#ashy watching: limited life

[ashiyn]

the way that you can hear grian scream through clenched teeth HELP

[sipsteainanxiety]

you’d always been told not to travel to alnæ—that it was a forbidden land not meant for the magic-less.

there were tales—legends—of the sorts of beings that dwelled there. with power so robust you could feel it in the air, taste its electrifying strength on your tongue. few dared to step foot past the thick forest that guarded its border—the trees that seemed to hum at such a low frequency that it could be felt through the soles of your boots. no one could really tell you why it was so off limits. they only scared you with stories of brave adventurers who never returned. poor souls who were claimed by alnæ’s clawed grip in their pursuit of the riches it held deep, deep within its lands.

you didn’t have much tethering you to the human realm, not really. you often peered at the dark entrance to alnæ and wondered what it would be like to disappear amongst the fruitful flora. to lose yourself in a place you did not know. surely, it could not be all too bad. you had to drag your heavy gaze away, forcing a leisurely smile on your face to avoid any lingering looks from the village folk. suspicion would do you no good in these times.

though… there was always this constant feeling of being watched, when you walked by the border. of eyes that crawled across your figure and bore knives into your back. it did not make you feel frightened, no. if anything it made you feel more intrigued.

but one day… your curiosity got the best of you. and with nothing but the clothes on your back, you took a step into the darkened forest. just a singular step. an attempt to satisfy your yearning, perhaps. for just a quick moment.

the forest of alnæ was silent—almost eerily so—and there was something in the air that made the soft hairs on your arms stand up. you held your breath, not daring to disturb the quiet for fear of the consequences. you glanced behind you and found you could not tell where you’d come from. maybe you should have been scared, but oddly enough, you weren’t. so you dared to walk forward. leaves and branches crunched under your gentle steps. if you hadn’t alerted something before, you thought, then you surely had now.

you walked and you walked and you walked. it was difficult to tell the time. the daylight that poked through the canopies of the trees were short-lived and unreliable. they faded from flashes of honey-colored sunlight to milky blue moonlight with the flip of a coin. the forest was trying to play a trick on you. you would not be fooled.

you walked until you happened upon a temple—set in a small clearing of the forest. it’d seemingly appeared out of nowhere. you hugged yourself as you stopped in front of it and stared up at its desolation. it was made of a deep, black stone shrouded with moss and ivy that crawled up its walls. swirls of ruby red were mixed in with the black—a style that reminded you of magma trailing down the ashy slope of a volcano. you stared into the gaping maw that was its entrance. it seemed to breathe—air brushed gently past your face from within. the very earth seemed to still around you.

and you didn’t know why you dared to step forth and enter the temple, but you did. it was almost like there was a force compelling you—drawing you closer. guiding you with an invisible hand. you held your breath as your steps echoed around you. the inside of the temple was a void-like darkness that made goosebumps erupt along your skin. you paused, after a few steps beyond the temple’s entrance, and right as you began to wonder if you should’ve brought a light, a candle flickered to life before you.

your eyes were drawn to the statue it illuminated in a burnt tangerine glow. two more candles flickered to life above the statue’s head. and after a moment or two that you spent letting your eyes adjust to the dim light, you took in all that you could see before you.

the statue was completely black—an opaque material that gleamed where the warmth of the fire from the candle caressed it. it was of a man, from what you could see. the marble carvings showed him wearing a cloak of sorts that wrapped around his shoulders and exposed the smooth planes of his chest and abdomen. baggy pants, low and layered on his waist, carved downwards into thick boots—one of which was propped up as he posed on a pedestal of sorts.

there was something oddly haunting about him. the way the shadows seemed to cling to his marbled body. you found your gaze drawn to his face. sharp features and a smooth jawline were angled slightly upwards to the sky. ruby eyes—the only splash of color on the statue from what you could see—glared upwards and were narrowed to match the scowl on his face. his hair formed spikes around his head—deadly. unnatural. he was beautiful.

you got lost in simply staring at him—watching the way the light bounced off him. the more you stared, the more you noticed the inhumane feel he had to him. the eeriness that accompanied his marbled features. he was too smooth—too pretty. the teeth he bared up at the sky were too sharp. you had never seen a statue of him before. he was not a deity of the human realm—perhaps he was not a deity at all. only alnæ knew his story.

you found the strength to tear your gaze from his face so you could stare down at the plaque by his feet. you stepped closer so you could squint down at it and read the word carved into it. the candle on the ground flickered in a nonexistent breeze.

“katsuki,” you murmured—quietly. so quietly. a name.

the temple hummed around you—a deep thing that you felt in your chest. that saturated the air and made your skin buzz. something seemed to crawl up your back. you stepped back hastily, your eyes darting around you for any change—any danger—before they moved to stare back up at katsuki’s face. at his eyes.

ruby eyes that’d moved to look right at you—bright, vibrant, alive.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ZHONGLI X FEM READER

War is always hard, but regardless, your village is too remote and too little to be of any consequence to invaders. Even as violence rages all around you, in your isolated little life, you're safe - until you're not. Divine intervention saves you.

Did you know Morax’s eyes glow in the dark?

wc — 3.9k 

tags — mentions of war 

There are always legends about the lord of Geo. No matter where or how far you roam in Liyue, from the tiniest peasant village to the shining palaces of war mongering dynasties, Rex Lapis’ greatness was always the favorite subject of housewives and bards and soldiers. He was their god, as beloved as he was magnificent.

Of course, this was before Liyue was Liyue.

This was when the people of Liyue were disjointed and scattered to the winds. Centuries later, storytellers would begin the tale like this: the Anemo Archon had blown a once centralized civilization to the four corners of Liyue to play a prank on Rex Lapis. Only a worthy ruler such as he would be able to bring them back together, a union that was destined.

That wasn’t the truth so much as tribal warfare simply prevented their unification in the first place. Before Rex Lapis had gathered his people and brought them to that prosperous city on the shore, named for his nation, that country had existed under individual warlords as nation-states.

Nation states that fell into conflict more often than not.

Wars constantly raged across Liyue’s vast landscape, decimating forests and razing mountains. It was a beautiful but dangerous land. No one was beholden to laws outside of designated limits, and travelers were perpetually at risk unless protected by a higher lord.

Your mother worried about this, but not you. Never you, too young even though you were already of marriageable age to think about such things. The horrors of war couldn’t touch you here, never mind that they already had. You had lived your entire life without a father, taken before you were born. You didn’t miss him. You had no one to miss.

Evil was something that happened to other people in other villages. It was devastating but impersonal, a soft sigh and a shake of the head to signify sympathy, pity, but never reserved for your own.

When darkness smoldered over the thatched roofs of your village, your heart lept into your throat, but for the wrong reason. Innocent. Naïve. Stupid. You assumed a fire had broken out and rushed back home with buckets of water.

This had happened before, and it was always a community effort to put it out. After all, your houses were flammable. If one went up, the rest ran the risk of falling to the same fate. Everyone, aunties, uncles, and all would come out to form lines of water carriers. Even after the fire had ceased to exist, you would all collapse together in the village center, tired but safe at least. Happy to be together. Someone would form a line and start distributing food. Everyone would chip in something here and there for what needed to rebuild.

A fire is solvable. A fire brings the people together. A fire is a controlled, routine issue.

You don’t know how to react when people purposefully set the fire. For a second, you think they’re your own, but no, they couldn’t be.

Armor aside, no one in your village would do such an atrocious thing. You knew you were all connected. To hurt one was to hurt everyone - and yet, as you watched soldiers touch torches of burning coal to your homes, perhaps that was the goal.

Ashy smoke burns your lungs. Tears prick at your eyes, from the irritating particles and the pain of inhalation, but mostly from the knowledge that your home is being ruined.

This isn’t fair. You haven’t done anything wrong! You were just simply village people doing your best to scrape by. Watching not just your life’s work, but generations upon generations of blood, sweat, and tears be fed to flames is unbearable. Your people, your neighbors, the auntie who sings as she pounds dough into bread, the grandfather who keeps candy in his pockets, the little boy who pretends to work in the rice fields to keep his father company - they all depend on everything in these small huts. You are already a people of little means. You know they have nothing else.

It’s not just buildings that are being destroyed. It’s lives.

You can’t just sit by and watch.

Desperately, with your little bucket that does almost nothing against the inferno, you pour your meager offering out on the flames. Running back to the well is painful. The ground is so hot it scorches the soles of your feet and the smoke is impossible to breathe through, but you must persevere. You don’t know where everyone else is, but if you don’t act now, they won’t have a home to come back to.

Everyone may be fighting their own individual battles. You’d chosen yours, and that was to defend your village.

Tears stream down your face as you pour bucket over bucket of water, a contribution as little as an ant’s.

“Back, human,” an otherworldly voice whispers, and then a blue haired woman pushes past you. A hydro vision rests at her hip, and water runs from her fingertips. Seeing her, you tears flow anew. You know who she is.

All the legends are true. If the yaksha are here, it may mean-

Rex Lapis subdues the would be conquerors. He has made his way from territory to territory, making his distaste for heedless violence clear. Passing through ruined towns and despotic strongholds, he has freed the innocent and punished the tyrants.

Almost nothing was able to be salvaged from the fire despite the hydro yaksha’s valiant efforts. Your home, on the outskirts of town, were one of the first to be burned.

Still, you and your mothers count yourself lucky, because now you dine among immortals. One of Morax’s company, a young man with green shot through his raven black hair, gives up his tent for you, claiming he doesn’t sleep much anyways.

But even under Rex Lapis protection, sleeping in the silks of one of his most loyal servants, you can’t rest. Day after day, you rise, having barely slept, to perform your duties like the other refugees. Chores are to be completed even when you’re stricken by this strange illness. Still, you barely manage to stagger back every night. Your mother, worried sick, has spent her nights consulting the camp’s doctor. You feel horrible to concern her so, but you can’t help it.

Even laying as still as a stone, although your breathing stills, your mind does not. It races endlessly, carastrophizing the future. You cannot sleep even amongst your riches in both fortune and material luxuries.

“Xiao tells me you’ve been having nightmares.”

Morax is kind, but he is still terrifying.

You scream.

To be fair, you were startled by the hulking shadow looming by the entrance of your tent before your vision adjusted to make out who it was.

He turns towards you in surprise. “My dear girl! What is the matter with you?”

But you’re no longer listening.

Morax is beautiful.

But that’s not what’s taken your words from you.

It’s the fact that his eyes glow with the strangest, most welcoming light.

This is a god.

And he is not devastating, as the legends say. He does not look like a warrior. He looks like a lover, a creator, a peace giver.

He looks like home.

It hits you so hard, the longing, the mourning, the grief of everything you’ve lost.

Rex Lapis has eyes that make you homesick, not just for a place, but a time.

Without you having to speak a word, the god understands. Stepping towards you, he lets the fabric of the tents entrance fall shut. “You poor thing,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I startled you. I just came to help you sleep.”

“Help me sleep?”

He pulls a chair up beside you. “Yes. In times like this, I find a story usually helps. Have you heard of the legend of the rabbit on the moon?”

For the first time in weeks, you fall into a soft, easy slumber, lulled by the sound of Morax’s voice.

Even so, it must have been a short nap. When you’re awoken by noises outside your tent, night is still cool and dark outside. But the camp is unusually riotous, and the noises don’t sound like celebration.

You’re prepared for the worst when the opening to the tent blows open so violently it might have been caused by a hurricane, but only a slim arm clad in armor pulls the fabric closed once again.

“Hey!” You’re disgruntled by this lack of respect for your privacy - what if you had been naked? Whirling around, the intruder looks vicious. The yaksha’s eyes flash like coins, but they don’t glow, not like the Lord of Geo’s.

“Ah.” He relaxes when he sees you. He had clearly forgotten you were there.

“What’s going on?” You demand.

“Stay inside, mortal.” He darts out once again, a bird on the wind bearing something greater than you will ever be.

Even war had not been able to beat disobedience out of you. Throwing on a light shawl, you wait one minute, then give chase.

It’s not the rival camp. A small mercy, but the truth might be even worse. Morax’s illuminated beasts have herded the troublemakers to the center of the camp. From your vantage point hidden among the tents, you can’t get a clear view of what’s happening, but you can guess.

Not everyone is happy with your current arrangement.

Liu Quan was always a hot headed boy, and now he is standing toe to toe with the Electro yaksha. “We’re sick of it here! We want to go home!”

“You have no home, anymore,” the other rumbles.

“You cannot keep us here,” Quan hisses.

Silly mortal pride. Even when faced the worst of circumstances, some men believed themselves above godly intervention. It was a noble trait to crave self sufficiency, but he would doom them all.

You can see the stand off turning ugly. Quan bristles, reacting emotionally to a bruised ego. In return, the yaksha are growing exasperated and condescending. They are reined in by the great Morax. They do not truly need to serve humans, and at this audacious behavior, they are remembering how much stronger they are. Once, humans were prey. They can be again.

Even worse, Morax is gone for an inexplicable reason, and the yaksha seem loathe to move without him. The situation could turn ugly. Even though mortals present no threat to them, Morax’s soldiers would never dare harm them. In a war where every resource is precious and every moment is a chance for another battle, they must not expand their energy attempting to corral, but not harm the mortals.

Before the tension breaks, you come out of the shadows where you’ve hidden yourself.

“Quan, the yakshas are only trying to protect us. We all must do what we must in times like these.”

The yaksha nods. “Listen to your friend, little mortal.”

You wish he hadn’t said that. He was only fanning the flames. If he hadn’t made the mistake of having you appear to align with him, rather than your fellow villagers, then Quan might have listened to you.

As it stands, Quan scoffs. “Stay out of this. I am doing what I must for our people. You wouldn’t understand.”

Your temper rises, but before you can speak, another voice, softer but far more commanding than any other that has split the night thus far, interrupts.

“I think that’s quite enough out of all you, isn’t it?”

“My lord,” Quan bows. Even angry, Morax’s people love him. He steps between the two quarrelling sides.

“I understand that you feel suffocated, but this is no way to go about it. If you truly wish to help, you may join my army-“

A gasp echoes through the crowd.

“But first, you must train under one of my generals. I think this a fair compromise.”

Quan hesitates, but in the end, he bows his head and defers to his king. “Yes, my lord. I will serve you with pride.”

The crowd disperses, murmuring to themselves at the unexpected turn of events. You turn to leave as well, when Morax calls your name.

Somehow, you’ve spent more nights with Morax than you haven’t for all the time you’ve spent in this camp. For a poor village girl who hasn’t even been able to imagine the brilliance of his gold eyes, much less perceive the rest of his glory, you have risen far to have the lord of Geo attending your bed.

“My lord, you needn’t- That is-“ You sigh, giving yourself a moment to compose yourself before you trip over the beginning of your sentence once more. “I’m not worthy of this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “All my people are worthy of my time.”

“Yes, but-“

“Would you argue against my judgement, my dear? I only do what I choose to. Would you deny me this choice?”

“You’re being unfair.” You murmur as you settle into your sheets, beaten.

“I’m sorry.” His mouth curves into a warm smile. “Can I make it up to you? Tonight, I think I will tell you about a dragon king.”

“You don’t need to make such efforts to disguise praise for yourself, my lord.”

His lips twitch. “No, not me. You’ll find that my friend is rather more…stony, shall we say?”

“Stony?”

He presses his finger to your lips, his message clear. Although you fight it tonight, disgruntled by the events that have occurred, his voice works it’s magic as always.

That does not leave you any more satisfied in the morning. From dawn to night, as you do your chores, you feel more helpless than ever. Although you disagree with his methods, you understand how Quan feels - stifled. At home, you are necessary. You bring the crops and keep the village running. But here, you are dead weight.

After all, you aren’t a soldier or a healer. You have no use in this camp - although brave, you’d courage rarely leads to anything. If Morax hadn’t intervened last night, you’re not sure you would have been able to break up the fight at all, try as you might.

If you are weak in body and spirit, how do you serve your god? More importantly, how do you serve your people? These paranoid thoughts plague you even long after the sun has set.

“Jiejie, I’m cold,” grouches a little child by your feet. The fire crackles still, but the flame has dwindled and she’s shivering. You scoop her into your arms as you feed more twigs into the blaze.

“Is that better?”

You can see the beginnings of a tantrum in her eyes. You’ve soothed enough children to know. Quick to avert the disaster, you wrap the blankets around her tighter.

“I know, why don’t I tell you a story?”

She stops seething. “What kind of story?”

Your mind desperately casts about for something interesting when the gold light of the flame sparks inspiration. Gold, like the color of a man’s eyes in the dark.

“A legend about a moon rabbit.”

“A moon rabbit!” Her eyes are wide with delight.

Slowly, as you begin to speak, words growing stronger and more confident as you continue, a small huddle forms around you. Men, women, and children alike seek out the warmth in each other and the fire. Your voice is soothing and soft as you recall the events of last night and add your own twists. One by one, they fall into slumber.  

When you finish weaving your tale, allowing the last golden threads of embroidered myth and luminous embellishments of legend to settle over your sweet dreamers, you realize that one man remains awake.

Morax has come home.

His clothes are as impeccable as always. Perhaps it is the shield that you’ve seen him wield, as solid as adamantine, that prevents blood from splattering onto him. Whatever it is, you’re grateful he looks as gentle as always when he steps into the warmth of the fire and peers down at you.

“I think it’s your bedtime as well.”

“They-“

“Xiao is watching over them. You will find they can have no more dutiful or powerful guardian.”

Reluctantly, you allow him to lead you away, but to your surprise, even when he has set you to bed, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he settles into the chair by your bed you have to come think of as his, even if he has only used it once - twice, now.

“Do you have any requests?”

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Then content yourself with my choice.” Morax begins his story with a cowherd who looks longingly at the moon and wishes. He loves these stories, as you’ll come to find - common people rising to greatness. When you wake, he has already slipped out of your tent once again, but the feeling of last night lingers. You drift through a world encased in light and spun out of sugar - magic and fantasy and monkeys willing to help girls with noble spirits ready to pop out at any corner.

But over time, you grow tired of retelling Morax’s tales. He is a skilled weaver, it’s true, but counterfeit work, no matter how well done, always begins to lose it’s luster.

Instead, by hanging around the soldiers as they come home from war, stealing tidbits off Xiao as he pops in and out of his tent, and bothering Morax when he comes for his nighttime visitations, you begin to piece together a new legend. It is an epic, a magnificent and weighty beast, but it is one that you are desperate to share.

The Legend of Morax, the great shaper, begins to devour the camp’s imaginations. Whispers of it are snatched by greedy ears as cooks gossip by the fires, as soldiers rest in the shade and children play by the tents.

He teases you for it, of course, but it’s not as if you could help it. It comes to you as easily as breathing, snippets of life interspliced with daydreams and imagination, a world coming to life before you.

Morax fights and you speak; together, the war draws to a close. Years of fighting come to a quiet end. The Legend of Morax continues, following the noble soldier king who unified the land.

After a long and weary recovery, Morax and his camp of warriors are finally leaving. You are not alone in your sorrow, for everyone wants a token of your king (despite his protests that he is no such thing). It would be an honor to recount to generations down the line, how Morax had personally saved them.

Sneaking away, you know your lord well enough to know he will come find you. A part of you feels guilty for abusing his benevolence so, but the larger part of you is determined to do what is necessary.

He comes up behind you. Even though you can’t see him, you can feel his presence.

“What’s wrong, my dear?”

You’ve been building courage for this all day. If you follow through with the daydream that has been marinating for weeks, you must do it now, or not at all.

In one explosive action, you turn and wind your fingers into his sleeve to shout, “Morax, please take me with you!”

“What on earth is this about?”

