#au: the fallen messenger

[cryptidsncurios]

Troubled Birds; a sentence meme ( part 1 ) | Accepting! @royalbratprince sent: "The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math."

The boy was an utter mess upon his arrival to the hotel---and, had Kuja any emotional attachments, would have been entirely aghast with his condition: clothing reduced to tatters, usually stylish hair askew, lines of tiny cuts adorning his flesh here and there, accompanied by smears of blood.

Though Kuja imagined that such a line delivered had been more rhetorical than anything else---for he was uncertain the princeling was even aware of his presence upon the seat directly adjacent the weary traveler---nonetheless, the Messenger, casually returning his gaze to his book, responded with a tease tinting his tone:

“If that is the case, I do hope you intend to hire a tutor.”

[areapermostcapricious]

@novuscaelum continued from [ X ]

His appointment with the king was long past its time---and Kuja was not the sort to abide by tardiness. Thus, if his host was going to turn ghost on him, the celestial being would gladly do the same, meandering about the halls like a wayward spirit, examining the various facets of the fineries that royalty provided: stunning décor with high-vaulted ceilings and twining staircases; ornate, gilded furniture adorned with plush cushions; rare and vastly-sourced trinkets from across the continent---so on, and so forth. Kuja himself maintained such an estate, even more maximalist in nature---though, alas, nowhere near as king-sized as this.

Therefore,  it turned out to be quite the distracting trek before Kuja eventually rounded once again to what he was certain was meant to be the designated meeting place---which revealed no king whatsoever.

A silent sigh through his nose, Kuja decided then to recline upon one of the velvet-lined sofas, silken robes fluttering and folding in an enchanting, sculpturesque fashion as he did so. And yet, before he could engage in complete repose, he sensed that he was not at all alone---that, just around the corner, there existed another presence: small, nervous---and the tuft of black hair certainly did the child no favors in remaining hidden.

“I say, is that a wee little princeling I see?” Kuja called out---ensuring his tone was as playful as he could manage. Despite his numerous centuries of existence, he had chosen to obtain very little experience with children---but he supposed, for what was to come, he would have to at least grow accustomed to them.

[cherubchoirs]

I had a funny thought, what if during the inevitable Gabriel vs Micheal fight, Micheal is winning, Gabe's on the ropes, helmet smashed open but during Mike's hate monologue the coin V1 flicked into the Gabe void flings out, terminal velocity, nailing Micheal and giving Gabe time to turn the tables and get his first real coin combo.

even better if this is like, decades later after v1 flicked it in there, where has it been? who knows! Anyway, how would the sibling scuffle work out anyway because the only way I can see Micheal actually listening to what Gabe has to say is after a beatdown so great that he cant run away from the truth.

UUGUHTHHUHGH THE COIN KNEW WHEN IT WAS NEEDED. and i love this bc i also definitely see gabriel adapting some of v1's strategies in his technique, the mannerisms just evolving naturally like others might copy speech or habits from their partner. he will utilize the hell out of that thing and be doubly grateful that he. now knows where it is lol but otherwise you're absolutely right in the sense that this is the only way michael could be reasoned with - he would need to be left so exhausted the meager threads of his light won't allow him to teleport in retreat. gabriel knows it's not the easiest solution since michael is just about as accustomed to loss as he once was, but he can't imagine any other way to get him to actually listen. unfortunately, he needs to be brought low before gabriel can make an earnest appeal - and he figures he has one chance to do it.

in all honesty, gabriel isn't hopeful about michael's reception to anything he has to say - michael became deeply ingrained in his ways a long time ago and his life has only served to solidify an unwavering adherence to god's will. gabriel knows, better than any of them, that he is fighting against the trauma seeded by lucifer's fall and now grown into the fruit of what michael's desperation has wrought in his decaying body. that's not. conducive to gabriel's position, because it has fostered a mental schema fortified against all collapse as that would destroy michael from the inside out. it MUST maintain, or everything he's done since the war in heaven to now tearing apart his own soul is rendered pointless in his eyes. but that's way gabriel deliberates on exactly how to approach it, and he digs deep into the messenger he once was. this was his job, to not just speak of joy but of so much evil too, and now it's imperative he frames the latter in a way michael can hear and let in. it's all been leading to this, he thinks.

so gabriel approaches him as the servant of god that he is, so staunch in his devotion that even other angels in heaven cannot understand him. he gave everything, his body and his soul, into service to the lord, and he loved so deeply that it devoured him whole. gabriel calls on him to stop his hatred then, to finally bleed the infected wound that's never gotten the chance to breathe because he so feared it would corrupt his mind. he has done enough, he has done so much more than anyone would ever even try - it's not his fault that god is gone, and it is not his fault he won't come back. michael did what no one else was willing to do, so the work is done. god poured so much of his wrath onto michael that in his return he forgot he could do so much more, and gabriel firmly reminds him of heaven's current status. he is not just some jailer, his entire existence isn't meant to be so wrapped up in the punishment of sinners and the demons of hell. michael sees souls upon their death and offers them a chance at repentance, michael is the prince of the angels and he leads their brothers in his fairness and wisdom. there is a heaven where he's needed, two remaining archangels that still look to him for guidance, and there can be peace if he chooses it. peace within himself. he is needed and he is loved, but gabriel demands that he must rid himself of all the hatred he harbors for his own sin and how it manifests into his treatment now of those in hell. because michael would HATE to hear it, but gabriel knows this is the most important point he has - his crusade now is not fought for god, but to preserve his legacy, to prove to himself and all others that he is still michael. it's a risk to shove it in his face so plainly, but gabriel knows he responds much better to tough love than walking on eggshells. and if one thing could FINALLY break him out of his rampage against hell, it would be gabriel, inhabiting the role of god's messenger, telling him in no uncertain terms that his motivation now are purely selfish. he has put god's name on a personal vitriol, and that would at least make him think.

[fatestouch]

Meriburn

"Oh, it feels like it's been ages since we've been to a land like this!" The princess, despite how primly she's dressed, is quick to have her heels off as she frolics along the sand and water. "Make sure you keep hold of my shoes, Azrael~!"

"Ah, have I been demoted from 'crown prince' to 'a brat's steward', now?" Even as he says that, he doesn't seem that put out to hold his sister's shoes, and declines handing them over when questioned.

Though he does seem a bit distracted... the prince seems to be searching for someone.

"Careful you don't fall face first in the water!" He calls, holding Avelan's hand (halfway romantically, halfway consolingly, oh his poor husband and his vendetta against sand), and then he calls ahead. "That goes double for you, Merry! Keep an eye on him, will you, James~?"

"Of course, Your Highn--ah, Prince Mercury! Please be careful!" He's already running after his charge.

"But look at all this sand, James--it's everywhere! It's amazing!" The young prince is smiling so wide--the biggest smile he's given in weeks.

[parfaitblogs]

september rain ❀ s. reid x reader

in which lightning and thunder is a little less scary with spencer reid. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: fluff (comfort) tags: thunderstorm. established relationship. word count: 1k a/n: we r going into storm season in aus. obviously that means obligatory spencer reid fanfic?? sry this is me headcanoning that you have a fear of storms :/ if you don't just pretend. this is sooo simple and not revolutionary LOL hope u enjoy anyways!! as always talk to me if u did!!

You were ninety-nine percent sure the creaking your ears were picking up came from the window frames bending from the sheer force of the wind. And you were mostly certain that the prickle on your skin was from an unexpected leak in the ceiling after a tree had fallen into the building. Not your imagination. 

Neither could be true. For the windows were not bending even slightly, and there is no tree tall enough to have fallen through the apartment above you. 

That didn't really soothe your fear.

You were curled up on the couch under a blanket, a silent film playing — Nosferatu, ironically so — that you weren't really paying attention to. Your eyes were instead fixated on the only source of light the room had — a warm glowing lamp in the corner by the bookcase adorning too many books to count. 

Spencer was not home yet. 

He was on his way. You knew that much. The first crack of thunder had ripped through the sky and you were calling him almost immediately. Then... hanging up by the first ring, feeling pathetic for calling your — very busy — boyfriend, just because you were scared.

He had called you back immediately, and because he knew you so well, he was asking if you needed him home because of the storm. Your heart had swelled, and you had mumbled a thousand yes's into the phone, until he was promising he'd be on his way as soon as he finished the case report he was working on. 

Despite the slight comfort him being on his way brought you, you were still shaking, your heart was still thumping uncomfortably in your chest, and your knuckles were still white from your petulant clutching of the blanket around you. 

You could only faintly hear the click of the front door lock over the deafening rain, but you turned regardless, eyes softening at the sight of your boyfriend entering the apartment. His hair stuck to his forehead; clothes to his body. He was soaking wet, but you were standing on wobbly legs and heading towards him for solace regardless. 

He placed his messenger bag down by the door, opting to deal with the damp leather later. His eyebrows had furrowed when you had opened your arms. 

"I'm drenched," he said, side stepping away from your attempt of a hug. "You do not want to hug me right now, honey."

"I do," you protested, voice wavering from the tightness in your throat. 

"Let me go dry off, then you can hug me forever and never let me go, okay?" he offered instead, watching you come to terms with his idea, and nod your head. 

So, he did just that. Allowing you to follow him around like a lost puppy the entire time, blanket dragging along the flooring of your apartment as you kept it wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

You sat in the middle of your bed, watching him almost too carefully as he picked out his towel from your ensuite, starting with drying his hair in a way that had your face scrunching up.

