. Knowing she was scared for you didn't make it any of an easier pill to swallow. Neither did knowing you would likely die soon.

The looming question still sat unanswered, weighing down the wrinkles of your brain and cozying up at the mantle of your thoughts. Would it be weeks? Months? If she never ended up catching it (though that was very unlikely) how many years would you have left?

From behind you, you heard a branch snap again. You spun, looking around. An animal maybe. Then, you heard footsteps. They were big, though not an animal. Maybe it was Wednesday. She wore thick shoes often, with heavy soles.

It was only with the sudden realisation that there was no flashlight with the figure coming towards you, that your eyes began to widen and a chill shot up your spine like a spooked animal. It only took the dropping of your telepathic cancelling to fully realise what was about to happen.

KILL. KILL. KILL.

The monster's thinking was thunderous and loud, and it reverberated within your skull as you turned to run. You stomped your foot into the swampy ground, running the fastest you felt you ever had. KILL. The forest seemed to blur, rushing past you as you fled through the trees and smacking at branches that sagged in your way.

KILL. You heard the footsteps now, coming up quickly. They sounded huge, and with every bound you could hear greenery get smushed behind you as the beast moved through it. KILL. You had no idea how close it was behind you, but there was no time to look either. In one rush, you found yourself back in a stoney quarry, and in the far distance illuminated a KILL. streetlight standing over a mountain road.

You ran towards it, face scratched by a branch in the process as you forgot to swipe it away. The wood KILL. connected with a stabbing pain, piercing your lip as you ran, but you didn't so much as wince. "HELP!" You yelled KILL. out, trying to catch any attention as you ran for the pavement, and you were almost there. KILL.

You were too slow. A set of long, pointy claws latched onto your back, sinking into the skin and ripping you down with a yelp, throwing you to the ground. Your back slid into the tree with a sickening crack, and pain seemed to freeze your body. KILL.

Standing over you was the muscular, horrifyingly disfigured body of a towering creature, its eyes shining with violent zeal. It lowered with a clicking growl, eyeing your heaving, bleeding body and sneering. KILL. KILL. KILL.

Your eyebrows furrowed, blood spilling from your lips. In a single instant, you knew who it was, digging past the monstrous yells to the real thoughts of the boy underneath. "Tyler?"

Its claws sunk into your stomach, and everything went dark.

===+++===

a/n: a part two maybe? idk, i'm no rocket scientist. anyways, this is my very first post, so, here we go i guess? excited to start this and grateful for anyone who reads this. i tried to spellcheck but if it isn't perfect please please please let me know, i would fix it immediately.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Caught at the last second with Clark Kent?

.⋆｡The Fall｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

Faced with a choice between you and Lois, Clark has to decide who lives and who dies

Warnings: angst, fear of heights, literally a life and death situation guys, unrequited love (maybe), vivid imagery of drowning, kind of ambiguous but happy ending (you’ll see) WC: 1.1k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Isn’t this a predicament Superman? Your ex-lover and your best friend in such precarious situations, across the globe from each other. You’ll only have time to save one of them.” The LEDs of the monitors behind Luther seared into Clarks eyes but he refused to look away. Already his muscles were tensed, ready to dart away at any moment. “I wonder which one you will choose, I know which one I would.” 

Luther smirked, eyeing the monitor that clearly displayed your panicked face as you struggled against the chains wrapped tightly around your soft body. “She is quite the fighter, isn’t she?”

“Why are you doing this Luther?” The man rolled his eyes, finally turning to look at Clark.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are a nuisance, self-righteous, and aggravatingly nosy. If I kill one of them, and I will, I think you’ll learn your lesson. So, here we are. Lois Lane, the only woman you have ever loved, suspended over a cliff somewhere in Europe,” Luther gestured to the image of Lois, her head raising as his voice repeated over the feed and Clark realised that they could both hear what was happening, “and your best friend. The woman who has never stopped supporting you, somewhere in the Pacific with an anchor attached to her, I’m sure you can imagine what her fate is.” The man had the audacity to laugh then, as your expression fell and you stopped struggling.

“You don’t have to do this Luther. Just let them go and I’ll spare you.” 

Lex hummed. “You know, you’re right. This is quite boring by my standards, let’s shake it up.” Suddenly, a ground of masked men surrounded you, briefly blocking the camera before there was a scuffle and the feed cut off. Before Clark could react, another camera turned on, showing the criss-crossing metal beams of a crane as cables in the background shifted in the high winds. “Give them a minute, would you? Not all of us can move so quickly.” 

“I’m going to rip you apart, molecule by molecule.” Red creeped into Clark’s vision, slowly casting a haze of rage over everything.

“Now, if you kill me, you won’t get a hint as to where your women are. So be a good boy and watch. Ah, there she is.” Two men had you by your arms as they dragged you through the crane’s walkway, your eyes squeezed shut. Clark knew how badly you hated heights, descending into panic attacks if he even mentioned taking you out on a flight. His chest burned with fear. “And now, we have a level playing field. So, who are we picking?”

Your chains were thrown onto the edge of the structure, almost out of the camera’s line of sight, the huge iron anchor balancing treacherously by your feet. 

“Kal!” His eyes darted over to the second monitor where Lois was now fighting against a pulley that was quickly tugging her towards a sheer cliff face. Only her hands were bound by thick rope but he knew that as soon as her full body weight pulled on it, the rope would snap. 

“What’s the hint?” He snarled, ripping his gaze back to Lex Luther who was now beaming.

——————

The cold wind was like knives against your exposed skin, cutting into every nerve on your body. You desperately prayed that you would go numb soon, not wanting your last moments on this Earth to be ones full of pain. Your nails bit into the palms of your hands as another gust of wind made the crane groan and sway. It was all you could do not to scream.

Yet you kept your mouth firmly shut because you knew that if you said or did anything now, it would only feed into Clark’s guilt. He was going to pick Lois and you wanted to give him peace of mind. You forced your eyes open to watch the sunset. Your death would not be quick, even with the dizzying height, it would not be enough to kill you. Instead, you would be dragged to the depths as salt water filled your lungs and your screams forcefully ripped from you.

You wouldn’t blame Clark as you sank, you hope that you could instead think about his smile as the dim light above you disappeared into the blue.

You would not tell him that you loved him, refused to leave that weight on his soul when he already carried so much pain within him. But you would imagine a life with him, a kid, maybe two in a small townhouse somewhere quiet, as the pressure and cold consumed you. 

Lois’s voice crackled through the intercom by your head, distorted and warped. A band of fear wrapped tightly around your chest, pressing down harder than the metal chain keeping your arms pinned to your sides. You forced yourself to breathe in the salty air, knowing that it could be your last.

“I’ll be ok Clark, don’t worry about me. Just be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” And as the sun dipped below the horizon, you let your eyes shut again, your entire body relaxed. “I’ll be ok.”

Metal scrapped against metal. You were pulled forwards. 

The wind screamed.

You could see the vivid blue of his eyes.

You were weightless.

You could hear his laughter.

The chains rattled.

You saw the moment you met him; the rain around you, a single umbrella between you.

The sound of waves crashing was getting closer. 

He was always so kind, so warm. You never knew a man better than him. 

Gravity slammed into you, knocking a pained cry from your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Warmth enveloped you as something crashed into the ocean, droplets of water splashing against your ankles. Your cheek was pressed against something hard as a loud, frantic beating filled your ears. “You’re safe.”

Soft fabric wrapped around you, soothing the burn of your skin. Shakily, you reached up, your limbs stiff and aching. “Clark?” With all the strength you had left, you opened your eyes.

You were barely 5 feet up front the ocean swell, a hazy ring of bubbles below you was the only indication that something had been dragging you down at all. Clark was indeed there, holding you tightly to his chest as a huge abandoned oil rig loomed behind him, half of it on fire. His eyes were wide, fearfully examining every inch of your body before his shoulders drooped and he sighed in relief.

“No broken bones or internal bleeding. Thank god.” His lips descended onto your forehead, pressing kiss after kiss to your cold skin.

“You picked me?” He pulled away only enough to look into your eyes. 

“I always will.” A hand cupped the back of your neck, drawing your face upwards. Your lips parted as he glanced at them. “I will do anything to keep you safe.”

And as the fires behind him, Clark finally kissed you, washing away the smell of blood and screams of pain that he had inflicted upon those who took you from him. No one would ever hurt you again.

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Joel Dealing with Wife: The Duck Dilemma, Resolved

Joel Miller x F! Reader

not necessary to read but here's Part 1

Summary: Joel explores new ways to get the Ducks out of the Miller house once and for all

- - - -

When Joel wakes up, there's a blurred yellow fuzz thing—a fucking duck—standing on his chest, staring down its brown and yellow stained bill right along his own snout and directly into his soul.

"Dinner," he grunts with a sneer.

The little duckie utters an unbothered quack and hops off to the side. If only to its death over the cliff of his bedside edge. Only not so, for Sarah, who's standing by his side of the bed, scoops her up safely in her careful grasp. She leans on her tip toes and kisses Daddy on the cheek, and then holds the duck expectedly to his face with her big beady round baby eyes.

He grits his teeth, his chest grumbling with contained annoyance. 

His daughter, the light of his fucking life, only leans closer to him, Duckie held high with expectant gleam. Letting out a quick sigh, he makes quick work to peck its fluffy little self on the forehead. 

And one by one, he does so for all 6 ducklings she raises up to his lips carefully. He’s kissed more duck heads than he’s ever wanted to in his whole life now. 

She sets the last one down on the floor and walks away, a trail of 6 duckies following her with their aide to side waddles.

How she and you came up with the names Eenie Meenie Miney, Pickles, Pringles, and Presto, he will never ask. They all look exactly the same but somehow Sarah can tell them apart. 

Although, Sarah has called them EE, MEE, My, Picole, Pingle, Pwesto.

God Bless her.

“This one is Pringles—no wait that’s… that’s uh. Eenie? Wait Meenie?” You’re holding three in your arms, lifting them closely, trying to find the identifiable marks you’ve used as cheat sheet to remember them. Failing miserably. 

“Pwesto!” Sarah clarifies, stomping her foot and taking her baby duck back into her arms. They always nibble at her ear lobes, causing the little child to erupt into giggles.

“She’s making it up, I swear. She doesn’t know which ones are which…” you whisper to Joel.

“Just admit you can’t keep track of your hoard of children you keep bringing into this house.”

You frown. “I want 12 more kids from you. So lift your skirt and get to baby stuffing,” you say snakily, slapping his ass.

He sips his coffee with massive bags under his eyes as two ducks sit on top of the stove.

Some thoughts, albeit as brilliant as they are, would get him sent straight to hell. Like the one swimming in his brain at the opportunity right now.

He glances to the left, then right, then slowly reaches for the gas igniting knob along the stove top. Directly below the unsuspecting ducklings…

Threatening growls come from the floor below. He rolls his eyes and backs off with his hand in the air to show retreat, as fearsome Mommy number 2 (3?) Spoon here comes to save the day.

“Ya used to be on my side, lady,” he hums to the dog.

And it’s true. Spoon didn’t know how to react at first. She went from single pet baby sitting a little girl to being swarmed by 6 freaky little two footed flap flaps, the weirdest looking puppies she’s ever seen. When they crowded and yapped incessantly around her, she kept picking her feet up and backing up to avoid them, but they all just kept coming at all angles all over. At one point from sheer curiosity, she hesitantly puts one in her mouth.

 Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs and pointed to Spoon accusingly.

 "Yes good Spoon! That's good girl!" Joel claps quietly. He knows you two wouldn’t blame innocent Spoon if she accidentally ate a duck or half dozen. 

Unfortunately, Spoon does not like the sensation of the duck eating out her extra snack crumbs sitting in her teeth, instantly spitting the little guy out like a bowling ball. She jumps on the couch to avoid the rest, and they all flail helplessly trying to reach her. 

By the next day, Joel prayed maybe Spoon decided she wanted a late night duck-goulash and had swallowed his 6 new problems. Instead, you found the ducks nested tightly against Spoon’s body, sleeping into her heated belly like her own little babies.   "Cmon girl not you too,” Joel says, but Spoon growls at him  when he tries to take them away. She doesn't mind when they yap and tap, just lies down with them peddling all over her body and head, sighing in defeat.

"Did we just make Spoon a mom of 6 overnight?”

 Duck Duty has taken over the house 24/7. 

When Joel goes to the shower, pulling back the curtain, there's duckies paddling in the tub.

He has to empty his shoes before stepping in them because, lo and behold, a damn duck is in there.

There’s more frozen pea bags in the freezer specifically labeled for each duck than he can fit his pizza pockets in there.

“THATS IT!” He barks loudly when you and Sarah are tucking the ducks in his bed sheets for a movie night.

You all, including Spoon and all the duckies, go quiet and look up. 

Except, instead of finishing a statement, that is it. Joel storms out of the room the next moment, leaving you all sitting speechless.

Two seconds later you turn on the TV and all eyes focus on the screen to resume your movie night like normal.

-

Joel disappears in the garage for 3 days. You called Tommy asking if he was going to work, but Tommy told you he had called to let everyone know he would be unattainable for the weekend. Absolutely NO ONE was to disturb him. You could hear sparks and saw blades flying in the garage, heavy banging and all kinds of construction going on. Maybe you should be a little concerned. He hasn’t done anything else but this. 

You rub your hands together, braving the knock on the garage door. Maybe you had gone too far with the ducks. Was he preparing to build himself a new house to live away from you all? A death trap for the ducks to fall into?

A new wife???

You tighten your ass cheeks and raise your knuckles.

The door swings open before you can pound. A sweaty, dirty, musky, saw dust covered Joel Miller, with messy slick hair, flannel and low hanging jeans complete with his decades old tool belt greeted you with gritted teeth.

“S’done,” he says plainly.

“W-what’s done?”

He takes your hand and leads you out. “Sarah! Ducks! Fall in!”

Sarah hops off her chair that she was braiding her doll’s hair. As she follows behind you, all 6 quickly growing Duckies  follow behind her like a pre-school hand holding chain.

You all round out the now empty garage and towards the backyard gate. He opens it and shoves forward.

Part of the backyard and side of the house has been transformed into a Duck Oasis Paradise. A custom built duck house with heating lamps, fresh bedding and smoothed wood adorn the area, with a water fountain and splash pad of fresh water constantly rippling their own little Duckie pond/pool. Each duck has its own feeding station, and even custom bed slots with “Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Pickles, Pringles, Presto” hand painted for their own bunks. There’s a raised mini bed for Sarah to lie in with a canopy so they can cuddle and watch projector movies outside. Joel had even installed a side door that leads into the garage if absolutely need be they MUST come inside once again. Everything is painted to Sarah’s princess house liking, and she is able to sit inside the and play around the area while it maintains its Duck-necessities.

As if she had just met the real Santa Clause, Sarah screeches excitedly and runs around with the ducks to explore their new home.

Joel’s hands are on his hips, smirking proudly at your reaction.

Your mouth is on the floor. When the FUCK?? HOW the fuck??

“You thought I was gonna cook em’ didn’t ya?” He boasts.

“I —wushhshh pshhh—N--ta—nmmm-pshhh.” You don’t have words to try to deny it. 

“Ah huh.” He points to his cheek … well, cheekily. “C’mere and give it ta me.”

Inserted, you grip his face, turn him to face you, and plant your entire mouth on his, swallowing his lips and his entire body if you could.

He grins and kisses you back. 

“When are you going to put this much effort into putting another baby in me?” You tease while curling his hair.

He’s left quite shocked, and is about to suggest the two of you stow away while the kids are occupied until—

Sarah runs up like she’s about to pole vault and launches herself into her Dad’s arms for the biggest hug a todler can muster. Joel bends down to his knees to return her kisses.

And that would have been it, were it not for the duck that’s immediately in her hands, held right to his cheek.

“Ugh,” he groans with rolled eyes. He holds it all in as Sarah lifts them to nibble at his beard stubble in a duck fashioned kiss, each getting a turn to clean his facial hair.

You clasp your hands together, beaming at possibly the greatest man the earth had ever put out.

She runs off with the ducks following to go play with their new land.

“2 adults. 1 kid. 1 dot. And 6 ducks…” he says, referring back to your previous comment. “That ain’t enough for ya?”

“12.”

“12…?” Were you serious about 12 kids????

“Ducks,” you state plainly, avoiding his eyes.

“Wh—what, are they all pregnant?” He asks incredulously.

“No…” you lock your fingers together, sealing side to side in the way Sarah does when she’s admitting to doing something horribly wrong. “I thought you were going to eat these ones… and I didn’t want Sarah to be sad and so I … maybe… it’s actually really funny, Joel.”

“YOU BOUGHT—SIX—MORE—DUCKS???”

“Ohh oh no!” You shake your head, as if hoping to dissipate the steam billowing from his ears. Though it’s almost like he knows it’s not any better. “Um… it’s way worse… I bought 12 more ducks. So that’s 18 total,” you smile widely with fearful yet innocent eyes.