“I can be of use to you, I promise! Please don’t leave me behind. I want to help!”

Gently, he untangles you from him. You can read between the lines and see the rejection for what it is.

Rex Lapis smiles and, as if he can read your mind, leans over to press his lips to your forehead. “This is not a goodbye. I am not abandoning you.”

You don’t want his pity.

“How could I lose such enviable talent? You will have to help advise me on mortal matters, of course.”

“Me!” You’re so surprised you don’t even register the rudeness of raising your voice against Morax. “Me! Advise you! My lord!”

Nearby, Madame Ping’s gentle laughter warns you of your volume.

His fingers are decorated with ceremonial rings shaped like claws. When he rests his hand on your head, you can feel the prick - sharp enough to draw blood, only restrained by his gentle nature.

“I couldn’t take you away from your mother, my sweet love. But I have need of your voice. Will your forgive me if I ask you to watch over your village? Lend me the words that have embellished my history and tell my people to come home to you.”

Rex Lapis has led a war camp for decades. You have transformed it into a thriving village, as if it was your own. People sing and laugh as they do their chores. A makeshift market of collapsible stands and goods moves with it. Home has sprang up under the shelter of your myths, but Morax is greedy. He wants that for all of his people.

For a warrior god, he has no interest in chasing battles. You bend your head to your lord. There is only one answer you can give.

It will take several more centuries before the name Liyue even begins to be discussed, much less for the city itself to grow into its peak, but even before then, Rex Lapis gains the title of architect in addition to warrior king. Scholars will wonder where it came from, during a time when Rex Lapis was a fighter before he was a unifier. There is no evidence to any significant constructions that might give him such an epithet.

The only clue lies in oral traditions passed down in a small village by the mountains, where the houses are, implausibly, made of rock in formations that seem natural rather than carved. At night, they seem to exude a faint light in the dark. Legends of Rex Lapis, the creator, were said to have been born from this curious little town, now a novel tourist attraction. They sprang first from the lips of a girl with burned feet, whose statue now looks over the center of a village for which she was willing to give her life.

They say she had Rex Lapis’ favor for the rest of that life. There was no other mortal who could claim to have his ear, or who was said to have entertained his visits. Of her, legends are told - the woman who tamed the dragon god.

Legends compare little to the truth. If anyone was tamed, it was you, come to rely on a singular man’s presence to lull you to sleep.

It’s become a sound so familiar that you body reacts even before your brain recognizes it. The footsteps are light and quick as the door to your home, then your bedroom creaks open.

“Hello, my dear,” Morax smiles, settling into a chair. He always looks like he belongs in any situation, even in your humble home.

“I wonder how you still have time for me, my lord,” you murmur, toying with your sheets. But you know the answer. This is a routine song and dance for you both - Morax will always have time for his people. He is a god who does not believe in sacrifices, no matter how small. An individual’s suffering is felt by him as that of a nation. It should be impossible, but he is an archon. He has performed miracles before, in front of your very eyes.

He hums affectionately and reaches out to still your frantic fingers, a complement to your hummingbird heart. After all these years, he still makes you nervous when he first arrives.

“Shall I tell you another story tonight?”

[bnhahq101]

Yandere hcs for the male villains? Preferably with a male reader, but gn works too.

He is possessive like no tomorrow

He tries to woo his darling first, only resorting to kidnapping if they continue to turn him down or he perceives there is a threat to them

Stalks them a lot before he even approaches them, noting their likes and dislikes, any unique preferences and other personal info

He may be a broke ass man but whatever money he does acquire (Aka steals) he spends on making his darling comfortable after kidnapping them

This man won’t raise a hand against his darling

Instead he will resort to psychological tactics and “remove” others (i.e. their family members, friends, etc.)

He will “train” his darling to love him

Won’t “force” himself on them, but will coerce them into it (again mind games)

His favourite method of “training” is isolation and he will leave them alone locked in a room with food and water for days with no source of entertainment

He’s not delusional and is aware of what he is doing is wrong, but he just wants to be loved

He loves cuddling his darling, especially when they are in his lap

If they ever show him willing affection, he would be over the moon.

There is no subtlety with this ashy motherfucker

He goes straight to kidnapping them and keep them in his room with a nest of blankets and pillows for them in one corner or even the closet if they want

will threaten to dust them if they try to escape

he will dust those they care about and anyone who seems to get too close as punishment

Demands daily affections and cuddles, always mindful to wear his digi-art gloves so as to not accidentally dust them

Will demand them to tell him about themselves (What they like, what they dislike, their favourite colour, etc.)

If they play nice, so will he, doting on them with affection and stolen gifts

He will restrain them if necessary, but always makes sure the restraints are padded enough to not be too uncomfortable.

 

He kidnaps his darling early on, under the veil of providing protection

Kai is incredibly possessive of his darling, making them scrub themselves red if they are touched by someone else

He treats them like royalty if they behave, and like a burdensome pet if they don’t

He keeps track of all of their health stats, performing medical exams on them himself on a monthly if not weekly basis

His favourite thing to do is simply sit and observe them through the two way mirror of their room.

He isn’t above hurting them, “remaking” them if they try to escape, but he prefers punishments that don’t mark their skin

Honestly, if you don’t try to escape, allow him to doll you up, accept cuddles on the rare occasion and allow the monthly/weekly medical examinations, he’s not too bad of a Yandere

But if they are non-complacent, it will be literal hell

 

This man will kidnap them the moment his obsession begins

Will use physical force to mindbreak them and “train” them

He doesn’t give two shits about their feelings or if they don’t want his “affections”

Honestly, he is the worst among the villains to begin with and this is reflected in his Yandere state

Restraints are also a common occurance

Threats occur daily, and physical abuse is his go to as punishment

His darling is a pet to him, not someone to love and he will kill them if he finds them too tedious

 

Completely the opposite of Goto

Jin is obsessive, yes, but he is so incredibly scared of hurting them in some way.

He worships the ground they walk on and would do anything for them

Jin would try to win their affections every way he could, only wanting their happiness

His obsession for them is something that both “sides” of him can agree on

He tries to reign in his more creepy traits, and ends up acting like a golden retriever, constantly tailing them if they let him.

Even as a Yandere, he is a complete gentleman

Yes, he is obsessed and possessive, but he is also incredibly silver-tongued

He will manipulate his darling into a relationship, slowly isolating them from everyone else

They wouldn’t even realize he was manipulating them either, as he would have an excuse for every action that actually made perfect sense

He will dote upon them, never raising a hand against them

His darling would live in utter blissful ignorance and if they ever did find out, by then it would be too late

 

We all know his obsession with real heroes versus fake heroes; now imagine him with a darling

He starts as a stalker type, simply being content in observing them as they go about their day-to-day life

He keeps a small notebook in which he records shit he notices (their best qualities, their favourite clothes, etc.)

His possessiveness comes in the form of wanting to protect them from heroes and villains alike

He would approach them eventually, probably after saving them from being mugged.

He is blunt with his obsession, but is surprisingly not as creepy about this as others

He would give his darling two options

Option one: allow him to “court” them properly

Option two: accept their fate of having him as a demented guardian angel, who would kill any hero or villain that got too close

He refuses to kidnap them, knowing they would be in greater danger of harm if he did so

Danjuro Tobita/Gentle Criminal (ran to photo limits)

He is a delusional type and would kidnap them early on

While he would never physically hurt them on purpose, it may happen by accident

He would want to shield them from the world, saying it is too dangerous for them

He would restrain them if necessary, but always uses the softest most padded restraints possible

He loves dressing them in what is essentially life size doll clothes

Honestly, his darling would probably develop Stockholm syndrome or learn to just go with the flow  

 

Kurogiri is a wildcard of a Yandere

Though he projects a gentleman aura and may appear calm, he’s a scary motherfucker

His darling has no chance of escape once he chooses to kidnap them

If they try to escape him, he will teleport them into a variety of situations (i.e. in the middle of the ocean, on top of a tall building, etc.)

He is a master manipulator and isn’t above physically hurting them

But he will also dote on them with gentle touches as he tends to wounds he inflicted, whispering sweet nothings in a honey sweet voice

Eventually, they would either go insane or fall victim to Stockholm syndrome

 

He is similar to Jin regarding his Yandere tendency

Only he is more likely kidnap them if necessary and may accidentally hurt them by holding them too tight

He would stick them in his room that he had already prepared for them, filling it with their items he had stolen from their own home

He would be shy even after kidnapping them and honestly his darling would probably pity him

He knows what he is doing is not right, but he also knows he can’t just release them after already kidnapping them

He will bring them their favourite foods, offers to play video games and watch anime with them and even offers to take them out if they promise to not try and escape

If he accidentally hurts them with his claws, he is incredibly apologetic and would take care of them accordingly

He would ask for cuddles eventually, becoming depressed if they reject them but elated if they accept

 

Honestly Kendo isn’t that bad of a Yandere

Yes, he may accidentally harm them by grabbing their wrist or arm and accidentally snapping or dislocating something, but he actually feels horrible about it

He is possessive, but he won’t kill their family or friends if they remain platonic

He has his code

Instead he is more about protecting them from harm, so strangers are fair game

Kendo is not delusional either, he knows its wrong to kidnap them, but his need to protect them overrules it

He can get frustrated though, especially when they don’t give in to his affections

He prefers isolation for punishment

[rustbeltjessie]

Ritual For When It’s Ash Wednesday & Mercury Retrograde & Your Idols Keep Dying

1.

Cut your bangs hella short, like you used to. Remember that guy you knew fifteen years ago, who, the night you met, said: you have the shortest bangs I’ve ever seen. He meant it as a compliment. Now you feel sorta nervous about having bangs this short. Like maybe you’re gonna look like an old lady trying to be hip. But also they make you feel most like your (old) self. So cut your bangs so short it’s ridiculous. Then dye your hair a darker shade, a reddish-violet. Think of a sky all made of amethyst.

2.

Try to remember that not all your idols are dead. A lot of your favorite bands are reuniting & going on tour. & Mercury Retrograde is bringing up all these old school hurts, so it’s fitting that the bands you missed out on seeing back in the day are the ones you’re gonna miss the second time around. Back then, you couldn’t go cuz your parents wouldn’t let you. Now, you can’t go cuz you are a parent. In your twenties, the only decade of your life when you were fancy-free & could pretty much do whatever the fuck you wanted, you were often too broke to see your favorite bands. Which is part of the reason you became a music writer. Because press pass, guest list, plus one. It was either that or become a groupie.

3.

Sometimes you did both (the music writer thing & the groupie thing). & some people said you were just another groupie slut. & now you wanna kiss yourself goodbye. So today’s a good day to watch an old favorite movie. Nothing too sad. Something like Empire Records. That movie’s so ridiculous it can’t possibly bum you out, right? Except, oh shit, it does. Because everything reminds you of the old days. Like, remember that time you almost worked at the coolest record store in Chicago but the owner-dudes didn’t hire you cuz they said you “didn’t have enough retail experience?” (You were pretty sure the middle-aged music-nerd dudes’ actual reason for not hiring you was cuz they couldn’t stand that a girl-type-person half their age might know as much about music as they did.)

4.

You remember that & then you start thinking of your old friends. All the tattooed, gum-chewing freaks you don’t talk to anymore. & now you’re lonesome. But don’t try to fill the cracks in your soul with social media. It’s Ash Wednesday, the start of the Lenten season, & you, half-assed Catholic witch that you are, have decided to limit your time on social media during Lent. & don’t reach for the booze or cigarettes. Those will only make you feel worse. Remember that one drunken Ash Wednesday when you & your tattooed freak friends used cigarette butts to smudge crosses on your foreheads? You always were filth-infatuated, you twisted firestarter.

5.

Today the only fires you should start are on your altar. Light your prayer candles. Paint a cross on your forehead with incense ash, or glittery black eyeshadow. Burn your true confessions in your cauldron. Remember it’s okay to sit with your sadness. To mourn your dead idols & long lost friends. & all the ache you carry with you. Remember it & then release it. Then pour yourself another cup of coffee & dance in the ashy March light.

—Jessie Lynn McMains (Pussy Magic // March 2019)

[starrypawz]

ooooh I love these prompts!! Mamihlapinatapei!

Unusual Word Prompts AO3

Some minor references to alcohol, otherwise have some good old fashioned yearning, obsessing over hands and food as a love language content

If you could ever describe hunting a Leitner as routine, this was it.

The book (Spiral aligned from what limited information Gerry had found. Similar limited information claimed that for victims of the book the line between the real world and the fantasy universe within blurred and something about dragons, maybe?) had been tracked down to a small bookshop.

And as it turned out the owner didn’t really know anything about the value of obscure out of print fantasy novels. (Or much about fantasy novels in general, Romances on the other hand) They’d be more than happy to hand it over for the princely sum of fivr quid and he’d also left the shop with a good deal on a few hardback Discworlds he didn’t have.

More importantly, no other “interested parties” had interfered once he and Nemo had left the shop and in a convenient nearby alleyway it had easily taken to his lighter.

Gerry had sighed with relief, hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat as he stomped the smouldering book out under his combat boot before he toed the ashy remains to check it’s been burned to his standards.

“Done?” “Done” “That was … easy?”

“I know?” Gerry had grinned and Nemo had tried not to think too hard about that grin, “That hardly ever happens,” He’d chuckled and Nemo had also tried not to think too hard about that chuckle.

“So…” Nemo had shoved their hands into their hoodie pockets, “What do you want to do now? “Saw what could be a good pub around the corner,”

“We could,” Gerry had shrugged, “Or we could go back to yours and I could cook you something?”

Nemo had snorted “You? Cook?” and raised an eyebrow

“What?” Gerry had feigned shock, “You don’t think I can?”

“I…” Nemo had paused, caught their lip, “What do I get if I say yes?”

“I can cook a pretty good spag bol if I say so myself,”

“Spag bol huh?” Nemo had grinned, “Homemade sauce?”

Gerry had chuckles, toed his boot into the gravel, “Not quite there yet, Tesco Finest?”

“Tesco Finest?” Nemo had tutted, “Not Waitrose?”

Gerry snorted, “I think they’d kick me out if I stepped in there,”

Nemo had cleared their throat, “The Daily Mail reports that Mavis Barker-Finch, sixty-eight, recently retired who lives in a house in Kensington worth one quarter of a million pounds had a terrifying encounter last night at her local Waitrose where she saw an awfully suspicious ruffian in the pasta aisle,”

“Exactly,”

“Alright you’re on,”

Nemo now sits on the kitchen counter. Watches as Gerry makes short work of a pepper with a knife that doesn’t match the other knives.

But then none of the kitchen knives in here match anyway.

But that seemed to be the overall theme of this kitchen. The various utensils that had been gathered so there was a chance a particularly determined person could at least make an attempt at cooking were largely mismatched. Some of the originals had been lost in the line of duty such as the spatula that had nobly lost it’s life early on in the stir fry incident of Fresher’s Week (Which had also proved that yes don’t worry this house had a functioning fire alarm)

Gerry gives out a pleased noised seemingly satisfied with his handiwork and reaches for a tomato. (There’d been a brief debate in the vegetable section about if there were tomatoes in the fridge, and if so which one of Nemo’s housemates claimed ownership of said tomatoes or if they were communal tomatoes and actually lets play safe and no we probably don’t have basil)

Gerry turns back, tomato in hand to find Nemo swiping a piece of pepper.

“Hey!”

“What?” Nemo grins as they swallow it quicker than he can react, “I’m just checking,”

“And?”

“Seems fine,” Nemo sticks their tongue out, “It’s a pepper at least,” “Good,” Gerry chuckles and smiles and Nemo tries not to think too hard about it and turns their attention to watching Gerry dice a tomato.

“You know… you guys should sharpen your knives,” He doesn’t look up, “I mean this works but it’s not very sharp,” He pauses, “Sharper knives are actually safer,” “They are?”

“Yeah,” Gerry keeps working and Nemo finds their attention keeps drifting to his hands. It’s not the first time Nemo’s noticed his hands. He has… nice hands is that weird to think? “You need less pressure with a sharp knife, which means it’s less likely to slip-”

“Right,”

There’s a little nudge at the back of Nemo’s brain that reminds them that they did actually know that.

But then most of their attention seems to be on his hands as they watch how even with a slightly blunted knife he makes easy work of the tomato. And not for the first time Nemo notices his hands are slender, long fingers that in some other life would only be intended for touch soft things and be used for delicate tasks.

Some of the black nail polish has chipped since Nemo painted his nails for him a few nights ago. They’d spend the evening cuddled up closer to each other than strictly necessary under the same blanket and Gerry had been making fun of some low budget horror movie they’d found in the local Blockbuster whilst sharing a two litre bottle of coke and a bag of Cadbury buttons. And Nemo had maybe spend a little more time holding onto his hands than strictly necessary as they had worked. He’d been wearing a couple of rings today that Nemo had noticed he fiddles with sometimes and for now they sit in the pocket of Nemo’s jeans for safe keeping. There’s a faint red mark around his pale wrist where he’s kept a hairtie all day and said tie is now keeping his hair which almost hits his shoulder blades now off the back of his neck.

Nemo finds they keep noticing small details like that. Like the faint marks on his hands that show that in this life that his hands don’t only get to touch soft things and be used for the delicate tasks they seem designed for. And how they’ve cleared the blood and grime from his hands more than once by this point.

Nemo’s thoughts then shift to how his hands have felt in theirs and they’ve lost track already of how many times they’ve held his hand by this point and how when they were in the Tesco earlier their fingers had brushed and he’d wound his around there and-

And-

Nemo blinks a couple of time as they find him holding a diced piece of tomato near their face.

He chuckles “Check this for me?”

Nemo chuckles back and takes it from his fingers although for a brief impulsive moment they think of taking it from his fingers with their mouth.

Nemo swipes a few more pieces of tomato and pepper whilst Gerry works. With a grin he offers Nemo a slice of mushroom which they turn down.

Gerry then grins and eats it himself and Nemo pulls a disgusted face.

“You ate mushrooms last night,” Gerry sighs.

“Yeah, cooked,” Nemo prods him.

Gerry chuckles and Nemo tries not to think about how it makes their heart flip a little when he does that, “Fill the kettle up for me?”

The hob was a bit temperamental and Nemo had to show Gerry the trick to get the back left burner working, the extractor fan had complained a lot but did it’s job of making sure the fire alarm didn’t go off and the lid on the jar of sauce proved to be a bit stubborn and Gerry had found Nemo sneaking shredded cheese from the bag whilst he was distracted but before long the pair of them sit at the kitchen table, maybe closer than strictly necessary.

“Can’t believe you held out on me like that,” Nemo playfully tuts as they put their cider down. (There’d been a brief debate about if they should’ve brought wine, but as traditional as it was it was decided neither of them like wine enough to commit to the experience thatmuch)

“Hey got to keep a little bit of mystery right?” Gerry grins back over the top of his can.

Nemo lifts their can, “Prince of Darkness, artiste, music aficionado, paranormal expert and master chef,”

“Yeah,” Gerry’s chuckle short and sharp, “Real Renaissance man me,”

“So how long have you kept that up your sleeve?”

Gerry squirms in his chair a little, feels his cheeks warming for reasons he suspects but doesn’t want to unpack a little at the soft little smile Nemo gives him not to mention the praise “Couple of years, realised man can’t live on pot noodles alone you know?”

Nemo chuckles.

“Like I knew how to boil an egg and stuff like that you know,” Gerry swallows, “I could manage to not set the kitchen on fire,” He snorts as Nemo giggles, “Yeah I know me not wanting to set something on fire right?” Swallows and rubs the back of his neck, not sure why he feels so self conscious about admitting to this “Anyway I just… started teaching myself you know got left alone more often so why not right?” Gerry shrugs. He chuckles swallows again and looks at Nemo, pale blue eyes soft and cheeks slightly pink, “You’re… actually the first person I’ve cooked for?”