When he caught the look, he asked, "What?" in a sort of amused, laughing way.

"You're ruining your curls," you said.

"The rain already ruined them," he replied. "I'll fix them when the storm passes and I can shower."

"This is why I hate storms."

"Because it ruins my hair?"

"No, but that's definitely going on the list," you huffed, folding your arms across your chest — he laughed at that. "You literally can't do anything! You can't shower, you can't cook, the power goes out, it's loud, you can't go outside because what if you get struck by lightning? And also the rain. Which is cold, by the way... where are you going?"

"To get clothes," he explained, then being completely unsurprised by the fact that you were leaving your safe haven atop the bed to trail after him. "I was coming back."

"Two seconds is all it takes for a storm to take me out," you said. "Then you'll feel really bad."

"The storm is not going to take you out," he replied within a sigh, peeling his wet button up off his body. 

"It could."

"The main cause of death during storms is drowning. The apartment is not flooded. Neither is the street," he was almost nurturing with his tone, unfazed by your locked in stare on the towel he was drying his body with — you weren't really staring at him, simply zoning out on whatever was in front of you as he spoke. "The second is debris flying from the wind, which is nowhere near harsh enough for anything to be flying around. Let alone at this height. The third is a lightning strike, which is impossible when you're indoors because this building has lightning protection."

He spent the time he took debunking all the possible death scenarios to finish drying himself off and changing, and by the time he had stopped speaking he was standing in front of you. Still seemingly unconvinced due to your inner anxieties, your face was painted with a disagreeing frown, that his shoulders slumped at the sight of. 

"They're still scary," you mumbled, and he nodded his head, arms looping around your body and pulling you into him. His skin was still cold, but it was a welcome comfort nonetheless. 

"I know they are," he decided to say, instead of attempting to deny all your worries with logic again. The two of you stood there, in your closet, for minutes. His hand found your hair, entangling within it, chin resting on your shoulder. With his face buried into the crook of your neck, he mumbled, "There's ice cream in the freezer. Movie?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, so he broke the hug with a step back, lips tugging into a smile at the now less worried expression on your face. 

"But we have to eat with wooden spoons," you said as he led you out, hand clasped firmly in yours for your own peace of mind. 

"Why?"

"Metal attracts lightning," you mumbled, watching his shoulders shake with more laughter. 

"No, honey, it doesn't. That's a myth," he said.

"Whatever."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[jj-the-hobbit171]

I have an idea. So a medieval au!. So, reader was this royal scholar of sorts that spent all their time studying, and reading the secrets of the land, and they liked it… till they met Johnny. The spitfire from the neighboring kingdom. Wild, so carefree, he was everything reader wasn’t, and that drew them together.

In the day, reader and Johnny would play fight in the castle gardens, running from guards and tutors that tried to sit them down; in the night, they’ll sneak out of the castle walls,into the forest, to the highest peek. He’ll lay his head in their lap, gazing at the stars, or them, and reader recites a story for them.

So, this happened for a long time, and they grow up, reader,to an exemplary royal advisor while Johnny now had reached the age of corrination. They move their relationship forward, and wed; giving each Al other their rings, He promises reader that they’ll never leave them, never leave this kingdom… that he’ll be their king and their lover.

But, fate has other plans and war strikes. The kingdom is in trouble and MacTavish has to leave, but not before your love has bored life, either through surrogacy, adopting, or the good old fucking. Anyway, he leaves you and your unborn to fight, and three mouths go by, and you’re holding your to months old boy in your arms when a messenger arrives. Their face is solem, as they kneel and present Johnnys fur coat, caked in blood, and torn in places. The king, has fallen.

It was a sad say at the funeral, his mother sobbing on the ground as they carry a close coffin to the grave. John MacTavish, king , husband, son and father, was buried. And on that day, you wore your battle amor, draped on his fur coat, and went, to purge the land.

And for five years, that’s exactly what you do. You go to each kingdom, conquering it, in the name of the late king. Slaughtering men and women who dare stand in your way, leaving with a new kingdom, and blood on your hands. But, one day, you pillaged and small but thriving town, and doing the routine, rounding the men together to either be captured or killed…. And when they brought them to you, one stood out.

He was shorter Thant the three other people he was with, with a very vivid mohawk. You ignored the other men, walking up to the stranger, and raising up his head….

“J-Johnny?”

And cliffhanger! Honestly, there’s a lot that I wanted to add, but I really want to hear from you about any ideas you have for this Au. Anyway thanks for reading!

From the hobbit hole,

J.J

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 1

Summary: You failed as the Prototype's "archangel," and this is your punishment; being left to die while at the mercy of your enemies.

(This is my contribution to the Smiling Critters Space Riders Au. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. I hope y'all enjoy.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death Implications, War, Witchcraft, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Religious Worship, Slight cursing

----------

You had one job: lead your people to victory. You are a warrior, a healer, a messenger. You are an archangel that needs to spread the word of the Prototype by any means necessary. You need to do your part to save the souls tainted by the condemned ways of the heretics. That’s why you’re here in the first place. Instead, you failed…

It's hard to say how long your mind has been hazy for. All you know is that it burns so much. Fiery hot and raging cold sensations dance and mingle around your body especially where blood was pouring out. The feeling of liquid invading and burning your lungs worsens the more you try to gasp for air. Flashes of light won’t stop assaulting your eyes even as spots of darkness slowing dance their way into your vision. As you close your eyes and try to ignore the sharp tingling in your eyes, one thought stands out among the rest.

‘So, this is what damnation feels like…’

A blurry orange figure looms above you followed by a red and a blue one. They shield you from the harsh light, prompting you to slightly open your eyes. More figures loom around you. All the sounds echoing around you are drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. You suppose that this is a fitting punishment. You failed your people, yourself, and the Prototype. And now they have come to take you away, to give you your just deserved judgement. The thought alone is enough to make you whimper as your body curls around itself protectively. You try so hard to ignore the inferno now growing where your wounds are. This proves to be futile as hands pin you down, preventing you from curling in on yourself. The sounds grow more urgent, louder even. You couldn’t resist their grips anyways. You should’ve known it was futile to fight the inevitable. As blackness conquers the last of your vision, you pray that you will be granted mercy. You pray that your sins will be forgiven. You pray that your dedication to your duties will lead you to the happiness you have been promised. You pray that you have done enough to grant you eternal happiness. And you pray that you will continue to do good in the next life you are given…

----------

The team has been waiting outside the operation room for hours. Bubba and Bobby wasted no time getting you into operation considering your critical condition. Dogday has been pacing nonstop since getting you onto their ship. He was the one who insisted on taking you with them despite the protests from his teammates. Memories, emotions, and questions spiraled around and around his head, never giving him a second to rest. You’ve caused a lot of damage to not only his team but other parts of the galaxy. Dogday, however, being the sunny, kind-hearted leader he is will be damned if he just left another victim of the Prototype to die. Given the state of your injuries, unfortunately, the chances of your surviving in the long run are slim to none. That was stated by Bubba himself. Regardless, they still had to try, at least.

The canine knew that part of it was wishful thinking from Bubba and a couple others. Dogday can’t say he blames them for disliking the idea of helping one of the Space Riders’ most dangerous enemies. Leaving you to suffer the consequences of your actions means one less enemy to worry about. No one knows how or why you became the Prototype’s archangel apart from your Divinity powers. And maybe Catnap is right about the fact that Dogday’s heart is too forgiving for his own good. It’s just that that thought of leaving you, lying down, alone, and bleeding on the battlefield doesn’t sit right with him. That is not what the Space Riders is supposed to represent. They’re meant to give victims of the Prototype a second chance at life.

If you survive… maybe he and his friends could give you that chance. He hopes, at least. You could help a lot of people and use your powers for good. The riders could have a powerful friend and ally by their side. You could protect them like how you always protected your troops and the Prototype in past battles. You could have people to turn to and not leave you to die alone in the battle the moment things spiral downhill.

Dogday isn’t entirely naïve, though. Even if you survive, and you do agree to change your ways, there will be a lot of obstacles in your path. The obvious one was getting backlash from the Commander and members of HQ. The riders would have to disclose that they are hospitalizing one the most wanted enemies in the galaxy sooner or later. Given everything you’ve done, people are going to demand justice. Some will want to draw blood in the name of vengeance. Dogday would rather not risk that possibility. Maybe he and Bubba could find a way to convince the Commander and the Council to let you serve your sentence here under the riders’ supervision while you are being treated.

Time was passing so agonizingly slowly compared to Dogday’s thoughts. He wishes he could get some news on your condition now. At the very least, a slow update would suffice. Anything would do to finally put his aching head to rest. As if the heavens finally decided to answer him, the doors finally opened. Everyone, asleep or otherwise perks up hearing Bobby approaching. Her eyes droop, but her small, satisfied smile told everyone what they needed to know. Dogday breathes out a sigh of relief. You still need to be monitored for the time being. The surgery may have been successful, but that doesn’t mean it will be a guaranteed smooth sailing recovery. There are still a lot of risks that need to be accounted for at this time. The Space Riders rescued you in time, and that thought is enough to finally put the canine’s whirlwind of thoughts to rest. Dogday can now focus on the next priority; figuring out a way to disclose the recent events to the people of HQ.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Clingy.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Modern AU, Non/Con, Blood, Intimidation/Threats of Violence, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Slight Financial Abuse, and Codependent Behavior.