Joel sits straight up in bed, his heart hammering and sweat persperating along his entire skeleton.  He clutches his heart, remembering to breathe in the night air, grounding himself in his surroundings from the nightmare. You’re sound asleep at his side, peaceful as ever.

He tosses the blanket and darts off to Sarah’s room. His girl sleeps just as innocently as you, with her teddy clutched under her arm. Lying atop her fuzzy pink decorative rug is Spoon, who raises her head curiously at the intrusion. He does a quick search, but nothing else moves in the room.

Joel runs to the backyard, foregoing any shoes. Despite no evidence in the house, he doesn’t get his hopes too high. He flips on the lights of the duck barn (which was not a dream), and braceshimself.

While he would have liked to have seen 0 flat footed peddling little yellow shits, a mere 6, and ONLY 6, ducks rest in their designated bed, tilting their head at him staring them down.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead and takes a relieving breath.

“Thank fucking duck.”

- - - -

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[argumate]

metaphors for personal growth that have come up recently:

running from lamppost to lamppost, where you're under too much pressure to consider your longer term goals and the most you can do is try to stay focused on the concrete task right in front of you (or the concrete immediately under your feet) and hope that the larger project sorts itself out (that you will eventually reach the finish line) if you just complete enough small tasks, the risk being of course that you might be way off course or going around in circles chasing an infinite sequence of lampposts.

this metaphor also dovetails with the "searching for your keys under the streetlight" metaphor if you imagine someone desperately running from one patch of light to another, which emphasises the anxiety of focusing on small bursts of progress while the larger goal is still shrouded in darkness.

jumping off a cliff, presumably into water or with a bungee harness of some sort, which is still a nerve-wracking experience that you might postpone for some time while you gather your courage and nervously look over the edge and take some deep breaths etc. etc. and in fact it's impossible to say when you will actually take the leap! but the moment you finally do, you have committed yourself to gravity and your trajectory is already determined.

sometimes people count down from three, because saying "three" doesn't feel like a big commitment at all so it's not scary, but then you will naturally say "two", and inexorably "one", and finally sheer momentum will make you shout "jump!" at which point it takes more effort to stop the process than continue it, so over you go; this approach can also be applied to getting out of bed on the count of three.

shifting the boulder, if you're cutting a road into the side of a steep mountain and a huge boulder is blocking the way, so you start digging out the dirt and other smaller rocks that are propping it up, and this is hard work that doesn't appear to be doing anything at all: the boulder is still sitting there blocking your path! in fact you might be slaving away for days or weeks shifting all this other crap to no apparent benefit, until one day you dig one more shovel of dirt or pull out one more rock and the boulder gives a huge groan and lurches out of its resting place and rolls down the mountainside, disappearing into the valley far below.

just like felling a tree by flailing away with an axe for an hour until the last stroke suddenly topples it, the very last action only had such an outsized impact because of all the work that went in before it! sometimes when nothing seems to be happening you need to assess are you really just wasting your time or are you steadily doing the groundwork necessary for the next stage of progress.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Bad Math

(note for my followers with requests going, I'm pretty burnt out of House atm. I will get to requests when I can, but getting back into writing for me and also my life stuff will take priority over them.)

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Word Count: 3948

Summery: Episode 3 of Double Life. Martyn regresses after accidentally killing himself and Cleo but is afraid to say anything. It turns out he doesn't have to, because Cleo can feel all of it.

-----

Cleo jolted up in her bed, a fresh rush of respawn-fuelled adrenaline coursing through her veins. She hissed through her teeth as moving shot painful pulses through the newly reformed muscles of her legs and back. 

“Martyn!” She seethed to no one, “Oh my god, you stupid—“ That idiot had just killed them both! What in the world was he thinking!? The soul string around her finger burned with her anger and she didn’t bother to stifle it. She wanted Martyn to know that her blood was absolutely boiling. She got a dull pang of something like guilt back before he shut that down, because of course he would. She rolled her eyes.

Her joints ached as she stumbled out of bed and out the front door, but she pressed on. Her items would despawn if she wasted time, and she wasn’t going to lose all of her hard work on top of a life. 

The cliff was treacherous, at least a 20 block sheer drop with mobs everywhere, and she cursed Martyn under her breath the whole miserable shuffle down to the riverbed. By the time she reached solid ground her muscles were throbbing and a small hoard of zombies were clawing at her feet. She felt the pinch of phantom fingers on her forearm, Martyn’s silent complaining, and she pinched right back. He’s done this to himself. He was lucky she wasn’t letting these zombies have a little nibble. 

Some of her items were washed up on the rocks, coated in watery pink blood and muck, but the rest were floating amongst the drowned on the riverbed, not worth getting if she wanted to stay alive. She scooped up what she could and began the climb back to the top. Several of her items were missing, her food and armour were lost to the silt, which meant even if Scott could lend her something to wear she’d have to go back to the bloody caves in the middle of the night. 

At the top of the cliff, Martyn’s items lay scattered in a pile where he died. Part of her wanted to leave his things to rot, maybe kick them down into the river, but instead she begrudgingly dumped them into a chest for him to retrieve. She couldn’t have him dying again because his armour despawned, even if the idea of inconveniencing him brought her a sense of sweet satisfaction.

Buzz. Her communicator vibrated against her hip, and she pulled it out. 

<ZombieCleo fell from a high place trying to escape InTheLittleWood>

<SolidarityGaming> WHAT

<PearlescentMoon> OOOOOO

<Impulse> Soulmate kill? O.o

<Smajor1995 whispered to you:> You okay?

<Tango> LOL

<Rendog> rip

And of course nothing from Martyn. No explanation, not even a fake apology. Cleo huffed.

<You whisper to Smajor1995:> Fine. Got my stuff back

<You whisper to Smajor1995:> Most of it. My armour’s gone

Martyn hadn’t shown his face yet, which was probably for the best. She might just beat the stuffing out of him if he came around for the next while. A part of her wondered why she hadn’t seen him yet, if not just to get his stuff back before running off again, his tail tucked between his legs. She stared across the chasm to his heart tower. From where she was standing she couldn’t see him in the windows or moving around on the ground. 

<Smajor1995 whispered to you:> Do you want me to help you mine? I think I’ve got a spare set of boots too

<You whisper to Smajor1995:> Yes that would be great thanks

The walk to their strip-mine was short, but in sopping wet clothes and coming off a respawn  it felt like a slog. Thankfully she made it without running into any mobs, and Scott met her at the entrance to the mine, pickaxe in hand and a concerned look on his face. “You alright, Cleo?”

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Fine, just… frustrated.” 

Scott nodded sympathetically and made an after you motion to the mine. Cleo lead them down the tunnel system until they found untouched rock, which wasn’t too far, and set up a crafting table and a couple furnaces.

They worked in an unusual silence. Typically their time together was comfortable and full of banter, but it was hard to find something to talk about besides the glaringly obvious. She could almost feel how badly Scott wanted to pry and know every little detail, ever the gossip he was, but it was clear that he was determined not to from the near-constipated look on his face.

Cleo smirked. “Out with it then, ask me what happened,” She said, resting her pickaxe over her shoulder and leaning against the wall, “I know you want to. Although, I can’t really say I know myself.”

“Why did he kill you?” And wasn’t that the million-dollar question. “I know we’re not on good terms, but I didn’t think he’d do something like that. Not even Pearl has gone that far! And she’s crazy!” 

Cleo snorted, “I’ll tell you why, because he’s selfish! I don’t agree to a truce and he shoves me off a cliff!” She turned back to her pickaxe, punctuating every angry syllable with a swing. “Because he can’t just survive on his own. Ee’s like a parasite! Nagging on and on, and that weird tower he’s got in the ravine? Oh my gods—!” She was ranting, but it felt good to vent her frustrations to someone who wasn’t terminally dense and obsessed with the idea that ‘he’s your soulmate, you have to make up!’. What nonsense.

“And now we’re down a life, and I’m going to be stuck picking up after him because it’s always me, isn’t it? And it always will be! He’s just going to go running about willy nilly and I’ll have the consequences!” She swung her pick down with more force than was probably necessary, crumbling a pocket of lapis into dust, “He’s like a toddler!”

Suddenly, speak of the devil and he shall appear, there was a tug on their soul bond. It wasn’t ticks of damage like usual, it was an emotional tug. A ripple of nervous butterflies fluttered through her stomach, and she paused. Strange. Not the feeling itself, but the fact she’d felt it at all. The both of them had been stubbornly careful not to let their feelings slip through their bond ever since they’d officially split off in the first session. Probably a close call with a creeper.

Finally, after what felt like the thousandth poke-hole in the rock, she hit a pocket of iron. “Aha!” She exclaimed in victory, “Finally! This should be enough for at least a chest plate and some trousers. Come check it out, it’s massi—“

She faltered. There it was again, stronger this time. Her stomach twisted with what was definitely fear, and something else, too. It was fuzzy and hard to grasp. 

“Cleo? You alright?”

“…Yeah, I just… Martyn’s doing something. He’s probably caving.”

Scott hummed, sitting cross-legged on the ground and tossing a few pieces of raw iron into the furnaces, “Is he taking damage? You looked kinda scared there for a second.”

He hadn’t, but Cleo checked her health bar anyway to find it perfectly intact. “Nope. He probably just got ambushed by a mob or something, clearly he’s not the most careful man on this serv—“

It was then that it crashed over her; the string on her finger tightened and a wave of crystal-clear and suffocating sadness flowed through it. It startled her just how fast her eyes welled up and her chest squeezed, nearly winding her. “What on earth..?” She gasped. Her pickaxe clattered against the stone floor as she stumbled back against the wall. 

“What’s wrong!?” Scott clambered to his feet and rushed to her side, “Do you need food? How many hearts are you on?” He demanded, shoving a piece of bread against her hand.

Cleo quickly straightened, gently pushing the bread away, “No I don’t need food, I— I’m fine, just—“ What was Martyn doing?

Part of her wanted to ignore this. Whatever this was, it wasn’t her circus or her emotional monkeys. Physically they were fine, so it was fine. She scrubbed the tears out of her eyes, only for them to come right back, blurring Scott’s fretting expression. 

But the other part, the stronger part, told her that this wasn’t normal. Something was wrong with Martyn and she couldn’t help but be worried. Outside of the game they were still friends, and she still cared about Martyn’s wellbeing even if he was being a terrible partner right then. 

“Something’s wrong with Martyn.” She said. Well obviously, well done there Cleo, very observant. “I don’t know what but it’s… a lot.”

A thick, hazy feeling settled behind her eyes like molasses. It felt gentle, like it should have been pleasant, but it only amplified the swirl of emotions rushing through her. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she sniffled. Deep in her chest something was crying out for comfort, and she had to stop herself from instinctively reaching out to grab Scott’s hand, even though he probably wouldn’t have minded.

Scott took a deep breath, tapping his fingers quickly against the hilt of his pickaxe. “Right. Not much to go off of, then. What does it feel like?”

She struggled to get her thoughts in order as wave after wave of emotion came through their bond. It was overwhelming, flooding every corner of her brain like tar. “Goodness gracious, keep it together, Martyn…” She mumbled to herself, trying to at least keep her vision clear, “Um… It’s like, heavy? He’s definitely sad, scared I think… My head’s all fuzzy.”

After a moment of looking deep in thought, a look of dread suddenly dawned over Scott’s face, “Oh no…”

“What? What is it?” Cleo asked, voice creeping on desperate as the storm inside her slipped into her voice, “Don’t just say “oh no” and then stand there with that look on your face, it’s stressing me out!”

Scott looked at her, eyes wide. “He’s not regressed, is he? Surely not.”

All of the pieces were suddenly falling together to make a terrifying picture. The hiding, the suffocating fuzzy feeling, all of the emotions flowing through their bond, the crying— Martyn was little. 

Cleo’s mind raced. There was a child running around in the middle of the night during a death game, scared out of his mind and most likely defenceless. It was a miracle he hadn’t taken any damage yet. Heck, it was a miracle they weren’t dead yet, came a sobering thought, it was a miracle he wasn’t chased down by a hoard of zombies, backed into a corner a slaughtered. Ex-soulmate status be damned, she needed to find him and soon. She fumbled with her belt for her communicator and quickly typed out a message with shaky fingers.

<You whisper to InTheLittleWood:> Martyn where are you

To her surprise and slight relief, it didn’t take long for Martyn to respond.

<InTheLittleWood> i’m fine

<BdoubleO100> ?

<You whisper to InTheLittleWood:> Sure. What’s wrong? Are you regressed right now? Also you’re in main chat

<InTheLittleWood whispers to you:> Fine. Not small. Dw boutt it

<You whisper to InTheLittleWood:> Martyn. Stop messing around, where are you? Don’t make me get Grian, I’ll make him stop the session right now if I have to

The fuzzy feeling increased, and she blinked hard. If the rampant spelling errors in his messages weren’t enough to convince her he was small, that sure was.

<InTheLittleWood whispers to you:> Spswn

<InTheLittleWood whispers to you:> spawn

<You whisper to InTheLittleWood:> Stay there, I’m coming to find you

“I’m going to get him.” Cleo said, pocketing her pickaxe and equipping the iron boots Scott had given her. Her shield was shoddy at best, but they hadn’t had enough time to make her anything else and they didn’t have any to waste now. It would have to do.

Scott stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, “Do you want me to come with you? If you give me a sec I can make a new shield and—”

“No, it’ll take too long. Besides, I think it’ll just freak him out more if you’re there with me.” She rubbed at her eyes and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look.

“Alright, I’ll catch up, then. Just… be safe, okay?”

“I will. I’ll be quick!”

The run to spawn was a gauntlet, and the burning in her chest and throat wasn’t helping. Thankfully the tears had slowed and her vision was clear enough to dodge mobs as they appeared from the brush. By the time she arrived the sun had begun to crawl over the horizon, but the mobs wouldn’t be burning for at least another hour, which meant they weren’t safe just yet. 

Martyn hadn’t sent any more messages and he was nowhere to be seen at spawn. Anxiety rolled in her gut as she scanned the tree line for Martyn’s obnoxiously bright outfit. She was just about to message the group and rally a search party when she saw it.

A dirt shack. Built up at the base of a scraggly oak tree was a small dirt box, just big enough for one person to be huddled up inside if they really squeezed. She approached cautiously, noting the uptick of nervousness inside her as her footsteps grew closer. She carefully dug away the wall, and there was Martyn. He was curled up tight, red-faced from crying and snot dripping from his nose, staring up at her with eyes blown wide.

Cleo couldn’t help but wince; he was certainly a sight. They stared at each other for a beat before Martyn simply dissolved. He began to cry once more and the tears in Cleo’s eyes returned with a vengeance. He curled impossibly tighter into his little ball and began mumbling something. Most of it was complete nonsense, but she was able to make out one word, over and over again. ‘Sorry’.

A weight dropped from her shoulders and she let out a breath of relief. She schooled her expression into something softer and tried to bend down to his level, but Martyn tucked his face between his knees.

“Martyn? Are we maybe feeling a bit little?” She tried her best attempt at a comforting tone.

“‘M sorry!” he babbled, sniffling loudly, “Didn’ mean t’hurt you, I was joking, I didn’t mean it!” 

All this trouble for a joke, of course.

“I’m not angry with you, I’m just glad you’re safe. This server’s dangerous for a little kid, yeah?” Her assurances didn’t seem to make anything better. In fact, Martyn only seemed more upset. 

His fists clenched into the fabric of his jeans and his head shot up, “You are angry!” He cried, “’Could- ‘could feel it! You’re angry at me an ‘m sorry! I didn’ mean it!”  

Cleo sighed. He was right, she was angry. Buried underneath Martyn’s hurricane of emotions there was still anger for him, but that anger was for adult Martyn. Stupid, shortsighted adult Martyn who got them both killed, not the blubbering child in front of her.

“Martyn, look at me.” He whined stubbornly and turned away, and Cleo rolled her eyes. Oh no, she wasn’t in the mood for this game. “Martyn.” Teary yellow eyes peeked up nervously at her.

“I am angry, alright? I’m angry we died, but there isn’t anything we can do about it now, is there? You didn’t mean to kill me, but we’re still yellow. That’s that.” Martyn sniffled, and Cleo could see a fresh line of tears forming in his eyes. “But, just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I want you to be safe, and I’m certainly not going to leave you all alone while you’re little.” Martyn seemed to consider that, scrubbing clumsily at his eyes. 

She reached forward and gently adjusted his headband from where it had begun to slip down into his face. “There we go, no more crying now. Would you like a hug—? Oof!” Martyn in her arms in an instant, crushing her in a death grip. He buried his nose into her shoulder and sniffled wetly. 

“Oh, gross buddy. Just getting snot all over my shirt, hm?” She chuckled, patting him gently on the back. He squirmed to be nearly cross-legged in her lap, slightly awkwardly because of the height he had on her, but she accommodated as best she could.