“Really?”

“Didn’t do too bad right?” Gerry chuckles.

“You did great,” Nemo smiles, “I don’t think anyone’s cooked for me before,” Nemo catches their lip, “I mean as in not anyone I’m related to, and I guess here before you know-” Nemo shakes their head and sighs, “I-”

“I know what you mean?” Gerry pauses, “I think?” “Good I’m glad one of us does,” Nemo smiles, “I mean feel free to cook for me anytime,”

“Oh the spag bol was just the start,” Gerry grins, “I’m a dab hand at veg curry too,”

Nemo’s eyes widen, “You make the curry I’ll buy the samosas?”

“Deal,”

“Got dinner for tomorrow too,” “Yeah,” Gerry laughs, “Haven’t quite learned the art of portioning out pasta,”

“Don’t think anyone’s quite learned that,”

[deluxewhump]

True North Part Three: Proof of Life 

(part two)

CW: captivity, kidnapping, fictional warfare, military, insurgents, aftermath of whipping, nausea/dizziness, food, thirst, knife, intimate whumper, knife under chin threat, dubcon face shaving, dubcon touch, scars, fictional politics, talk of ransom, proof of life video, executions and torture, vague reference to slave auctions, guns, referenced child death (both fictional and historical)

***

Samir was kept in the kitchen the night after his whipping. 

He slept on the hard table in short bouts, unable to tell what time it was or how long he had left to wait. The glow coming from under the door told him they had kept a fire burning low, and he hoped wherever Charlie was that he was warm, and that no one had hurt him. 

The thought of Charlie’s language barrier with these men made him even more afraid for him than he was for himself. It was alienating, it made them see him as even more of an outsider. 

He thought bitterly of base, when he’d tried to improve Charlie’s very limited vocabulary in the southern tongue, sitting on bunk beds opposite one another. 

Hello. Friend. My name is, etc.

Charlie had taken notes in his Moleskine, an object that seemed as much a part of him as these mens’ Kalashnikovs. 

“How do I say ‘don’t shoot’?” He had half-joked. Samir had rolled his eyes at him. 

Sometime in the long night it’d occurred to him they’d gotten bad intel. Which meant the army had bad intel, and other people might be in as nightmarish a situation as they were. The roads they’d deemed safeguarded and passable had been compromised, and someone had made very sure that bad information had been handed along.

He was sure the insurgents were hoping to kidnap a doctor, a sergeant, a few soldiers. They’d gotten a low-rank volunteer from First Light instead, and a fairly established, well respected journalist from Los Angeles. If either of them was the jackpot for their kidnappers, it was Charlie.

Partially from exhaustion and partially to escape the deep, relentless burn from the whip wounds, he fell into uneasy sleep.

In the morning, his whole body ached. He thought back to his routine run just three mornings ago, how nothing had hurt, how his feet had hardly needed to touch the earth. Now, his back not only burned but itched and stung on the surface against the dressings. He was stiff, cramped. He whimpered pitifully into the scratchy wool blanket that was his pillow, startled when someone tsked in response.

“There’s no cryin’ out in the boonies, soldier.”

His head snapped up. One of the men had entered silently, completely under his radar, and was leaning up against the counter, watching him. He was tall, somewhere in his thirties, with pale eyes and ashy hair. He had a long, smooth scar down his chin that skipped his neck and continued on his collarbone, disappearing beneath his army green jacket. Samir noticed that his bore next to no insignia. He was chewing a piece of dried meat, tearing if off in inch long chunks with his front teeth.

“Chill, pal,” He said around a mouthful. “I’m Iago. I’ve been unfairly punished with breakfast duty today. Your friend... not very chatty, is he?”

Samir pushed himself onto his elbows, wincing at how it stretched and moved his torn skin. “He doesn’t speak the language,” he rasped, realizing how horribly thirsty he had become since the last bout of sleep. “Please… don’t hurt him.”

“Jeeze,” Iago made a face. “I didn’t hurt anybody. I just said he’s kinda grumpy. Here.” He pulled his canteen from his side and offered it to Samir. Cautiously, keeping his eyes on this stranger, Samir took the canteen and tilted it to his lips. He drank deeply, uncaring that some spilled down one corner of his mouth and wet the front of his bare chest. Iago watched patiently until he was finished.

“Aaaaand,” he said, turning to a wooden bowl behind him and producing an egg. “Breakfast.”

Samir took inventory of his stomach, realizing it felt a bit queasy, and very empty. “I don’t know if… I don’t feel too good,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, well I got orders,” Iago said, tapping the egg with the blunt edge of a knife he pulled from his belt. “Feed and water both of you, that’s what the boss said.”

“Achille?”

Iago laughed. “Is it that obvious? Don’t tell him that.” He peeled the egg, which appeared to have been hard boiled. “Fresh from the coop. Eat.”

Samir took the egg in his fingers, bit the top gingerly. The yolk was a deep orange, and his stomach suddenly felt more hungry than sick. He wolfed down the rest in two bites. “Where are you keeping Charlie?”

Iago tilted his head at him. “I never met a captive who asked such dumb fuckin’ questions, you know that? Where are we keeping…” he scratched his temple with the tip of his knife. “I thought your friend must be pretty stupid coming here not speaking a goddam word, but you aint much brighter, are you?”

He’s braver than five of you combined, Samir thought stubbornly, but let his head drop back to his makeshift pillow. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” he said dully. 

“Anytime, little soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

Iago pushed off the counter and approached the head of the table. He had strong, high cheekbones, a prominent adam’s apple. He smelled sharply of sweat and something else, horses or some other livestock. He placed the tip of his knife under Samir’s chin, tilted his head upward. 

Fear seized his heart. It seemed to live there now, ever since he and Charlie’s jeep had been blocked on the road three days before.

“Are you sure? You look like one of them pissant grunts they send to scout. You’re boo-hooin’ like one, too. ” Iago grinned down his nose.

Samir swallowed and felt the cool, flat side of the knife blade, the same knife that had just cracked his breakfast for him. “I’m a volunteer,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. 

Iago’s eyes narrowed with pleasure. He tilted the knife thirty degrees, back to flat. 

He won’t hurt me. He had orders to feed us breakfast...He’d surely get in trouble… 

But Samir wasn’t sure what sort of hierarchy actually existed among these men. They were outlaws. They dealt in terror and violence, in no official capacity but their own. His heart beat like a hammer in his ribcage. His wounds ached with every pulse.

“You heard of Bones? Lots of people have.”

Did he mean the one with the whip? Bones, who’d stuck his finger into his back and made him scream?

“He’s pretty famous, I guess. He’s got different nicknames. Sledge. The Butcher. We like Bones coz… well, you’ll see soon enough I suppose.”

Samir’s frantic mind made a tenuous connection, a moment of realization like a slap in the face. Somewhere in the late night articles his mother had sent him was the mention of an executioner, an ex prison guard who had joined forces with the southern insurgents and had a reputation for grisly methods.

It was something Charlie would have covered sparingly, and tastefully, with a strong focus on the victims. What was it they called him? The Southwoods Butcher? Could that truly be the one who whipped him yesterday?

“You do know,” Iago grinned widely. “Course you do. You just forgot, like it was a spooky old fairytale. Had nothing to do with you, did it?” He leaned closer, relishing Samir’s fear like a sweet perfume. “I seen the way he looks at you. And I don’t envy you one bit.”

“Iago,” came a voice from the door. 

Achille. 

The blade slipped out from under Samir’s chin, found its sheath in a second. Iago straightened up, chin high. 

“Are you finished with what I asked?”

“Both have eaten. And had water.”

“Thank you. Give me a minute with this one.”

The men switched places and Iago left as quietly as he had come. Achille set several objects on the counter. 

Samir breathed deeply through his nose, willing his heartbeat to come back down, trying not to recall the grisly details from what he’d read in those long ago articles on his laptop, safe at home in Rio Rancho. 

“We need to walk, sooner than later. Tomorrow, maybe.” Achille said, not bothering to address the knife that had just been tucked under his captive’s chin. “I need to make sure you’re able to.”

“Or you’ll shoot me?” he asked almost hopefully, with images of gruesome, medieval executions in his head like a movie reel.

Achile laughed under his breath. “Two days and you’re testing me? This is why I had a take-no-prisoners policy.”

“What happened to it?” Samir winced as Achille lifted up the dressing to peek at his wounds.

“Business is too good,” he replied. “Your government has already tried to contact us about the two of you. It’s like they’ve got nothing better to do than chase after strays.”

Of course they had, he thought with a tiny flicker of hope, deep down like a pilot light. It was the morning of day three. First Light would have found their jeep by now, reported it to the embassy, and up the chain it went. It might have been picked up by the news back home, especially with a journalist for a victim.

He thought of his mother hearing the news, of his two sisters. That made him want to curl up and sob with guilt and grief, so he pushed it forcefully to the back of his mind, where the heavier things lived and gave him his bad dreams at night. 

At least he didn't have children to think of. Charlie had three.

“Your back looks fine, for now. I need a video of you and Charles, before any negotiations can take place. I have faith you both will cooperate.”

A proof of life video, Samir thought. To show them we aren’t already dead. 

Achille retrieved the objects he’d brought from the counter, unfolding a shining straight razor in his hands.

Samir paled.

“Easy, now," Achille said. "I want you looking respectable. Looked after. Makes us look good. Can you sit up?”

Achille ended up helping him when he struggled, grabbing an elbow and pulling him to a sitting position, legs hanging off the side of the table. His wounds throbbed with the change of position, nearing unbearable again. Tears sprang to his eyes. Achille was a gentleman and ignored them. 

He wet Samir’s face and neck, tilted his chin up with two fingers. He had a small can of shaving cream, and used it more sparingly than Samir would have back at base, or home. 

“You can breathe,” Achille reminded him, trying to hide his amusement. “Cutting your throat would be an expensive mistake on my part.”

“I can shave myself, you know,” he whispered. 

“Handing you a straight razor might be an even worse mistake than cutting your throat.”

Fair. 

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing steadily. Achille began, dragging the blade over his cheek in sure, precise strokes. The intimacy was horrible, inescapable. He thought Achille could surely hear his heart, every time his breath caught or wavered.

“You know who you look like, don’t you?” He asked, voice low as if he might be overheard.

Samir didn't’ dare speak with the blade so close to his mouth. 

“Well, if he’d been allowed to live long enough to grow into a man,” Achille added darkly. 

Samir’s mind grasped at straws, but this time came up with nothing. He found it hard to concentrate on anything but his captor holding a blade to his throat. Achille flicked the blade free of shaving cream, right onto the floor, tilted Samir’s face gently back so he could get under his chin. 

He was hot all over, overwhelmed by their close proximity.

“You look strikingly like Prince Alexei, is all.”

Alexei? He knew of the slaughtered Tsarevich, but that was over a century ago, a world away. What Prince?

“Never heard of him, have you?” Achille pressed, but his voice was soft. He tilted Samirs chin the other way, scraped the blade upwards.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. They did their best to erase the entire thing from the world’s memory. Further proof that it worked.”

Samir stayed silent, lips pressed firmly together. Achille titled his head back to a normal angle by the temples. He looked him over, closed the razor against his leg once he was satisfied. “Alright,” he said. “I won’t make you move. I'll bring Charles in here and we’ll film against the far wall. And Samir?”

Samir met his captor’s eyes.

“You’re going to be addressing your family in this, as much as your government. Your mother, your father. I’ll tell you what we want you to say, but the more compelling you can make it, the wider the public appeal, the better for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He felt a little dizzy, a little surreal. “Achille?”

“Hmm.”

“Was your father a solider, too? In the Old War?”

He was too bold, he knew it, but Achille had yet to cuff him on the head for it, or express that he should only speak when spoken to. His face remained calm, his mouth a thin line.

“My father was a librarian.” He said, and turned to gather his things.

[thiswasinevitableid]

88. I dropped my watch in an open grave, jumped in to get it, and while you were visiting your dead grandmother, you saw me climbing out of the grave (credit to @enchantedcass)

Indruck, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here it is! This is technically SFW, though there's some discussion of sex and a bit of steaminess at the end.

“Here, these are fresh.” Indrid sets the wildflowers on the small, stone marker, so covered with moss and worn with age that no one can read it. He only knows where to find her because he watched from the Barrens as she was put in the ground.

Temperance Leeds. His grandmother, the one who narrowly avoided accusations of witchcraft, the only human who ever set foot deep enough in the trees to bring him food, to drape blankets over his shaking shoulders. She never forgot him, and he shall return the favor as long as he lives.

There’s a thump of earth behind him and he whirls; it’s midnight in a graveyard, who could possibly be here? The ghosthunters usually wait for darker nights to come. In his periphery, a hand rises from an open grave.

Great, if the dead rise he’ll probably be blamed for that too.

“Fuck” A young man pulls himself from the grave, staring at his cell phone, “c’mon, please don’t be fuckin cracked.” Light illuminates his face and sighs, “thank fuckin christ.”

The light disappears and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the dark. Indrid, too caught up in working out why he’s in the ground, hasn’t bothered to hide as he should. The human notices.

“Uh. I. Uh. Dropped my phone checkin the time. I, uh, definitely wasn’t smokin in the off limits, uh, fuck, graveyard I, uh, I fuck, promise I’ll clean up my beer bottles I mean, uh, fuck.” He scratches the back of his neck, “please don’t call the cops?”

“Can you see me?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Yeah?”

“And you are worried about me alerting the police?”

“I mean, guess we’re both breakin the rules but I kinda figured you were staff here because of the clothes.” He gestures to the ensemble Indrid cobbled together from clothes lines.

Indrid stands, stretches his wings, flicks his tail and watches the human slowly notice the color of his eyes and the outline of his horns.

“Fuck. Look, man, whatever you are, I swear I won’t tell, I’m just tryin to keep busy, please, my folks are already worried about me-”

“I’m not going to harm you.” Lightning cracks through the sky, flashing his shadow across the frightened human, “I just wanted you to see me clearly.”

Rain patters on the leather of his wings. The man looks up at the sky, face seeming even younger as it fills with resignation. Indrid recognizes it’s source.

“You have nowhere to go, do you?”

“No. I, uh, decided I wanted to get outta town and never come back, made it as far as here before I ran outta money.”

Indrid offers his hand, watches the man’s face zero in on the claws, “You may spend the night with me, if you wish. My home is a ways into the woods, but it is dry and warm.”

“Okay.” The young man replies softly, letting Indrid help him up as the dirt turns to mud. Indrid shelters him as best he can with a wing until they reach the cottage. Indrid kneels by the fireplace, lumps kindling into a pile as the young man sets his backpack on a chair.

“Nice place. Gotta admit I was expectin somethin more dilapidated. On account of the whole, uh, y’know.” He gestures to Indrid’s horns and cloven feet.

“It was much like you expected, once upon a time. But a human named Arlo Thacker took pity on me and helped me build it with the aid of a few friends. There.” The fire flickers merrily, “that should keep us warm. You may--ah, what are you doing?”

The young man has removed his jacket and shirt, revealing what Indrid recognizes from human magazines as a sports bra. His hands are now on the fly of his jeans.

“You said I was supposed to, uh, spend the night with you?”

“Yes, in that you may sleep here to be safe from the weather and any who might wish you harm. Not so that you may keep me warm. So to speak.”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?”

Indrid flicks his tail, surprised, “You would offer yourself to me, looking like this?”

The man nods in a way that suggests he’s run a calculus in his head and decided Indrid’s desire was less abhorrent than some other option. Indrid crosses the small living room, bringing them face to face. He reaches out a hand, runs his claws through black hair until the human closes his eyes. Then his hand slides to cup his cheek, one nail tracing fond little shapes on the skin as the man sighs. Against his better judgement, he tilts his head down to nose the dark locks; smoke lingers there, just as alcohol hangs on his breath. He’s so warm, so willing and so very soft. Indrid wants nothing more than to undress him further, carry him to his cozy bedroom and discover what sounds come when he fits their bodies together.

“What’s your name?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

“A charming one. But no, Duck, I will not take such advantage of you. I may be called a devil, but I do not believe in making one trade their body for basic kindness. Come along, the bedroom will allow you more privacy.”

“Thanks.” Duck sways, and Indrid senses a weariness he’s not certain a good nights rest will fix. Tomorrow he will be sure to be gone when Duck awakens, leaving his dry clothes and a map back to town outside his door so that he can do what Indrid can dare to; leave the Barrens and find a life waiting for him in the world beyond.

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

There are some days when Duck thinks his encounter in the woods was a dream. The hand-drawn map he keeps folded among his books tells him otherwise.

He’d come home after that night, made his peace with Kepler for a few years more, and often awoke from dreams where he was pushing through brush in pursuit of a strange shadow. He never cites these as a reason for his taking a job at a state forest in New Jersey that includes the Barrens.

Now, he’s decided to upgrade from his apartment to a house in the woods that’s been listed for over two years and is a goddamn steal because of that.

“As you can see, there’s another residence across the clearing; that’s why the company that built this lovely dwelling was able to do so. They intended to build a nice little community here.”

“The fact that ain’t happened got anythin to do with the reason I gotta stay the night before I make an offer?”

Ned’s smile falters, “Indeed, dear boy. I like you, so I’ll be forthcoming; we’ve never seen anyone in the other house. But they have most certainly seen us.”

Duck settles in for an uneventful afternoon and evening, reads his book and considers whether he could fit some windowboxes on the house for garden space. It’s not until it’s pitch black outside that it starts; footsteps on the roof, followed shortly by red eyes peering in through the living room window.

He opens the front door, the undergrowth rustling hurriedly to his left.

“Uh, hey there. You may not remember me but, uh, we’ve actually met before. About ten years ago. You uh, you let me stay the night?”

Only some crickets, unaware of the tension in the air, reply to him. Then the bushes grow two, ruby red flowers.

“Duck?”

“Yep. Y’know, you never told me your name. If we’re gonna be neighbors, feels like I oughta know what to call you.”

A shadow moves from the trees, stopping when it reaches the light spilling from the windows. He’s as Duck remembers him; short horns sprouting from a mop of silver hair, claws on his fingers and black wings folded on his back. His skin is a swirl of ashy grey and ember red. And his face, while striking, is human. That was the part that always tripped Duck up; the Jersey Devil was always drawn with a goat or horse face, making him question whether that’s who he met all those years ago.

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Nice to see you again, Indrid.”

The other man smiles, and Duck knows what will replace the mad hunt through the brush in his dreams, “Likewise.”

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

“You know, she had three more children after me. None of them suffered the same curse.” Indrid kicks idly at the long decayed remains of his family home. Their nightly walk brough them close to it this time around, and Duck had been curious. His interest is never prurient or morbid; Duck wants to get to know Indrid, not his legend.

“That fuckin sucks.”

Indrid chuckles, “I do enjoy how you put things so plainly.”

“I’m serious, what kind of folks put their kid out when it’s a baby? I mean, mine weren't always the fuckin parents of the year but at least they understood lookin after me was part of the deal.”

“It was a different time.”

“Fine, but I’m still judgin the hell outta them.”

Indrid looks fondly down at the human, “That’s as fair a fate for them as any.”

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

“It don’t weird you out?” Juno indicates Indrid’s house from where she and Duck are sitting on his front porch. The twin Adirondack chairs are a new addition, as the warmer months mean he and Indrid spend ample time trying to see the stars through the treetops.