[Part Two]

On your third date, your boyfriend-at-the-time demanded that you give him a spare key to your ‘shitty shoebox of an apartment’, despite refusing to so much as let you into the penthouse Ei had leased for him while going to a university a hundred or so miles away from the multi-story, marble sculpted, beachside mansion he’d reluctantly flown you out to when he got sick of listening to you ask why he still hadn't introduced you to his moms eight months into your relationship. That probably should’ve been your first red flag, but somehow, you’d persisted. He brought out your competitive side, like that.

He made you want to dig your nails in, plant your teeth in your neck, and refuse to let go. It wasn’t good for you, but nothing he did was good for anyone. That never stopped him from doing it, though.

You could only assume that this – Kunikuzushi, your boyfriend of eighteen months and your ex-boyfriend of one, splayed across the couch in your living room, the keys he’d never given back dangling from his ring finger and the phone you’d forgotten when you left for work that morning in the other – wasn’t going to be good for you, either.

You didn’t say anything at first. It was all you could do to groan, to shake your head, to pretend you didn’t see him or didn’t care long enough to throw your messenger bag onto the nearest chair and tear off your jacket. He’d clearly made himself at home. A textbook was open on your coffee table, a drink from the cheap, trendy café he’d always whined about having to take you to sitting half-empty next to it. He wasn’t looking at either, though, his attention entirely centered on your phone. You didn’t have the energy to pretend to be surprised. He used to like to go through your conversations and delete the contacts he ‘didn’t trust’ when you were together, too, but you’d been more willing to write it off as the cute-but-concerning tick of a jealous boyfriend, back then. You must’ve fallen out of practice after your breakup.

You opened your mouth, but he was ultimately the one to break the silence. “You know Ajax?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“I mean, I know you’re in the same microbiology course, but c’mon, him? The fucker couldn’t tell a proton from a nucleolus. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t flunked out yet. Give it another semester - he’ll be gone by spring, I promise.”

“I didn’t say you could come over.”

“I texted you last night. Did you try to block me again?” You’d blocked him, then reported his number, then changed yours when he’d started using burner phones to drunk dial you in the small hours of the morning and leave disjointed, rambling voice mails about how well he was doing without you, how much time he had now that you weren’t pestering him, how many people he’d slept with since the last time you'd seen each other. All of it was bullshit, obviously, but it was his bullshit. Somehow, he always knew just how to get under your skin. “Scratch that – I’ll take care of it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to get through a month without my help.”

You grit your teeth. Swallowing as much of your anger as you could, you stepped in front of him, snatching your phone out of his hands and retreating before he had a chance to take it back. You were tempted to look at what he’d been scrolling through, see which conversation had gotten him so upset, but you forced yourself to turn off your phone completely, to set it down on the far side of your coffee table and think about something else. It’d take hours to fix the damage he’d done, to unblock all the acquaintances he didn’t approve of and the apologize to all the friends he'd insulted under your name. You’d rather get rid of him first, then try to fix everything he'd already started to tear apart. “Get out.”

He scanned over you, his eyes lingering on the wrinkles in your button-up shirt, the cheap material of your dress pants. “Y'know, if we were still together, you wouldn’t have to put up with that shitty job. You could just quit and finally move in with me.”

Once, you’d let him buy you a new laptop when yours gave out in the middle of the semester and you didn’t think you’d be able to scrape enough up for another before you next exam. It’d been a used model, already a few years out of date, and you swore up and down that you’d pay him back when you had the money, but he’d held it over your head for months, smirked and gloated and taken every opportunity to remind you how grateful you should be to have a boyfriend so willing to spoil his oh-so-unfortunate partner. He hadn’t let you pay him back. He hadn’t let you pay for anything until he’d gotten tired of playing savior and went back to acting like a brat, too desperate for your attention to care if he was in-charge. You doubt he’d be any more bearable if you actually moved in with him, if you lived in his house and relied on his good-will. If you actually depended on him.

But, rather trying to say any of that in a way he’d understand, you sighed, clenching your eyes shut. “It’s an internship and I need it for my major. Get out.”

His scowl wavered. “When did you get so bossy? This isn’t going to work if you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy, you’re just a prick. Get out.”

He sat up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cut it out. I’m not going to want to get back together if you keep acting so immature.

“I don’t want to get back together with you.” And then, gesturing towards your door. “Get. Out.”

If nothing else, that seemed to shut him up.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, he responded. There was an airy laugh, a thin smile, a certain air of hurt disbelief as he sat up. “You really aren't kidding, are you?”

You didn’t indulge him with a reaction. Rather, you watched with a pressed scowl as he pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward you. He was in his usually ‘too cool to try, but too bored not to’ get-up – ripped jeans and long sleeves striped in black and violet, half a dozen rings and bolts pierced into the curve of each ear and a belt from a brand you couldn’t name, but knew you were supposed to tacked on to further feed into his ego. He must’ve been here all day. His short hair was more disheveled than he usually liked it to be, and you could see more irritation in his dark eyes than you were used to, paired with a certain type of frustration that only ever slipped out when you managed to keep him waiting. You hadn’t, technically (you couldn’t be late to meet someone who you didn’t want to see), but you didn’t bother trying to point that out.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you after… How long? Five weeks?” He glanced down, starting to toy with something in his back pocket. “I thought we could order lunch, talk for a while, maybe watch a movie or something. Then, I don’t know…” His smile took on an apologetic lull, almost pleading. “Kiss and make up? It’s not like any of this is new for us.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been together for a year and a half, and most of that had been spent caught up in ear-splitting, tear-inducing, world-ending fights. He’d burn the notes you borrowed from your classmate, and you'd refuse to talk to him for a week. You’d decide you were over his constant mood swings and go on a date with the cute guy from your calculus class, and he’d mail a slab of raw meat to your best friend because, in his own words, ‘you couldn’t come up with such a stupid idea by yourself’. It wasn’t balanced, you would never be able to give as much as he took, but still. When he started yelling, you did too, and when he showed up at your door a few days later, his eyes still bloodshot from crying, you always took him back. Because he was Kunikuzushi. Because you loved him.

Because you knew he’d make your life hell, if you didn’t.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t just… kiss and make up, this time. Not if it’d mean swallowing your pride and letting him get everything he wanted.

You sighed, but kept your arms crossed, your expression stern. “I’m tired, Kuni. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You paused, bit down on the side of your tongue. “It’s not good for either of us. We’re not good together. I don’t want to pretend that we are.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t fall. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I mean,” You braced yourself, shut your eyes. “I think you should leave.”

At least he seemed to hear that. You watched with as little sympathy as you could manage as his grin cracked and fell away, as his shoulders slumped downward, as he let out an airy chuckle that cracked halfway through. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“We broke up a month ago.” And he’s been insufferable ever since. “And we’re not getting back together.”

Parted lips, glassy eyes. He raked a hand through his bangs, doing what he could to blink away the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. This wasn’t new, and yet, you still found yourself struggling not to break, not to embrace him and mutter soothing nothings while he sobbed quietly into your shirt and wrapped his arms around your waist and, inevitably, ended up on his knees, his face buried between your legs as he made you cum until you forgot why you’d been mad at him in the first place. “Fine. That’s fine. Honestly, that’s great. I don’t know why I’d ever want to be with such a heartless bit—” His voice broke before he could finish. He made a half-hearted effort to wipe at his eyes, but that only drew more attention to the tears starting to roll down his flushed cheeks, only made you more tempted to pull him into a kiss and act like this had never happened. “Fine. If you’re really that sick of me, I’ll go.”

He pushed past you, starting towards your door. That was what you wanted. Kunikuzushi gone, your apartment empty, your life just a little less fucked than it always seemed to be when he was a part of it. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve stood there until he was gone. You should’ve let him leave.

But you heard another hitched sob, a string of muttered swearing, and something in your chest broke open. With a shallow sigh, you dropped your arms to your sides, forcing yourself to speak through clenched teeth. “…do you want a hug before you leave?”

Kunikuzushi glanced over his shoulder. “A hug? What do you think I am, a toddler?”

“It's the only thing I'm putting on the table. Do you want it or—”

You never got the chance to finish. His arms were already around you, pinning your arms to your torso as he buried his face in your shirt. You choked back your protests, forced yourself to fight the instinct to push him away, and in a few excoriating seconds, his hold on you loosened, his back straightening, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder and his lips pressing into your neck. There was a lingering8 kiss laid onto your jugular, then another to the corner of your jaw, but you didn’t bother to try and push him away. Instead, you only shifted in his arms, nudging at his chest. You’d gotten yourself into this, called him back when he was a few steps away from leaving. You only had yourself to blame. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I knew you’d change your mind.” A hand fell to the small of your back, the heel of his palm pressing into the base of your spine. “You always do. You always make the right choice, in the end.”

You opened your mouth, ready to remind him that you weren’t taking him back, but you hesitated. He was always weird, just a little too hostile, just a little too desperate to keep you close to him, but you didn’t trust the levity in his voice, the way his smile pressed into your skin despite how close he’d come to crying a few minutes ago. “I think…” You trailed off, bit down on the side of your tongue. “I haven't changed my mind. You have to—”

Something flat and stiff pressed into your back – the blunt edge of a switchblade. His switchblade, you realized, dredging up hazy memories of bandages wrapped around thighs and hollow promises that he’d be more careful, next time. You heard his nails drum against smooth metal, felt something cold and sharp cut into the skin above your shoulder blade, and you froze, your mind instantly going blank.

He laughed, the noise cracking and airy. Warm breath fanned over the crook of your neck, and he melted into you, nuzzling into the curve of your throat. “I love you.” And then, pressing the blade into your flesh. “Say you love me too.”