They stayed like that for a few minutes in silence, only broken up by the occasional sniffle. The golden string wrapped around Cleo’s finger felt pleasantly warm, the knot loose and flowing instead of suffocatingly tight, and she wondered absently if this was what the bond was supposed to feel like. Comfortable and soothing.

So soothing that she heard the rattling bones of a skeleton behind her just a second too late. 

Martyn gasped, “Cleo there’s a—!”

A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and she yelped. Martyn squeaked, and she curled defensively around him. The mobs.

She pulled out her shield and propped it behind her, and a second arrow lodged into the splitting wood with a thunk. “Martyn, can you run?” Martyn only blinked up at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed like a fish. She grit her teeth, “Alright, up we go then!”

Ditching the shield she hoisted him up under his thighs and prepared to make a run for it. Just as the skeleton drew back another arrow, it was smashed into a pile of bones by an out-of-breath Scott.

“Run! I’ll cover you!” 

Arrows whizzed past her head and zombies turned to follow her as she ran through the woods, and she prayed to admin that none would connect while she was toting a grown man on her hip. She could hear Scott not far behind cutting down anything that got too close, and thank the Admins for Scott Smajor.

Cleo liked to think she was strong, but Martyn wasn’t exactly a featherweight. By the time they all made home and the door was shut firmly behind them she was panting and her arms felt like jelly. 

“You, alright, Martyn?” She huffed, leaning him back to get a look at his face. He nodded and gave her a shaky smile. “You’re very brave then, aren’t you?”

“The bravest.” Martyn muttered, letting his head bonk against her shoulder. She winced. Now that she had a moment to breathe, she could feel the arrowhead grinding against her shoulder blade and the trail of sticky blood running down her back. Martyn was probably a similar story. It was a wonder he hadn’t started complaining about it yet.

“Cleooooo,” Came a whine in her ear, “M’arm huuuurts.” 

There it was. She chuckled. “I’m sure it does. Let’s get patched up then, hm?”

“I’ll see what we’ve got.” Scott said, sounding rather winded as well.

Cleo set Martyn down on the bed and dropped down beside him with a groan. She could be helping Scott find first aid, but she was pretty sure she’d earned a break at this point. Scott returned from the chests with a half roll of gauze and a meagre amount of instant health in a bottle. 

“We don’t have much potion left, but I think we have enough wool for more bandages if we need.”

“Oh, we will need. Hand me those, I’ll get started on Boy-Wonder, here.” 

“Arrow first.” Scott reminded, and oh right, the arrow. “Fast or slow?”

“Fast.” She said, then reached over and grabbed Martyn’s hand. “This is gonna hurt for just a second, okay? Squeeze my hand real hard.”

Martyn nodded nervously.

Scott set one hand on her back for leverage and grabbed the arrow with the other. “Deep breath, you two. One, two… three!”

Cleo grit her teeth and Martyn whimpered as the arrow came out, squeezing her hand like he was trying to pop a balloon.

“See? Not so bad, was it?” She said tightly, but it was hard to look convincing when Martyn’s tears were welling in her eyes. “Now, bandages. C’mon, shirt up.”

After taking a moment to collect himself Martyn tried his best to wiggle out of his shirt, but of course he didn’t take his bag off first and before Cleo could even attempt to correct him he was already tangled and giving her the most pitiful look. 

“You know what? That was my mistake, let me help you with that.”

Mirroring her own, there was a small puncture wound in his right shoulder blade bleeding sluggishly down his back. His wasn’t going to be nearly as bad as hers, but the emotional damage probably made up for it.

“This’ll make it feel better, alright?” She uncorked the bottle and dumped what was left of the potion over the wound, and watched as it began to stitch itself back together. By the time the potion was done, Martyn was in need of little more than a band-aid and her back felt a lot less on-fire than it had a moment ago. With the help of a bit of slime, she secured a layer of gauze over what was left of the cut and helped Martyn wrestle his shirt back on. Was it completely hygienic? No. But it worked in a pinch.

“Now you.” Martyn said, making a grab for the gauze.

“Ah-ah, nooo thank you.” She said, “I think Scott will help with that.” Not that she didn’t trust a toddler with her medical care, but he’d probably make a mess with the slime and she’d had quite enough of bath time for one night.

He pouted. “But I’m your soulmate! I wanna help!”

“You are, but you’re also quite the tiny thing, and I like this shirt. Scott gets it, don’t you, Scott?”

“Sure do.” Scott took the slime and bandages from her and in less than thirty seconds the job was done. 

Even though the day had only just begun, Cleo was absolutely knackered. She glanced out the window at the rising sun and blinked blearily. “We should probably let Grian know to call a break, shouldn’t we?”

“Noooooo…” Martyn whined, before letting out the world’s biggest yawn.

“Yep, on it.” Scott pulled out his communicator and sent the message, and a few seconds later the break message went out.

“Alright, naptime.” Cleo said, pulling Martyn to lay down on the bed with her and halfheartedly tugging up the blanket. Being able to finally close her eyes after the night she’d had felt like heaven.

Scott smirked and took pity on her, and helped bring the blanket up the rest of the way. “You two sleep, I’ll be across the way if you need me.”

She cracked one eye open as he turned to leave. “You sleep too, don’t think I forgot I dragged you out of bed.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Goodnight, Cleo. Goodnight, Martyn.”

Martyn was already dozing off, but he still giggled and called back a quiet, “Good morning, Scott.”

The door shut and the two of them were left in a comfortable silence. Their soul bond wrapped around them, pleasantly warm and light. Cleo was just about to fall asleep when she felt a ripple of guilt.

“…Martyn? What’s going on in that head of yours, hm?” She mumbled.

“M’sorry, Cleo.”

She rolled her closed eyes and felt around for his hand, holding it loosely. “I know you are. If you really want to make it up to me, you’ll relax and have a sleep. Cleo’s tired.”

“…M’kay. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Martyn.”

[ask-impatient-samurott]

Nema found herself hurtling ears over tail through the air.

The Wishing Star in the cave had exploded, sending her careening back out into the Giant Chasm alongside the brunt of the blast.

She was unceremoniously flung into the far cliff wall of the chasm. She felt her ribs break, like she was a carton of eggs that had been slammed against a steel door. A minor cut on her ear buzzed with a prominent stinging sensation. Her nose bled from the sheer speed at which she had flown.

Pikachu were not built for this.

Nema barked with pain as she slid down the rock and landed in the blue-ish grass. She couldn't move. All she could do was groan as her body repeatedly spasmed involuntarily, causing more bursts of needle sharp pain.

Her nose was plugged with blood and mucus. Her throat dried out. Her ears felt stuffed with cotton. The only sense of hers that seemed to stay sharp were her eyes.

It took Nema a few minutes to notice she was lying on her back. With a huff and a creak from her midsection, she found just enough energy to roll herself onto her belly. The flop sent her into a coughing fit.

When her eyes focused again, all she could see was a gaping hole where the once small cave entrance was. She had just passed through it earlier...

Ominous bright pink mist swirled steadily from the cave. The Wishing Star had burst open from the pressure, and was now releasing Dynamax energy into the air.

Nema tried to think. Think of anything. But her skull was full of static fuzz. She had thoughts, but they certainly weren't coherent.

Marigold. Marigold... she could really use her girlfriend right about now.

Right. They were back in Undella Town. He could probably see the explosion from where she's at.

...Where was she?

Oh. Yeah.

Kappa. Kappa!

Where was Kappa!? Jean!?

Nema, as quickly as she could, scanned the surrounding area, her vision and thoughts rapidly becoming clearer.

[Nema]

'Shit, fuck fuck- I can't see them anywhere! Are they still in the cave!?' She thought in a panic.

'If only I could move! Kappa!! KAPPA!!'

She felt it before she heard it.

It reverberated through the ground and into her skin. The grass did nothing to muffle it in all its intensity.

Nema could see it. A massive figure, cloaked in red, striding slowly towards her. Bigger than anything she had ever seen. Bigger than even the three dragons she had been standing next to just moments ago. Where were they?

The mist turned from a hot pink, to an eye searing crimson. It rolled sluggishly around the legs of the beast in front of her, as if rolling out a red carpet.

Slowly, the creature came into view.

A massive, hulking thing, with fur a deep indigo hauled itself forward. Various parts of its body were covered in nigh pristine pieces of glittering yellow armor. Its tail fanned out behind it like a cape as it trudged along. In its claws were two rectangular swords, which it seemed to currently be using as crutches to hold up its unweildy body.

Its mouth opened in a strained exhale, letting more of the crimson mist pour out of its body like drool.

It was horrifying.

Nema somehow found the ability to push herself up to her knees. She couldn't take her eyes off of the monster's mouth. She felt sick.

[Nema]

"What..?"

The word felt like chalk in her mouth. Images- memories, of the past two days flickered in and out of her head like fireflies.

Nema knew who this was before her.

She knew that this had happened. And she did nothing to stop it from happening again.

The mist in front of her thinned. And a large head pushed through it.

[G. Max Kappa]

"HHHhhhhhh..."

[Kappa has Gigantamaxed!]

[enquiringangel]

Thrillseeker

[pre-canon drabble of Star/David but can be read as platonic-ish. Just like the movie. CW for misogyny/slut shaming (from Star’s asshole mom]

When David offered her a ride on the back of his bike and a place to stay, Star should have been wary. The reasons not to go with him were obvious: they had only met yesterday, no one knew where she was going and there was nobody to miss her, she was a young woman going off alone with four young men to an unknown destination. Anything might happen.

She could hear her mother now, boys like that are only after one thing, you stupid slut. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you. She’d always spoken like Star was putting it about to half the neighborhood, when in reality she had only ever slept with one boy.

Star climbed on the back of the bike.

Her mother could burn in hell.

She arranged her skirts as she settled herself behind David and hooked her arms around his waist. He was leaner than he looked, but reassuringly solid under her hands. When he started the engine, the bike throbbed powerfully between her thighs. He gunned the throttle a few times to show off, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk. “Hold on tight, babe.”

The ride out to the bluff was possibly the most exhilarating experience of her life. Roads meant nothing; the boys went where they pleased; on road, off road, down stairs, along the sand, weaving through the pilings under the pier and the densely wooded track up the hill. Branches glanced off Star’s arms and leaves caught in her hair but she didn’t feel them. Her heart was racing; she’d never known such speed, such power. It was almost like flying.

When they reached the bluff a thick fog had rolled in from the sea, the lamp of the lighthouse revolving high above the churning mist that was like a sea below it. David drove on recklessly, heedless of the danger.

Star looked around uneasily. She couldn’t see a thing around them, not even the other bikes, which she only knew were still there by the roar of the engines. If that was the lighthouse, then they must be on the cliff, right? “David,” she called, her voice lost to the wind. “David, slow down.”

He ignored her, though she knew he must have heard; she could feel laughter vibrating in his chest.

At this rate, his showing off was going to get them both killed. “David!”

There was a break in the fog ahead of them. The headlamp of the motorcycle illuminated the cliff’s edge, approaching at alarming speed.

Helpless, Star clung on for dear life and watched death approach.

David veered sharply at the last possible moment and braked hard. The motorcycle skidded to the very edge of the cliff and came to a stop. Star’s skirt fluttered in the breeze overhanging the sheer drop to the waves below. Star looked down at the dark waves with their glistening caps of pale foam, then up at David’s grinning face.

Relief swept over her so powerfully that it felt like she was high. Giddy laughter burst out of her. Her heart was pounding like crazy and her every nerve was singing.

In the face of her joy, David laughed too, the pair of them straddling the bike and the cliff’s edge, with nothing but air between them and certain death.

Star had never felt so alive.

[sandcobangevent]

Clutch

by @sealbug and @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant

“They really are beautiful. Pristine.”

“Erosion.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s what keeps them pristine. These cliffs are eroding far too rapidly for any colouration, let alone vegetation, to take hold before they crumble into the sea. This whole cliff is degrading beneath our very feet.”

“Hopefully not too fast, eh?” The words landed lightly enough, but if Sherlock had lifted the scarf John had tightly wrapped around his face to ward off the steady wind, he would have seen all levity had faded long before the sentence ended. “Look, can you… Can you just look fast so we can get out of here? I’m freezing my bollocks off.”

“Just a moment.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I’m not at all sure about this. That’s why I want to investigate. His wife and his insurance agent, however, are a bit too sure about this.”

“It is the most common spot for suicides in England. Right up there with that spooky forest in Japan—”

“The Aokigahara Forest of Mt Fuji.”

“Yeah, the…Okahara Forest. And the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.”

“You’ve been researching on Wikipedia again, Watson.”

“So they’ve got it wrong again?”

“Not wrong exactly. Just, misleading. It’s a prime spot for jumping, certainly— 162 metre high cliff. Jumping from a height, however, is not exactly a popular method for ending one’s life. Roughly two percent choose that method, and only 23 people annually are found to have killed themselves at Beachy Head. Compare that to the close to 50 who do so in the Underground and you can see why I am not convinced. I believe he merely sought out a quiet seaside holiday. Ask any resident, and they will speak of the millions of visitors who do not have dark intentions.”

“I always thought insurance wouldn’t pay out if it was suicide.”

“They have an exclusionary period from the date the policy is signed—generally between one and two years. His underwriter was Royal London, which has a one year hold. We passed that threshold last week.”

“Maybe he waited till it passed. So his wife could get the money.”

“It is possible. But it is equally possible his wife waited the year to rid herself of him so she could get the money.”

“Yeah. Same difference, I guess. Well. Not really.” John paused and surveyed the landscape. There was no doubt the rolling hills leading to a sheer, chalk white cliff overlooking a surprisingly turquoise sea was beautiful, on the face of it. But John couldn’t help but feel a little queasy. “It’s still creepy, mate. Chilling.”

“I did warn you about dressing for the seaside climate.”

John considered clarifying that that was not what he meant by ‘chilling’, but decided against it. “You said a beach. Beaches are…warm and...lovely...and have Ferris wheels sometimes and Victorian prominades and such. This…is not a beach. This…is a cliff.”

“True. But that…” Sherlock gestured a full 162 metres downward, “…is a beach.”

“I don’t mind strolling along a beach. Bit of the ol’ sand between the toes.”

“Gravel.”

“Bit of the ol’ gravel between the toes. I wouldn’t mind being down there. But I don’t much care for being up here. And…could you not… Could you not lean over the edge like that? If you want to go examine the actual beach part of Beachy Head, I am more than happy to do so, Sherlock. Sherlock?”

“Hmmmm. There’s something down there.”

“Good, good, let’s go down there. Let’s go down there and have a closer look, shall we? I don’t— Sherlock!”

John watched as Sherlock plopped upon his belly and began moving, snake-like, toward the edge.

“Just a little hint of a hesitation…here.” He pointed to a divot in the grass. “Correct size shoe. Dragging slightly. He may not have been fully conscious. Drugging is a distinct possibility. Far too many people picnic here for us to determine if they had done so as well, though it is always possible a local shopkeeper might recall this particular couple grabbing a takeaway. And a…just a minute...”

“Sherlock! What are you doing? These cliffs are…Look you said yourself they aren’t stable, so can you please stop teetering on the edge of them?”

“Not going to teeter on the edge, Watson. Just want to get a closer look at some of the marks over here.”

John took a deep breath. Sherlock was, after all, flat on his belly, and somewhat unlikely to fall off. He’d seen him climb out of windows, onto rooftops, and up trees as confident as anyone could possibly be, but still, Sherlock and heights were simply no longer a good combination.

When he was a child, John had climbed a large oak and perched in the very top.  He had hidden there, laughing when his mum came outside,  puzzled as to why his friend was in the tree alongside the house but John was nowhere to be seen. She thought for sure she’d heard his voice moments before. ‘Where’s John?’, she’d asked, and his friend replied by pointing upward. Carol Watson’s eyes followed the path of his finger and finally spotted John in the sparse branches far above the roof. She grasped the doorframe tightly as her fear transformed into anger and told him to come right down for supper this instant. John hadn’t noticed how the branches had bent under his weight, even as an only moderately pudgy eleven-year-old. He had never been afraid of heights. What’s the danger in being high up? It’s not as if simply being high up means you’ll actually—

Fall.

John closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but all he could see behind those lids was Sherlock falling. He hadn’t seen it happen, of course, back then. He had been busy helping a young hiker hobble to their hotel on a twisted ankle. He had handed over his microphone, when Sherlock had insisted on recording “the ambience” for the podcast while John headed back, only to find it lying abandoned at the edge of the falls, red light still flashing. It had recorded only rushing water and an intermittent bit of Sherlock’s voice, indecipherable, and John was left to imagine the rest, which he did with surprising clarity. 

John saw him fall. As clearly as if it had happened before him. John saw him fall, over and over again, every night for months on end. In his dreams, sometimes he was battling a fierce monster, eyes blazing with fire, failing to vanquish the beast and save his friend. Other times, he was right behind Sherlock and stopped to tie his shoe, or to get an ice lolly from a magically-appearing truck. Always some absurd distraction, and he arrived too late to stop it but never, never too late bear witness. Not once did his mind spare him from the sight of watching Sherlock fall.   