“Nah. Indrid’s a real good neighbor when he’s around. He’s uh, from an old family so he don’t gotta work. Part of why he keeps such weird hours.” Duck wishes he could introduce them; it’d be nice for the three of them to have dinner before Juno heads south again. But Indrid has several centuries of shitty human encounters that dig under his skin like splinters, and Duck will never push him to ignore that pain. Besides, there will be other visits.

The summer and fall pass in much the same ways last winter and spring did. Duck works in the park, visits friends in town, runs errands, and generally goes about all the mundane moments that make up a life. Then he spends his evenings in one of the two cottages, or walking alongside Indrid on long-overgrown pathways.

The hardest part of it all is not mentioning Indrid in every single conversation; Duck is already tempting disaster being unable to lie and the neighbor of a cryptid. He doesn’t want to also drive his friends up the wall talking about said cryptids art, or his laugh, or the little herb garden Duck is helping him grow.

They’re in the stretch of days between Christmas and New Year, and Indrid has just finished opening the gift Duck brought him; a thick, soft sweater that Duck stitched a “I” into the front of along with a few little pine tree patches. Indrid smiles at him and notices that Duck’s sweater is done in a similar fashion (in fact, everyone in the Newton family wears one like this). The grin turns bashful and Indrid rubs his cheek against the fabric.

“Thank you, Duck. I, ah, I’m sorry I do not have anything to give you. Holidays are not my strong suit.”

“Just gettin to see you is enough.” Duck stands to refill his tea, Indrid’s gaze caressing his back as he moves through the room. He almost hadn’t gone home, had offered to stay and keep Indrid company. But his friend insisted, reminding him that while it felt odd to be without each other, they both had spent plenty of time apart and been fine. All the same, when he got home yesterday Indrid was knocking on his door before he even put his bag down.

Duck didn’t mind at all. No more than he minds when Indrid sleeps with his head in his lap or strokes his hair while they read on the couch.

The cryptid stokes the fire as the snow gives way to sleet, streaking the windows with icy drops.

“Goodness, what a frigid night.”

“No kiddin.” Duck sets his mug down, turns just as Indrid gets to his feet, “can’t say I mind, kinda reminds me of the night we met.”

The colors of Indrid’s skin make a blush difficult to spot, but Duck’s learned which dip of his head and quirk of his lip means it’s there.

“‘Drid? Did you ever think about that night? Because I did. I, uh, I do.”

“Yes.” Indrid’s tail twitches.

“What do you think about?”

“I, ah, I...you first.”

Duck crosses the creaking floorboards, looking up into red eyes, “I think about how safe it felt when you brought me here. How when I woke up, I felt like this was some kinda weird sign, that I needed to rethink some things and that’s how come I went home, which turned out to be a good call. And” he smirks, “I think about how I was drunk and desperate enough to ask the fuckin Jersey Devil if he was gonna fuck me.”

Indrid blushes once more, studies the ground as Duck touches his shoulder, “I must say that is the part that dominated most of my thoughts. Not right away; for the first few weeks when I thought of you I only hoped you were alright. Then I would let myself imagine that I had been devilish indeed.”

Gently, Duck raises Indrid’s hand and cradles his cheek with it as they did that night, “What would you have done, devil of mine?”

A snicker, “I will answer that only if you tell me whether you are angling for the demonstration that I think you are.”

“Damn right.” He closes his eyes, heart swelling and skin prickling as Indrid steps closer and nuzzles the top of his head.

“I would have asked if you were tired of running. If you wanted a home. And would you like to make it here, so that we could keep each other company. I know in my heart this would have been a selfish offer. I am glad I did not make it, did not trap you here, resign you to a fate that was not what you would have chosen freely.”

“I’m pretty fuckin free these days.”

“And that all on it’s own fills me with joy. But yes, there were nights where I wished I’d been selfish.”

Duck tips his head up, brushing their noses together, “Say you made that offer and I accepted. What then?”

Indrid cups his face with both hands. The kiss is chaste, Indrid sighing against his lips as he twines his claws in his hair. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, lightly teasing the edge of one wing.

“Then” Indrid murmurs, “I’d carry you to bed.”

“Yeah, that part woulda been easier when I was seventeEEN” he laughs as Indrid scoops him into a bridal carry with ease. He’s never been in Indrid’s bed, so he giggles again when he discovers it’s ten times squishier than his own. The cryptid sinks onto it with him, guiding him so they’re face to face on their sides.

“May I undress you?”

“Knock yourself out, darlin.” Affection deep and warm as a thermal spring wells up in him as Indrid carefully removes his sweater and shirt before dainty setting his claws to work on his fly. When Duck is down to his boxers, hunger enters Indrid’s eyes for the first time.

“Oh you are divine.” One hand strokes his leg, pausing at the crease of his thigh each time it reaches there. The other curves along his belly up to his chest before caressing his face, the black claws making his skin seem oddly pale and very fragile in comparison.

Duck touches the hem of Indrid’s shirt and the cryptid freezes.

“‘Drid? Is this okay?”

“Do you...truly wish to see me unclothed?”

Duck surges forward to kiss him as he rucks up his shirt, the movement a sufficient answer for Indrid to raise his arms and let him pull the sweater and battered shirt beneath it away. His skin here is the same swirl of colors as the rest of him, but there’s a dusting of peach fuzz fur across it. It’s delightful under Duck’s tongue, though the little keen of pleasure from Indrid is even better.

“It’s strange” Indrid traces hearts and zig-zags with his claws along Duck’s sides as the human continues kissing his chest and neck, “I thought that seeing you like this would so overwhelm me with need that I’d beg to have you this instant. But it seems I feel much the same way I did in my fantasies of that night.”

“Oh” Duck reaches up to toy with the base of a horn and Indrid groans happily before continuing.

“Had you stayed, knowing you were now mine, I’d have taken my time. Nestled you under the blankets, opened you up on my tongue until you were weak from pleasure. That way it would be easy to take you when I was ready. Perhaps on your back, so you had me to hold onto if you needed. Or on your belly, so you would be even more sheltered from the cold, cruel world by my body and wings. And I’d stay there for hours, make up for decade after decade of touch starvation by glutting myself on your young, willing body.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid.” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, “christ that’s a fuckin good image.”

“Mmmm” the cryptid licks his cheek, “it is, isn’t it. But since you are not going anywhere, and we are not limited by the confines of my imagination, I am even less inclined to rush. Will you indulge me with just kisse tonight?”

Duck brushes silver hair from his forehead, planting a kiss there when he’s done, “Of course.”

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

The morning brings several feet of snow and announcement that those who can stay in their homes and shelter from the ongoing storm should. The pines drop heaps of white across the ground, and frost makes the windows so icy it’s better to draw the curtains and stay curled up in the dark.

Duck doesn’t mind at all.

[five-hxrgreeves]

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,467

Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not You live for the fight when it's all that you've got Woah, we're half way there Woah, livin' on a prayer Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

1  | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Pt. 5- The Road to Hell... 

Five Hargreeves has never claimed to be a people person. Even growing up surrounded by six other kids, he preferred to lock himself in his room and work on equations than actually interact with them aside from what was mandatory. That didn’t mean he didn’t care for them- because he did, at least where Six and Seven were concerned- he just liked his space and it was in this space that he discovered his potential for time travel.

When he’d first broached the subject with his father he’d been promptly shut down leading to one of their many quarrels and another punishment. That was not enough- never enough- to deter him from pursuing something on his own, though. He was smart enough to figure it out without help. The boy also made sure word of it never got out to his siblings; most wouldn’t care and think that he was just rubbing it in like the cocky way he usually did but Six would give him worried, warning glances and Seven would try to talk him out of it in her own shy, quiet way.

It was best to keep this to himself.

He’d been practicing his special jumps for years now and had advanced in leaps and bounds- literally. While he was still limited to short distances he could do more at once than he ever had before and they were pin-point accurate (he could actually land on the head of a pin if he felt like doing something so ridiculous. He didn’t.) Time travel was just another aspect of his powers, as linear as his jumps were and as straight forward as any equation usually was for him. He’d done the math and it was ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent possible that he would be successful; the point-oh-one was an unnecessary margin of error that he allowed himself just in case. Every mathematician had their occasional inaccuracies.

Five had made sure to repeat the equations over and over, too, to double and triple check his work. Now, he felt ready to present the subject again and have evidence that it could be done. Distantly, he heard the robotic woman they called mother ring the bell, a tradition that signaled their meal was ready. Setting down his chalk, the boy left the room and met his siblings at the stairs, completely silent apart from their footsteps approaching the table. The recording their father liked to listen to, Herr Carlson, was already playing as they stood by their seats waiting for the man himself to arrive.

They sat in number order beginning with Reginald’s seat, with Number One being on the left, Two on the right and so on until the last three; Five was on the left, Six was across from him and Seven at the head.

“Sit!” their father barked and the children followed the command without delay, pulling out their chairs almost in sync as they sat down.

Now that the speaking part of the meal was over, they turned their attention to the various tasks that they did at the table while eating, the recording continuously playing over the sounds of their activities. Five clenched his teeth slightly at the irritating repetitiveness of it all and stared down the table at the man he called his father, watching him take a drink from his cup.

Knowing he wouldn’t get the man’s attention if he tried talking, the boy gripped the handle of his knife and stabbed it directly into the table.

“Number Five?”

“I have a question,” he said coolly.

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No talking during meal times,” Reginald answered, not even sparing a glance up from his plate, “you are interrupting Herr Carlson.”

Irritation prickled along his spine and the boy dropped the utensil roughly against his plate, “I want to time travel.”

“No.”

“But I’m ready,” he responded flatly, “I’ve been practicing my special jumps, just like you said,” he stood and demonstrated, feeling a flicker of pride when he landed right by the man’s elbow.

“See?”

“A special jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel,” he answered, not deigning to look at him, “one is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.”

Five forced himself not to snarl at his father’s terrible explanation. He really hated riddles. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, “well, I don’t get it.”

“Hence the reason you’re not ready,” the man said, as if that was all the answer that was needed. He took another sip from his glass.

Five accidentally looked down the table to where Six and Seven sat, knowing that this would be a surprise to them. He rolled his eyes internally at Seven’s predictable reaction as she shook her head at him, looking slightly fearful. He turned back to his father, “I’m not afraid.”

“Fear isn’t the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even on your mind are far too unpredictable,” he threw his own utensils down and finally looked at the boy, “now, I forbid you to talk about this anymore.”

The boy’s lips curled into a sneer at the thought of someone trying to control his powers when who knew them better than him? Reginald may be their mentor but what did he know about the extent of their abilities?  He turned on his heel and stalked away, ignoring his father’s shouts. He picked up speed as he left the dining room, running, running, running out the door, on to the street.

The fresh air hit his face, spurring him on after the drafty, stale air of the place he called home. Preparing himself for the first jump, he mentally checked his calculations and tore a hole through time.

Around him, the scene changed. The darkness of the evening was replaced by bright sunlight showing a warm, sunny spring. He scoffed, “not ready my ass.”

Fueled by his success, he jumped again, his heart leaping as the scene changed to winter, the previously open buildings changing as they lost business. Adrenaline pumped through him and he wondered exactly how far into the future he could go. What would he see? Predictions from Six’s science fiction books were unlikely but he could still come back and tell his brother all about the future.

He leapt again, blue light shining around him as he created his third portal. The boy suddenly stilled, watching as the familiar sights around him turned to ash and dust, rubble and burning fires stretching as far as the eye could see.

Something akin to terror rose within him. This wasn’t right. How could it be when the world had been so vibrant around him seconds before?

He forced his legs to move, running along the dirt path that stretched on for miles. The sky was a dark, ashy gray that gave away neither time nor date and the falling particles burned his lungs when he breathed causing his breath to shorten rapidly and gasp in his chest.

Five froze outside the familiar building, all grandeur now rubble and fire as he stared up at what was once his home. No. What about his siblings? His family?

“Vanya!” he cried out, forcing himself to be heard over the crackling fire, “Ben! Dad! Anyone!”

No answer came in the nearly silent world despite him looking around wildly for someone, anyone living. He could go back. The answer came to him suddenly on its own accord and hope surged in his chest as he forced his hands into fists, blue shining around them. He pushed against the fabric of time, trying to calculate a way out. Nothing.

“Come on!” he pleaded, he didn’t want to be stuck in this burning hell.

“Shit,” was his next word as his powers failed, sucking away the sudden hope.

His hands dropped and he stared around at the landscape, as desolate as he felt. How was he going to get back? He dropped to his knees in front of the remains of his home- a home that had been whole and filled with life minutes before.

--

Five wasn’t sure how long it had been when he forced himself to pull away. Night would be coming soon and there were other survival things that needed to be done. How had their father known how to prepare them for this?

The thought crossed his mind as he stood, eyes catching sight of a still-standing newspaper holder. He ran over to it and opened the broken glass front, pulling out one of the papers. April 1, 2019 read the date, the headline was one that would be burned into his memory even after years of living in the apocalypse.

Then, he saw the first bodies lying in the rubble. The hand of a man was sticking out of a pile, clearly clutching at something. Five ran over to it and pried the glass orb out of the stiff, cold fingers. He wiped off the red, wet residue on the face of it, revealing a dark brown iris. It was a glass eye.

Still holding it, he followed the arm to a blonde-haired man with a cut next to his eye. Something niggled at the back of his head but he pushed it away. No, it couldn’t be. His siblings were still alive. Of course they were.

He ran to the next pile where a dark-haired man and dark-skinned woman were covered in rubble- both with their eyes closed and covered thickly in the falling ash. His feet skittered in the loose blocks but he made his way towards them, placing his hands on their shoulders and shaking them roughly. Please, he thought desperately, please be alive. Just be asleep.

It was a foolish, naïve thought but he couldn’t push it away.

Farther on, another man with a fur-trimmed coat was lying facedown in the rubble, eyes closed just like the others. Five’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the damning tattoo on the man’s arm: an umbrella inscribed in a circle. The same one all of the Hargreeves children had, except Seven.

There was too much evidence to deny the terrible conclusion that formed in his mind.

--

Five forced the prickling tears at the back of his eyes away. He’d never been a crier; Reginald had beat that out of them at an early age. Still, he hadn’t even recognized his siblings until he’d seen the tattoos that bound them together. Then, he’d added rocks on top of their partially-buried bodies as a makeshift grave. That had been when he’d almost cried, when the last possible sighting of his siblings’ faces had finally been covered. They weren’t really his siblings, though, because he didn’t know them in this timeline. He knew their fifteen-year-old versions, back in 2004. This shouldn’t matter to him.

(It did.)

The boy tilted his head up and stared into the dark sky until his eyes burned for a different reason. Water was going to become a precious commodity; he shouldn’t waste what hydration he had on crying.

Again, he pulled himself away, telling himself it was useless to linger over the dead. He couldn’t help those siblings. (But oh, how he wanted to.) They were somebody else’s family. His were still alive in 2004, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. There was still something he could do about that.

Five turned and walked away, steeling himself to face this strange, new hell.

--

He wasn’t sure what was worse. The dusty, dark days or darker nights. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. There was no sound except for howling wind, the crackling of fire and the creak of the wagon which was piled with necessary items like food cans and a supply of water that he’d found, his best prize.

By now, he’d covered himself entirely to keep the ash from burning his skin, a mask over his face to help his breathing and goggles to protect his eyes. These items were all found by scavenging around the city. He’d left the familiar block of the Academy behind and had begun searching in other buildings. These were more family-styled homes and he occasionally came across the bodies of little kids or parents which caused him to quickly turn away before the little food he’d eaten made its reappearance.

There was still no one who seemed to have escaped whatever disaster had ended the world. He’d been on his own for seemingly days now, not another living soul in sight, just stinking, dead bodies partially or fully covered by rubble. The boy tried not to think about them too much. It wasn’t that they disgusted him- well, the adults didn’t- but living in the world of the dead while he was still living was not a thought that sat comfortably in his mind.

Rubble shifted haphazardly under his hands as he searched for food, the cleared space revealing the short, dark hair of a woman. He moved to another spot immediately, continuing his search. Then, he froze.

Unless his ears were tricking him, there was a tinny bang, bang, bang coming from somewhere. The hits were too evenly spaced to be anything but purposeful. The hope that he’d thought had died suddenly resurged full force and he scrabbled over to the sound, “hello?”

His voice was hoarse and uncomfortably loud. The banging continued, “hello? Is anyone there?” he tried again.

There was no answer except for the continuous hitting sound. He shifted the rubble around on top of where he thought it was coming from until a dark crack appeared between the broken pieces, “hello? Can you hear me?”

The sound was definitely louder now and he made an effort to make the hole bigger, muscles tensing as he prepared for a maybe not-so-friendly encounter.  Then, it was large enough to see inside. The pale, dirty face of a girl looked up at him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the apparent brightness. How long had she been trapped under there? Days? Weeks? It was clearly awhile from how thin her face looked.

Five wasn’t even sure if she was real and he was just imagining the whole thing. He couldn’t help the disbelief that entered his tone as he asked, “what the hell?”

That wasn’t the best response to seeing the first human- alive- that he’d seen in however much time it had been, but like he’d said, he wasn’t a people-person. The girl didn’t respond, eyes still screwed up in a way that made her face look scrunched.

“Here, grab my hand, I’ll help you up,” that was better, he decided, and extended said hand to the girl.

After realizing she couldn’t see it, he grasped her hand himself and startled at how small and bony it seemed. He pulled her out easily and wasn’t surprised to see that the rest of her matched the gaunt face and frail hand.

“Open your eyes,” he tried, “slowly. How long have you been down there?”

The girl shook her head, most likely answering both questions. He sighed and turned, “hold on a second, I’ll get something to help.”

Five returned to his wagon before she could protest and shifted around in his items, pleased when he found another pair of goggles. Stumbling slightly back to her, he placed them in her hand, “here, they’re not sunglasses but they should be better than nothing.”

He watched as she put them on, struggling slightly with the strap until it was secure. Her face relaxed and her eyes opened cautiously. Five tried not to suck in a startled breath. Her pupils were so large only a thin, blue line could be seen around them. It was kind of creepy if he was being honest. Immediately, she shut her eyes again. He didn’t blame her.

“What’s your name?” the boy tried, never one for small talk but knowing it was important.

The girl opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out. She shook her head.

He let out an irritated huff, “fine, then is this your house?”

She nodded, confirming that yes, it was.

“Are there any supplies in your basement?”

Another nod.

“Is there anything I need to know before going down there?”

Again, she nodded, then paused, seemingly trying to get her words to work. When they didn’t, she made an open-close motion.

“Now isn’t the time for charades.” He wanted to tack on moron or some similar insult but he forced himself not to. She wasn’t one of his siblings.

The girl did the motion again and held her cupped hands up to her face, as if she were reading.

“A book, you want me to get a book,” the disbelief was back.

When she nodded vigorously, he sighed, “fine. Where is it?”

The question made her still, uncertain of how to act out the location. Then, she drew a flat, rectangular shape in the air and two smaller ones on top of it. He really hated riddles.

“I don’t get it,” he grumbled, frustrated, “just tell me they’re easy to find.”

The girl nodded again, “fine,” the boy decided, “I’ll get your stupid books. Wait here.��

The darkness didn’t bother him as he descended into the basement. Reginald would never let his adoptive experiments be afraid of something so silly as pitch-blackness. Then, Five’s foot hit something on the bottom step that almost made him loose his balance, “shit!” he cursed, righting himself.

The boy bent down and felt for the obstacle, startling at the waxy feel of a candle. Well, maybe she’s not a complete moron, he allowed. He felt around for matches and soon a small, golden glow lit up the dark space. He was surprised to find the basement completely intact. Then he immediately wrinkled his nose. It stank like hell.