Automatic, robotic. The only thing you could spit out through grit teeth. “I love you.”

Another laugh – more giddy, this time, more eager. If he noticed your reluctance, it clearly didn’t bother him. The switchblade was pulled up to the nape of your neck, then drawn in a loose arch to your collarbone, the tip never leaving your skin. “I mean, yeah, obviously. That’s why we get to stay together, even when we’re at each other’s throats.”

He paused, burrowed into you. In turn, you were dragged further into his chest, but pushed away just as quickly, allowed to get just far enough to make it possible for Kunikuzushi to raise his free hand to the collar of your shirt and drag you into a clumsy, rushed kiss – too rough and too forceful for anyone but him to enjoy. His teeth scraped against your lips, his tongue dragging over yours, but he pulled away with a breathy groan, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes still glossed over. “…you didn’t get with anyone while I was gone, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

How could you? He hadn’t given you room to breathe, let alone get past anything more than a first date with someone new. Even when you’d been together (actually together, not fighting or on a break), he’d been so suffocating, so possessive, you’d never been able to get any further than heavy petting, oral, his body on top of yours and your legs wrapped around his waist before he said something you couldn’t brush off and the night devolved into something... less romantic. It was hard to be with someone like Kunikuzushi, someone who acted like they’d rather give up the air in their lungs than a second of your time. Even after a year and a half, it was hard to let your guard down around him when he seemed so willing to give you every reason you ever could've needed to keep it up.

You guessed you should’ve expected this, looking back on it. He’d was bound to get tired of waiting for you to trust him eventually.

This was just his way of letting you know that he’d never really needed you to, in the first place.

Stiltedly, you shook your head, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.” He kissed the corner of your lips, then your forehead. “You’d never hurt me.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he took you by the hand – his fingers intertwining with yours as he turned and tugged you forward, moving to lead you further into your apartment. The switchblade left your skin, falling momentarily to his side, and for a few brief seconds, you considered trying to get away, jerking yourself out of your hold and running as far away as you could get from him and his fucking issues. You made a passing effort, but Kunikuzushi’s grip turned crushing as soon as you began to shift, and you gave up before he could break something more vital than your heart. He was between you and the door, you and your phone. He had a knife, a weapon. He had you, and until he decided he was done, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

With little ceremony, you were drawn out of your living room and into your cramped bedroom. Kunikuzushi let go of your hand, but you didn’t have time to run before you were being pushed onto your unmade bed, before he was straddling your waist and pinning you to the center of the mattress. The knife was brought back to your neck, but quickly plunged lower, slid beneath your uppermost button and used to separate thread from fabric. Somehow, annoyance managed to overshadow your panic, if only for as long as it took for one rational thought to be followed by another. This was your nicest shirt, one of a handful you’d splurged on for your internship, but it wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would ever understand anything like that. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to, before.

The tip caught on the slight dip below your diaphragm and you winced, a few dots of red immediately seeping into white fabric. You winced, beginning to protest on reflex. “Kuni’, that—”

“I’ll take care of it.” Absentminded, only half conscious that he was speaking at all. He reached the hem, pulling his switchblade free and letting your dress shirt fall away from your chest and over your shoulders, as useless as it was embarrassing. “I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Just sit pretty and keep your mouth shut for a while.”

Really, you could only wonder why you hadn’t dumped him sooner.

Your pants were next, slits carved into the material over your hips and ruined fabric torn away. He moved to cut off your boxers, too, but seemed to hesitate, to linger, to find the strength to pause just long enough to drag two fingers over your clothed slit and press the pad of his thumb into your clit. You hissed at the friction, but Kunikuzushi only smiled, dipping his head low enough for his lips to ghost over your collarbone, then the midline of your chest, then the tender spot just below your navel. The last was accompanied by a slight groan, throaty and deep. You did what you could to block it out. This would be better if you didn’t think about it, if you just imagined he was trying to win you back after a fight, that there was a wilting rose in his other hand and not a knife already stained with your blood.

It was almost a mercy when his hands finally slipped under the hem of your boxers, doing away with your last layer of protection with only a slight laugh and a lilting smile. You did what you could to relax, to lean back and close your eyes, but Kunikuzushi’s weight was an ever-present anchor to reality, only made worse as he shifted lower, as he pulled your legs apart and threw them over his shoulders. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, his teeth ghosting over tender flesh as he sucked harsh bruises into whatever he could reach. This was his favorite part, by far. He’d always been clingy – possessive to the point of total, nail-biting, jaw-locking paranoia. At first, you’d been able to write it off as a sort of overeager enthusiasm that came with a new relationship, but he’d never stopped. He was always ready, always desperate to dig his teeth into your skin and leave as many marks as you’d let him – or rather, as many as he possibly could before you were able to pry him away. Even then, you’d tried to think of it as cute, just one of the quirks of your immature-but-loving boyfriend. Now, all you could do was hope it’d be over soon.

It took him full minutes to actually reach your cunt, for his tongue to lave over your slit. Instantly, you stiffened, clenching your eyes shut and attempting to ignore the heady sounds of his whimpering moans, the feeling of his tongue tracing patterns in your entrance. It was sloppy, messy, all drool and teeth and clutching hands, but warmth flooded into your core as the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, as his hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you that much closer to his mouth. Everything he did was dirty, but he knew you, knew your body, knew that you’d have to spread your legs as soon as his tongue thrust into you.

You arched your back as two fingers slid into your entrance alongside his tongue, scissoring you open while his attention shifted to your clit – his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves while he sucked gently. If he hadn’t been so vocal, it might’ve been more bearable, but no, he couldn’t seem to stop whining into your cunt, to stop sending waves of those awful reverberations from your clit to your core every time he whimpered or grunted or moaned. Before you could stop yourself, your hips were rolling weakly against his mouth as he nursed you through your sudden climax. When you fell limp, his mouth fell away, but his hand still cupped your pussy, his fingers still curling and thrusting inside of you.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, not until you were crying out and clenching around him, not until you could feel the slick running down your thighs, soaking into your sheets. He didn’t stop until you were babbling – spitting out incoherent pleas for him to slow down before the overstimulation turned from overwhelming to agonizing. You were forced to endure another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue running over his fingers, but he pulled away in a few seconds, finally letting you have just enough space to breathe. Even that was temporary, cut short by his lips crashing into yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, as little as you wanted to. You could feel him panting against your lips, and it was all you could do not to scream.

He pulled away abruptly, grinning. “You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question, but you found yourself shaking your head, denying it on instinct. “I never—"

“You didn’t have to.” There was a peck to the corner of your lips, another to your cheek. “I know everything about you. Your parents were too strict to let you date in high school, and none one’s ever lasted more than a couple of weeks with you before me. Since you wouldn’t so much as take off your shirt around me before our three-month anniversary, I’m going to assume you weren’t a total slut before we met.”

You narrowed your eyes, shoving gently at his chest. You just needed space. You just needed him to get away from you. “So?”

“So,” he leaned in, his smiling growing that much wider. “I’m going to ruin you.”

It was something about his tone, the dark glint in his eyes as he leered over you. Your heart dropped in your chest, and very distinctly, something very large and very sharp began to crawl up your throat.

You started to shake your head, but he was already edging jeans downward, already freeing his cock – the flushed tip leaking precum in fat, white pearls. His weight was enough to keep you pinned down as he aligned himself with your entrance, as he traced the head over the length of your slit, and his eyes never left your face, your expression painted with heavy strokes of horror and disbelief. He never wavered, never blinked, even as he thrust inside of you, bottoming out in a single uninterrupted motion. Even as you cried out, the sound more pained than anything else. Even as you felt a single, warm teardrop fall off of his cheek and onto yours. You hadn’t realized you’d shut your eyes, not until you forced yourself to open them, not until you found him cloudy-eyed and grinning above you.

He was crying, again.

Huh.

You thought he would’ve given up on that, by now.

He wasn’t gentle. He’d never been delicate with you, but right now, it felt like he was trying to be rough, to pin your legs against your chest and split you open every time he moved his hips, every time he found a way to hit something deeper and more sensitive inside of you. You tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, strangling itself into something more akin to a cracked whine and a few broken whimpers. The stretch, the pressure was more than you could take. You couldn’t stop yourself – going rigid underneath him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open in a silent, agonized cry. Your reactions, however involuntary, only seemed to spur Kunikuzushi on, his pace growing more erratic and his breath now coming in quick, shallow pants. No matter what you did, it just made him worse.

You could hear him talking, distantly – little mumbled tangents forming between thrusts. “You’re just so—” He cut himself off with a long, wordless moan. “We’ll do this every day, until— until you know you don’t need anyone but me. Then, you’ll love me, and you’ll never have to—” He thrust deeper into you, letting out a fracturing laugh. “And then, I’ll rip out your tongue and cut off your legs if you try to leave. We’ll always be together. No one will ever, ever take you away from me again.”

You weren’t with him. You didn’t want to be with him. If it wasn’t for his immaturity, his manipulativeness, his fucking knife, this wouldn’t be—

His knife.

Both of his hands were on your thighs, his nails digging into your flesh, keeping your knees pressed into your chest. He wasn’t holding it. He couldn’t be.