Even now, as he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to calm himself, the image ‘greeted’ him. So much for quiet meditation. John quickly opened them in an attempt to remind himself of the here and now— a brief deescalation technique he had learned long ago. You had to look around, notice things, connect to the present using all your senses and concentrate on each one in sequence. He listened to the steady eb and flow of the tide, not the endless rushing of a waterfall. I am in Sussex. He smelled salty air, not a pine forest. I am in Sussex. He saw—

He saw Sherlock’s fingers, gripping tightly to the edge of a cliff. 

And then—almost as if he had imagined them—he didn’t see them anymore. 

John stared at the spot where chalk met grass, where Sherlock’s fingers had been gripping the edge less than a second before. He was rooted to the spot. Frozen. Unable to take a single step. To make a single sound. The scenery grew hazy and he heard a voice from far away.

“Watson? John? John?!!”

Hands reappeared on the edge of the cliff, followed by a foot, and then the rest of the strong and lithe body of Sherlock Holmes swung up over the edge and rolled onto the grass. 

John still did not move.

“John!!! I was wondering why you weren’t taking the threads I was extending to you. I… I thought perhaps someone else was up here— one of those patrolling Samaritans who try to dissuade jumpers— so I… John?”

Something finally broke the spell which had gripped him and John spoke, his voice breaking like the waves upon the rocks below. “Sherlock. It’s… It’s fine. I…I didn’t hear you. Sorry. Sorry. Was just…thinking about…something else for a bit there. What did you…What did you find?”

“Never mind that. What happened just now? What were—”

Then suddenly it all made sense. He couldn't believe it. He forgot. He forgot.

Sherlock had so many things he wanted to say. That he had peered over the edge and saw a small landing below. Not especially large, true, but one that would easily accommodate him. He needed only to swing toward it, to land neatly upon it. There was something there. Some fibres which resembled the scarf the insurance agent had been wearing. Perhaps enough to place him at the crime scene, perhaps not—but worth investigating. It was only a small jump. Not even a jump. Just. A drop. 

He forgot. He forgot.

And some of it… Some of it, he’d resigned himself to never knowing. That was fair. It had to be. John insisted Mariana not discuss any of it. She hadn’t told Sherlock about John’s request, but it had been obvious.

The message he left explaining The Plan had been sufficient. Had it? Did you explain? Or did you simply think you left that message, think you had told him, but had not. Flashes from Victor’s case invaded Sherlock’s thoughts. You believed you had told them your plan, but you had not. You cannot trust your memory. 

Memory. It was not just tricky, it was downright villainous at times. When John had failed to arrive at their rendezvous point, Sherlock had assumed he was still angry at the last-minute nature of it. One should always take advantage of such unforeseen moments, if they happen to arise naturally, to avoid a missed opportunity. One seldom gets a second chance.

It was not until Sherlock had returned to London that he had been able to reconnect with Wiggins, get back on his feet, and finally listen to the podcast. To know his message (it provided some relief that he had indeed left one) had never been truly received. Garbled, useless. How to explain what had happened without it sounding like an attempt at justification? An attempt to minimise the damage he had brought about. Impossible. 

John had broadcasted what he referred to as his Final Adventure, intending to end the podcast, but some listeners had convinced him to do otherwise. He occasionally released older cases, ones he had not yet edited. He had said they were ‘in the can’. Some were short and even lacked a complete solution, and these were difficult for Sherlock to listen to for more reasons than one. Occasionally, John would divert from the true crime format and interview vets— his original plan before Sherlock had derailed his life. Mariana was still there, though Sherlock sometimes wondered how long that could last before he cursed his stupidity for ever thinking Mariana would ever vanish once the cases were gone, or even if the entire podcast ended. Hearing both their voices was somehow equally comforting and distressing.

When he eventually decided he could no longer bear staying away, Sherlock managed to accept as an undeserved gift the genuine joy John had shown in discovering he was somehow alive. How that joy still existed, alongside the occasional, but dwindling, flashes of betrayal and anger, was something Sherlock was far too afraid to examine, lest it disappear in a puff of logic. He had clung to the hope that, in time, John might even forget. But no. It was Sherlock who had forgotten. Had forgotten what it would be like, to watch him disappear over the edge. He had ignored how John had been uncomfortable from the very first, doing his best to bury his feelings beneath a pile of babbling words and trite observations about the weather.  

But this moment, perched on a cliff in Sussex, was an opportunity also. A sort of second chance. A rewrite of the narrative, though Sherlock hadn’t considered it as such. He had only instinctively pulled his friend into his chest, feeling John grip his shirt as tightly as he himself had gripped the cliff’s edge moments before. But Sherlock was not about to let go this time, even as he felt a drop within his stomach. John burrowed into Sherlock’s shoulder, finding in his body a natural resting place, a shelter. 

So much he should say, all racing through his brain without any real form. Still, Sherlock only stood there, one arm across John’s shoulders and the other at the base of his neck, tucked beneath his scarf. John’s skin was so warm there. Warm and comforting, and he could feel John’s pulse beating against the edge of his own wrist. They stayed like this until neither of them felt the cold air surrounding them. Only the warmth in each other. 

“I’m s—”

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry, Sherlock.”

“What kind of a stupid phrase is that? Love means always having to say you’re sorry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it kinda is a rubbish film.”

“I’m sorry, John. For not thinking about how you’d be affected. And for having made an impulsive decision and assuming that decision could ever have made sense. Though I did attempt, with limited success, to—”

“I think…” John raised his head. “I think they meant love is never having to explain all about how you tried to fix things by leaving an inaudible message on a dodgy SD card and didn’t check up on it later. Clearly, that’s what Jenny meant to say.” John took a deep breath. “I’m sure you did. Try. It didn’t work and it doesn’t matter. I mean, yes, it matters. That you tried, matters. That it still hurts matters, too. What I mean to say is, I forgive you. And, what you went through, after? It must have been difficult for you, too.”

“Sneaking on the Shatabdi should have been a highlight of my life. Instead, it was absolutely miserable.”

“Good to know.” John rewrapped his scarf, placed his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, and guided him back onto the path back to Eastbourne. “What’s a Shatabdi?”

“Train to Nepal.”

“Nepal. Sounds like quite the adventure.”

“No. It was a task. An unpleasant task. I only have Adventures when I’m with you.”

“How does ‘The Adventure of the Warm Fire and Sunday Roast’ sound? Inn’s down there somewhere.” John gestured with his head toward the path ahead rather than the cliff behind. “Onward?”

“Yes. Onward!” And Sherlock placed his hand on John’s back as well.

____________

Check it out on AO3 too!

[lifblogs]

Week 2

Flashbang

@summer-of-bad-batch

Prompt: Injured

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 2880

Summary: Crosshair sees a flashbang go off through his heat vision lens, which gives the perfect opportunity for droids to sneak up on him. He’s injured from the fight that ensues.

WARNINGS: Violence, Brief Suicidal Thoughts

A/N: Y’all are lucky I didn’t go ham with this prompt.

READ ON AO3

Crosshair’s eyes burned and ached, the flash of light seeming to go all the way into his head. Even with his eyes closed he could still see bright white afterimages through his lids.

Crosshair growled, putting a hand over his eyes through his helmet.

Get it together.

“Crosshair, what’s wrong?” Tech asked. “Why didn’t you take the shot?”

Crosshair wanted to explain it was the stupid flashbang he’d seen go off through his heat vision lens.

Hunter started explaining it to Tech.

Crosshair was perched up on a rocky cliff amongst the heavy snow. They had drawn out the tactical droid, and he was supposed to take it out.

The flashbang.

The tactical droid recognized them.

Hunter started detailing new plans, but now even sound seemed to hurt his head. He thought he heard Hunter was coming to get him, but he couldn’t be sure.

Crosshair tried opening his eyes, and growled at the stabbing pain that followed.

The pain left him so distracted and disoriented, and he was worried about not being able to keep an eye on his surroundings.

Something fired right near Crosshair’s side where he lay in the snow.

Blast!

He rolled, grabbing his rifle, and opened his eyes to try and fire. Through the too-bright light of sun reflecting off snow and ice Crosshair could barely make out his enemy. He thought he saw a commando droid. Maybe three of them.

Crosshair ducked behind a natural alcove in the cliffside. The sheer drop to his left didn’t exactly make him feel too comfortable, especially with the dip in the stone that had him slowly falling through the snow. But right now this was better than getting shot.

Blaster bolts fired in his direction, the bright flares aching behind his eyes.

Still half-blinded, Crosshair threw a puck. It’d never hold up against the energy of a blaster bolt in the snow, but if he fired…

Now!

He took the shot before the puck could land, and a set of blaster bolts stopped firing. When he ducked his head around a commando droid was crashing into the snow, smoking from a shot off-center from the middle of its chest. Well, he could’ve done worse.

His next problem arose as the two remaining commando droids advanced, and Crosshair was close to falling over the edge to a drop three-hundred meters down.

And his vision still wasn’t perfect again.

With no choice he jumped from his spot, firing at the droids. Another went down, but the last one got too close. Crosshair raised his rifle horizontally, trying to push the droid back. He grunted as he had to shift to avoid getting blasted through the gut.

Seeing the choice before him that the droid had cleverly fought him into, Crosshair tried to avoid it, wanting to keep hold of his rifle. He kicked at it, but that only made it slide back about a third of a meter. It came at him with renewed force, grabbing his rifle and swinging him through the air. For a horrifying second he flew over the sheer drop into a thicket of conifers below, but then he surpassed it. Though unfortunately he’d still have to land somewhere if not there. Already his neck had been wrenched from the force of the throw, his helmet flying off, and some muscles in his legs had been pulled to try and keep his position.

Crosshair’s back smacked into the dark, jagged cliff rising above him, now opposite from where he had first been firing at the droids.

The impact knocked the air out of him, and made his rifle fall from nerveless fingers. He fell from his position about a meter up, landing on his feet. Agony shot through his left leg, and a choked scream tried to leave him, lungs still not having recovered from the impact. Crosshair collapsed into the snow atop his rifle.

The droid leveled its blaster and Crosshair was sure he was dead. He tried to reach his pistol, but his left arm was completely numb. His eyes widened in fear, light still too bright.

A vibroblade blurred through the air and stuck out of the commando droid’s neck. Sparks flew. It fired as it fell, aim now a couple meters above where Crosshair lay.

Hunter rushed into his field of view, firing to make sure the droid was down.

He came over to him, crouching down.

“Crosshair, are you okay?”

“Did—did you take out the tactical droid?” he asked.

Crosshair tried to get up, but his upper back hurt so badly he might have preferred it if the commando droid had shot him. He screamed and collapsed back down.

“Tech did,” Hunter answered, looking him over. “He’s taking the head back to Kamino to try and figure out how the CIS know about us.”

“So you figured it out too? Well, we’re not exactly subtle.”

“Can you stand?”

“Uh-uh.”

Hunter grabbed Crosshair’s numb left arm, trying to sling it over his shoulder… without Crosshair able to keep it in place.

“Crosshair, I need your help here.”

“My arm is numb,” he growled at him.

“Where are you injured?”

“My back. My leg too.”

“I’ll get Tech and Wrecker up here.”

Hunter called them on comms as he got Crosshair’s helmet and pulled his rifle out from under him. With difficulty he got Crosshair onto his side, which at least was more comfortable than his stomach.

Hunter retrieved his vibroblade and in a moment of anger kicked the commando droids over the edge of the cliff.

“What’s done is done,” Crosshair hissed.

“I still hate them. Every single stinkin’—”

“We’re here!” Wrecker announced.

He and Tech had a stretcher with them.

The sky was darkening through Crosshair’s view of the trees. More snow would fall soon.

“What are your symptoms?” Tech asked as he and Wrecker picked him up.

Crosshair tried to hold in a cry, but it came out anyway. His cheeks, which were already flushed from the cold, reddened even more. He didn’t want his squad to see him in pain, didn’t want to need their help. But the truth was, he was injured, and he probably needed medical attention.

Hunter was talking to Echo, asking him to fly the Marauder to their position so they wouldn’t have to carry Crosshair halfway down a mountain.

“Middle and lower back hurt,” he told Tech. “Middle hurts worse. My left leg hurts, and—and I can’t feel my left arm.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” he demanded, words coming out too loud as he was fully settled and pressure was against his mid-back.

Oh, kriff, he was nauseous.

“Might be dealing with herniated discs.”

“I don’t speak whatever that is,” he hissed.

“Bulging discs, Crosshair,” Tech said with a roll of his eyes.

“There are discs in my back?” Wrecker asked loudly.

“Yes, Wrecker,” Crosshair and Tech responded as one.

Hunter came over to them.

“All right, Echo’s on his way. He should be here in a few minutes.”

Snow drifted over on a chill wind, dark clouds coming upon them.

“Why haven’t you given me something for the pain?” Crosshair demanded.

“How can I perform accurate tests to ascertain the severity of your injuries while you’re numbed?”

“I don’t know, use a damn scanner like a normal person.”

“What is your level of pain?”

“Astronomical,” Crosshair spat out, even as he barely knew what was going on anymore.

He was tense and gritting his teeth. Tears tried to well up in his eyes. He just wanted the pain to stop. How was he supposed to survive even another second like this?

And, he did. Somehow.

Crosshair despised it.

Tech came over, and removed his pack. He started searching through it after removing a tactical droid head.

When he found the medicine he wasted no time about jabbing it into Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair wanted to complain about the sharp ache, but then a soft, cottony feeling began to wash over him, and move through his bloodstream.

Crosshair looked up at the darkening sky, wondering if he could float up into it.

When the Marauder arrived he couldn’t stop staring at it. What a beautiful ship.

He then realized his pain had softened, going from a ten to a six, which was enough to give him relief.

There was a bit of a struggle over the sheer drop below, but Wrecker and Tech got him safely onto the ship. They unfolded his rack, and placed him into it on his stomach. After some thinking (which only took Tech a grand total of one second) he put a spare pillow under Crosshair’s hips. His pain lower down lessened a bit more.

Hunter and Wrecker flew the ship while Echo helped Tech.

Tech ran a scanner over Crosshair’s body.

“Oh my,” he said when he got a good look at the results.

“What is it?” Crosshair asked, words a bit slurred.

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Echo nudged him. “Just tell him, Tech.”

“Fine. Your T7 disc is bulging, and there’s a small fracture in the vertebrae. Your L5 disc is also bulging. Which explains why you can’t feel your left arm, and why your left leg hurts. Have you, uh, had any incontinence?”

Crosshair did his best to glare.

“Fine, I’ll leave you be.”

“You all set?” Echo asked him after Tech left.

“Yep.”

“Hang in there. We’ll be back home before you know it.”

Crosshair hated when people said that.

“…before you know it” turned into hours of agony and fear from not being able to feel his left arm, and if he so much as tried to sit up his left leg went numb all the way to his toes. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than the throbbing pain that had him crying out and groaning at random moments. He was sure his family was dead tired of hearing him screaming.

By the time they made it, rain drenching their viewports, Crosshair was snapping at everyone, just wanting them to leave him alone, and the pain had him shivering. And no matter how many insults he threw at Hunter he stayed diligently by his side as he was brought into the medical wing. Crosshair wished he had the energy to be infuriated about that.

Hunter had let them know they were coming in with an injured trooper, so a room was all ready for Crosshair.

The transition onto the bed had his back telling him it was getting slammed against solid rock again. Tech tried to stay to give the Kaminoan overseeing him more information, but he was pushed out along with Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo. Echo’s face had been pinched, more worried than the others.

Crosshair closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth as various machines started their tests.

The Kaminoan tested his motion, Crosshair unable to hold in a scream when his left leg was tugged on. When his mid-back was pressed on he almost threw up for a reason he couldn’t discern.

The Kaminoan simply injected him with something and held an antiseptic wipe under his nose in the most impersonal way ever. He wanted to tell this Kaminoan to go kriff themselves with a blaster.

With the way he was being treated, Crosshair actually wished he had his brothers back with him. Echo would sympathize with how he was feeling, Wrecker would be annoying in the sweetest way, Tech knew him so well, and despite the times they argued Hunter was his rock. And now he had none of that. The pain across his lower back was electric, sparking and burning, and with his other injury he could barely breathe. He would never admit to it, but he needed his family with him.

“You will require surgery,” the Kaminoan told him. And despite going into battle more times than he could count a hot rush of anxiety swept through him and he broke out in a sweat. He wiped his sweaty right palm on his leg. “We will begin immediately.”

Now he really couldn’t breathe.

“Wait, can’t—can’t I just talk to my squad for a minute?”

“They will be informed.”

“But—”

A medical droid came in as Crosshair was pressed back down onto the bed and promptly shut up.

“Hello, I am AZI-345211”—the Kaminoan injected Crosshair with something in the neck, and he grunted, putting his right hand into a fist—“896246…”

Crosshair’s galaxy faded.