After several minutes of searching, he found the partitioned food in the back storeroom, the paint cans with broken lids and the tools, which he rooted through to find the most useful ones. He was especially pleased when he found a rope. Then, he turned to make his way back to the surface only to pause at the bottom of the staircase. Her stupid books.

Five remembered seeing a desk at the edge of the circle of light so that’s what he went to find. On the surface sat three books: a used notebook and two published authors. He added those to the steadily-growing pile and clambered out messily, fighting to keep his balance as things spilled out of his hands.

Irritation pricked at him when he saw the girl was still standing, unmoving and eyes closed, right where he’d left her. Scratch that earlier thought, he grumbled, she is a complete moron.

After placing the things in the wagon, he made his way back over to her.

“Here,” he said, stuffing the requested items into her arms.

Her facial muscles twitched into what was probably her first smile in days, a sign of gratitude, he knew. He brushed it off, “you better open your eyes, we’re moving.”

She shook her head and his annoyance grew, “well, I’m not guiding you the whole way. There’s too much searching to be done and night will be here soon. You either open your eyes or I’m leaving you here.”

He wouldn’t, he knew. If she was the last human left alive he didn’t want to lose his only source of humanity.

Luckily, that caused her to open her eyes even as her face screwed up in pain. He pursed his lips in displeasure and studied her outfit, “the mask will help but you have to cover up. The ash burns and I don’t have any way of healing you if you get hurt.”

She seemed to be understanding about that and after some difficult maneuvering- and several close calls where he’d had to catch her- they made it to the wagon where he began handing her the extra clothing he’d found.

Once she was set up appropriately, he picked up the handle of the almost-full wagon. The girl tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked shortly.

She handed him the spiral-bound notebook, opened to the first page. On it, in slightly loopy, readable handwriting was the opening sentence: My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004.

[ashiyn]

zombiecleo fancam? zombiecleo fancam.

song: they wanna fuck - kim petras (dont mind the lyrics,, i just liked the beat AHAH)

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 9)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually) 

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk,  spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC. awkwardly written moments. Sexual tension. some NSFW content. Mentions of death,  child endangerment, TW: car crash. 

AUTHORS NOTE: ok so this chapter went a little darkish at the start and then very different at the end. not gonna lie a little bit giddy and proud of this chapter, hope you all enjoy, sorry for the wait between the chapters. would also love to hear any predictions about where the fic may go.

WORD COUNT: 5.5K  

CHAPTER:  9 OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

** **

                                                  ~15 years ago~

“Ashlyn honey, come on, we don’t want to be late ”  her mother, Teressa, yelled out from the bottom of the stairs, laughing softly to herself when she heard the mad rush of footsteps on the wooden floors before seeing her eight year old daughter running towards her with all her might, only to halt army style and stare up at her with wide eyes.  There was not a single soul that could deny the resemblance between the two of them, they shared the striking green eyes and red-brown hair of the Sayer family, both had a boisterous take no shit attitude and the same little quirks and tells when they were upset. Which Teressa could tell was the case with her daughter right this minute.  She reached down and pulled her young daughter into her embrace, balancing her on her hip as she made haste towards their car, “what's wrong baby? What’s got you thinking, hmm?” 

Ash looked up at her mum, teary eyed and mumbled, “I don’t want daddy to get mad at me, I didn’t mean to hit that boy, he just said some mean things about daddy and I got really angry”. Little sniffles were becoming more and more prevalent as she continued talking, try as she might the little girl couldn’t fathom why people would speak bad about her family, they were all so nice!. She clumsily climbed down from her mum's arms and hopped up into her car seat, clipping her belt before pulling on it dramatically to prove that she was actually clipped in. Ash then let out a small gleeful laugh when her mum bopped her on the nose before walking around the car to get into the driver's seat to start on their journey to the principal's office to find out the punishment for the young girls justified behaviour. 

The journey to the school would take longer than necessary, unexpected road closures with no concrete explanations from the officers monitoring the road blocks had forced Teressa to take the back roads and add an extra forty minutes to their already long commute for a Saturday morning. Travelling along generally unused and quiet roads was somewhat of an unusual experience for Ash, having been used to seeing cars passing by every other minute and looking at houses rather than vast open fields. As they passed round a corner, entering a tree lined road with dense forest on either side of them, an unsettling feeling overcame the young mother, there was a strange darkness that clung to the air, setting off alarm bells within. She remained calm as possible as to not alert Ashlynn that something was wrong, as the young girl was far too perceptive for her age, a trait that she had inherited from her fathers side of the family. She glanced back at her daughter, noticing that she was rather quiet, but let out a small sigh of relief when she noted that she had dozed off, head slumped against the panel of the door and her hair covering her face, snoring away softly to herself. It was in this brief moment of distraction that Teressa failed to notice the truck approaching rapidly from behind, when she did she increased her speed well beyond the speed limit, keeping an eye on a sleeping Ash to make sure she didn’t wake up and begin to start asking questions like the curious little thing always did.

As her speed increased the blacked out vehicle behind them only got faster until it was a mere meter behind their car, seeing no other option she pushed the car to its limits, approaching the upcoming intersection at speeds that should terrify her beyond means, but in this moment she was focusing on only one thing, protecting her innocent daughter in the back seat. As she passed through the intersection a scream forced its way from her throat, just through the intersection sat a parked truck blocking the road. Teressa knew she wouldn’t be able to stop in time so she swerved sharply to the right, hearing the screaming of the tires as they went from smooth asphalt to the gravely uneven surface that bordered the edge of the road. The steering of the car locked up, Teressa tried with all her might to get it moving again but was forced to endure the inevitable pain from the collision that was about to happen, with what may be her final words to her daughter she turned to look at Ash, tears filling her eyes when she took in the terrified expression on the young girls’ face, and whispered “I love you baby girl”

When Ash woke up she was sprawled on the grass a few feet from the car, rain was pouring down putting a darker spin on the event occurring. There were people standing around her, albeit a few feet away and semi-huddled together, and something warm was running into her left eye. Reaching up and feeling a thick, sticky substance she pulled her hand down to get a better look, a terrified scream leaving her small body when she noticed her hand washed red with blood. Her scream drew the attention of the people huddled together but they dismissed her without some much as a disgruntled look, they weren’t there for her. Ash glanced around, frightened and searching for her mum, who she found in a heap a meter or so to the left of her. With great difficulty she managed to crawl over to her mum, gathering her head and shaking her when she wouldn’t wake up.

“Mummy please! I’m sorry, no mummy please! Please wake up mummy, I need you” Tears poured from the eyes of the young bruised girl, mixing in with the blood as she desperately tried to wake her mum up. Her little body was exhausted from the effort, shivering from the cold seeping into her bones from the rain, and the toll of the crash began to take effect, she was becoming drowsy, a sure sign of a concussion. Ash felt a small wave of relief was over her when the eyes of her mothers’ met her own, the tears never halted, dripping off her face and landing on the face of her mother, mixing in with the blood that was covering the once beautiful face of her mum, now marred by sliced and bruised flesh.  Her mum pulled her head towards herself, pressing a short but meaningful kiss to her forehead before her body began to go limp.  “Ashy, darling, hold Mumma close for a little while”  the broken voice of her mother rang clear in her ears.

Ash pulled her mums’ head as close to her little chest as possible, crying out and trying with all her might to keep her mum with her till help could arrive. With one last shuddering breath her mother passed, she was gone, no matter how tightly Ash held her. Looking down and seeing the closed eyes of her mother, she panicked, screaming out for the group of people to try and get their attention or at least their help.  “Please help me, my mummy won’t wake up! I need my mummy, please help me!” 

One of the men started towards her, dressed in clothes very similar to that of her father, before coming to a stop before her. He looked over the child thoughtfully, knowing the orders he was given deemed only that the woman be killed and the girl to be delivered to the hospital in a recoverable state, sighing to himself he reached down and hoisted the girl up and made haste towards one of the trucks. 

“Put me down! I want my mummy. Don't take me away from her! MUMMY!!!!”  the girl cried and screamed and beat at the man that was carrying her. She didn't understand. Why was the man taking her away from the one good thing in her life.  Ash watched as the other men made their way towards her mum, before picking her up and beginning to chain her to the tree. One of the men pulled out a large knife which had the young girl screaming at the top of her lungs, “Leave my mummy alone! Just leave her alone you bully! Dont touch her!”  the men just laughed at her, mocking her pitiful cries. She was unceremoniously thrown into the backseat of one of the vehicles, effectively cutting off her view of the men outside.

The young man climbed into the driver's seat, this was his first assignment within the force and he was disgusted by the behaviour of the team. His gaze travelled out the side window just in time to watch the team commander behead the young woman they had just killed, his stomach turned even further when the men began taking turns carving something into the body as they chained her up to the tree and left her there for someone to find. With the signal from his commander he started the car and made haste towards the nearest hospital to get the young, tortured girl seen too as fast as possible, her eyes were drooping and she was beyond pale which scared him. He felt for the young girl, having to go through so much at a young age because of the wrongdoings of her father. 

                                                      ~present~

Ash would never forget the sounds of the crash, the shattering of the glass or the painful scream that left her mothers’ lips the moment before both their worlds went dark that day. The final words of her mother were painfully etched into her memory, a grim reminder of that fateful day, and in tribute to her fallen parent the words “A little weakness goes a long way” were tattooed above her heart, words she stuck to as much as possible. 

**

**

She sucked in a deep breath of air in an attempt to re-center herself with her surroundings and shake off the ghostly shivers of her broken past. She rubbed her hand across her face, wiping away the tears before scoffing out a vacant laugh. “Every damn year, without fail, I get these... these dreams about it ya know?. It’s like I can’t escape my past. I’m constantly thinking ‘what could I have done better, why couldn’t I have been a more grounded child’. If I had just controlled my anger my mum might still be here today” 

The broken sob that left the young soldier had the Colonels’ heart clenching in his chest and his hands tightening on the steering wheel, almost uncomfortably so. He knew all too well the effects blaming oneself had on the mind. There were many things he took the blame for or blamed himself for as an inexperienced officer in his younger days, he would not allow the girl beside him to fall into that trap any longer given there was likely a deeply buried explanation to the event, one he would commit to finding. While keeping a close eye on the road ahead he reached over to wrap Ash’s hand tightly beneath one of his own effectively hoping to silence her racing thoughts and give her something more tangible to focus on. She was one of his own now, a team member that needed to be looked after as thoroughly as possible, but also someone that, dare he say it, was slowly becoming more than that. 

Ash’s head shot up in surprise when she felt the large warm hand grasp her own, it brought a wave of unexpected comfort to her being, warming her to her core. Turning her attention from the hand over her own to the face of the man beside her she gulped. His shoulders were drawn up tight, hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, his jaw was clenched to the point she could have sworn she heard his teeth grinding. His brow has drawn now and his mouth was drawn into a tight line, he was clearly displeased, no, angered by her past she just confessed, the anger that had settled in his deep brown eyes had a chill racing down her spine, it was a look of cold calculation, one she was sure many of has enemies had seen moments before their death. Gathering a small amount of courage she covered his hand with her other and began rubbing small unconscious circles into the side of his thumb, letting a small relieved breath when she saw some of the tension leave his body.

**

**

A short time had passed and they had reached the hospital; the tension had now left Ash’s body, with the weight of telling Carrillo about some of her destructive past now off her shoulders she felt like the awkwardness of the previous week had been all but forgotten. Her now unwavering trust in the man beside her somewhat frightened her, coupled in with the ever growing feelings she knew she was in far too deep. There was a silent agreement between the two of them that Ash would go to the medics while Carrillo would head to the archives to try and find files that would be useful to the team, they would reconvene at the car within the next two hours. 

Upon entering the hospital and being directed to the outpatient clinic Ash was greeted by a very familiar face, “Captain Lisa Ortiz, my god it has been too long”. The smile that graced her face was pure and genuine, seeing a long lost family friend after so long was a relief and a huge shock to the system, but a good one at that. Ash wasn’t even aware that the Captain had returned from deployment, the last time she’d seen the woman was at her graduation parade when Ash had not long turned eighteen. She had grown up down the road from the amazing woman and as it turned out the Captain was now dating her favourite Lieutenant, Lt. Henry O’Connor. 

“My god, little Ashy is that you, come over here girl” Captain Ortiz beckoned her over before wrapping her in a bear hug, she used to babysit the kid when she was a young tot, and furthermore after her mother had passed. Ash’s father, more often than not, would drop her on the Ortiz family doorstep and disappear for weeks on end, she had all but raised this girl and was proud that she had followed her dreams and joined the force. “Right, you, we have some catching up to do, head down to the third room on the right and I’ll be there after I’ve found your files”  she had pointed down the corridor signaling the direction she wanted the 2nd Lieutenant to go, a pleased smile gracing her face when she watched the young thing wander off with a new found bounce in her step. 

Ash was startled from her thoughts when the Captain entered the room before plonking herself down rather ungracefully into the chair beside her. “I read the report Greys, what the fuck! Have they found who did that to you? That's some messed up shit girl, glad you’re ok though kiddo” She reached over and ruffled Ash’s hair not giving her a moment to answer the questions thrown at her before standing up to grab some gloves and some tools to begin removing the younger officers’ stitches.  “Right up on the bed, shirt off, I’m sure by now you’ll be wanting those stitches out”

Ash only nodded, shaking her head with a brief laugh before pulling her shirt over her head and climbing onto the bed like she was asked, she was far to content to do as she was told given how much she trusted the woman before her, she’d admired her since she was a small child and inspired to be like her even now. Lisa began carefully removing the stitches from her side, poking and prodding here and there to make sure she was most definitely healed like she should be, when one particularly hard poke had Ash wincing, she knew the Captain had found the slightly marred skin from where she had pulled those stitches. 

“So...” the Captain began, “I heard a dit Greys. About you, a certain LT. Colonel and then a certain international guest. Care to share?”. 

The shiteating grin that was currently taking up Lisa’s face told Ash all she needed to know. The Captain already knew everything about the whole ‘Sinclair situation’ so there really wasn’t much to tell there, but from what she remembered about the slightly older woman, she always got the answers she wanted, Ash really couldn’t hide anything from her if she tried. “Damn it Lisa, just spit it out, what do you wanna know” she said with a jeering tone, she knew forgoing rank with the Captain wouldn’t drop her in the shit, the benefits of knowing someone since you were five years old. It was funny watching Lisa try and find the right words to say, the furrowing of her brow and the opening and closing of her mouth like a fish out of water nearly had Ash in tears, it was quite the sight.

**

**

“From what I’ve heard the LT. Colonel was a bit of an asshole to you, kid. But I also remember a certain eighteen year old having it bad for him when she attended my graduation parade. I wonder who that could be...” Lisa trailed off with a chuckle. She was sure that by now Ash had all but forgotten about her nagging antics involving the man she no doubt despised nowadays, but it was still a moment of great amusement for the Captain. “Little eighteen year old you just wouldn’t shut up about him. Sinclair this, Sinclair that, honestly kid I'm surprised you never tried to jump that dick near the end of training”  Ortiz paused for a moment, considering something before having a light bulb moment, “Unless it's because of a certain Columbian hunk I’ve heard so much about from some of the medics in your intake...”  She knew she’d hit the jackpot when Ash blushed beet-red from her hairline to her neck. “Awww, does little Ashy have a crush on the big bad Colonel?”

Ash didn’t know what to say, she had honestly forgotten about how she had crushed on the LT. Colonel before she really even knew him, embarrassingly enough her reactions towards him kind of made sense now. She was going to attempt to deny her ever mounting crush on the Colonel she now lived and worked with but given the reaction Lisa had given, she knew she’d been caught out.  “Even after all these years you’re still a gossiping teen” Ash choked out with a laugh, shaking her head with a big smile on her face, “And pffft no, I do not have a crush on anyone. Thank you very much”. Even to her own ears the lie was so evident in her voice, there was definitely no denying she did have a crush on the aforementioned man, but that was despite the point. 

“OH yeah, for sure. Definitely. You sound so sure about that Greys. Come on now, between friends, what's it like living with that god of a man? I’ve only seen some pictures but holy damn girl, if you don’t ride that dick that I’m going to get you sent to the block, because denying that man that would be a crime!” The pure childlike glee that passed through the Captains body at witnessing the utter shock of her words became clear to Ash and had her curling over in laughter. Never in her life has she seen someone look so offended yet also curious at the idea.

“Hey put it this way, if that man is cuffing me. I’ll happily go right to horny jail” Ash huffed out between laughs, god it was good to be around someone who thought like her and wasn’t afraid of talking shit at work, it was gold. It felt good to genuinely laugh with someone she knew and cherished, it had been far too long. 

“Anyway Greys, better get you all wrapped up and sent on your way back to your mans before he gets grumpy and you get told off. Although secretly I’m sure you’d just love that” She walked over to the desk and gathered up some papers that she needed Ash to give to her new Commanding Officer before writing out some prescriptions for more painkillers and nausea meds that she knew would come in handy in the future.  “I need you to give these papers to the Colonel for me” she pointed to the stack tucked into an envelope, “And these ones are for you little lady. Please do keep me posted about that handsome hunk you live with. And don’t let Henry annoy you too much when he gets to the house, I’m sure you’ll have your hands full though. Good luck Greys!”  and with one final tight hug she let the young officer go. Watching her plod down the hallway with a dopey smile on her face. Before she could forget she flicked her partner a text:

To: Future Hubbster

~ baby it seems you’ll have the perfect opportunity to have some fun in your new posting. Our little Ashy-bear has a crush on the Colonel, you HAVE to get them together somehow, we need our girl to be happy.

It was barely a minute later that her phone chimed, reading the message she had to shake her head with a laugh.

From: Future Hubbster

~ God I love you. Permission to make a certain Colonel jealous by any means necessary?

She quickly typed out a reply before hitting send and making her way back to the nurses desk to grab the papers for her next patient. She was sure that whatever her partner would do that it would for sure stir up some shit in the team, one of the many reasons she loved that troublemaker.

To: Future Hubbster

~permission granted, boy scout. Just don’t weird out our little Ashy or get kicked off the team. See you tonight baby xx

                                                  ----------

From that day onwards the energy in the house was no longer awkward. Carrillo and Ash had fallen back into a rhythm of eating meals together and just genuinely enjoying each other's company in the moments when they could relax.  Every Night at around twenty hundred hours they’d both find their way into the living room, generally Ash with a book and Carrillo with some kind of file that could potentially be helpful for their missions, reading quietly in comfortable silence had brought a sense of peace to the both of them. With the events from earlier in the week pushed to the side, but definitely not forgotten by either of them, they were back to being a well gelled team, a small team nonetheless but it worked well for them. 

Ash had not so subtly started doting on the man. She’d bring him coffee’s to the office during the day because he barely left the room when he got stuck in a rut reading paper after paper, her heart always warmed that extra little bit when he’d happily accept the cup and give her a small grateful smile, she always left the room with a blush on her cheeks and an added skip in her step. Sunday rolled round and Carrillo had seemingly disappeared from the house, and with him nowhere to be found Ash took it upon herself to finally go for a run. 

The property definitely seemed larger now she was running around the outside of it, she was becoming exhausted much faster than she would have liked and her side was rather sore from the effort. It was on her third lap of the property, the lap she had named ‘struggle street’ that she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Gapping it towards the house in an attempt to act like she hadn’t just been breaking the rules she made it just in time, rushing round her room and heading to the shower as fast as possible. The both of them had obviously learnt one thing from their moment in the living room nearly a week ago, always take your clothes into the bathroom and come out fully dressed, definitely a less awkward situation. Upon leaving the bathroom, fully clothed, she noticed a fresh set of groceries on the bench, it now made sense as to where the Colonel had disappeared to. 