Without daring to look away from him, you groped around the mattress blindly, your fingertips eventually brushing against something cold and metallic – his switchblade lying abandoned on the edge of the bed. You took it up before you could hesitate, gripping the handle tightly enough for the sharp corners to bite into your palm, for your hand to cramp and go numb by the time you found the strength to actually lift it up. You didn’t aim. You didn’t have time to, not unless you wanted to think about what you were doing, not unless you wanted to let Kunikuzushi win. Not unless you could—

The curved tip just barely made contact with the skin above his collarbone before you faltered, before he had time to catch your wrist in an iron-clad hold. You tried to let go of the switchblade reflexively, but his hand shifted to wrap around yours, to keep the blade pressed into his chest – applying just enough pressure to break the skin. “Do it.” Soft, drawn out, too eager to mean anything good. “I’d let you carve your name into me, if you wanted to. All you'd have to do is ask.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to. You didn't want any of this, but Kunikuzushi pressed the blade in his skin regardless, letting out muttered confessions of love and loyalty as a thin red line formed in his flesh, as blood dripped down his chest and disappeared behind the loose collar of his shirt, blotting against the dark fabric. He guided your blade to his lips, next, making a small nick in the corner of his mouth before taking the switchblade out of your hand and tossing it onto the floor, out of your reach. It would’ve hurt less if he’d tried to hurt you, too, taken the blade to your skin after his own. If would've hurt less if he’d acknowledged that you’d tried to do anything at all.

You didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, though. He was already moving again, already making up for time lost by fucking into you like a man crazed. With no preparation, no warning, he jerked forward, his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you, as he forced his tongue past your teeth and smeared his blood over your lips. It felt like you were drowning in nickel, being slowly suffocated by some nameless, slick, oppressive force. It felt like you were choking, despite being able to breathe, to think as clearly as you’d ever been able to around him. It felt like you were going to die.

But, you weren’t. He’d never be so kind, he’d never let you have that kind of comfort, not when he was still grinding into you, not when his cock was twitching against the walls of cunt and he was groaning into your mouth without reservation. You could feel your poor overstimulated pussy clenching around him, your vision burning white around the edges as, for lack of anything more stable to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your nails over his back, clawing into whatever you could reach. If he noticed, if he cared, it only worked to drag him that much closer, to leave him as deep as he could possibly be when he finally finished, when you felt something warm and vile flood into you.

He stayed like that for a long moment, silent and unmoving, his chest pressed into yours and his lips trailing from your mouth to your throat, settling just above your jugular. It was a small mercy when he finally pulled away and straightened his back, easing himself out of you and wiping the blood off of his face, his neck. You watched from a distance as he fixed his clothes, before pushing himself to his feet, never sparing you so much as a second glance. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Pack your stuff, and make sure you’ve gotten your shit together by then. I’m not letting a mess like you into my apartment.” He paused, lingered long enough to smile. With no sense of visible urgency, he walked to the side of your bed, retrieving his switchblade and kissing your forehead softly, gingerly, with a kind of tenderness you could only wish he’d found a few hours earlier. “I love you, babe. Even when you act like a fucking idiot.”

His grin pressed into flesh, cutting and cruel.

“And I’m so, so glad you’ve realized that you love me too.”

[floydsglasses]

𝘼 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝘼 𝙔𝙚𝙡𝙡 - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw (A Quiet Place AU)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x AFAB OC/ Valerie

SUMMARY: Society has fallen to ruin's where silence is key to survival in a world where most humans have been killed by blind but noise-sensitive creatures. Two unlikely survivors come across each and agree to stick together.

Tag's: Mention of blood/wounds, post apocalyptic setting, use of ASL, Alien creatures. Stranger's to Lover's, Angst, Swearing, Fluff, inacurate first aid, No Use of Y/N A/N: First Story on tumblr, I hope that I did this right and hopefully I didnt mess thing's up too much

WORD COUNT: 7,731

⏁⏁⏁

SOUND. What once was so common is now almost extinct as the human race. The birds no longer flew in the sky, car alarms didn't blast loudly with a touch of a button, soft chatter’s from conversation now replaced with howling of the wind. Everything before was so simple, it was so easy, she didn't have to worry about the sound of leaves crunching under her feet, closing a door too hard, letting out a breath too hard. Now one wrong move in this world, a person’s life is gone in less than a whisper.

Her hand’s trailed over the isles of abandoned goods, she used to love going to the supermarket, seeing people and having a nice conversation with the cashier, kind smile’s.

Now a trip into town is so dreaded, the world is so quiet and it’s almost insufferable to her. Though she would much rather prefer the silence of the world then the harsh darkness of death from the predator's who now ruled the world.

She looks down at her grocery list, written on the back of the brochure for a navel bar, The Hard Deck. Before day 1 of the end of the world, she worked at a cafeteria in a nursing home, after rough day’s she would sometime’s sit at the bar with a bottle of beer. At the moment she much preferred the sound of the man she could catch glimpses of the few night’s playing 60’s tune’s on the piano. She assumed anyone she once knew is gone now.

She slide’s the can of food into her messenger bag, making sure not to stock up too much on the cans, learning the hard way that too much noise will attract the monsters.

Her bare feet smack the ground of the white tiled floor as she turned onto the next aisle.

Food rations were running low for her, and it didn't help that nowhere was safe enough for her. Walking around a desolate San Diego without shoe’s also wasn't ideal. Pain killers, she thought .

A few weeks ago she tripped on the sidewalk, skidding her knee and thigh, not something she would recommend handling without pain killers.

The snap of glass pulls her out of her thought’s. The hair on her arm stood to attention as her heart pounded in her rib cage, eye’s widened fearfully. Her hand grazed her knife holster, gripping the ebony handle. She had never handled a weapon for the purpose of hurting another human, not before this new world began.

Her breath shake’s as she lightly step’s around the corner. Unsheathing the blade from her waist. Monster’s were not the only threat in the world, the people, rumors at least swirled of groups of people calling themselve’s Bandits ruled parts of the city. She had not ventured that far, she was hell bent on finding somewhere away from the city, anywhere that was safe.

She huffed, swinging her blade as she rounded the aisle corner. She panted, her head darting in each direction. All that remained were leaves blown in from the broken front door, a few item’s laid on the ground.

She shook her head. Paranoia much. She rolled her eye’s, putting her knife back into its holster. You know you are totally crazy. Her bare feet turned on the edge to go back to her original isle.

Her arm’s smack into a metal stand, it began to fall to the floor. She gasped quickly trying to stop its descent. Its pamphlet’s crashed with metallic bang. Her eyes widened in horror as her heart raced, blood drained from her face.

Oh God, she panicked. Roar’s in the distance began to cry out at the sound. She stood frozen in fear, panting as she desperately fought against her sense telling to hide.

She let out a gasp as she was brought to the floor. She expected to be met with darkness, her eye’s closed tight awaiting the pain from the sharp talon’s of the creature’s that ruled the quiet world.

Shhh. A voice whispered next to her ear, their hot breath sending shivers down her spine. Her heart pounded. Her back was held closely to something..someone.

Her arm’s radiated with warmth, mostly from fear. Could the stranger be holding her back so they can save their own skin, or did they have something else in mind.

No time can pass in her mind as clicking began to fill the supermarket. Footsteps heavy on the tile, a hissing sound filled the air. The stranger behind her shuddered at the sound’s, the two of them both equally fearful.

Click Click.

They sounded. The dark silhouette casted on the ceiling above them on the white bar’s. The stranger’s hand clamped over her mouth as her panting grew erratic, she stood still not daring to move, even with the tight grip around her body from the stranger.

The click’s began to get closer to them, the footsteps heavier with each step. Their dark gray skin tight as their gorilla like movement helps them traipse across the tile. Their flower-like head’s turn slowly in each direction. She guessed they were looking for any sound.

She gulped as she held her breath, restricting her air. Hoping it will limit any sound she may be making, even with the help of the person holding her. She was sure that she was louder then what she may be stopping.

On her spine, a light thump was against her back. Rhythmically repeating at a rapid pace, similar to her own.

The creature’s head twitched with each click from its mouth, searching for her. Its heavy footsteps thudded against the ground as it walked on all fours.

A single tear trailed down her cheek, the heat from the stranger’s hand made the pool of sweat on her forehead fall. With a final twitch of its head, it let out an inhuman, ear piercing roar. A swift move the monster ran out of the supermarket.

A sigh of relief left her lip’s. The calloused hand left her mouth, her shoulders relaxed briefly. Her eyes widened, she reached for the holster that held her knife. A tight grip on wrist stopped her. From the size of his hand, she could tell he was a man, one who worked with his hand’s from the vein’s that popped.

He held on tightly onto her wrist as he got to his feet. Her heartbeat had not stopped racing, adrenaline pumped through her veins. She snapped her head, she had been ready to throw insult’s in, her head at least.

She looked the man up and down. His dirty blonde hair, messy and short. His dark brown eyes scanned her, maybe he saw her as a threat. Though he clearly had a chance of overpowering her. Above his chapped lips laid a thin line of facial hair, she wondered how long it took him to grow it.

He released her hand, putting his hand’s up in surrender. “Who are you?” She signed to him frantically, he blinked at her panicked state. He shook his head.

“I'm not gonna hurt you.” He reassured her she scrunched her nose up.

“Did you follow me?” She signed slowly. He shook his head.

“I was here before you.” The man stated in sign. “Bullshit!” She signed, her brows furrowed in anger.

“I swear.” He swore. In their silent world, she was thankful that she had taken the time prior to learning ASL. She wouldn't have thought it would be useful in a post apocalyptic setting.