Crosshair groaned, blinking awake. A blue light scanned him, and he thought he heard Tech’s voice, telling the droid to leave him be for now.

“Crosshair.”

“Huh?”

He opened his eyes again, not realizing he had closed them.

“Here.”

A pouch with a straw was being directed to his mouth, and then he realized Hunter was doing the directing.

As Hunter helped him lift his head slightly so he could sip at the bubbly beverage things began to make a bit more sense.

The surgery.

His back didn’t seem to be hurting.

He looked around, realizing his whole family was with him.

Maybe it was the drugs, but a small smile alit his face. Wrecker laughed.

Crosshair, now able to feel his left arm, hugged it to his side, and felt something plush against him. He looked down, finding Lula in his arms. For now he couldn’t even be annoyed.

“Wow, he really is high,” Echo said.

“Here, you should finish this,” Hunter said, putting the straw near Crosshair’s lips again.

As he drank, he started to come back to himself.

His first conscious act was to throw Lula at Wrecker and scoff.

Wrecker caught her and said, “You can’t just throw her around.”

“I’ll throw you around.”

“Seems he’s doing fine,” Tech said.

“Good to see you awake,” Echo said.

Crosshair tried rolling onto his back, and AZI pushed him fully back onto his side. “You have incisions in your back. I do not suggest lying on it.”

“How… How is my back?” Crosshair asked.

“With nano-webbing we were able to put your discs back in place. We filled in the fracture with synthetic bone marrow and bone. As for the incisions you should be back to normal in a few weeks.”

“I want a mirror,” Crosshair said.

“I do not recommend this course of action,” AZI said.

“Fine.”

Crosshair sat up as he let his legs fall to the floor.

He almost fell over and Hunter and Tech caught him.

Once his head cleared and he could sit up on his own Crosshair started taking his tunic off.

“How bad does it look?” he asked his family.

Tech went around to look. “The mechnosutures look very good. You have two incisions. Mostly there is a lot of purple and some swelling.”

“Thanks,” Crosshair breathed as he started putting his shirt back on.

“Humans are odd,” AZI announced.

“AZI, the patient is awake and well,” Hunter said. “You can go.”

“But—”

“Oh, he’ll be fine with us,” Wrecker said.

“If you don’t break him,” Echo intoned under his breath.

Wrecker shoved Echo.

AZI left, but looked back as he floated out.

After some awkward moments of silence that Crosshair didn’t know how to deal with, he said, “Thanks… f-for all of you being here.”

“You thought we’d let you be alone in here? I’d fight a battalion to be here,” Hunter said.

“Or punch a reg in the face.”

Oh, Wrecker.

“You do that quite regularly,” Tech pointed out.

“Two regs.”

“Also a regular occurrence.”

Wrecker folded his arms. “Way to ruin me sharing how much I care about Crosshair. Fine, Hunter, you and the battalion you’d fight win.”

Crosshair appreciated this, destroyed battalion, punched regs, or no. A lot of his work was done alone, but alone in a Kaminoan medical wing? For some reason that was scarier than having commando droids sneak up on you. (At least that was part of the job description.)

“Wrecker,” Crosshair said, “fifty credits says I’ll be able to shoot perfectly in a week.”

“Uh-uh. I’m not taking that bet.”

Tech started to speak, but Hunter cut him off, “I will. Let’s make it sixty. And uh, I’ll wager five rotations.”

“Seventy says four,” Echo said.

“You hate betting,” Tech reminded him.

Echo shrugged.

Crosshair huffed a laugh.

Thanks to Kaminoan medicine, Crosshair was back in the field in a month. Tech had cracked the tactical droid, and they knew this current mission had a tactical droid that knew nothing about them. Due to the sensitivity of the information it couldn’t be transferred between droids. This mission was important since they were hunting down the person who did know about them, and was feeding the Separatist military information.

Everything looked clear through Crosshair’s scopes.

“How you doing up there?” Hunter asked.

Crosshair adjusted his sights. The day was clear and bright, giving him a perfect view of the battle that was sure to take place soon. There weren’t many chances of his eyesight being compromised again. He was in his element up here, virtually alone, and keeping a close eye on his brothers. His back didn’t even twinge or ache when he moved.

Two droid battalions were approaching.

Crosshair set up his first shot.

“Never better, Sergeant.”

The droids drew closer, closer…

He squeezed the trigger.

[gravitytrips]

Cliffside

“Maybe this vacation would do me good.”

Scout thought out loud as he started the long drive around the mountain.

Had his team really wanted him to take a break? Or did they just want to get rid of him? After all, a man’s friends don’t buy him tickets and pay for his lodging in Maui, Hawaii out of the kindness of their hearts.

“Well, might as well make the best of it.”

As he drove on the gently sloping road, he thought about the things to do on this drive. He would skip that little town with that big old tree in it. He had seen a bunch of big trees on that road to Hana and on that hike up to Waimoku falls. He would also skip those Alluvione pools because he swam in those Seven Sacreds. But he had heard that the views from the West Maui mountain were beautiful and he really wanted to see that blowhole that was somewhere along the way. Not to mention a little bay that was said to have the most beautiful snorkeling that you could do for free. Heck, he even bought snorkeling equipment for it! 

He figured he would go into the valley after rounding out the mountain and see the Iao Needle. Especially since he heard an especially gorey story about the place.

He glanced back at the bag in the backseat of the rental car. In it was a camera, a change of clothes, his snorkeling equipment, and his satellite phone.

Just in case.

Scout had a great day. The snorkeling was amazing, and there was the most beautiful forest on the walk to the bay. 

The blowhole was really cool, spraying him a few times and having a multitude of crabs to photograph. 

He ended up going to the Alluvione pools, due to their reputation. It was a really fun rock climb down and there was another blowhole! The pools were beautiful, teeming with life and picturesque in every way. After the rough climb on the sharp volcanic rock, it was nice to relax in the lukewarm water.

Once Scout had returned to his car, he sighed a content sight. He was tired, but very happy as well.

Now, all he had to do was drive back to the hotel.

He began to drive away from the pools. The road quickly narrowed, but he was sure that he could keep the car under control. 

He immediately noticed that there was no guardrail.

He gulped when he saw the sheer drop down.

And his mind spun as he looked upon the winding road before him.

Hairpin turns, switchbacks, waves, ones that seemed to go at a 90 degree angle!

They all stretched out before him.

The longer he drove on this nightmare road, the more anxious he became.

Finally, he came to a little village in the valley that the road went right through. It was like a sigh of relief. 

Scout pulled off into the small parking lot of a little banana bread bakery to gather his bearings. 

Due to the mile markers, knew he only had 12 more miles to go, but the map showed a nightmare tangle of turns and cliffsides. Scout swallowed hard. 

12 more miles and he would be safe.

Scout was temped to just stay in the town for longer, but he knew that the sun would be setting soon and did not want to brave that road at night. So, he stood, waved goodbye to the bakery owner, got back into his car, and started back up the mountainside.

The road was even worse now. 

The turns were sharper.

The drop offs were taller.

A sheer cliffs of rock both rose from his right side and fell away from his left.

He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

He accelerated to get up a hill, then pressed the brakes to slow down again.

Nothing happened.

A string of swears flew from Scout’s mouth  as his car rolled toward the edge of the cliff.

Fortunately, the slope of the hill had slowed him down, and he successfully turned around the bend.

The road sloped down.

The car gained more and more speed as Scout flew around the valley corner.

Then, he was headed back to the edge of the cliff. The road only continued to slope down.

Scout drifted around the next turn, just barely making it.

A wall of rocks rose from the narrow road on his right. A sheer drop into the forested valley fell away from him on the left. There was nowhere to go.

Scout drifted around the next turn, thinking he could make it again.

He was not so lucky.

His back tires went over the edge.

Scout had just enough time to clip on his seatbelt before the car tipped and slid off of the road.

Scout’s body floated as the car free fell through the air. Was he upside down? Or just falling fast? He couldn’t tell.

The car impacted the slope at the bottom of the cliff.

The roof of the car crunched as it hit the rocky slope, Scout’s body jerking against his seatbelt. The windows cracked and shattered under the weight of the car and the force of the inertia. His chest felt like it had been crushed like an aluminum can.

The car flipped over, doing a barrel roll that slammed him into every surface of the car he could think of.

The car hit the rocky soil again, upside down. This time, it simply slid to a stop at the bottom.

Scout hung against his seatbelt, wheezing.

Air. 

He needed air.

He fumbled with the seatbelt, but the buckle assembly was crushed.

He wheezed again and fumbled for his pocket knife that always remained in his side pocket. It wasn’t there. Scout glanced in front of him. 

The knife lay above him, folded. It must have slid out of his pocket on that roll.

He reached up, his arm crying out in pain as he stretched for his knife. His fingers grazed it, but he couldn’t reach.

He deflated his chest to cross the last inch he needed. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But his fingers closed around the knife.

He quickly flipped the blade open, working the sharp metal as a saw.

Finally, belt snapped, and a moment later he fell to the glass and rock-littered roof

He didn’t notice the glass slicing up his hands and tearing through his jeans.

All he could feel was the terrible pain in his chest.

His runner’s lungs worked as hard as they had ever worked in any battle, gathering oxygen and pushing his chest out.

It hurt.

It really hurt.

Scout lay in the sharp glass and stones, coughing and gasping for air. As he tasted the blood in his throat, one thought crossed his mind.

He had to get the satellite phone.

Scout flipped over and crawled to the backseat, looking for his bag in the carnage.

It wasn’t there.

He checked under the seats and all over the car, wheezing and coughing the whole time.

His bag was gone. How was it gone?

It only took one glance out of the shattered back windshield to tell him where his bag had ended up.

Near the top of the steep incline, his items lay strewn out on the rocks

An anguished whimper escaped Scout’s lips as his eyes sized up the steep slope. Could he even make it? Would his lungs explode before he got there? It sure felt like it.

But he had to try.

Climbing out of the demolished car, Scout felt an ocean spray on his face. The valley he was in would have been beautiful if it hadn’t nearly killed him.

“You could still die.” Scout reminded himself and he suddenly became aware of his wheezing again.

As he stood, leaning against the car, he realized that it wasn’t just his chest that ached.

His left knee looked….off, and a large bruise was starting to form on his right shin. Scout mulled over what could have caused those injuries for a moment before he came to a conclusion.

“The dashboard….” He whispered to himself.

A steady pounding in the back of his head reminded him that his life may be at stake here. No time to dilly dally. 

As he started his ascent up the hill, every injury on his body protested.

But he persisted. 

He had to make it.

As he climbed, the pounding in his head got worse, drowning out the pain in his legs and chest.

Why was his head getting worse? Was that sweat or blood? Where….where was he?

For a moment, Scout was disoriented, his mind being unable to comprehend where he was for a few moments.

Then, awareness trickled back into his mind and he recalled his awful situation. He then continued his ascent.

Suddenly, he was in front of his bag. 

What? When had he gotten so close? How far had he climbed?

He looked behind him, his head spinning even more as his brain took in the height of the slope he was on.

He turned back to the rocks in front of him, feeling nauseous. Then, he grabbed the phone.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

What? When had he dialed? He shoved those thoughts aside.

“Y-yes, uh, I was d-driving around….West Maui….and….”

What had happened to him, again? He glanced down at the wrecked car and remembered.

“I went over the edge….over the cliff….just a few turns past…..that….”

What was the word?

“….village….”

“Alright sir. Just stay calm. We are sending a helicopter to come get you.”

The words took far too long to sink in.

“…right….”

Then, there was silence.

Suddenly, the phone was dialing again. Had he called someone?

“Hello? Scout?” Came the voice of Miss Pauling.

“Pauling….?” Scout was horrified at his voice. Had it sounded like that before? It sounded like he had swallowed a pound of gravel.

Suddenly, he became aware of the pain in his chest again. 

“Scout, is everything alright? Are you still there?” Miss Pauling asked.

“I think…. I mean, something….happened….I….might not…… make it….home….” Scout’s voice was near a whisper.

Breathing was difficult and his head felt like a ticking bomb.

“Scout! Scout, speak to me! What happened?” Miss Pauling’s voice came again.

Scout blinked slowly. He was too tired to speak.

“I….love you Miss Pauling…..always…have….” Scout inhaled deeply. “Tell the guys….I love them, too….”

Scout blinked again, trying to muster up the strength to say something poetic. He couldn’t find the words. His whole brain hurt. Scout laid his face in the hot, sharp stones. A short rest would do him good. A small nap would get him back in his feet. 

The sound of a helicopter filled his ears as he drifted off into the darkness.

The next time Scout was aware of anything, he was in a familiar environment.

He blinked a few times, his view of the base infirmary focusing in his eyes.

How was he back in New Mexico? Last time he checked, he was in Hawaii.

The door to the infirmary opened, drawing Scout’s attention to it. 

A very tired-looking Medic stepped through the door.

As the door swung closed again, Scout caught a glimpse of a few of the other mercs sitting in the waiting area just outside.

A voice brought Scout’s attention back to Medic.

“Five days and a four hour flight over the Pacific and of course, you wake up the moment i leave the room.” Medic said as he crossed the room and crossed something off of a medical chart.

“Welcome back.”

@aerowolf

@callme-adam-iguess

@paranoidginger

@wokeuptraveledstraightintothesun

@treatsf

@scouts-cosplays

[moodymisty]

Love your fics!!! You and imagine darksiders are my favorite writers😍

I have a small request for you. Could you write death/reader story where the reader is a beginner doctor and is trying to figure out the anatomy of a nephilim? Very curious human and a very grumpy death fluff! Thank youuu

Author's Note: You mention little 'ol me alongside Imagine-darksiders? I'm going to sob; She was the reason I started trying to write for these silly little Nephilim after playing the games. I read CHWH so fast after completing ds2. Thank you for such kind words, and I hope you enjoy :3 Death is not a very good patient for examination, so you're mostly going by sight XD

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some vague pining (mostly from Death lmao), Fluff, Medical references

"Is curiosity to the point of annoyance common, for your kind?"

Death's words are slathered with sarcasm like grease over a freshly polished weapon, watching as you just shrug your shoulders at him.

"Depends on who you ask."

He doesn't respond; Though the cross of his arms and the fact that you feel like he's rolling his eyes at you gives enough away that he doesn't really need to. But it's not as if you can help being curious, leaning against the countertop that puts you opposite of Death. Nephilim are just so, different, that little passionate part of your brain finds itself itching for all the answers.

"I could always just ask Strife, if I'm bothering you."

You don't mean it sarcastically, shrugging your shoulders; If anything, the gunslinger would probably be quite eager to have a chat with you that didn't involve the elder Horseman looming over you like some sort of sentry.

The idea of you just ending this conversation going to Strife however seems to make him recoil, and bristle at the shoulders. You can't fathom why; If he's so irritated by you curiously prodding him like a bunch of med students around a donated cadaver, why is he so against you asking his more outgoing brother? You'd think he'd be eager to shove your eagerness in the direction of the most talkative Horsemen.

Well, if you aren't going to win either way, might as well get whatever you can out of him before he decides to finally brush you off.

"I just have to know; I noticed awhile back War has actual-" You bring your index fingers to your mouth, hooking them to form the pantomime of fangs. "Do all Nephilim have them?"

Death knows he should correct you to past tense, but he doesn't.

"Most, yes." You cock your head a bit into one shoulder and look up at him with an expression that erodes at him like waves hitting a cliff.

"Do you?" Death, watching your raised brows and expectant face, changes little from his cross armed stance.

"If you are asking me to remove the mask you should know well by now the answer is no." Death's hair, having actually been washed at some point in the past few weeks softly falls over his shoulders as he raises his head, pitch black strands brushing over his bare skin.

"Do you need to take it off to use your tongue?" Death takes one step to round the counter, and you quickly jump backwards with a nervous smile to maintain the same amount of distance.

"You are getting far too comfortable with that tone of yours." He points at you with a single finger before he gives up on the chance and returns to his previous position. Standing back upright, you smile at him and attempt to once again appease him away from reprimanding you any further.

"Ok, ok, one more question?"

Death, in all of his bite about your excessive comfort around him, doesn't refuse your request. He doesn't have to wait very long to hear it, thankfully.

"Can I see you hand?"

Death's eyebrows quirk behind his mask visible to you by the change his eye shape, but he doesn't retreat when you come closer. Gently you reach for the fingers of his right hand and he lets you grab them, pulling his hand upwards towards what is about your chest height.

You put your own hand against his palm, observing the sheer difference in size between the both of them. From this angle it's a bit hard for him to fully see, just barely catch glimpses of your skin pressing against his palm when he adjusts his hand.

"Wow, they're even bigger than Strife's..."

When did you hold his younger brother's hand?

He tries to ignore the unwelcome feeling bubbling up inside him with the feeling of your soft skin against his own, as your fingertips barely make it halfway up his own fingers. Your hand is so warm and gentle, as well as the fascinated smile on your face as you eagerly look at every possible angle. If it was this easy to entertain you, Death might not have been so apposed to it originally. The feeling of being the apple of your eye is nice, for a moment.