Ash started out putting everything away neatly and into the designated spots, putting her favourite foods into easy to reach spots because while she was average height, some of the cupboards were just that little bit too tall for her to reach up into.  Once everything was put away she beelined for the couch and flicked on a random movie on tv, not intending to do much more than nap due to being beyond tired from her run, the dull ache of her muscles was a welcome feeling. Ash skipped dinner that night, still feeling far too tired from her exercise and instead chose to retire to bed early, but not before delivering a fresh cup of coffee to a very busy Carrillo.

Ash was starving when she woke up the next morning, stomach was growling and her body ached more than it had in a very long while, the good kind of overworked ache. Climbing rather ungracefully from her bed and into the kitchen, forgetting to put shorts on under the t-shirt she wore while in a tired state. Growing bored while waiting for the pot of coffee to finish she dug into the cupboard to grab a bowl and spoon in preparation for breakfast, wandering over to the fridge to get the milk before returning to her previous place, just in time for the coffee to be ready. Pouring the cup and taking a quick sip she felt herself begin to wake up, she definitely functioned better after the first cup of coffee in the morning, placing the cup down she reached up to the cupboard she usually kept her cereal in to make herself a bowl, only to find it wasn’t where she had put it yesterday upon unpacking the groceries. Huffing to herself in frustration she began checking the other cupboards, each one she opened came up empty, the frustration growing more and more when all the ones in her line of sight and reach didn’t contain her beloved Creamy Oats. It was then that it occurred to her there was one cupboard left to check, the highest up one that Carrillo usually kept any of his favourite stuff in, reaching up on tippy toes and flicking one of the doors open and she struck gold. From her placement she could see the logo of her cereal staring back at her, now she just had to reach it. Somehow. 

Caught up in trying to reach her cereal she failed to notice the Colonel leaning against his bedroom door watching silently from afar. He’d woken to the sound of the kitchen being ransacked only to laugh at what he was seeing. His plan it seemed, had worked, from his vantage point he was granted with quite the sight, long muscled legs, and a well toned ass were revealed as Ash tried to stretch as much as she could onto her tiptoes to reach the box of cereal he had deliberately placed at the back of ‘his’ cupboard. Smirking away to himself he slowly padded over to the kitchen, taking special care to dare not make a sound to alert her of his presence. 

Ash jumped when she felt a hand land softly on her side, her body tensed before relaxing all too quickly when she felt the penetrating heat of the man behind her. He reached up over her head, muscles bunching and pressed tightly against her effectively caging her in, grasped the box of cereal she was desperately trying to reach and reached down and placed it in front of her. She expected him to move away instantly but instead he stood there trapping her between the hard wood of the bench and the increasingly harder wood poking her in the lower back. One arm was still gripping her side, the other wrapped around her front with his hand played out on the bench, desperately close to where she needed it most. 

Testing the resolve of the officer behind her might not have been her brightest idea but she craved any kind of interaction or touch she could gain from this man. Ash pushed back on him, letting out a small pliant sound of need when she felt him twitch against the curve of her ass, the resulting groan she received from him had her buckling at the knees. His head moved down, mouth hovering against the shell of her ear, she could feel the harsh uneven breaths and when she ground down on him again, harder this time, she was rewarded with yet another deep  moan, one that sent a delighted shiver down her spine. She made a move to repeat the action but the hand on her side clamped down impossibly tight, efficiently halting her movements, the last thing she expected was for him to speak.

“Do that again, and you’ll find out how little control I really have” His voice was a mere whisper but it had the desired effect. 

Ash froze, processing the words. The sleepy lust filled drawl sent a punch of arousal straight to her core and a moan escaping her throat. She was almost tempted to see how far she could push him, but settled for subtly maneuvering herself to grab for her coffee and bring it closer, her throat was impossibly dry now and he was not helping the situation. 

The subtle movement brushed so lightly against him that in any other state it may have been  imperceptible but in this highly aroused state it made him want to return the favour. He leaned down slowly, gauging her reaction, before gently and fleetingly brushing his lips behind her ear, smirking softly against her skin when she tilted her head slightly to accommodate him, mouth agape. Never one to turn down an advantage he slowly moved his right hand towards her coffee cup, distracting her further by trailing his lips along the edge of her jaw towards her own lips. He continued his journey towards her lips, stopping only when his hand found purchase on the hot cup of coffee before her, before he retraced his previous path, this time stopping every few centimeters to mouth at underside of her jaw, when he reached his intended target he sealed the deal. He nibbled at the soft skin beneath her ear, sucking lightly to leave the barest of marks but one the both of them would know was there, he blew softly on the skin, lips once again pulling into a smirk when she threw her head back against his bare shoulder. He leant his head against the side of her own, gently nuzzling against her before he growled out lowly, “Thanks for the Coffee Ash” and then as if he wasn’t affected by the current situation, he stepped back, groaning at the loss of pressure against his painfully hard cock. 

To say Ash was an undignified mess wouldn’t be far from the truth, but even in her current state of dizzying arousal she wouldn’t let him have the last word. She spun on her heel, briefly stunned while watching the muscles on his back bunch and twist as he made his way back to his room, before she remembered her mission. “Sir..” she tempted in a voice dripping with sin, smirking proudly when she saw his shoulders tense and his head shoot up in a hurry, obviously not expecting her to speak back, “When you start something next time, I expect you to finish it” and with those as her final words she turned around, leaning heavily against the bench for support, barely resisting the urge to get herself off where she stood, Colonel be damned. 

Carrillo only just had his door closed and the coffee cup discard before he was desperately pulling himself from his shorts. In less than a dozen strokes and with a barely concealed yell he had spilled into his own hand, moving across the floor he reached down to pick up a discarded t-shirt to clean up his mess. Sitting down on his bed to catch his breath he had to laugh at the situation, he had underestimated the young woman, severely so, and now he’d crossed a line he never had before. He was in deep, far too deep to continue to deny his true feelings for the junior officer. He flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling before growling out a string of curse words in his native tongue. That girl really knew how to get under his skin.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

I ship it

anything for you icy baby uwu

Shinsou x Vigilante!reader

word count: 2,500 (about)

warnings: blood, gore, violence, some angsty pinning 

Summary: Shinsou was probably your best friend, which was odd considering how much he didn’t know about you. He didn’t know you were in love with him, and he didn’t know you were a vigilante.

“what are you looking at?” Shinsou asked making you jump, He had a bad habit of sneaking up on you. Shinsou laughed as you smacked his chest. Then he dropped his gaze to your phone, which you had been browsing before he had scared you 

“hey is that me?” he asked suddenly no longer interested in play fighting with you. 

“Yeah I was watching that fight with you and Siren against that acrobat villain,” you admitted looking back down at the video as it played.  

“awe (y/n) I didn’t know I had a fan,” he teased wrapping his arms around your waist teasingly, you ignored the flutter in your chest and shoved him off of you. 

“Actually I was watching for Siren, she’s super hot you know,” you teased right back. instantly his mood darkened 

“Don’t even pretend to like that scum,” he growled it was a little scary seeing him so pissed off, even scarier when he was angry at you. but you just smiled 

“don’t pout you grouch, of course, I like you better,” you teased, 

“you better,”

“still she could be a great girlfriend I think-”

“whatever we should go grab food yeah?” he huffed you nodded and accepted. 

you supposed it made sense that Shinsou hated Siren,  He was a hero, after all, still, you wondered if he would hat Siren so much if he knew you were actually her. 

You weren’t really a villain but you weren’t on the right side of the law either. you liked to think of yourself as closer to a vigilante than anything else although the media and Shinsou didn’t see it that way. 

It was a little unfortunate that you spent so much of your free time fighting your best friend but life wasn’t fair you had learned that much at least. 

Shinsou poked your cheek drawing you back into the present. “I paid for your ramen you better eat it,” Shinsou muttered. you stuck your tongue out and slurped your noodles. 

“you are really spacy today huh?” he laughed. He had a beautiful laugh, it almost made you blush. you liked him too much for your own good and you knew you were only going to get hurt, still who wouldn’t fall for him? you dropped your gaze and kept eating. 

Shinsou frowned, you were acting weird today. Not looking at him, spacing out, and blushing like that. You were Shinsou’d best friend, but sometimes it felt like he didn’t know you at all. you were quite unreadable when you wanted to be. 

“(y/n) are you sick or something?” Shinsou asked reaching his hand out to feel your forehead. Before he could touch your face he heard screaming both of your turned and he saw people running outside, then Kaminari Denki of all people came crashing through the glass window at the front of the restaurant. Shinsou leaped over the table and shielded you from the spray of broken glass. in the same instant, he also managed to pluck Kaminari out of the air before he could crash through anything else. 

“Need Help?” Shinsou asked Kaminari, smirking. 

“that would be great.” the blonde gulped. Shinsou turned to you

“Hide, I’ll find you after this is all over okay?” Shinsou said turning to you, you pretended to be frightened and ran out of his line of sight. Quickly you ducked into the restaurant’s bathroom and quickly changed into the sleek black outfit you carried on you at all times. Another set of helping hands couldn’t hurt right?

You almost laughed as you skidded along the sidewalk towards the two men, Shinsou did a double-take then groaned. it was hilarious to see his pained reactions. 

“Ah don’t pout Shinsou Baby,  thought you would be glad to see me,” you laughed. your voice came out as mechanical, warped beyond recognition.  “After all the quicker we get this done the quicker you can get back to your little date,” you teased. 

“you were watching me?” he barked. you just shrugged, knowing better than to answer him verbally. 

“Will you two stop flirting!! Villain!” Kaminari shouted gesturing to the two-story monster destroying buildings with massive swipes of his clawed hands. 

“We weren’t flirting,” Shinsou pouted running after the other hero, with you close behind. 

“quirk?” you asked Kaminari knowing Shinsou wouldn’t respond to you. 

“Not sure Something emotion-related, I think If we can calm him down He might go back to normal-” Denki explained. you nodded before quickly ducking to avoid a chunk of a building that flew toward you. 

“Just calm him down? that doesn’t sound too bad,” you laughed. 

“Yeah, so that means we don’t need you,” Shinsou griped. Shinsou knew that in theory the two of you were different sides of the same coin. Just two people with villainous quirks trying to make the world a better place. he couldn’t help but hate you, even if he didn’t fully know why. He also hated the shipping that came with it. It had pissed him off enough to see his best friend looking through the Shinren ship tag now he had to deal with you and some monster at the same time. 

“you’re not even a hero we could arrest you right now,” Shinsou growled  

“I could arrest you right now,” you mimicked him. Shinsou’s eyes twitched in frustration before shooting his capture weapon, wrapping the gray scarf around the attacker's wrist halting him mid-swing. The pause was enough for Kaminari to get in an attack of his own a lightning blast large enough to engulf the Villain in electricity. Still, it wasn’t enough, So you took your turn. 

“Let’s calm down big guy, Deep breaths!” you commanded, your voice flowed over him and he had no choice but to obey. He relaxed taking deep even breaths, slowly he shrank, his claws and fangs returning to more human shapes until he collapsed on the streets wrapped entirely in Shinsou’s scarf. 

“see aren’t I helpful?” you purred turning to Shinsou who scowled, it was a pretty threatening look coming from him. 

“come on man would it kill you to say thank you?” Kaminari said from behind you

“It just might,” the purple-haired man growled

“Hitoshiiiii,” Kaminari whined. 

“Thank you for your help Siren now get out of here before I arrest you,” he growled through gritted teeth, even though he couldn’t see your face he knew you were grinning like a fool. He was right of course. you laughed and took off running. but not quite fast enough. 

The buildings around you were still in crumbling pieces. a broken steal beam fell slashing across your chest and stomach even grazing the top of your thigh. you staggered back your breath gone. there wasn’t even pain your whole body just numb as you fell to the sidewalk unable to breathe let alone move.  

You had been so fucking careful in battle. You had waited until the right moment to attack the monster and even hid slightly behind the real pros. you were pissed that collateral damage had taken you down. your vision was spotty before going completely black. you were only blind for a second or two and when you could see clearly again you saw Shinsou over you, cutting away the torn bits of your costume to assess the wound

“Drama queen, it’s not even that deep,” he laughed, but you could tell he was lying, you could see the fear in his eyes. 

“give it to me straight Doc.” you joked back, your voice was hoarse, even after being run through the filter. the panic on Shinsou’s face only grew more blatant.

Shinsou had no clue what he was doing, he was never great at this healing stuff and if he was being honest the sight of this much blood frightened him. Maybe it was just because it was your blood. 

If someone had asked Shinsou this morning he would have told them he hated Siren with a passion. but seeing you drop like that awoke a different kind of passion in him.  If you died, who was going to annoy him while he was out on patrol? Or swoop in to help whenever he was in over his head. Who was he going to complain too about the strict sometimes contradictory rules the council inforced? He realized not only would he miss you if he died, but it might also just brake him. 

“you’ll be fine,” he muttered to calm himself more than anything.

“Course I will,” you laughed weakly your body spasmed suddenly and you let out a sharp cry of pain. the sudden movement caused a gush of blood and with every aftershock of your muscles tensing more of the thick red liquid spirted from your wound. 

“Hey Siren I’m going to take your helmet off okay?” Shinsou asked 

“Hitoshi-” you were usually smart enough not to answer his questions but not now. your body went rigid and the blood stopped gushing so violently.  

“relax and stay still,” he commanded before getting to work. Denki had called for back up, people who knew what the fuck they were doing were on their way. he only had to keep you alive for ten minutes. Shinsou did his best to soak up the blood and clean the wound it’s self with the limited supplies he had. It wasn’t enough. The blood returned almost as soon as he whipped it away. any bandages he placed down were instantly soaked. Shinsou couldn’t help but feel that he was making things works not better.

Your skin was ashy and pale. Because of the spell he had you under your body was lifelessly still. The only thing that assured him you were alive was the steady flow of blood that pushed to the surface with every beat of your weak heart. Suddenly he broke his hold in your mind.

“Are you still awake? say something,” he growled your body shook lightly now that your muscles could twitch on their own. 

“Going... for my helmet... low blow,” you coughed. Shinsou could help but laugh at least you were awake. 

“The Shippers are going to love this,” you added making him laugh again. it was good seeing him laugh. 

“you’re fucking dying and you’re thinking about shippers?” he asked applying pressure to the wound making you cry out in pain. 

“I mean... There is going to be- Fuck- fanart,” you winced trying to bite back a second scream and failing.  

“Probably, you think they’ll make the blood pool in a heart shape?” he joked 

“that would be cute,” you crooned and immediately you were back under his control 

“Stay calm and stay awake,” he ordered. Shinsou kept at it until the real medics arrived. they healed you almost instantly. He silently thanked God you weren’t too far gone to be saved. even though the wound was no longer hurting you, a thick scar was left and your body would still ache for days to come undoubtedly. one of the heroes reached for the helmet, just to check for head injuries, but Shinsou stopped them

“leave it on and just try to heal her anyway,” he muttered. The older hero looked skeptical but did as he asked. as it turned out your head was fine. Shinsou didn’t know why he was protecting your identity like that but it just felt like the right thing to do. you didn’t talk much, far too drained for coherent thoughts. you staid on the curbside head in your hands waiting for any amount of strength to return. and he staid with you. 

He watched the street, as life returned to normal almost instantly. The criminal was taken into police custody, people milled about the sidewalks and the buildings were already being repaired. It was amazing to Shinsou how fast life could return to normal after something horrific.  He looked at you, looking uncharacteristically small. maybe it was just because you weren’t yelling. He wondered if the two of you would return to normal just as quickly

No, he thought, no it’s different now. you saved her, you didn’t want to lose her, so now it’s different. Gently he placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“Let me take you home so you can rest properly, I promise I won’t bust into your house to arrest you or something,” he teased. in a blur of motion, you were standing, you knocked him to the ground and rested the heel of your boot on his throat. 

“Awe you still want to play white knight Shinsou? That’s sweet but sorry I can take care of myself,” you laughed in your usual catty tone. you removed your foot from his neck and gave him a cheeky two-finger salute. 

“latter lover boy, and really thanks for all the help,” you called running off again and managing to make a clean escape this time. Shinsou should have been furious at you for wasting his time and making a fool out of him. But things were different now. 

you barely made it through your apartment door before collapsing on the floor wheezing. You had already been lightheaded and in pain, the brash show of force against Shinsou only exacerbated the problems. But you had pretended to be okay. he couldn’t know where you lived and find out your dirty little secret. 

It was painful but you managed to Strip of your costume. but that was all you could do. But you could live with just being in a sports bra and underwear in your own apartment. You had never really found your carpet all that comfortable but right now it seemed like the perfect place to lay down and rest. 

before you could fall asleep on the floor your phone rang making you groan. Once you saw it was Shinsou, you answered. 

“Hey, where are you?” He asked once you picked up. fuck. quickly you came up with a lie to explain your absence.

“The Ramen shop was evacuated right after you left and It turns out I was cut by some of that glass so I was taken to the hospital, but don’t worry I’m home now,” you explained trying to make your voice sound appropriately frightened. He sighed

“I was worried something really bad had happened to you,” he sounded relieved. you gingerly touched the newly formed scar on your chest. Shinsou had saved your life today and he didn’t even know it.

“Sorry I didn’t text sooner I didn’t want to interrupt the fight,” you mumbled apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it, Can I come over? I still want to make sure you’re okay.”

 you froze imaging Shinsou walking in on you like this. 

“Maybe later, I’m exhausted and I’m sure you are too,” you rejected him softly. He just hummed. You really needed to push him off the line so you could pass out. 

“That being said that fight gave me some really good Shinren content are you sure you don’t have a thing for her? I sure do,” you teased expecting him to groan and leave in a fit of anger. but he was silent.

“I don’t know but I think I’m starting to ship it,” he teased before disconnecting before you could react. Great. How were you supposed to sleep now?

[omsrandom]

Love is a Glitch, Chapter preview.

Merry Christmas @insanely-creative-things!

—----—----—----—

The first thing Ashi felt was the familiar, soft sheets on her, rather than the hard, itchy ones she had… 'fallen asleep' on. She could also hear Ravage and Laserbeak chirping to her left, forcing her through the Haze of unconsciousness and move her head.

"Ashi?" She heard Rumble whisper.

"What… happened?" She murmured.

"Soundwave found us just before they could…" Frenzy trailed off. "Silas got away, but he was the only one. We're at the house; the Nemisis isn't very welcoming at the moment…"

"Dad… disobeyed?" At this, she forced her eyes open, her brothers just blurry blobs. "Megatron-"

"Isn't pleased," Ravage answered, his rarely used voice tense. "Soundwave disobeyed a direct order, as well as Starscream, Dreadwing, Knockout, and Breakdown. I heard from one of the vehilcons that the ship has turned into a total warzone."

"Why… why did he want us?"

A cup of water with a straw appeared by her mouth, and with some fumbling, she gratefully took a couple greedy gulps. "They couldn't get the Autobots's humans. The government has a tight eye on them, but you… you were off the grid enough; if you disappeared, it wouldn't be too suspicious. And the Bots know you were with us. They'd just assume we offlined you and it would reignite the war," Frenzy answered.

The Autobots's humans… "Jack," she whispered, feeling the tug between the soulmate bond.

Laserbeak chirped twice before turning her holoform on and flew out of the window. "She's going to get him," Rumble said, as if remembering that her translation circuit had been taken from her.

Speaking of which… "What did they do to my armor?"

The three brothers shared a look that had her heart sinking to her gut. "We… had to activate the self destruct. They were trying to refit it for Silas."

"It took…. Years to build that," she whimpered, feeling her eyes sting.