Her shoulders relaxed, her jaw remained clinched. “Listen, to me please.” He pleaded with her, she crossed her arms.

He bent down on his knees leaning over grabbing a blue and yellow pamphlet, the world's map of San Diego written in a white font.

He began to carefully unfold it, placing objects on the corner to keep it straightened out. He looks up at her. “Marker?” He signed.

She furrowed her brow, she shook her head no. “What are you doing?” She signed to the stranger.

“Showing you something.” He signed, he looked around at the old store, smirking. He lightly stepped across the tiled floor.

She noted the duct tape on his boot’s, tear’s and rip’s in the leather in each curve, she supposed he had placed the tape to absorb the sound, she hadnt even thought about it.

Beginning to make mark’s on the map, taking pauses to think. His lip’s formed a thin line, he looked at her.

“You see that?” He signed, she shook her head.

“The Circle’s?” She signed to him, even in sign language he could detect the sarcasm she laid on. He gesture’s with two finger’s for her to get down to his level. She bends down to her knees, getting a closer look.

“You see it now?” He signed, she shook her head. He gently grabbed her hand, using his index finger pointing to the center. A green and beige island in the ocean, half a mile from the North Island docks. Her brows furrowed.

“What is that?” She signed. He blinked. “Island, not far from the bay, safe.” He says in sign language, she shook her head.

“Nowhere is safe.” She says.

“You don't know that.” He says, he motioned in frustration. “And you do?” She pointed out.

“Come with me.” He signed, she shook her head at his offer. “No, I don't know you.” She says.

“So..we can help each other.” He tells her, she shook her head in disbelief.

“I don't need your help.” She reassured him, she had gotten pretty far into the two year’s they have been in the apocalypse. His jaw dropped slack.

“You sure?” He challenged, and she nodded her head.

“Look, I can see you don't trust me.” He signed, she shrugged in agreement.

“But If you want to not live in fear of making a noise.” He paused with his hand’s up, he breathed out quietly. Her heart skipped a beat, looking at the brown eye’s of the stranger.

“Then come with me and see if it’s true.” He says.

She crossed her arms over her chest. She eyed the broken object’s on each side of the isle’s. The man in front of her offered her safety, and it had been so long since she last talked with another human being. He had saved her from being alien bait.

“Okay.” She signed to him. He breathed in relief at agreeance.

“One condition.” She state’s, he nodded his head.

“If it turns out to be fake.” She start’s. His gaze on her softened.

“We go our separate ways.” She sign’s, he nods his head.

“Deal.” He signed. The both of them got to their feet, he shuffled, folding up the map and stuffing it away. She lightly picked up her fallen backpack, she still needed supplies.

His brown eyes watched her. Before the alien had crashed in he had caught glimpses of her through the broken shelves. Her hair tucked into a beanie, a windbreaker jacket and jeans, no shoes though. Her own survival tactic he guessed, she seemed focused on her objective of getting what she needed.

“What’s your name?” He ask’s her, she gulps hesitating. She lifts up her hand’s and begin’s to sign out her name.

“Valerie.” She mouthed to him. He smirked. “You?” She asks back.

He runs a hand through his hair, he raises up his hands, slowly signing out the letter’s of his name. “Bradley.”

⏁⏁⏁

THE NEXT FEW days the two survivors had grown close, well as close as two people can when they are only using sign language to communicate.He would fumble on his signing that she would have to guess what he had said.

Her legs ached on each side, they had been making their way out of the inner city, following the highway to the marina. If car’s didn't risk the chance of them being caught their trip would take twenty minutes, now it would be a three day trip on foot, not including them avoiding the creature’s.

Valerie sighed, the morning sun of december shined on the two of them. The sun was high enough she could guess it was eleven in the morning. Bradley and her would both take turns with a large machete, it was heavy in her hand’s that most of the time he was the one welding it.

She feel’s a tap on her shoulder, she turned her head at him. “Are you hungry?” Bradley signed, she shook her head. “No.” She signed.

“I have a fruit cocktail, if you do get hungry.” He signs, her lip’s forming a thin line, smiling softly at his chivalry. She brushed a piece of her hair from her face, the bitter air whipping at her cheeks.

“Thank you.” Valerie say’s. She had grown tired of their small talk;most conversations that had gotten out of one another were about if they were okay, how far they were from their location, and where they should stop to rest.

Not that she didn't appreciate his worry for her, they had to rely on each other if they wanted to make sure they would see the next sunrise. She crossed her arms in her windbreaker, the two walked past run down car’s. Nature had started to reclaim her own, the highway’s covered in greenage and rust set into the metal of the high rise.

“Hey.” She stops him, he turns to look at her, keeping the same pace. “What?” He wondered.

“Before this.” She start’s off, looking away thinking of a question to break the ice. “What did you do, your job?” She ask’s. He runs fingers through his blonde hair in though.

He point’s to the sky, using two finger’s to trace along the white cloud’s. She furrowed her brow trying to understand him. “You..worked in the sky?” She signed.

“A pilot?” Valerie signs, he nods his head. He point’s up again, using two finger’s as a gun.He shot in the sky, she thinks, her eye’s widening as she understands him now.

“Top..gun.” She signed slowly.

“Yeah, and you?” He ask’s, she shakes her head. His job was definitely more eventful than hers. She cleaned table’s, served plates out to elderly people, and sometimes she would deliver to room’s.

“I worked in a cafeteria.” She signed to him. “Kind of boring.” She tells him, he shook his head.

“That’s not boring, that's simple.” Bradley reassured her, she shook her head. “You got to fly in the sky..All I did was serve soup.” Valerie says to him

“I would have loved that.” He tells her. “There were times I just wanted thing’s to be slow.” He admitted to her, she furrowed her brow at his admittance.

“Why did you join then?” Valerie wondered. He sighed, her eye’s drifting down at the grass growing through the cracking line’s of the highway. He gulped as they continued to walk on.

“I just had to.” He says. She nodded her head, she guessed it was a story she had to hear by mouth, which she was sure she would never hear.

“Long story short?” She signed to him, he shrugged his shoulders. “How far are we?” Valerie wonder’s.

“We passed about two, maybe three gas stations.” He tells her, she scoff’s, she hadn't taken the time to note the landmark’s, only keeping in mind how long it will take to get to their destination.

“They all look the same.” She says.

“Everything does.” Bradley remark’s, his movement’s in his hands are slower. She noted that his signing was slower than hers, she guessed he wasn't as fluent or quick in ASL like she is.

“How far from the marina do you think we are?” Valerie asked him, his brow’s furrowed, he looked around at the street signs. He pulls the map from his bag, placing it lightly on a rundown car hood, bringing the red sharpie marking off on it.

“We were at Amo’s street and now we are on 163.” He signed to her. She stands close to him looking down at the map. He had taken the time to mark off on each site they passed.

“Okay and how much further?” She wonder’s. His brown eye’s look at the map. “Fourteen miles .” He guessed

“Seriously?” She ask’s, she dropped her hand’s at her side in frustration. ”I think you are pulling my boob.” She joke’s, he furrowed his brow at her signing, got to teach him some thing’s.

“It's only been a few day’s.” He point’s out, she rolled her eye’s. A few day’s in this world was a lifetime with how long it takes to travel.

“Feel’s longer.” She remarked.

“You can still get leave.” He reminds her, she sighed. He was right, she didn't have to stick with him, they could part way’s now and hope for the best.

Though it was nice to have someone to care about, knowing that when she woke up that someone was going to be waiting for her. In the world before she had thrown herself into her work, claiming it was her mistress. She hadn't given herself time for relationships, and frankly they never gave time to her either. No need to waste her energy in a world that seemed so bleak.

“We’ve gotten this far.” Valerie reminds him.

“We finish what we have started.” She signs to him. Her eye’s hardened with determination, he smirked at her ambition.

“If we keep walking we should get close enough to the bay area.” He summarized. “What about sleeping?” She asked him, his shoulder’s slump, as if to let out a sigh.

He put his hand in a salute looking at the skyline in front of them. Building’s once filled the sky high reflecting from the glass now covered in vine’s, some had crashed down. Slashed from the claw’s and talon’s of the sound seeking creature’s. She often wondered how it must have felt to watch from above seeing everyone going about their lives. They must have looked like ant’s compared to them.

“There.” He point’s

“You wanna go there?” Valerie asked him, he nodded his head.

“That’s far.” She mouthed to him, he furrowed his brow’s

“So is the marina.” He signs, he point’s to the top of the building. “If we get high enough we can see how far we are.” He tells her. Her heart thumped as it raced

“Can't we just go to a motel?” She wonder’s, he shook his head confused. “Thought you wanted to see how far we are?” He ask’s, she gulped.

“Just the height is intimidating.” Valerie tell’s him. He smirked amused at her fear. “The world has ended and you are afraid of heights?” He signed to her, she rolled her eyes.

“No, I'm afraid of a creature climbing a high rise to kill me.” She state’s.

“I won't let that happen.” He promised her, his signing in the end being wrong. She shook her head.

“Give me your hand.” She orders. He furrowed his brow. She guides his hands, moving them in the right motion’s, mouthing what they are. “That’s how you do it.” Valeria corrects him.

“Thank’s.” He signs. She smiled softly, she swung her backpack up further. “Come on.” She usher’s him, her heart pounding looking at the sun peaking through the two towers.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE HAD DECLARED it she hated height’s. Even more than before she climbed the eighteen floor’s of the forty one floors of the Pacific Gate. She had always wondered what it must have been like to stay in the extractive type hotels. She had grown up in Virginia, in a rural town mile’s from the urban city, she had come to Calafornia chasing a dream that sadly fell through.