But he doesn't know how to respond- so he clams up, taking his hand away from yours and crossing both his arms back across his chest.

"Can you call your curiosity sated for now?"

Not really, but you don't think you're going to be able to get much more out of him for the time being. If anything you're counting your blessings you got this much out of him in the first place, considering how unreasonable Death is at times.

"Yeah, thanks for the help." He just makes a small hum in response.

"Don't make this a common occurrence; I won't be holding Despair still while you poke and prod at him as well."

Well animals aren't exactly your area of expertise, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't be interesting, to have a look... Death notices your visible perk in body posture and shakes his head. You can't help the curious part of your brain from working.

"Just keep your hands away from his mouth. I won't be returning your fingers."

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 9

You’re a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

A/N: Long weekend? Second chapter, folks :].

4.3K Word Count

Ch 9: I Have A Growing Fear And You’re Not Helping Me

Groaning when you heard the alarm going off on your cell phone, you rolled over and slammed your hand down on the device to shut it up.  You allowed your body to remain in the position, laying on your stomach with your arm outstretched and head buried in the pillows. Once you felt yourself slowly starting to fall back asleep, you forced your eyes open, and pushed out of bed. You knew you had to get an early start to beat all the early risers in the office. Making the bed, you pushed it back up to the wall, concealing the mattress once more. You grabbed a duffle equipped with fresh clothes, and trekked down a few floors to the employee gym and showers. You walked into the women’s locker room, glad to see no one already there. You stepped into one of the shower stalls, starting the shower to allow it to warm up, while you got your soaps and your toiletries ready. Once you had shed the layer of basic gym clothing, you allowed yourself to be enveloped by hot water, relaxing the muscles that were still tense from your stressful drive yesterday. Carefully washing and rinsing your body and hair,  you shut off the water, stepping out and wrapping a towel around your waist. Drying yourself off, you put on some shorts and a tank top, slipping back into your flip flops and going back up to your office, where you could really get dressed. Looking at your phone, you see that it’s almost time for most of your team to start arriving, its just before 5:30 in the morning. You quickly make your way into your office, locking the door behind you, and going into your en suite bathroom to change. 

You opted for a new outfit- a pair of olive colored, form fitting pants that hugged all the right places, and a satin black button up shirt, left unbuttoned at the top, and a simple black vest. You finished everything off with your all black belt and a pair of black monk strap shoes, and brushed your hair back into a slicked back undercut. You made sure your eyebrows and hair looked how you wanted, applied some of your cologne and walked out into the office, also unlocking the door to your office. You sat behind your desk and began the work needed for your visit to the new job site today.

“Early start, Y/L/N?” Your boss Cliff popped his head into your office, checking on you while on his way into his office down the hall. “Excite for this new project, or what?”

“Good morning sir. No excited, just a lot ahead of us.” He nodded before closing the door behind him, and stalking away towards the office he likely wouldn’t leave at all today.  You keep clicking away, before your phone starts to buzz away to your right. You glance over at the screen, learning your lesson in answering before looking. Scarlett’s name is plastered across the screen, so you reach over and answer the phone. 

“Resolute Security, Y/N Y/L/N speaking.”

“Well, that’s a change from my last few greetings, Y/N.” The sheer rasp this early in the morning from the blonde caught you off guard, signaling she must have just woke up.

“Good morning, Mrs. Johansson.” You respond, typing away in response to a few emails that had been sent while you were gone. “How can I help?”

“Such a consummate professional, aren’t you? And please, call me Scarlett. People who call me out by last name are either trying to get a photo or make me feel old.” She chuckled at her own joke, but was met with silence on your end. “Anyways… you’re supposed to be coming over to my new house today, yeah?”

“Yes, that is correct. Will you be meeting me there?” You ask, with a slight tinge of hopefulness. You also wanted to discuss Mr. Waters with her alone. “There are some things I would like to go over with you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but if you are requesting my presence, I think I can push my plans back,” she put some extra influence on wanting you to be there.  “Just be careful, the contractors have been pretty relaxed in cleaning up, so there is shit everywhere. And a water line cracked over the weekend, so some parts of the jobsite are flooded, it has been a total mess.”

“I appreciate the heads up. I need to button up some things here at the office and collect a few things, but I will be able to head there in a few hours.”

“Ok, that gives me time to finish my morning routine. I will let you know when I leave here, and that’ll be about a half an hour for me to get to the house.”

“Take your time, I just have some things I need to discuss with you, preferably alone, and in person.” You state with zero emotion, not eluding to anything pressing that may be discussed. 

“Such a charmer, aren’t you, Y/L/N? You must be a hit at all the parties.”

“Ms. Johansson, that would require me going to them in the first place.” You snark back, remembering that she didn’t want you calling her by last name. Her abbreviated chuckle on the other line shows her amusement in the mild banter. 

“Don’t be late, Y/N. I’ll see you later.” She quickly hung the phone, and left you staring at the screen, a slight smirk on your face. You set the phone back down, and continued working on some of your emails. It was almost 7, so you knew the majority of your team should be in by now, so you dialed the extension for one of your best officers, Jimmy. 

“Grange speaking.” The older male growled over the phone. He never seems personable to people, but is honestly one of the best people you’ve worked with, and he has known you since you enlisted. He had been in the military longer than you, and was 15 years your senior. But he also outperformed people half his age, both physically and mentally. The man was a force to be reckoned with. 

“Jimmy, it’s Y/L/N. Come up to see me as soon as you can. I have a task I need you to work on.”

“You got it, ma’am. I’ll be right up.” 

You contemplated how you were going to go about this delicately. You need him to keep tabs on someone who was trained to be a ghost. But if anyone could do it, Grange could- after all, he had worked side by side with the father of the man he needed to track. 

“You’re here early.” Kris popped her head into your office, raising an eyebrow your way. “Do you want a coffee?”

“There’s a lot I need to work on, Smith. But if you’re going for coffee, I would appreciate one.”

“Scuse me ma’am.” Jimmy said from behind Kris, politely asking her to move so he could come into your office. 

“Oh, sorry Grange.” She shuffled out of the way, before looking back at you. “Do you want the usual or something new?” She directed at you. 

“The usual Kris. I appreciate it.” She now directed her gaze at Jimmy, who was standing by your desk. “You need anything while I’m out? I was going downstairs to the coffee shop.” His scarred and weathered face hardly showed any emotion at the gesture, but he slightly quirked his lips to show a small smile. 

“No, ma’am. Thank you for asking.” Kris nodded his way, and gently shut the door behind her, heading to the elevator.  “I still don’t understand why you let that one go.” He turned on his heel in your direction, eyebrow raised. You let out a slight snicker.

“It was never going to go anywhere, Jimmy. She would leave the moment she found out any of the truth. She deserves better.” You say, walking back behind your desk to sit down. He gave you a disappointed look, sitting himself down in the arm chair closest to your desk. “Don’t look at me like that, Jim. You’re not my father.”

“No, but I think of you like a daughter. I don’t think you give yourself the credit, Y/N. Plus, the way she looks at you- she’s taken by you.” He smiled, showing the lone silver tooth in his perfectly white smile, it stood out from his tanned skin and dark brown eyes. “What happened?” He asked, nodding towards your swollen hand. You rolled your eyes, opening your computer up to get access to the files you needed for Jim and his new task.

“Back to business, Grange. I have a simple task for you. But only you will be able to handle it.”

“So then, it isn’t simple. Any of the team can handle ‘simple’. But if it requires me…”

“It will be simple for you. Hence, why you’re here in my office.” You emphasized the fact that he must be the one to do this. No one else would do. You couldn’t risk this. 

“Does this have anything to do with the new project?” He asked, looking at his fingernails before raising his gaze directly to your eyes.

“Yes. It does. But it also has to do with me.” You say the last part quieter, looking away from your senior and back to the screen before you. 

“You, as in your reputation?”

“I wish it was just that, Grange.” You looked back at the man, who was staring at you, eyebrows raised. “I need you to track someone. Keep me posted on their whereabouts, but not do a thing to them. They cannot know about you.”

“Ah. I see. May I ask who this mystery person is?”

“Jim, do you remember telling me that story of your sergeant and his kid, the kid who was always causing trouble?” You asked, getting up to grab a stack of papers from the printer to your right, placing them neatly into a file, fastening them with a binder clip to ensure none fell out. Jim hated technology, so you always had to do things a little bit more old school for him. He made a confused face at your obscure request.

“Well, yeah. Sgt. Waters and his kid Stevie. That kid was always a punk, causing trouble the moment his dad turned his back, and using his name as a cop out. I hated training that kid from day one.”

“Well, Jim, meet your new target.” You say, throwing the file on the coffee table in front of him, sitting across the table in one of the other arm chairs. His eyebrow raised yet again, and he gave you a questioning look. Grabbing the folder, he flipped through the paperwork. 

“COFFEE BREAK!” Kris exclaimed, walking in without knocking, breaking one of your cardinal rules. She knew that, and stopped dead in her tracks when she realized that Jim was still in your office. She cringed as she looked at the both of you. “Whoops, sorry.” She avoided your indignant look, and Jim’s amused one, slightly jogging in her heels over to you with the coffee, and running back out. On her way out, she briefly looked back, muttering that shed come back later. You rolled your eyes again, while the elder laughed at your irritation. 

“Chill, Y/N.”

“She knows the rules. She should have knocked.”

“Again, chill. It’s fine.” He said, grabbing hold of the file again, and reading through its pages. The silence began to feel awkward and heavy, before he spoke up again. “Looks like he got himself into quite the crowd. Why do I need to follow this jackass around and keep tabs on him?” He closed the folder, setting it on his lap and crossing his legs, staring at you.

“He is allegedly part of the group that has been tormenting our new client and threatening military action.” You state, as if he hadn’t just read the file. 

“I got that. But there’s clearly something else going on. Why?”

“He knows I am a head of this project. He knew before it was ever finalized.” You state, causing him to lean in towards you. 

“Go on…” he states, wanting you to say what you were clearly holding back on. 

“He was also in front of my apartment building the day that we first announced this project. He has also shown up in McCall.” You state, looking the man directly in the eyes, but loosing yourself to the thoughts of this evil incarnate following you around. You jumped when Jims scarred, calloused hand rest on your knee, causing a look of concern to cross the mans face. 

“He’s a tracker, it is what he does, and does it well. What reasoning do you have to him following you around?”

“He and I have unfinished business, Jim. He will not only make my clients life a living hell on earth, but he will make mine as such too.” Jims gaze softened at this admission. He knew that you weren’t going to drop this. You felt some remorse for the fact that this man would take out his revenge on anyone in his path to you, and that now included your A-List client. 

***

Nikki and Camila easily carried you into the infirmary. You had lost enough weight over the last month that you weighed all of 120 pounds soaking wet, a stark contrast from your usually chiseled and lean 145 on a slightly taller frame. They quickly approached one of the nurses, who was shocked to see you in such a state, eye bruised and bloodied, hands bloodied, in a sports bra and shorts, with bruising all over your body in various states of dissipation. During his regular “lessons”, he made sure to leave behind little souvenirs, bruises he could push on during workouts and training, bending you to his will. The cuts and scrapes from being thrown around in the process were just the collateral- but they left behind more permanent scars to accompany the mental ones. 

The nurse hurriedly rushed you three into a secluded back room, allowing them to rest you on the hospital bed. She ran back out to grab the paperwork and another nurse to help. In everyones rush, there was a man sitting in one of the infirmary beds down the hall, a large gash on his side that was being stitched. He had watched as the two girls carried your limp body in, and continued to keep his eyes on the situation unfolding in front of him. While his nurse was finishing his stitches, his mind wandered to what brought you to such a state. He recognized you immediately, he had trained you in basic. He quickly took you under his wing for the short period he was there before reassignment, and the both of you tried to keep in touch as best you could. But he hadn’t heard from you for the better part of two months. He wondered if your current condition could allude to why you hadn’t kept in touch. 

A gruff voice and a slap to the bed beside him brought his attention back to the nurse by his side. “All done, Sgt. Grange. You’re good to go. Just limit the physical activity, change your bandages regularly and see an eye on it for swelling. You know the drill.” Jim brushed off the nurse, gingerly pulling a shirt over his torso, and grabbing his things. He sat in the waiting room, wanting to stay around, and try and talk to you if possible. 

After a flurry of doctors, nurses, as well as two girls he came to know as Nix and Cam, or Spc. Camila Espinosa and Spc. Nikki Welch. They had sat down in the waiting room while the nurses did their examination, and while waiting for the MP’s and JAGs to leave. He had asked them what was going on, and after some hesitant glances as to why he cared, he explained himself. They were a little bit easier to open up after knowing he was on your side- and had known you since your enlistment and basic. 

Once the doctors and everyone had left, you were  alone in your room, with your thoughts. Tears pricked your eyes, now everyone was going to know. You were beating yourself up for being so reckless, so careless, and allowing yourself to be found in such a destroyed manner. You knew that this would surely be the end of your military career. The women never made it out of these scenarios unscathed. You hadn’t told anyone you were raped, but the multitude of tests, exams and an OBGYN being present during such, and the copious photos being taken of your cuts, bruises and eye told you all you needed. They knew. 

“Don’t beat yourself up kiddo. Everything will shake out in your favor.” A gravelly voice came from the doorway. It started you out of your stupor. “Sorry, Y/L/N, I didn’t mean to spook you.” You instantly recognized the man, he was someone who had been a mentor to you since joining the Army. He was one of the few constants in your more recent life, and you often thought of him like a badass uncle, because of his fatherly demeanor while still maintaining more of a wingman/best friend attitude. Your eyes welled up even further at the sight of him in your doorway, holding his jacket in his hand. He was quick to throw the offending article aside when you started to cry further. “Is it okay if I approach you?” He asked, wanting to respect your space, and possibly not wanting to be near a man at the moment. You shook your head in agreement, allowing him to walk past the barrier towards your bedside. He was cautious of the various cords and cables, the IV line and your heart monitor as he approached.  “Kid, is this why you haven’t been writing?” He asked, as he gently leaned in and gave you a hug, wrapping his arms around your upper shoulders, and holding your head to his broad chest. He felt you nod, but no words came. You buried your face further into him, allowing yourself to cry harder than you ever remember doing. “You know you can talk to me, hun. Tell me what happened, but tell me when you’re ready.” He said, pulling you away from his now soaked t-shirt. 

You wiped your eyes, and laughed at the two eye marks that lay dead in the center of his torso. “You see, Sgt. Grange…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. “We’re not on duty right now, I’m no ones sergeant. I am here for you, coincidentally at the same time that I needed some bandaging,”  he stated, pointing at his side. Now that your eyes weren’t as tainted with tears, you could see the wrap around his middle. “I saw your friends carry you in here. Needless to say, I’m concerned, Y/N. I know you have an affinity for sticking it to the big man, but this- this is a new approach.” He softened his gaze, as he shut the door to your room and sat in the chair by the window. Nikki and Camila were walking down the hall to visit, and saw him in talking to you. They glanced at each other, before getting as close to the door as possible without you seeing, and sitting on the floor. They could faintly hear the conversation. 

“I… I don’t know how he found out. I’ve worked… worked so hard to hide it.” You say, looking down to your battered hands. Anxiously picking at them, you struggle to continue. 

“Who found out what, Y/N?”

You looked away, towards the wall that the sink was located on. You had never told anyone in the ranks, the only one who knew you were gay was Nikki. 

“I’m gay. Don’t ask, don’t tell…you know?” You say, not wanting to look in the mans direction for fear of the disappointment and rejection. You had already had enough of that within your life. He stood from the chair, and you anticipated him to leave. Instead, you hear his boots approach the side of the bed you were looking at. He gently scorched you over, and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Y/L/N, I am honestly more hurt at the fact that you think that would change my perception of you. Who you love doesn’t matter to me. Hell, you could be in love with a goddamn spoon, I wouldn’t care. You just need to be happy.” He looked at you with a teary gaze- something you would never expect from the man. “I know your dad wasn’t happy, and neither was a lot of your family. But not all your family you were born with, kiddo. You have the ability to choose some of the members. I’ve chosen you in mine. You came into my life at a point where I needed that second chance. I know I’ve never told you this, but you very much remind me of my own daughter.” He says, his voice was full of nostalgia. You were taken aback by the statement. You never knew about his family, he never discussed it. 

“Daughter?” You ask, looking down to play with the seam of the blanket covering your lower half. 

“Yes. My daughter was taken from me, unfortunately there wasn’t much I could do. Or so I thought. Then you came along. There were so many similarities between you two. She was gay too. I knew you were- but wanted you to tell in your own time.” He said, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

“What happened?” You looked up at him, not really sure if you wanted the answer to this question.  