"We'll think of something!" Frenzy promised before turning to Ravage, who also left the room.

He was getting Soundwave.

With that realization, she sat up and threw her legs over the bed, ignoring at how the world spin and the twins protested. "I'd like to be alone," she said, slowly standing and grabbing them by their arms, forcing them to comply or risk her falling down trying to move them.

"Ashi," Rumble protested as they were shuffled out. "You're-"

"Fine!" She forced herself to chirp out. "I'd just like some privacy, y'know? Human girl things."

Both looked like they wanted to protest, but they didn't, instead slowly walking down the stairs. She watched and waited before closing her door behind her, leaning against it and sliding down, hands covering her mouth as she bit back sobs, grateful for the cybertronian soundproofing.

Had Soundwave followed orders, had Starscream not flew beyond his limits, Rumble, Frenzy, they'd be dead, and she would be some experiment on a table for those disgusting humans to cut into.

"Little Spark?" Soundwave murmured from the other side of the door, and rather than comforting her, it sent her into greater dispair. What if she costed him his TIC position? What if she had just costed him his life?

"G-go away!" She demanded, furiously rubbing her eyes. "Lord Megatron demanded you stay on the bridge and you broke that! Go back to your post!"

"Not until I know you're ok Little Spark," he murmured, making her heart clench more. "Please open the door."

'Like you can't just materialize your holoform in my room,' she mentally snorted before shaking her head, trying to keep her voice level as she spoke. "It's in the past. We all got out, what do you want me to say? I will learn from my mistakes and ensure this doesn't happen again."

He was silent, and for a split second, she thought he had gone, and then she heard him sigh and the floor creaked, as if he was… sitting down?

"I'm here, Ashi. If you need to talk, or even just a hug… I'm here. I'll always be here."

[saltyghostsworld]

Hello! This is a valentines day gift for @aphforeignrelations ! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing this!

I'd like to give special thanks to @istoleludwigsbaumkuchen for Beta reading this for me! You truly are the best Worm ace.

-______________________________________-

A Mirror to Me

    The first shirt was too big, the second too small, the third was unflattering, and the fourth just ugly. The fifth and the sixth looked too similar to be noteworthy, and whoever said that seven was a lucky number was a liar, considering the monstrosity that Gilbert had pulled out of the closet. Gil loved Francis, he truly did, but by gods, his fashion taste left something to be desired at times. The eighth shirt looked decent, but not formal enough for tonight. The ninth was too formal to be worn at any event, and Gil wasn’t sure why he owned such an article of clothing in the first place. The tenth, however, was just right. 

    A deep maroon, partnered with the black-tie given to Gilbert as an early birthday present by Lovino, looked great with the black slacks Gilbert had chosen to wear. Nice leather belt, watch, and a little bit of cologne before Gilbert would be ready to go. That is if he puts on the outfit.

    The problem wasn't that Gilbert did not wish to go to the restaurant, quite the opposite. It's just. Tonight was a very important day for Gilbert. Tonight would be the first time he will be setting foot back into The Maple Garden in what, two, three years? Not since the accident, that was for sure. Rationally, Gil knows what happened to him wasn’t terrible. He made it out in pretty good condition, and what he did that day saved lives. That's what mattered in the end. 

    Shuffling over to the bathroom mirror, Gilbert took one, long look at himself. He has gained back most of the weight he had lost. No longer is his skin ashy and pale as it was back during those few months in the hospital. Any scarring would be covered up by his clothes, which helped his anxiety immensely. He looked good! He even stylized his hair, just a little bit for tonight. It will be alright in the end. Gilbert was sure of it. 

    Taking one last look at himself, Gilbert braced himself on the wall as he hobbled back to the bed where his clothes lay in wait. Sitting down gingerly onto the bed, Gilbert stretched his leg out hissing a breath through his teeth from discomfort. The pain was nowhere near as bad as when he first started walking again, but hell if it wasn’t going to take some serious time and effort to get used to. Physical Therapy helped, it did, but some things just take time. With this in mind, Gilbert finally slid the knee brace on. Even after two years, it still felt so strange to put it on. It was nice though, to finally be able to pull on the brace without help. It felt quite nice to have some independence back in his life, and these past three months have only solidified those thoughts. It was good to be back.

    After getting dressed, Gilbert couldn’t help but look at himself in the mirror again, smiling at how nice he looked. A year ago, Gil would have broken down into a sobbing mess, feeling like an imposter within his skin. Now, though, Gil felt good. No, Gilbert felt great! The cane truly matches all outfits, and it added a sense of maturity to his image. It felt good. It felt right.

    Walking out of the room, Gilbert found himself feeling nostalgic. Every step brought back years of feelings and pains, but growth and accomplishment alongside it all. Taking the first step down the staircase, Gil is reminded of his first day waking up in the hospital. It was cold, and his body felt numb. He could remember how he couldn’t feel his leg and how all he could do was blink, then fall back to sleep. It carried on that way for two weeks, trying to contain the infection on his leg Gil had found out at a later date. Once he was allowed to fully wake up, the numbness had followed for another week before the Doctor had recommended cutting the use of painkillers to a minimum. 

    It was difficult, waking up and finding how damaged he was. To learn that he may never be able to walk again. To discover that his life would never be the same. Gilbert had shut people out at that time. He felt the worst during this period. He refused to see any of his friends or coworkers, as shame overtook all rational thought. Gil had honestly thought that his brother would only gaze upon him in pity. Looking back at it now, Gilbert could understand why he’d done it. Why he still hasn’t reached out to anyone. That was the point of tonight though, wasn’t it? To reconnect. To build new, stronger bridges where the old ashes lay. To take the final steps in his recovery. 

    Gilbert was a quarter down the staircase now, thoughts turning to his first days of physical therapy. The pain was indescribable. His leg could barely move, and Gil could hardly find the strength to continue. He thanks the patience of Dr. Ivan Branisky, for helping him work through all his physical problems. Dr. Branisky had been one of the most stubborn people on earth that Gilbert had ever met, save 2 or 3 others. The Doctor refused to let Gilbert give up, nor would they allow him to wallow in self-pity. It had been infuriating at the time, but soon became something Gil had needed desperately at the time. Now Gilbert could walk on his own again, with the help of his cane of course. 

    Halfway down the staircase now. Anxiety and anticipation were waging war inside of Gilbert, knowing that soon this journey would be coming to an end. And with this thought in mind, Gilbert allowed himself to reminisce of the time when he allowed himself to live again. A whole year after the accident,  working tirelessly to gain the use of his leg again without crippling pain almost rendering him unconscious Gilbert had gone to his first therapy session. 

    It was a difficult decision to go, as any thought or suggestion had left him restless and irritated for days at a time, cruising the name of all that caused him to be in the predicament Gilbert had thought himself fine. There was no need for some stranger to peer inside his head and tell him how damaged he was. He told himself that enough already, thank you. Every moment spent thinking about it had sent Gilbert into rage and depression, only causing the people around him to insist that it was a reason further to go. This had been another time when Gilbert had burned bridges with people, scalding words and spiteful actions driving many away. Another reason why tonight was such an important event to Gilbert.  It offered him the chance to apologize to many people he hurt and cut off.

    Upon his entrance to the Office, Gilbert knew that it would be hell. The place felt artificial, with cream colors and few items here and there. The receptionist, Tino had such a cheerful attitude, which had felt grating during the first months.  Anger was the strongest emotion Gilbert had been feeling, other than sadness. Thankfully, Dr. Heartman had fully prepared herself to drag Gil’s feelings out of him. She left no stone unturned and had him leaving raw once he walked out the door. He could hide nothing from the woman, which certainly helped in the end. 

    It had taken Gilbert almost three months with Dr. Heart before he allowed himself to even refer to the incident. Finally, he had found the courage to tell her what had happened after weeks of dancing around the topic. Before everything, Gilbert had been a cheerful person. He loved life, he loved beer, and he loved work. Gil had helped out wherever he could, whether it be advising exorcising or helping with fixing houses or volunteering in general. It had been volunteering which had allowed Gilbert to meet the love of his life in the first place, and for that, he would be eternally grateful. Gilbert smiled now, memories of their first encounter dancing through his mind. The two had hit it off rather quickly and came to no surprise that they had gotten together if their friends' reactions were to go by. Gilbert had limited free time, and the two had made the most of it whenever together. Gilbert had been a firefighter, working diligently to keep people safe. He never took into account that one day he would require rescuing himself.

    Gilbert had been called in to put out a fire at The Maple Garden, believing it to be the usual grab ‘n go response. The building had collapsed when Gil went inside to check for any remaining civilians trapped inside, crushing his right leg and severely burning his back. Thankfully no one else had been inside when the restaurant fell, and his injuries had been minor considering the circumstances. Everyday Gilbert takes some time to truly appreciate the fact that he had survived such an experience. Dr. Heart had been proud that he could finally put the experience into words, telling him that Gil was finally set on the right track of healing and improving his life. 

    Gilbert finally took the last remaining steps of the stairs, sliding down into the chair right beside them to give his leg a break. It feels good to be where he is now. Sure, he could no longer do many things he used to the same way as before, but that doesn’t mean his life was over. All it meant was a new one had started. 

    Footsteps on the hardwood floor caused Gilbert to look up, a loving smile slipping onto his face. Here was the one person who stuck beside him through it all. Here was the person whose sunshine smiles brought life into Gilbert's dead world. Here was the single most important person in his life, other than his brother. The love of his life, Alfred F. Jones. Alfred smiled back, coming close to place a kiss on Gil’s head. “You ready for tonight?” Alfred asked, bringing his hands up to cradle Gilbert's face.  

    “No, but I will be.” Was Gilberts reply. He wasn’t ready to go. There were sure to be uncomfortable conversations, countless apologies, awkward silences, and more than a few tears shed tonight. It needed to be done, however, and what a better way to rekindle lost friendships and smooth over past grievances than a wedding announcement? Placing his hand upon Alfreds, Gilbert couldn’t stop the rush of excitement and pure love from showing on his face when their rings clicked together softly. 

    Yes, tonight would be long and tedious, but it would be well worth it in the end. Not just for himself, but Alfred as well. Together they would be stepping into a new chapter of their lives, one sure to be filled with love and joy for the rest of their lives. 

[lee-at-the-movies]

Powder

(1995)

Director: Victor Salva

*Spoilers*

I’m not sure I've ever seen a movie that insists upon itself to the degree 1995′s Powder does. Director Victor Salva is relentless in his campaign to tell the audience they are being moved. There is not a solitary element of this film that isn’t contrived to the point of parody. The average Lifetime channel flick is more confident letting its audience process emotions without being steered, groomed if you will, at every moment. Powder uses its score to evoke sympathy and warmth the way sitcoms use laugh tracks to let you know something funny is happening. Had the filmmakers given the audience more room to freely interpret the events taking on place screen, they would have ran the risk of having people see Powder for the ludicrous freak show that it is.

To quickly run through the plot of Powder - a pregnant lady gets struck by lightning and dies, but the baby lives. The father rejects the baby at the hospital and it’s raised by some hick grandparents. Sixteenish years later a the grandparents die and a social worker discovers the then teenaged boy living in a dank, book-filled basement out in the country. His name is Jeremy, AKA Powder. He’s albino, hairless and agoraphobic, but he’s read Moby Dick, so the social worker knows he must be a gifted kid. She takes him to a boys home, enrolls him in the local high school, he displays misunderstood powers, hearts are allegedly warmed, minds are expanded, yada yada yada....

It’s all tone deaf. The first act seems like it should be leading up to Powder turning on society and hurting people. That would have been more compelling! The people in town are actually a little nicer to Jeremy than you would think. There is obviously the one implausibly vicious bully and his bitchboys who instantly target him, but Jeremy is literally some kind of Nosferatu-lookin, bald-headed ass, cellar dwelling, electrical warlock monster. Upon going to school for the first time, he is only bullied for 30 seconds before he opts to use fucking psycho-electric telekinesis on the whole cafeteria in what would, in real life, be a TERRIFYING display. People SHOULD other him for that! Instead, he doesn’t even get detention and a hot girl suddenly has eyes for him - the chalk white, hairless MONSTER that recently crawled out of a dilapidated basement on the outskirts of town! 

His persecution is:

A) not as extensive as a movie like this calls for 

B) warranted, for the most part

Sakes! I’m not in favor of hunting, but I’m also not in favor of mind rape! There is a crucial scene in this movie where Powder is disgusted to witness one of the sheriff deputies hunting deer with bully kids. His response is to grab the guy by the arm and TRANSPORT HIS FUCKING CONSCIOUSNESS into the body of the dying animal! Since when is it okay to brain swap people without their permission? Two wrongs don’t make a right, Powder.  He’s supposed to be perfect! That is the text of the movie. The movie explicitly tells you that Powder IS better than you. This kid is literally an ascended being. 

I rented this movie because I wanted to see something featuring 90s Jeff Goldblum. He plays the physics teacher at Jeremy’s high school. After being accidentally electrocuted by the dangerous monster child Goldblum apparently feels smarter and fucks better. This causes him to postulate to powdery ole Jeremy that he must being living proof of some misappropriated Einstein theory about humans being able to become light energy. In the movie, Goldblum is presenting it to Powder as a theory, but as a viewer you know the film is basically declaring that is how we are to understand Powder from that point on. Jeff Goldblum touches him inappropriately in this scene. He begins to stroke Jeremy’s body and head, caressing him sensually. There is a justification given for this, but it is false and Goldblum is still his fucking physics teacher! Sick!

The whole time this dusty little ghoul has been seeing the social worker played by Mary Steenbergen - the one who pulled him out his wet book-hole. Jeremy has one last blowup with the jock kids after randomly walking into a gym and staring at one of the “bullies” taking a shower. The jocks get rightfully weirded out. He is, after all, a dangerous Magneto-esque goblin who can steal their minds and electrify their bodies. They pull his pants down and push him in a puddle of mud. You would think that being covered in mud might limit Powder’s ability to extoll psycho-electric violence, but you’d be wrong. He fucking KILLS one of them for this, but he brings them back to life so it’s still Powder being perfect and too good for this world. It’s not dark at all. 

This last kerfuffle is the last straw for Jeremy, his social worker and his physics professor. They decide that Powder will have an easier time finding acceptance in a different environment. (They were probably going to move to Austin or something. I think this movie took place in Texas.) Jeremy seems onboard with this plan. He has his neighborhood watch logo rapist costume on, his briefcase at his side, but then it begins to storm. So instead of getting in the car waiting for him, Jeremy sprints wildly into a field. Nobody knows what the fuck he’s doing, but they do not give much chase. A bolt of lightning strikes the bald teenager, either vaporizing and or consuming him. This is all a good thing. Everybody instantly intuits that Jeremy had decided to become light energy. They felt him in their loins or something after he was zapped. Nobody entertains the possibility that he was simply exploded and killed dead by a giant lightning bolt. That’s what their eyes observed, but they’re all going with the random hypothesis of a high school science teacher and choosing to believe the ashy kid in the fedora was some kind of Akira like god being. 

How did Powder even decide that was a possibility? Was Jeff Goldblum telling him he had 100% usage of his brain before molesting him all he needed to hear to figure out that he had the option of becoming lightning? I choose to believe that he didn’t ascend to a higher state at all. In my mental canon, Powder commits suicide via lightning storm and everybody looking on is fine with it, because he is a dangerous little creep. They all knew he would eventually turn on humanity, so they put it in his head that he could become electricity by letting lightning strike his body. By the way, if that’s NOT the case, then did Jeff Goldblum discover that superhumans can be made by electrocuting pregnant women? That’s how Powder got his freak abilities. His fucking mom was struck by lightning while he was in the womb. Nothing about this movie was okay. None of it made emotional sense, sci-fi sense or basic common sense. I have so much more to say about Powder, but I’m cutting myself off. Life needn’t be so Powdery.

Verdict - it’s bad

I’m glad to have seen Powder. It’s fun to hate and pick apart, but it’s insultingly pushy. Speaking of which, apparently this director is a pervert. He abused some kid on the set of a movie called Clownhouse. Imagine that. Maybe that scene with Jeff Goldblum fondling Powder’s dome was exactly as problematic as it felt. If you are not a jaded individual or somebody that enjoys picking apart shitty movies, there is no reason you should ever subject yourself to this movie. It’s a bizarrely bad movie made by a sick child abuser.

Note: I did not know the stuff about the director going into this viewing. As I said, I was looking for a 90s Goldblum movie and this is what I settled on. I only learned the director was a pervert afterwards. Same guy directed Jeepers Creepers. What’s up with him and abandoned country basements? I wonder if there’s something worth investigating there.

[amydancepants-peralta]

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

A probably-too-long Peraltiago soulmate AU where your body stops ageing until you’ve met the one you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with.  Inspired by this post, and encouraged by @fezzle because her mind is amazing and we both fell down the rabbit hole on this one 😅

You can find the rest on AO3, because it’s waay too long to post on Tumblr. 🍕 

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

Amy’s breath fogs up the glass of the mirror she’s facing as she lets out a heavy sigh, eyes taking one more scrutinising look over her appearance.  Same olive coloured skin, same dark brown hair.  Same smile, same shrug of her shoulders.  Once again, nothing had changed.

She had been five years old when her mother had explained the Rule of Life as they knew it - that once you reached your 30th birthday, your body simply stopped ageing, and the only way to kick it back into gear, was to meet your soulmate.  

To a young and idealistic Amy, it had seemed like the Ultimate Romantic Notion - that you couldn’t possibly grow old until you’d found the right person to grow old with.  And in her early twenties, when appearances and vanities paid more value than they should, she had been in no hurry to find The One.  Until she’d reached her Age Limit of 30, and realised that beauty lay within those who had found their other half.  Wrinkles and streaks of grey in heads of hair were enviable, not feared.  The lucky ones would walk the streets with pride, unable to bridle their joy as they gripped their partner’s hand with their own. 

Watching her family and friends grow older while she remained stagnant never seemed to get easier for Amy.  Standing in the sidelines as the next phase of their life would begin, she couldn’t deny that it stung a little when her youngest of brothers, Luis, had salt and pepper flecks of colour in his previously jet black hair at the last Santiago family gathering.  Or that her best friend Kylie now tried her best to conceal the crows feet that had begun to appear around her eyes, sunglasses framing her face whenever she and Amy met up for lunch.  

Try as they might to hide the changes in their appearance - which she knew was out of love for her, to not rub in that they had found what she hadn’t - the only thing that the people surrounding her couldn’t conceal was the overwhelming exuberance that radiated from each and every one of them.  That sense of completion - the elation that finally, the rest of their life can begin.

 Amy turns her head in profile one last time, a discerning eye tracing her hairline before giving up with a shake of her head.  Last night she had been on a date with a man named Gabe (a match from an online dating app that she’s definitely going to delete), and at the end of the night she honestly had felt as though things could be … kind of promising.  He was handsome, with similar interests to her, and while he spoke about investment banking maybe a little more than Amy would have liked, he certainly seemed like a worthy option when it came to her soulmate.  And so, with the freshly risen daylight’s sunbeams streaking through the windows of her apartment, and her alarm buzzing incessantly beside her, Amy had jumped out of bed, making a beeline for the mirror.

However, it would appear Gabe was not a match.  Her appearance had not changed in the slightest.  And today was just going to be another day, like all the others, without Amy knowing her soulmate.  

She gets ready for work with the clocklike precision that only a life uninterrupted can bring, casting one last downcast glance at her reflection as she turns to leave.  Perhaps the universe had a point - Gabe was definitely not the one for her.  But … he had to be out there, somewhere.  

*

It’s another ten hours before Amy is shuffling into her apartment again, finally home after what can only be described as a less than mediocre day.  