Her fingers grazed the chipped paint on the wall, the pearl white had turned brown from the age and vine’s had grown in the hall’s into the room’s. They had luckily found a room that wasn't terribly covered in the reclaimed nature. Bradley had insisted that they stay close to each other, both taking a watch.

Though they doubted that anyone or anything would find them up there, unless they made a sound. He kept to himself mostly, she wondered before the end of the world had he been a social person, like her. She could see from his choice in wardrobe, a Hawaiian shirt underneath his black jacket that he certainly had a taste. His tan skin almost kissed by the sun herself, had he gotten it from all their walking, maybe he had it before the world went quiet.

Her feet step on the ripped up dark blue carpet. The sun had set on the city and the moon had shone over the window’s of the balcony. A warm orange glow lit the room from her lantern. He laid on the bed, white ear bed’s in each of his ears, plugged into an old IPod nano. His brown eyes focused on the world outside.

She stands next to the white unmade sheet’s. A buffalo plaid blanket laid on top, she had insisted that she take the couch on the other side. She had noticed he had been limping up the step’s, knowing that the fancy hotel probably had a mattress that would make him feel better. He refused, if she could she would have let out a frustrated yell.

She tap’s his shoulder, he shuddered at the touch from her, he snapped his head in surprise. His finger’s grazing the knife holster on his leg.

“Sorry.” He signed.

She shook her hand. “It's Okay.” Valerie take’s the seat spot next to him, keeping a distance between the both of them.

“How did you get that?” She asks, pointing at the old technology, he smirked looking down at the blue case, a smiley face sticker on the back that slowly chipped away.

“It’s mine.” He states, she nodded her head.

“It still works?” She asks curious, she hadn't used one in years, preferring streaming from her phone.

His pink chapped lips formed a thin line. “Yeah, all my music from college.” He tells her, his signing is still slow.

“Anything good?” Valerie wonder’s, he shrugged his shoulders. He handed it to her to look at, she held up the screen, beginning to scroll with the control’s, clicking with each movement of her thumb. His music taste ranged from almost every decade up until 2012. She was almost surprised with the variety of choices’ he had at the tip of his fingers’, she looked down sadly, she hadn't heard music in what felt like an eternity, she can't even recall the last thing she had listened to on day one of their new world order.

She stops scrolling. Her eyes widened at the song, Jerry Lee Lewis’s, Great Balls of Fire. A soft smile creased her cheek’s. Lonely nights in the bar were less lonely when everyone around her began to sing the sixtie’s jaunty tune. She brought her hand to her mouth.

His brows furrowed at her reaction. “What?” He signed. She shook her head.

“Nothing, it's just.” She stops looking down again, her thumb grazing the play button. “There was a guy at this bar.” He perked up, his brows furrowed.

“He played this on the piano.” She recall’s, smiling softly. His eyes widened, his lip’s parting as his thoughts raced.

“Yeah every saturday..guess he is gone now.” Valerie signed sadly, she brushed back a piece of her hair.

Bradley had finally realized something. In the store, he saw her through the broken isles and fallen objects. He could have swore it was his mind finally playing tricks on him, until he caught a glimpse of her face.

There were night’s he would go into the Hard Deck. She would sit in the same spot each night, order the same drink, she always seemed to have her mind on anything but where she was. He had been curious who she was, why was she always in her head. He did plan to talk to her, only any time he got the courage to talk to her, she would get up and leave before he could get a chance to speak.

He pulls one of the white ear buds out of his ear, handing it to her. She looked down at his hand, taking it from him, placing it in her ear, pressing the play button. She flinches at the sudden piano playing. He chuckled quietly.

She rolled her eyes playfully. She began bobbing her head slowly, trying not to move her head too much. The two of them doing different motion’s to the music, if she was alone she would be all over the place, dancing on the mattress belting her lung’s out. He bites his lips, closing his eyes, thinking of better times.

Valerie mouthed the lyrics, leaning her head back at the chorus. She shakes her shoulders leaning into him trying to get him to join in with her. Bradley smirked at her happiness, the two of them tried everything to bond. Seeing the other experiencing something other than fear made his heart flutter.

He begin’s tap with his finger’s the note’s of the piano. Recalling the filling of the key’s under his finger’s, each movement a phantom at his tip’s. Valerie hold’s her fist as a mock microphone as she mouthed the final lyrics.

An inhuman screech fills the air echoing off the city. Her heart raced, wiping her head to look at the balcony. She shook her head. Figure’s she thinks’. The world outside was still as bleak as ever. Her smile fell as she glanced down.

“I’ll take my first watch.” She signed to him. His brow’s furrowed. Her shoulders tensed as she stood to attention, pulling her jacket closer. She turns on her heels to walk.

“Wait”. she hears a faint whisper escape’s his lip’s. He reached out, taking her hand in his calloused one. Their eyes locked as his face softened.

“Stay.” He pleads

She gazed at him. He had before insisted that they stay in separate rooms so the other had the chance of escaping while the other could too. Now here he begged for her to not leave him alone. Was he really scared this time, did he need that comfort of knowing in the room he wasn't alone.

“Of course.” Valerie signed. He gulped, running his hand through his unkempt honey curls. He laid back down. Placing his headphones back in his ear, leaving one out one for her to hear the music he played.

Bradley stayed awake for as long as he could, fighting hard against the sleepiness in his body, losing in the end. Soft snoring escaping his lip’s. Valerie formed a soft grin at his peacefulness, the both had seen so much, so many things lost and so many stolen from each of them.

She leaned over him, pulling a navy blue blanket over his chest. He turns in sleep, not waking. Hopefully he dreamed, anywhere that wasn't there must be better. Her eyes grew heavier and heavier as she stared at the quiet city. She wiped away the feeling from her eye’s.

Desperately battling against her own body clock, she groaned softly, wiping her cheek’s. Just shut your eye’s for a moment, the last word’s she thinks before her head hits the pillow and the world becomes dark.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE SCRIBBLED THE WORD on the notepad. The two had grown bored on their adventure to the marina.  Valerie had been sneaking around the Pacific gate, and found a white board for Bradley to use to communicate.  Thinking it would make their communicating easier, as his ASL was slow, and now she could properly tease him. 

“A.” He signed, she smirked, shaking her head. They had started playing the game hangman in to past time, they weren't far from the marina, having woken up late didn't help the ground they would have to make up. 

He rolled his eyes as she drew another body part to the stick figure. She licked her lips as she waited for another guess. She had won the last five round’s of the game and him once, to be fair she didn't blame him for not being good at guessing games when there wasn't anyone to give hints verbally. 

“C.” He guessed, she nodded her head writing the letter on the white board. He pumped his fist, the machete in the other, his turn as her hands were preoccupied with the marker. 

“I hate this.” He signs, she smirks at him.  “You just suck.” She teased him, he pulls out a tiny notepad, writing down in big letters. He holds it up to her. 

“You have a lot of sass for a girl with no shoe’s.” It read, her eyes widened at the comeback. She uses her hoodie sleeve wiping off a bit of their game writing. 

“And who’s idea was that mustache?”She wondered. His lip’s parted agape. “You love it.” He signs, she shakes her head. “Fuck off no I dont.” She write’s down. He holds up his own notepad. 

“Everyone loves it, baby.” His read’s, she rolled her eye’s. “Not me.” She gesture’s. He scoffs silently. 

“Wanna find out why?” He challenged her, licking his chapped lips. She looked at the hair above his lip, his facial hair being a stand out to the rest of his features, other than his well built physique. His blonde hair is curly on the top and shaved on the neck, unkempt yet somehow it still made him look even more handsome. 

“No thanks.” She smiled softly.  She looks down at her whiteboard, wiping it off again. “Keep guessing.” She urged him. 

He runs his hand through his curl’s. “P” He sign’s. She looks at him disappointed, adding another limb to the stick man.

“That’s two arm’s.” Valerie point’s out. He shook his head. His step’s halt as he look’s up. “What?” She ask’s, her eye’s scan his sight seeing what he stopped for. Her heart stop’s in her throat as it began to race. 

Hundreds of boat’s laid out in front of them on the waterfront, docked in their areas. Some fell prey to nature while some still remained. 

Her breath shaked, she looked to the man next to her. Tears filled both their eyes, they had finally made it after so many long hours of walking, and dodging alien’s they reached their destination. 

“Come on.” Valerie urged him. 

She turned on her heels quickly scurrying to the stairs that lead down to the docks. He followed closely behind her as the both of them desperately raced for the nearest boat’s. Her feet pound against the wood as she stop panting looking around at their option for travel. 

“Which one?” She asked him. He put his hand on hips trying to catch his breath. 

“Anything with a cabin.” He writes on his notepad, she nods her head. 

She walked around each boat, checking each for a key. She doubted that any of them would be filled with gasoline, much less run. For the most part they were almost all sailboat’s, and small yachts. She had never been on a boat, well one as big as the one’s parked in the water. She had gone fishing before with her uncles in the past, though she knows a small boat wouldn't get them to the island they needed something better. 

The wood creaked as she stepped back down again.  Valerie walk’s back around to the other dock, he stood with his arms crossed irritated. 

“That bad.” She joke’s. 

“I'll check again.” She tells him. He shrugged. “Be my guest.” He signed to her. The dock creaked again as with the heavy step of her foot. She gasps as a sharp pain in his felt in her thigh. She snapped her head looking down, a long black stick stuck out of her, piercing through pant leg. 