“She took her own life. Me being away on constant deployment, and her mom being less than supportive of her lifestyle caused her to take her life. She felt like she had no other way.” You took in a deep breath, not expecting that answer, and the pain that laced his features. “No parent should ever have to bury their own child. Not like that, not ever.” He said. ”That’s why Margaret, my wife and I had split a few years prior. She was not supportive of anything, just wanted to live the life of a lush. She berated her own flesh and blood for being herself, even when there wasn’t anything being done that was wrong. I couldn’t stand by and watch it- I had tried for so long to make it work.” He said, the disappointment and sadness was hard to miss. 

“What was her name?” You ask him. He reached into his back pocket, grabbing the wallet and opening it to a photo of a brunette slightly shorter than him, an athletically built girl with a high and tight pony tail. She wore a wide smile, her hand resting one his chest as he hugged her, her brown eyes just like his. “That’s my girl, that was Sam.” He said, a misty appearance over his features. She was honestly, gorgeous. 

“Wow, Jimmy. She was beautiful.” You say, handing the wallet back to him, offering a small smile in his direction. 

“Yeah, she was. She would have loved you, I just know it.” He chuckled, wiping the pad of his thumb over her face, before folding the wallet back up and placing it back into his pocket. “But enough of me. What happened, kiddo? Who found out?” You take a sharp breath in, before thinking of how to start. You had to look away from him, looking back down at your covered lap as the skin on your neck started to crawl. 

“Waters. He found out. He… he was trying to ‘learn’ it out of me. Said I just hadn’t had the right experience, and that he’d make a real woman out of me.” Your voice faltered at the last bit, but Jim heard all he needed to. “He would use me, just use me when ever he wanted.” Your eyes closed at the fact, the memories of all the times he had pulled you aside, while you were running out on the trails around base, or pulling you out of your bunk at all hours of the night. Jims hands clenched tight onto the side of the bed. 

“How long, Y/L/N?” He asked, the animosity in his voice evident. 

“Long enough,” you answer, not wanting to let onto the true timeline. 

“That’s not an answer, and I need to know. How long?” He asked again, slightly raising his voice to emphasize the importance. 

“Two months.” Your voice sounded strangled and hoarse, and you broke down into tears again. He gently sat his hand or your arm, offering you a comforting gesture before rising from your bed. 

“Get some rest, Y/N. Your body has been through hell. You need to get some strength back.” He said, looking down at your weekend, crying form on the bed.He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, before grabbing his coat and leaving the room. He pretended not to notice the two girls sitting on the floor by your room-He knew they heard everything, but he was glad they did. They needed to know, they needed to help you fight. They rose from their positions, making their way into your room, but you had already fallen asleep, with tears staining your cheeks. 

(CHAPTER 10)

[sabo-has-my-heart]

It’s Not Love!

A happy little Sabo birthday fic for my favorite fiery revolutionary. (It’s still the 20th in my timezone so it’s still his birthday here)

Word Count: 1740

     Sighing, you tried to ignore all the couples surrounding you. Dozens of couples sickeningly in love. You scoffed and rolled your eyes as you continued down the street. Love was a joke. At one time, you’d believed in love, had found someone that made you happy, someone you would have given your life for. That ‘special someone’ who had your heart pounding and butterflies in your stomach. Until the ‘special someone’ had pushed you off a cliff into the ocean in a poor attempt to take everything you had. A lifetime of collecting various treasures that had washed ashore, countless berries in various items. Not that their price had any meaning to you, you hadn’t collected them for what they were worth. That’s when you’d sworn off love. What good was it to fall in love, to want to give everything you had when they would just stab you in the back? And of course, from that day onwards, you seemed to have become the single most desirable person on the damned planet. The number of people who’d asked you out on dates, the number of random gifts from ‘secret admirers’, and the sheer number of fucking roses! If the people buying you roses had just given you the cash, you could have bought back all the treasures you’d collected 10 times over! At one point, you’d started finding creative uses for the flowers in an attempt to not let the money go to waste. Rose tea, potpourri, rose wreaths, rose water, rose oils, rose scented candles, name it and you’d tried it. That being said, it was time consuming to try and use all the flowers you’d gotten when you also received so many other gifts so you’d started giving them to local shops. Granted, you’d also taken advantage of the dates a couple of times while you’d been recovering from your ex trying to kill you. Using them to get free meals here and there, always telling them that you had fun but you’re not interested in them ‘like that’. Once you’d gotten back on your feet, you’d mostly stopped but from time to time, you still accepted the free meal. Another thing that had happened was that you’d stopped displaying all of your various collectable items that you found, hiding them away from any prying eyes that might desire them. Some things, you still displayed, seashells, colorful bottles, interesting pieces of driftwood. But nothing that could be considered ‘valuable’. Those all stayed locked away in wardrobes or chests, carefully hidden away where only you could admire them. Looking into a shop window, you smiled slightly at the books in the display window. Books were some of the few items you hadn’t replaced yet, being too busy with other things. Entering the shop, you began to grab a few books you knew you liked. The shop didn’t quite have the collection you’d had back then, but that collection had been made over decades of family members handing down books until you had a collection of rare, and again, expensive, books. Trying to look over the stack of books, your eyes widened, hurrying over to a table. It was the last one on the table and it had been one of your favorites! Reaching out to grab it, your hand met someone else’s as you took the book in hand.

     “Sorry, but I really can’t let you have this!” you said from behind your stack, trying to pull the book away, only for it not to budge from their grip.

     “Any particular reason why you need this book when you already have such a large stack? Surely you can’t read all of those while you wait for the store to restock his particular one.” a male voice called from the other side of your large stack.

     “Yeah, I’m not planning on reading all of these right now. I’m rebuilding my collection, now let go, it’s my favorite and I’m not leaving without it.” you said irritably. The male in front of you chuckled, still not letting go of the book.

     “How about I pay for what you’ve got and help you carry it all home in exchange? Would you be willing to let me have it then?” the man asked as you shifted the books in your arms.

     “I don’t need anyone to pay my bills or carry my bags! I can take care of myself, thanks!” you growled, tugging on the book again. The man chuckled again, slowly letting go of the book, allowing you to, triumphantly, add it to the pile.

     “You’re fierier than most people I’ve met, how about I help you home anyway? I know you don’t need it but what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you carry all that home by yourself?” the man asked. Huffing, you rolled your eyes.

     “The kind that leaves me alone.” you said, turning and walking to the register, enjoying the look on the cashier’s face as you set down the stack. Another chuckle drew your attention, looking to see the young man from before. Without the books in the way, you could see he had blond hair, dark gray eyes, and nice clothing. He looked almost like a noble if it weren’t for the pipe strapped to his back and the scar over his left eye that ran down below the collar of his shirt. 

     “Sorry, you’re just interesting. If you’re not seeing anybody later today, would you like to go out for dinner?” he asked, giving you a rather charming smile. 

     “Not interested in a date, thanks.” you said, turning away, only to hear that chuckle again, one that was starting to get on your nerves.

     “You’ve got me all wrong. I just wanted to discuss some of the books you’re buying. You’ve got a number of interesting titles, I’d love to pick your brain.” he said with a grin. 

     “If it’ll get you to leave me alone, then fine!” you said, finishing paying for the books before picking the stack back up, “I’ll meet you here tonight at 5.” you said before leaving.

     Looking down at the book in your hand, you bit your lip nervously. It had been a few months since you’d met Sabo and the young man had you feeling things you hadn’t felt in quite some time, things you were, quite frankly, afraid to admit. His birthday was coming up, even if you refused to admit your feelings about him, he was still a friend, right? He was still someone important to you, so you should give him something nice, right? Wrapping the book up, you continued to repeat to yourself that it was just a nice gift for a friend. That’s all it was, just a sweet gift for a friend. You weren’t in love! Hearing the knock on your door, you tried not to run to answer it, smoothing your clothes and hair out as you tried to make it look like you weren’t just scrambling in excitement to see him. Opening the door, Sabo smiled, his signature grin making your heart flutter.

     “Hey, come on in.” you said, letting the blond in as you stepped aside.

     “Thanks, so what’s so important that you needed me so soon?” he asked, following you into the living room.

     “Uh, well… this.” you said, holding the package out to him. Hoping, praying, that you weren’t blushing. 

     “A… birthday present? You shouldn’t have.” Sabo said with a large smile, gently tearing open the package to see a book, one that made him smile.

     “It’s the same one that we both grabbed when we first met… the exact same one.” you muttered, looking away as you felt your cheeks heat up, only to shake your head, trying to will the blush away. No! No, no, no, no, no! You weren’t feeling this right now! This wasn’t love! It was… embarrassment that you were being so sentimental! Sabo smiled softly at you, his heart skipping a beat. 

     “Then I’ll treasure it… though if I’m being honest… it’s not quite what I had wished for.” he said, taking a step closer to you. Looking at him, your brow furrowed, what he had wished for?

     “If you don’t like it, I-” “I love it.” he said, cutting you off, moving closer to you.

     “But what I’d love more, the thing I really want for my birthday is something far more precious to me.” he said, caressing your cheek, soft leather gliding over your skin. You didn’t need to ask to know what he was referring to and it had your heart pounding while you simultaneously panicked. No, you weren’t in love! This wasn’t love! Love was a joke! Still, you couldn’t ignore the feelings that ran through your whole body as his lips met yours, your pulse racing, your stomach doing flips, your heart pounding out of your chest. Your body seemed to react on its own as you kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck as his arms wrapped around your waist.  Feeling him pull away, you finally came back to your senses, immediately pulling away and looking at the floor. Sabo only smirked as he put a hand under your chin, making you look at him. 

     “You don’t have to call it love if you don’t want to. You’re not in love, you’re just… infatuated to the point of intense emotional response and intimacy.” he said, knowing your feelings about love, making you laugh slightly.

     “Or I can suck it up and say that… I’m… I’m in love.” you said, the last three words coming out in barely a whisper. Sabo let out a slight, pleased hum as he leaned in again.

     “I think I like it when you say that. Say it again? Because it’s my birthday?” he pressed, hoping that you might give him what he desired on this particular day.

     “I love you, Sabo.” you whispered, pulling him in for another kiss.

     High above in the clouds, a beautiful woman smiled as she stared down at the couple. She hadn’t planned for you to fall in love with Sabo, specifically, but as the goddess of love, she was just happy that she’d managed to change your mind about the particular emotion. Not only did you have someone you loved, but she could also now say that she could find love even for those who swore not to love anymore.

[rising-volteccers]

So I was inspired by @cocosnowlo-drawings latest piece about Friede and Cap being partners in all circumstances. It wouldn't leave my head so I wrote out a short piece where Friede's reckless and it's from Cap's POV cause I thought it'd be a fun challenge haha!

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Friede, Captain Pikachu

--

“Cap!”

Regardless of the pain coursing through his small body, the sheer horror of seeing Friede jumping after him off the cliff stole all the air out of his little lungs. 

“No!” Cap cried when he saw his human dashing after him just seconds prior. “Don’t do it!”

Except Friede couldn’t verbally understand him, because he was human. Not did that stop them from sharing a deep, special bond mind you. It was just at this moment, seeing Friede reaching out for him during free fall that Cap wished his human took heed of his words.

Desperate fingers grabbed hold of his own outstretched paw. Cap immediately felt arms wrapped around him, tucking his form against a solid chest just seconds before impact. 

Cap didn’t know whose cry was louder; his or Friede’s. They rolled and tumbled, scraped against rocks and other sharp bits. Throughout this terrifying experience, his human never once let go of him, and Cap clung to his shirt with his eyes squeezed shut until at long last, they came to a stop. 

Several beats passed in silence. Cap felt disoriented, finding that flicking his right ear and trying to move his tail caused a lot of pain. Still, panic drowned out the pain when the arms around him loosened. Cap scrambled to sit up properly so he could get a good look at Friede.

Friede’s eyes were closed, and it was from being on his chest that let Cap knew he still breathed. The lens of his goggles were cracked. His favorite jacket had tears in them. Cap spotted scrapes on his cheeks and his hands, with more likely hidden beneath his clothes. What he hated seeing the most was the red liquid trailing down the side of his face, originating from somewhere beneath his goggles.

He was still. Cap hated seeing him still. Friede wasn’t meant to be still. 

Cap carefully crawled up his chest to gently place a paw on his uninjured cheek. He lightly patted it.

“Wake up,” he said. 

“Pika,” it sounded within the silent clearing. 

Cap fought to keep his fear in place when Friede didn’t react. He couldn’t let it pull at his electricity, making static build up in his cheeks. He’d long since evolved from that Pichu who couldn’t control the power he held within but at this moment, he felt that kind of little again. 

“Please wake up,” he pleaded, patting Friede’s cheek again.

“Pika pika,” was what stirred Friede at last. Cap pulled back at the soft groan, giving his human some room to reorient himself. Judging from the sharp hiss of pain when he shifted, he didn’t get out of the fall unscathed. 

“Ugh… Cap? ‘zzat you?” Friede mumbled, blinking a couple of times. He raised a careful hand to gently cradle his head. 

“Yes! Why did you do that? That was stupid!” Cap grumbled back.

To Friede, he only heard high pitched, aggravated squeaks. A chuckle turned wince slipped past his lips. Carefully, he tried to push himself into a sitting position. Cap watched worryingly as his arms shook but he managed enough to lean against the rocky wall for support. 

“I’m guessing that you’re mad at me, huh?”

“Yes! You didn’t have to do that!” Cap responded, crossing his arms whilst sporting a displeased look on his face. “You had my Pokeball on you! You could have returned me!”

Friede stared at him with faint amusement in his eyes. Despite the worry still brimming beneath his fur, Cap was almost tempted to shock him for finding this situation anywhere remotely humorous. 

“Sorry Cap. My body just moved on its own,” Friede eventually apologized. It seemed that he understood why from the rapid squeaks. He did look a touch remorseful now. “Sorry too for worrying you like this. You’re not too badly hurt, yeah?”

Cap wanted to keep his glare but his resolve folded once Friede lightly place a hand on his head, mindful of his injured ear. The weight brought more comfort than he realized, even more so when Friede scratched him at the particular spot that he liked. 

“I’m glad that you’re alright,” he spoke, voice soft. “I don’t know what I’d do if you…”

“How do you think I feel? We’re partners but you’re hurt,” Cap replied back, pressing his head more into his palm. 

Another faint chuckle in response to the train of soft Pika… from Cap. “Yeah, I messed up big time. I know that Mollie’s gonna have my hide for this. Think she’ll give you a pass at least.”

Cap nodded his agreement at that. Friede deserved it really. Did he forget that Cap had done a lot of falling before they met? Granted the only damage he got was recoil from Volt Tackle but the point still stood! Friede didn’t have to jump after him like that! It was stupid and reckless and…

It did stir warmth in his little heart. To know that his human cared as deeply as he does for him.

“Aww, not even pretending to disagree. I’m wounded,” Friede joked, doing that chuckle turned wince again. Cap hoped that they’d get rescued soon so he can get that treated. In the meantime, he settled keeping watch of the surroundings, ready to fire off warning shots to any wild Pokemon that dared to approach them.

Eventually, Cap picked up the sound of Charizard’s flapping wings and calls for Friede’s name. While it pained him to do so, he managed to shoot up a single Thunderbolt as a signal to their position. 

Soon, Cap stepped aside to let Mollie and Orla fuss over his human. They had arrived on Charizard and Metagross, who both asked him whether he was alright. Cap simply gave a thumbs up in response.

It was much later that the pair were all patched up back on the ship. Friede had bandages all over him while Cap had some on his tail and ear. As expected, Mollie gave his human an earful for his reckless behavior while Cap received gentle care and worry. He wasn’t surprised seeing that he rarely got hurt badly enough to get all bandaged up like this.

They were now back in Friede’s room. Both of them were ordered to take it easy for a few days so their injuries had time to heal. Cap knew that it was only a matter of time before both of them get a little stir crazy from the forced inactivity but until then, he was happy to be all curled up by Friede’s side as he slumbered, exhausted from today’s events.

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober/Whumperless Whump Event (WWE) - #15

No WWE this time!

She’d done it. She’d finally done it. After months of trying to escape from the Imperial Academy, Sabine was free. And the only way she would stay free was if she got somewhere safe. Not an easy task when she was bruised, broken, and bleeding.

The dogs had been chasing her and she’d had to make a desperate decision in order to lose them. The cliff had been steep, but not sheer, so she’d been able to manage it for a while before her foot had landed on a loose rock and sent her tumbling to the bottom. She’d rolled and rolled and rolled for what seemed like forever before coming to a stop at the base of a tree at the bottom of the cliff. 

All she could do was lie there for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath so she could muster up the strength to get back on her feet. She knew she couldn’t stay there for long. The dogs and their masters may not follow her down the cliff, but the road eventually wound this way and she needed to be long gone by the time they arrived.

She took stock of her injuries and they weren’t good. Among the plethora of bruises and scrapes, her right wrist was sprained (or worse), some of her ribs were at least bruised, she’d gotten several knocks to her head, and a stick had somehow pierced her calf before getting ripped back out somewhere along the way. She could feel the blood pooling inside her boot and see it leaking onto the ground. 