As a detective for the 99th precinct, she and her partner Rosa had developed a finely tuned friendship that had resulted in an impressively high arrest rate.  And today, they had been given the case of a jewellery store robbery - a robbery that had unfortunately turned rather high profile, as one of Brooklyn’s most well known residents, a celebrity chef named Cadi Nicholls, had been robbed in broad daylight, from the inside of a jewellery store.

Ms Nicholls had, despite several requests from various officers, been overly vocal about her ‘traumatic’ experience on social media, and in an effort to have the case closed before things turned ridiculous, Captain Holt had put his best two detectives on the case.

They had been so confident they would catch the thief.  Until they watched the security footage.

The perp appeared as if from nowhere, sliding Nicholls' diamond tennis bracelet right off her wrist without her even knowing, before yanking the sapphire ring she had just purchased out of her hand and running like hell.

Frustratingly (or conveniently, depending on who’s perspective you looked at it from), the security cameras outside had been out of order for days leading up to the robbery, so when it came to the getaway car the two women had absolutely no clues.  

Instead, they had spent the entire day interviewing countless witnesses, knocking on apartment door after apartment door until they tracked them all down.  All of which felt like a reprieve after finally escaping their interview with the chef herself; an hour long ordeal that she had insisted on live-streaming to her ‘concerned followers’.  

By late afternoon they had returned to the precinct, feet throbbing in protest, spreading out the case file over Amy’s desk as they re-examined all of the information.  The witness statements had been vague at best, and until they found a different camera that might have caught the getaway car they were officially out of leads.  

Exhausted, she had been on her way to Rosa’s desk to see if her partner wanted to get a drink of commiseration after their shift ended, when she noticed something that stopped her in her tracks.  Rosa Diaz was not a vain woman by any means, but right at that moment she had ducked her head down on the monitor, carefully shifting the strands of her hair into a specific position.  And as she moved them into place, Amy saw what Rosa had been trying to hide.

She had greys.  Only a few, and still ashy enough that it wasn’t immediately noticeable.

But she had greys.  Which meant that she was ageing.  Which also meant that she had found her soulmate.  

Her partner had looked up, eyes turning apologetic as she noticed Amy watching her, and began to explain.  “Her name is Jocelyn.  I didn’t expect to - ”  Amy raised her hand, halting the conversation as she plastered a smile onto her face.  

“It’s fine, Rosa.  Great, actually.  I’m really happy for you.”  

And she was happy.  Honestly.  Detective Diaz was a hard nut to crack, but underneath the leather-bound exterior was a kind, caring soul who genuinely deserved the best.  And obviously, this Jocelyn was it for her.  So Amy was happy for her partner.  

And also a little bit jealous.  Kinda defeated.  And almost certain that her soulmate simply didn’t exist.    

But mainly, happy.  

Now that she is home, Amy dumps her bag onto its respective hook, kicking off her shoes near the doorway and shedding her blazer before heading towards the kitchen.  She’s desperate for a glass of wine to take the edge off her less than average day, and had a Bordeaux stashed away in her cupboard laying in wait for the night that she could finally raise a toast to the person she is meant to spend the rest of her life with.  Clearly, that was never going to happen to her (and tonight was as good a night as any to enjoy a glass of red), and once she finally yanks out the cork with her cheap corkscrew, she abandons the tool on the counter, sauntering over to her couch with the bottle in one, and a glass in the other.

*

Less than an hour later, Amy has changed into her cosiest clothes and is perched on the couch, tipping the bottle upside down and frowning as no more wine seems to come out.  

Damnit.  Somebody’s been drinking my wine.  She cranes her neck, surveying the room with narrowed eyes as she searches for suspects, only to come up dry.  

Clearly, the perp has already fled the scene.

Her stomach growls as it protests at the lack of food - and abundance of wine - it had been given.  With only a slightly steady hand, Amy pulls out her phone from it’s position amongst the couch cushions, opening up a webpage to search for delicious food near me + quick delivery.  She had only moved into this apartment three months ago, after saving her hard earned money for far too long, and was still slightly unfamiliar (and yes, perhaps a little too drunk) to know what takeout options were nearby.  

The swirling symbol of a loading webpage disappears in a blink, the flashing logo of Sal’s Pizza taking its place.  She nods enthusiastically, because pizza is great and she doesn’t eat it enough, scrolling her way through the options before settling on the perfect combination and adding to cart.  

When this story gets told in the years to come, Amy will blame the empty bottle of wine for making her do this, but in the comment section of the order, she remembers a meme that her niece had recently shown her and types: send your cutest delivery boy.  Giggling loudly, she presses send before another thought could be made, and as the digital countdown comes onto her screen she stumbles into the kitchen, in search of another bottle.  

*

Jake Peralta rolls his shoulders against the stainless steel panels attached to the kitchen wall, legs feeling heavy as they dangle off the counter he’s perched on.  

It was nearly at the end of his shift at Sal’s Pizza, and the later hours of the evening always seemed to drag, but he’s thankful for a moment of peace.  

Sharing the delivery role with two other guys that he only knew as Scully and Hitchcock, he had spent the better part of the dinner rush covering their jobs as well as his own, both men claiming that they had gotten lost in the supposedly complicated streets of Brooklyn before returning to the restaurant several hours later, the pizza sauce stains still obvious on their chins.  Jake’s responding eye roll had been poorly concealed, and he had retreated to the familiar company of his buddy Charles, the chef, in the kitchen before he ended up saying something regretful.

That in itself had turned out to be a risky move, having to instead listen to Charles talk on and on (and on) about his recently discovered soulmate, Genevieve.  

And he’s happy for his best friend - really, he is.  But every single mention of their chance encounter, sparked by mixing up their specially ordered local delicacies at their nearby deli (his octopus ring pâté, hers rare eyeball soup, both horrifying) was just another reminder that Jake himself was no step closer to finding his.  Not that he’s even sure he wants to find his, but … still.

(Also, he was one more TMI conversation about their subsequent love making from taking the handle of both spatulas in the utensil jar and jamming them into his ears.)

The computer in the corner lets out an obnoxious ding! as an online order comes through, the attached printer grunting as it spits out a faded version for the chef.  Jake shuffles along the counter, butt squeaking against the steel as he rips the paper free, sneakers hitting the tiled floor with a slap as he slides it into place.  “Chet’s up, Charles.”

“It’s a chit, Jake.”  Charles looks up from his position on the counter opposite, hands concealed as he kneads out a heavy pile of dough.  “Do me a favour, read it out for me?  I’m a little tied up here.  Not as much as Genevieve was tied up last night, but still - ”

“One large deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa!”  Jake cries out quickly, desperate to drown out the sound of whatever Charles was about to describe.  His friend nods in response, dusting off the extra flour from his hands as he heads over to another bench, the process of putting together a Sals Pizza so familiar it has become second nature.  

He glances back up at Jake, right hand mixing in the hot sauce.  “Any special requests on it?”

Right.  The special requests option, a relatively new addition, had been the catalyst for some truly strange demands.  After the horrifying command last week for the delivery boy to sing out the ingredients like a show tune upon arrival, Jake had been doing his best to avoid ‘special requests’ altogether.  With a hesitant glance, he narrows his eyes at the bottom of the receipt before letting out a laugh.  “Charles my good man, I believe I have been summoned.”

“Huh?”

Jake pulls the receipt off it’s holder with a flick of his wrist, brandishing it high in the air as he turns towards his friend with a smile.  “Says so right here.  Send your cutest delivery boy.  Clearly, that’s me.  I’m adorable.”

His friend gasps, spinning around to read the chit himself before turning to Jake in glee.  “Jakey!  This isn’t just any order.  This is fate!”

Tipping his head to the side, Jake scratches the side of his cheek as he studies Charles’ reaction.  “Fate has come in the form of a deep pan pizza?  Honestly, I’m not surprised … but I think I always imagined it would be meat supreme?”

Charles’ hands freeze on top of the pie, a few shards of grated cheese slipping from his fingers as he shakes his head at Jake.  “No, silly.  The person who’s ordered the pizza is your fate.  Not the pizza itself.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  I’m sure of it.”

“Oh come on.  That’s ridiculous.  You don’t even know if this is for a person, or a company, or even some kind of robot that’s managed to gain sentience ..”

The chef’s head appears suddenly over Jake’s shoulder, peering at the details printed along the bottom of the receipt before giving him a solid side-eye.  “Says right here, Amy Santiago.  Sounds like a pretty great name for a soulmate, if you ask me.”

Rolling his eyes, Jake walks towards the oven, picking up the pizza peel from it’s holding place and lifting the next order into the grill.  “I keep telling you, Charles.  Not everybody is going to end up with their soulmate.  The whole thing is flawed.  It didn’t exactly work out for my parents, did it?”

“You’ve just gotta have faith, Jake!  The universe has greater plans than you or I could ever imagine, and sometimes you just have to let the signs guide the way.”  Charles countered, ripping the receipt from the order holder and shoving it into Jake’s shirt pocket, pointing towards the oven once his hand is free.  “Order will be up in eight minutes, Mr. Cutest Delivery Boy.  Don’t be late, destiny is waiting.”

It’s close to twenty minutes later before Jake is standing in the hallway of an unfamiliar apartment building, double checking the address on the receipt before raising his hand to knock (people are very willing to accept pizza when it is delivered, even if they haven’t ordered any - a fact he had to learn the hard way).  The pizza box in his hand keeps sending wafts of deliciousness in his direction, reminding himself that he’d unintentionally skipped dinner this evening, and he makes a deal with his stomach to fill up after this delivery.  

There’s a muffled sound of the Jeopardy theme song playing through the doorway when Jake knocks, and he hears the clank of glass against a surface before the door begins to swing open.  Twenty bucks says this is some nerdy professor, Jake thinks to himself, drawing on his biggest smile, ready to play the role of Cutest Delivery Boy to a tee.  

And then, his heart stops in his chest.

The woman that answers the door is crazy beautiful.  Beautifully warm toned skin with the most expressive eyes, her dark hair scraping her shoulders as she opens the door a little wider.  

“Heyyyyy, the pizza guy is here!”  The mystery woman smiles, leaning heavily against her doorframe as she gasps, pointing.  “And he brought PIZZA!”

If this was what nerdy professors looked like, I DEFINITELY would have paid more attention in class, Jake thinks to himself as he continues to smile, handing over the pizza to the woman’s outstretched hands.  “One deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa.”  His voice switches into automatic pilot, reciting the line that had been forced into his memory, hands landing on his hips in the signature pose as he forces a too-wide smile onto his face.  “I hope we managed to fulfil your special request, ma’am, and it’s a good evening now that you’ve got a Sal’s Pizza.”

Her dark eyes blink dazedly for a moment before a deep blush rushes over her cheeks.  “Oh right, my uh … special request.”  They travel down Jake’s frame before heading upwards again, holding his gaze until she bites her lip.  “Yeah, I’d say you did, Pizza Guy.”

Now it’s Jake’s turn to blush, sweaty hands dropping from his waist and dangling uselessly by his side.  He’s always been a connoisseur of the Art of Flirtation, but tonight he finds himself more than a little tongue tied.  Inconveniently, Charles’ voice creeps into Jake’s mind.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  She giggles at his obviously embarrassed reaction, shoulders bouncing as a squeaky hiccup escapes. 

Shuffling his feet, Jake’s brain switches into overdrive as he frantically tries to think of the perfect pickup line to make, but before anything incredible can be formed he begins to really take in his client’s appearance.  Her glazed over eyes, the vice like grip of her hand on the doorframe …. “Uhh, I’m always up for a bit of flattery, but … I think you might be a little intoxicated.  Do you know how much you’ve had to drink?” he asks, brows furrowing slightly as he watches the woman sway.

She shrugs, turning the movement into a dorky little side-to-side boogie as the ads begin playing on the TV in the background, an annoyingly catchy song about paper towels taking centre stage.  “Only a couple of glasses.”

Jake looks past her, taking in the incriminating evidence of two empty wine bottles sitting on the table next to the couch.  “Just a couple, huh?”

She follows his gaze, swinging her head back to him as a giggle escapes.  “Well, I mean … the bottles are made of glass, right?”

He can’t help but laugh, nodding at her observation.  “Yes.  Yes, they are.”

“See?” She laughs along with him, holding onto the pizza box with one hand as she begins stepping backwards, moving her feet into what he thinks is an attempt at the moonwalk.  Her feet, which may actually both be left, are dangerously close to tripping over each other, and just as he reaches out a hand in warning the two lefts connect - pizza box flying out of her hands as her arms begin to flail about, desperately searching for something to grab onto as she begins to fall.

Jake’s feet can’t move fast enough, and she hits her head on a small side table, landing on the ground with a thud before he can get to her.  She stays still, head twisted to the side and moaning loudly as he kneels down on the ground, paying special attention to her extremities in case she’s actually hurt herself.  “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks.  Her receipt is still in his pocket, and he really wants to grab it out right now to remember her name, but it’s way too late for that now.  Damn my goldfish memory!  

“I’m … I’m fine.”  She swings out an arm, letting it slap against the hardwood floor near Jake’s crouched position as she turns to look at him.  “The floor is just a little spinny, that’s all.”

He stifles a grin as he looks at her determined face, already knowing that there was no point in explaining to this woman that the floor was, in fact, not spinning (or ‘spinny’, as it were).  Instead, he responds with “Yeah, spinny floors are the worst.”

She smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat just like the first time, and he kinda really wants to know her name.  “He gets it!  Thisguygetsit.” She slurs, pointing an intoxicated finger at Jake.  And he knows that she’s drunk … and he knows that she probably doesn’t have any idea what she’s saying … but tiny little butterflies begin to flutter in Jake’s stomach, gaining traction the longer she lays there, pointing her finger at him.  She’s adorable, he thinks to himself.

But, she might also be injured, and so he offers her a hand up, pretending not to notice the tingling sensation when her palm meets his.  She groans as he helps her up, right hand clapping onto her scalp, wrinkling her face and looking at him accusingly.  “How did I end up on the floor, anyway?” 

Jake grins at the woman, pointing with his free hand towards the discarded pizza box, explaining - “You were dancing away with the pizza, and tripped over your two left feet.”

Her eyes look at the box warily, looking to Jake, then back to the pizza.  “That makes sense.  I am left handed, after all.”  She nods, a movement quickly thwarted as her head obviously throbs in protest.  

Jake’s eyebrows knit together as he watches her clutch her hand to her head, and as she moves towards the couch, he clears his throat.  “Uhh, listen - I’m no expert, but I think you might be in danger of having a concussion.  Is there somebody else here, who can watch over you tonight?”

The woman’s head drops as she shakes her head slightly.  “No.  I live alone.  All alone.”  Realising the gravity of what she’s just said to this stranger, her head shoots up quickly, and Jake pretends not to notice her reactive wince.  “But I’m a cop.  A badass cop, in fact.  And I could kick your butt from here to next Sunday, Pizza Guy, so don’t you go trying anything.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Whoa there, officer.  My intentions are honourable, I swear.  I just think you might have hurt yourself a little bit, and you shouldn’t go to sleep until someone has made sure you’re okay.”  Pausing, Jake lowers his hands a little as the woman’s gaze turns less accusing.  “Is there somebody you can call?”

She shrugs.  “Rosa, I guess.”  Picking up an empty bottle, she shakes it, willing more wine to appear.  “Yeah.  Call Rosa.  Tell her to bring booze.”  She giggles, her face dropping just as quickly.  “Probably won’t come, though.  Too busy with her soulmate or whatever.”

There’s an odd mix of sadness and hope that comes from this woman speaking of her friend’s soulmate.  It was hard not to hear her bitterness, and Jake could feel himself beginning to reconsider his own opinions.  If someone as sweet as this woman is hasn’t found her match, maybe this whole soulmate thing wasn’t as ridiculous as it seems.  Clearing his throat, he twists his mouth to the side slightly before speaking.  “I’m sure if she knows you’re hurt, she’ll come over.”

Another shrug, the light from a nearby lamp catching onto her hair and making it shimmer a little.  You’re falling, Peralta.  “Maybe.”

He waits for a pause, and she looks up at him expectantly.  “Um, I … I don’t have Rosa’s number.” His tone is apologetic, which is crazy, because if anything it would’ve been weirder if he had known this Rosa’s number.  He wipes a hand across his face, trying to push some sense into his brain, and as he rubs his eyes the woman begins fishing around her couch cushions, pulling up throw pillows until she thrusts her phone into the air in triumph.  

“I do!  I have Rosa’s number.”  She unlocks the screen, handing the device over to Jake without hesitation.  He takes grip of it, watching with confused eyes as the woman shouts an answer to the game show host still on her screen before grabbing the remote control on the coffee table, fumbling at buttons until the TV switches to mute.  Turning her attention back to Jake, the woman’s eyes light up when she realises he’s still holding her phone in his hand.  “Hey!  I’ve got a great idea.  Let’s call Rosa!”  

If this had been anybody else, Jake is pretty sure by now he would have given up and left this crazy client to their own devices.  But there was something so wholesome about her vulnerability, so open to the complete stranger that he was, that he really wanted to make sure she had someone take watch over her tonight.  So with a grin taking over his face, he scrolls through her contacts until he finds (thankfully, only one) titled Rosa, pressing the call button before handing the phone back to the giggling beauty covered in crumpled sweats on the couch. 

She takes it from him with a smile, a surprised gasp escaping when the line connects and she calls out “Heyyyyy, Rosa!”

His heart squeezes a little as her face crumples into confusion, shaking her head in a futile response to the voice on the other end of the phone.  This woman is adorable.

“Whaaat? Noooo I’m not mad I’m not - I just got pizza and hit my head with it and now Pizza Guy thinks I shouldn’t go to bed and I know you can fix it so canyoufixitRosa?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jake takes a quick glance around the room while the conversation continues.  It was a stark contrast to his own hole in the wall apartment, to say the least.  But oddly, he felt comfortable here, with the warm coloured tone painted on the walls, plush couches with ample throw pillows and the sweet smell of vanilla coming from … well, coming from somewhere. 

“Honestly, I’m fone - I mean, I’m fine.  It’s just … this pizza has stars on it and the couch won’t stop spinning and okay maybe I hurt myself?”  Jake watches as she drops her head into her free hand, voice lowering slightly as she mumbles, “Bring Joss .. Joz … Jocelyn over too if you want.  You totally should.  I’m fine.  Really.”

As though suddenly remembering Jake’s presence, the woman looks up and gives him a thumbs up, smiling in victory.  “You’re the besssst, Rosa!  I totally owe yo-” stopping abruptly, she looks at the phone in her hand with another giggle.  “She hung up.”

He laughs along with her, watching as she flips open the lid to the pizza box and digs out a slice, taking a step back towards the doorway, suddenly very aware that he’s been standing in a relative strangers living room for longer than normal.  “Well, as long as somebody is coming, I should leave you to enjoy your pizza ma’am.”  

Her hand pauses mid-way from her mouth, several ropes of cheese forming a bridge between pie and human as she turns her attention towards Jake.  The words are masked by a mouth full of pizza, but he makes out the words thank you, Pizza Guy! as he turns to leave.

And even though there is still a part of Jake that thinks this whole ‘waiting for your soulmate before your life can begin’ is a little ridiculous, he still sits in his car near the front of the woman’s apartment, waiting until a leather clad figure with dark curly hair appears, stomping up the staircase and slamming her finger on the same apartment number that he had half an hour ago before being buzzed into the building.  He tells himself that he’s just being a good person, making sure that a patron of his employer was safe, but there’s a tiny part of him that already knows that he cares more for this mysterious woman than he should.  

** this thing is 16k long, so find the rest on AO3! **