So all in all, not good.

Ripping a piece of her tattered uniform, she hastily wrapped it around her leg and slowly, painfully, got to her feet and started staggering deeper into the forest. If she could find some water source, preferably a small stream, she could use that to lose the dogs. As it was, the blood trail she was leaving was enough for even the most unobservant tracker to follow. Her only hope was to get away from here as fast as she could and try to stay ahead of the search party.

It was no easy task. She tripped and fell multiple times, agitating her injuries more and more as she went on. She could hear the dogs barking some distance away and she almost cried with relief when she finally saw sunlight glittering off a ribbon of water a little ways off.

It was a small river, not the easy-to-cross stream she’d been hoping for, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She was lucky enough to pass by a broken up old tree on her way to the bank. With some effort, she was able to roll part of it over to the water and use it to help her float along with the current. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage the swim otherwise.

And so she drifted, using her one good leg and arm to help propel her faster down the river until she was confident that she’d put enough distance between herself and the dogs. Paddling weakly over to the opposite bank, she climbed out of the water and allowed herself a moment or two to lay there on the grass to catch her breath and let the sun warm her. It was summer, but the river had been cold and had leached a lot of the heat and energy out of her. But then it was time to get moving again.

Time lost all meaning to her. She wasn’t even sure which direction she was going. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop until she found somewhere safe to hide out and tend to her injuries. Assuming she didn’t pass out first.

Suddenly, she broke into a clearing and there, almost seeming to glow from the moonlight, was an old, abandoned cabin. It was perfect.

But she was so intent on reaching it, on getting to safety, that she didn’t notice the horses tethered outside or the faint light of a fire from within. She pushed open the sagging door and was almost blinded by the small fire in the crumbling hearth.

As she blinked away the stars in her vision, she finally saw the three people sitting in the one-room cabin—two men and one woman, and all of them with a gun drawn and pointed at her. She was so shocked and dazed that she didn’t even try to pull her own gun from the holster, for all the good it would have done her. With a busted wrist and three guns already out and waiting for her, she wouldn’t stand a chance. 

She could hardly even literally stand now. The room started to spin and her legs gave out. Crashing to her knees, she felt the jolt go through her entire body, from her abused head to her injured leg. She didn’t even have enough energy to cry out in pain. She couldn’t stop herself as her body sagged and started to fall to the rotting floorboards.

But then, out of nowhere, a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and laid her limp body down gently. She tried to keep her eyes open, fighting the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her as the other two came towards her. She didn’t know who these people were or if they were friend or foe. But her body didn’t care. It needed to rest and it was going to get it.

As unconsciousness closed in on her, she could just barely make out what was being said above her.

“Hera, look at her uniform. She’s from the academy. We’re not really going to help her, are we?”

Sabine groaned and was just able to mumble, “Ran away…”

“You ran away from the academy?” asked a female voice, probably Hera. Sabine was just able to nod her head once.

There was a sigh, and then the first voice, this ‘Kanan’, said, “Zeb, bring her closer to the fire.”

Sabine felt herself being lifted at the same time she sank into the darkness that finally dragged her down into unconsciousness...

[trashideas]

Hiking/ Gaming Streamer Joonghyuk and resident cryptid photographer Dokja

Joonghyuk stumbles across Dokja halfway up a tree and is very obviously struggling to do something. Dokja is spread awkwardly between three branches, but his arms are stabilized to hold his camera that's pointed at another tree.

Joonghyuk, a streamer who does not feel like recording a man kill himself, decides to yell up to ask if the man is okay.

A few trees away, a flapping of wings and a flutter of feathers is heard. Dokja lets out a series of swears before stumbling down the tree. While the descent was rushed, it was also smooth as fuck. The lowest branch was maybe around 4 meters, yet Dokja dropped smoothly into a roll that protected his camera.

This was practiced.

“You fucking asshole do you know how long I had to sit there?”

“Uh-”

“Hours! Hours! me, with no upper body strength, had to hold myself in that tree to wait for the hawk to land! Do you understand how rare it is to get a picture of those fuckers on the ground?”

“N-”

“You don't! How could you possi-” Dokja noticed the go-pro camera strapped to his shoulder. “Ah, a streamer.” and then had the audacity to turn around and walk off into the woods as if were a normal Monday.

Joonghyuk was perplexed. What just happened and what did he just see?

Joonghyuk decided to try to apologize to the man. He understood how hard it was to get perfect shots. But when Joonghyuk pushed aside the bush that the other man walked through, he found a near sheer cliff of loose dirt.

When Dokja had walked through the brush with no problem, he made no noise of being startled that the ground was no longer there. Even stranger, there was no evidence of him going down the cliff. No scuffs in the dirt, no path, nothing. It was as if he had just disappeared.

His comment section seemed to agree that he just met some cryptid of the forest.

....

After the stream and getting back to his hotel room, Joonghyuk decided to ask around some of the local restaurants about his encounter.

Equipped with his camera, he first asked the restaurant owner if he could record their conversation for his video. With their permission, Joonghyuk first asked about the forest and the trails, if they got many tourists.

After a series of questions to lead up to his big one were answered, he finally asked: “Have you met any strange people in the forest?”

To which the owner, Han Sooyoung, started busting out laughing. “You-” she cut herself off with another fit of giggles that sounded more or less insane, “you met Dokja.”

“And who is Dokja?”

“Kim. Dokja.” she stressed, “and he’s our resident cryptid.”

Oh so he was right. Perhaps there was some sort of “supernatural” explanation to his existence, at least then he could make a debunk video. Those seemed pretty popular.

“Dont be getting any ideas. He is a local photographer. Just that's enough to make him crytpid. Even worse, he knows the forest like the back of his hand. Don't be surprised if he disappears. He does that. Thinks he looks all cool and mysterious.” offhandedly- she added, “reads way too many novels.”

“Oh? What does he take pictures of?”

“Animals and fauna mostly. He submits papers to... Somewhere. He somehow gets money. Wouldn't be surprised if he somehow is connected to the mafia.”

“Interesting... Do you know where-”

“Where you can find him? Your guess is as good as mine. If you walk around the forest long enough, I'm sure you'll see him again.”

....

Han Sooyoung was correct.

It was currently 4am and the sun was just starting to rise. The morning dew sparkled through the smoky fog while soft light filtered through the leaves overhead.

It painted a beautiful picture.

It seemed that Joonghyuk wasn't the only one to think of filming in the beautiful brisk morning. Because there sat Dokja at the edge of an overhang looking over the forest with camera in hand.

Dokja had his camera up to his face, snapping quick pictures at different angles. He was precariously close to the edge of the overhang. By precariously close, Joonghyuk meant that the other man was literally sitting with his legs kicking over the ledge. He hummed softly to a tune Joonghyuk didn't recognize.

Joonghyuk decided not to disturb the other man. He was taking photos of the sunrise.

However, the pathway did pass by where Dokja was sitting, so when he walked closer to see the sight Dokja was capturing, he couldn't help but bring out his own camera and start snapping a few pictures.

It just so happened that Dokja stayed within each frame. The sunlight painted him in beautiful shadows while lighting the rest of the picture up. There was even a photo Joonghyuk got where the glare of the sun made a lovely rainbow halo around Dokja.

When Dokja finally turned around, he didn't seem surprised to see Joonghyuk. He gave Joonghyuk a cunning smile, “I get to take pictures of you next. You don't get any freebies just because you're pretty.”

Joonghyuk almost scoffed. It most definitely wasn't him who was pretty.

After a moment of hesitation, Dokja added, “Ah, if you want to I mean.”

So he wasn't just a sauve and mysterious asshole. Curious.

“Oh, so I can keep my photos for free?”

Dokja rose to the bait immediately, “Absolutely not you bastard. You still owe me hawk pictures.”

“Of course.”

....

And so that's how it went. Nearly everyday, Joonghyuk went out on a morning walk to set up a basic idea of where he was taking his stream and nearly each time he would find Dokja in increasingly worrying places.

One time, at around 3:30am when the sun wasn't even up, he found Dokja three quarters the way up a tree- hanging upside down- on a branch that did not look like it could support his weight.

It took all of Joonghyuk’s willpower not to scream at the mentally ill photographer.

Dokja was taking pictures of something on another branch and Joonghyuk knew if he disturbed the other, then it would be Joonghyuk regretting his life decisions.

Joonghyuk had developed an easy habit of waiting for the photographer to move his camera away from what he has been focusing on, that's when Joonghyuk is allowed to get his attention by flashing his phone light at him.

It gets his attention pretty quick.

Dokja sits up on the branch and it bends a worryingly amount. Joonghyuk holds his head in his hand as disappointed worry overtakes him. “Get down here.”

Mirth sparks behind Dokja’s eyes, Joonghyuk said the wrong thing, “No.”

“Kim Dokja I swear you are going to die one of these times.”

“Okay. And? I'm getting good pictures.” he lowers himself to a sturdier branch- thank fuck- “Wanna see the bat picture I took! I have one of the little guy yawning.”

And just like that, Dokja went from being at the top of a tree to in front of Joonghyuk, showing him pictures of a bat he just took.

...

Another time Joonghyuk found Dokja was after a late stream. Joonghyuk got a little lost as he went his usual rounds through the trails. Someone had changed one of the signs to screw up hikers like him and he winded up on the wrong path.

Despite not knowing where he was, Joonghyuk hadn't panicked once during the stream. His viewers were none the wiser. They didn't know of his predicament.

It was late when Joonghyuk finally ended his stream with a promise to make it home on time. The sun was already down and he was on the familiar path by a creek.

He could hear the gentle trickle of the water in the distance.

What was not a normal sound was the string of familiar curses.

Of course Kim Dokja would be out right now. Joonghyuk changed his direction from the path to cut through the forest to the creek. He fumbled over his person to take out his phone to use the flashlight function.

Now feeling like he was playing a 1st-person horror game, Joonghyuk carefully picked his way through the foliage to finally find a drenched Kim Dokja.

“Joonghyuk?”

“What are you doing in the water?”

“Taken’ pictures.”

“Uh huh, where's your camera?”

Dokja huffed.

“Come here, it's cold.” Joonghyuk shrugged off his backpack to take out his emergency blanket.

Dokja got out of the water and shuffled over to Joonghyuk. The man was shivering.

“Take off your shirt.”

“We aren't that close-”

“Here,” he shoved the blanket in the other man’s arms, “be cold for all I care.” it was obvious to the both of them that he cared.

“I didn't know your camera had night vision.”

“It doesn't?”

“Then why are you still streaming?”

Joonghyuk took his camera off his shoulder. He must’ve bumped the button while looking for his phone. It's late. There shouldn't be many people watching the stream anyways. He would just delete the video quickly.

...

The next day, all people could talk about was the mysterious figure. Some people had already connected the dots that the blacked-out figure was the elusive photographer that his fans still didn't know the name of.

However, they knew plenty about the photographer's strange personality. Joonghyuk didn't see him often during his streams and even when he did, he would simply wave to the man in passing. Usually they never exchanged words on stream.

So the fans took his clip of his out of breath- “take off your shirt” way out of context.

That short clip was all over the internet. Joonghyuk couldn't escape it.

Even worse, there seemed to be a ship going on between him and the photographer. It would have been fine if the artists weren't amazing. They captured Dokja in a way that Joknghyuk didn't see often. There were even... More heated artworks that Joonghyuk most definitely did not look at.

He did not look at them.

...

The next time Joonghyuk encountered Dokja wasn't in the woods.

It was at the bar that he first started asking questions at.

Kim Dokja was at the bar counter with his camera, showing pictures to Han Sooyoung with a large smile on his face.

Did Dokja look that happy when showing pictures to Joonghyuk?

Joonghyuk took the bar seat next to Dokja, patiently waiting for the photographer to notice him.

When Dokja did, that smile was turned to him. “Ah- Joonghyuk!” he turned to the famar bartender, “Han Sooyoung, this is Yoo Joonghyuk.”

“We've met.” Joonghyuk answered.

“Yeah, came in asking me about you and where be could meet with you again. Seemed pretty despite to catch another glimpse of you.” she elbowed Dokja with a wink.

“I'm sure,” Dokja responded with a deadpan tone before turning back to Joonghyuk, “wanna see the wolves I saw today?”

Worry spiked in Joonghyuk, “You saw wolves?” he checked to make sure Dokja had no new scratches. For a moment, Joonghyuk almost asked “did you die” before stopping that question mid-thought.

Dokja nodded, “yeah! They travel the woods pretty frequently so they aren't always in one area. But they know me well enough to not run if they see me.”

“Run if they see you?”

Dokja stared at him. “Oh please don't tell me you think they're vicious creatures.”

“I don't.” he did.

“Here I have a video.”

And Dokja proceeds to pull up a video of a white wolf right up to the camera. And its growling. Deep and guttural. It sends shivers of fear up Joonghyuk’s spine.

In the video, Joonghyuk catches a glimpse of a hand going through the wolf’s fur.

“Kim Dokja.”

He hums.

“Are you petting it?”

“Yes?”

“Kim Dokja.” he has to stop himself from strangling Dokja, “its growling.”

“Yeah,” he answers as if it were a normal answer to an absurd question. “She does that,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Kim Dokja it sounds like she is about to rip your throat out.”

“And you sound like an uncaring bastard, yet here you care caring. Don't judge a wolf by his growl.”

It's Han Sooyoung that steps in, “Dokja, don't pet wild animals. I still need you as my editor.”

“She isn't a wild animal. She responds to Biyoo.”

“Oh no, he named it.”

“Biyoo is just very vocal. She wants cuddles and pets though.”

“Oh I'm sure, Dokja.” Han Sooyoung gave Joonghyuk that obviously asked “what do we do? He is going to kill himself one of these days.”

Joonghyuk could only shrug at that.

....

“Kim Dokja what are you doing?”

“Catfishing”

This time, Joonghyuk actually sighed. Even he didn't know if it was disappointment or not.

Because here Dokja was, in the middle of the woods, with a padded cat carrier connected to a string. The carrier even had treats in it.

“Why?”

“Because one of the kids lost her cat in the woods and I told her I'd find it.”

“So you resort to... catfishing?”

“Well yes, it's the most logical choice.”

“Dokja,” he could only say exasperatedly.

...

“And that's how I got free help on making posters and getting together a search party for finding a cat. We found the little guy behind the restaurant on day 3 of the search.”

...

It was nearing his time of heading back home.

Joonghyuk had an amazing month-long journey, but his hotel needed him out of the room by the end of the day because they were fully booked. Joonghyuk had already asked if they could extend his stay, but they couldn't.

Joonghyuk had explored pretty much all the trails had to offer and his view count on his hiking trips seemed to be nonexistent unless there was a certain photographer in sight.

Joonghyuk lived a few hours away and he really needed to get back to streaming gaming content- otherwise he would be breaking his contract.

Tornaments and whatnot were also approaching, and he hadn't touched a gaming console in nearly a month. He spent practically all day everyday out in those woods with a certain photographer always somewhere nearby.

Joonghyuk had forgotten about his responsibilities, he had fallen for the charm of the forest and the gremlin that inhabited it.

He had decided to go to the bar one last time before leaving tomorrow morning.

He found Dokja at the bar. Curiously, while Dokja was found at the bar quite a few times, Joonghyuk had never seen him drink alcohol.

So it was strange seeing the man nursing a glass. When Joonghyuk took the seat next to him, he could smell the strong scent of-

“Don't tell me you're drinking vinegar.”

Dokja didn't respond.

“Are you drinking vinegar?”

“It's watered down.”

“Dokja what the fuck”

“Don't knock until you try it. Besides, we're all here to drown out something. Doesn't matter what we do it with.”

Joonghyuk took the shot glass away from Dokja. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard that our resident asshole was leaving.”

“How’d you know?”

“While I spend a lot of my time in the forest, I do still have access to basic technology.”

“So you've looked me up?”

“Who wouldn't?”

Han Sooyoung cut in, “stop flirting at my bar, you idiots. Just ask for each other’s numbers and go fuck somewhere.”

Oh. Joonghyuk had never thought to ask for the other’s number.

Before he could even ask, Dokja had his own phone out and had an outstretched hand opened, waiting for something to be placed in his palm. He was looking down to his phone, opening some apps.

Joonghyuk’s sleep deprived mind blanked and he simply took the hand in his own.

“Damn that's bold.” Han Sooyoung commented.

While Joonghyuk immediately regretted his action, if he pulled away then he would loose against Han Sooyoung. So instead, he fished his phone out his pocket with his other hand and handed it to Dokja. All the while, he kept eye contact with Han Sooyoung.

He did not see the harsh blush overcoming Kim Dokja’s face.

Dokja quickly inputted their numbers into each other’s phones. It was a little clumsy, as his dominant hand was currently being held captive by the powerful bastard’s grip, but he managed.

“Stop eye fucking each other. You're making the other patrons uncomfortable.”

...

To be continued?