A scream of anguish left her mouth as hot fire pain ran up and down her leg. She collapsed onto the dock groaning loudly, her eyes widened as her hot tears welled.

Bradley ran to her side, putting his hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. Valerie cried as she tried to pull the arrow out.

“Don't do that.” He whispered to her. She whimpered, leaning her head back. 

He grunt’s as a cold metal graze’s his neck. Her eyes widened as another man behind him held a knife to the blonde’s throat. Two men dressed in ragged clothes, walk slowly behind him and stand above her, her heart racing in fear. Bradley slowly get’s to his feet, lifting his hand’s up in surrender. The man nod’s his head at the two men. The grab Valerie under her arm’s bringing her to her feet, she groaned quietly. A woman walks around, forcing a bandana around her mouth silencing her, she walks around. 

Her cold eye’s analyzing both of them. No one dared to speak, she slowly paced around them. She removes a rope from around her waist, standing behind Bradley. She smirked, shooting dagger’s at Valerie. She grunt’s wrapping the rope around his neck, pulling it tightly. He gasped for air pulling at the rope that cut into his neck. He groaned as the man behind him forced him to turn around, beginning to drag him across the wooden dock. 

Valerie grunted against the two men’s arm’s, her heart raced as she watched him struggle, clawing at his captor.  The woman from before circle’s her, looking the restrained girl up and down, vulture to its prey.  She point’s with her knife at the end of the dock. 

She pant’s in fear, gritting her teeth. Her eye’s went to his kicking leg’s, a black leather strap on his leg laid a metallic flicker of the sun. Her brows furrowed as she understood what to do. She stomps on the wood. 

The woman in front of her raised her brow’s at her action. Bradley looked at her, she stomped again, gesturing to her leg. He grunted twisting around trying to slow the man behind him, he strained as he grunt’s pulling him closer to the water. Valerie stomp’s her foot again, slapping thigh again. 

His brown eyes darted to his own leg. The black leather sheath with his initials in the working laid his brown bowie handled knife. He reached with one hand, the other fighting the rope at his throat. His finger’s link through the hole in the handle, pulling it out. 

Valerie met the eye of the woman leader. She smirked as her confusion grew. She grit’s through her teeth, extending her leg kicking the woman in the face, she stumbled back falling over onto the dock. She huffed, grabbing the handle in her holster, unsheathing her blade plunging it into the man behind her groin. 

The man hollered out in pain. His scream echoing off the city. Screech and roar’s sound alert at the sudden disruption of their perfect world. The man with the rope looked up with wide eyes, his distraction end’s as a sharp cut is felt to his stomach. 

He released the rope. Bradley got to his feet, he grunted as he balled his fist and swung it into the man’s face. Valerie grabbed one of the men by their shoulders, plunging her blade into his chest, he groaned in agony. 

Shoving him away from her. Blood rushed through her ear’s as the creature’s cry’s began to get closer to them all. Valrie grunted limping, holding her thigh, crimson brown leaking through her jean’s onto the wood. She gritted her teeth trying to move as fast as her injury would let her get.  Behind her she could hear the clicking of the alien, as well as its talon slicing through a body. 

Bradley pulled the man against the dock post, pulling the rope tight as he fought against him.  

“Fuck you.” He whispered into the man’s ear, he jammed the knife into the killer's gut. He let out a cry of agony, the creature’s hollers cutting in with his. 

Valerie ducked out of the way, her head slamming hard into the wood. The former pilot dove into the water as the man was tackled into the bay water. 

Her vision blurred as she looked to the sky above. She gasped for breath, panting as hot flashes ran through her body. The world around faded in and out, eventually turning dark.

⏁⏁⏁

HER BODY ACHED. Never in her life had she felt this tired, each side of her felt like they were under rushing water, slowing her with fatigue and aches. Her eyes fluttered open as she took in her surroundings, the room around her rock back and forth, small and walled with dark oak. She groaned looking down at her leg. 

The arrow was gone, the pain lingered. Her pant leg was cut open, a part of her maroon brief’s visible. A white bandage wrapped around her thigh, a bit of blood stained brown on her leg. She pant’s as she looked all around her, she didn't recognize where she was at all. “Valerie, it's okay.” A deep voice spoke clearly, her heart skipped a beat. She whipped her head, he got to her side sitting on an ottoman close to the wall. His blonde hair dripped with water, though the rest of his clothes remained dry. 

She stuttered for a moment. “I got the arrow out but I had to dig around the tip.” Bradley inform’s her, crossing his hands over his lap. 

“You bled a lot, and you kept waking up each time I tried to remove it.” He says to her. The glow from the bedside lamp illuminated his features onto the oak of the room.  His brown eyes meet her widened one’s, he furrowed his brow. 

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?” He asked in concern. She shook her head.

“Nothing, it's just.” She gulp’s. 

“I haven't heard you speak before.” She admits, his gaze softened on her.  There were moments she could catch glimpses of his voice when he mouthed words, it was much deeper then what she had thought it was. 

“Where are we?” Valerie asks him. He gulps, clearing his throat.

“Couple mile’s out from the bay, the creature drowned itself so it didn't follow us.” He reassures her, she nods her head. 

“How far from the island are we?” She wonder’s, he shrugged his shoulders as though.

“About five miles, give or take.” He inform’s her, she listens hearing the sound of water slushing around, she was on a boat. 

“They can't swim, and it’s raining right now, so it’s safe to talk.” He tells her. She groans as she holds her thigh sitting up. He gets to her side. “Hey Hey take it easy.” He soothed her. 

“I'm fine.” Valerie state’s, he shakes his head.  “You were shot with an arrow and lost a lot of blood.” He reminds her. 

“You said you were a fighter pilot, not a nurse.” She teased with a weak laugh. He rolled his eyes at her comments.  “Gonna take a lot more than an arrowhead to take me out.” She tells him. 

“Clearly.” He chuckled. “Listen, what happened back there.” She start’s, he holds up his hand for her to stop. “Dont..its okay, its over.” 

“No, I'm sorry.” Valerie say’s softly, shaking her head. His brows furrowed in confusion at her guilt.  “We didn't know they were there, it's fine.” He assured her. 

“No I meant I should have done more, I should have swallowed my pain and killed him.” She ranted, biting her lip as she thought about all of it. 

“It’s not your fault, none of that was your fault.” Bradley says to her. “They were gonna kill you.” Valerie stammer’s out, she wiped her eye’s. “And you saved me.” He reminded her, and she shook her head. 

“You did, I wouldn't have remembered my knife if you hadn't been there.” Bradley admit’s. He stands up, sitting on the gray sheets of the bed she laid on. His plaid shirt unbuttoned, underneath he wore a black shirt.  

“They would have drowned me, and killed you.” He tells her.

“Valerie you saved me, you did.” He declares strongly. He glanced down at her bare thigh. Shiver ran down her body as goosebumps painted her arms. Her heart skipped a beat. 

“Should probably change your bandage.” He whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. He cleared his throat. He stands up walking out of the cabin room.  A breath of relief left her lips. she hadn't realized it.  She missed human’s, conversation, touching, feeling, and experiencing. She joked before that she ghosted through everything, living only to work. Now she lived to survive, that wasn't living. 

He came back into the room with first aid supplies. He sat down in front of her on the floor, and began to unwrap the bandage from her leg. His fingertip’s grazed her thigh, her heart pounded in her ear’s loudly. “You're staring.” He mumbled. She cleared her throat leaning back on her hand’s.

“Sorry..uh just talk to me.please.” She pleaded with him, chuckling nervously. “Um..what was your word on the highway?” Bradley wonder’s, she scoffs. “Sore loser.” She grumbled, shaking her head. He rolled his eye’s as he soaked a cotton ball with alcohol. 

“It was cowboy.” Valerie tell’s him.  “What!?” He exclaimed, she chuckled, shaking her head. “See what I mean.” She teased him. She hissed through her teeth as hot pain stung her, she grit her teeth sitting up, gripping his arms. 

“Fuck motherfuc-agh.” The women swore holding him tightly. His brown eyes looked her up and down. 

“Little warning would have been nice.” Valerie mutter’s. 

“Sorry.” He breathed out. She shook her head letting go of his arms.

“Can I ask you something?” Valerie wonder’s, he nods his head. 

“Yeah sure.” Bradley say’s, he brings cold wet cloth, wiping away the dried blood that dye’s the white red. She glanced at his lips watching as he worked around the wound. She could see the outline of the arrowhead and where he had to cut around her thigh. 

“Did you ever visited the Hard Deck?” Valerie asked calmly. He licked his lips looking up from his spot on the floor.

“You said you were a pilot, and that was the popular spot for them.” She recall’s. 

“Did you ever go?” She repeats’. “I did.” He answers, she smirks. He place’s a white gauze on the wound, soaking up the blood, placing more around it. 

“So you must have seen me at some point right?” Valerie smiled softly. He bit his lip as heat arose to his cheek.  

“I did.” He says softly. Her heart pounded, the blonde stared up at her from the floor. His eyes glancing between the wound on her leg, his finger’s working delicately to not hurt her, and her face. 

His breath hot on the bare part of her skin, his focus didn't deter him from how close the two were getting. More than they have been since they began their journey. “Did you ever try to talk to me?” She wondered. He wrapped the bandage around her leg tightly.

“I wanted to, you always left before I could.” Bradley admit’s. Her breath hitched at his confession. 

“I saw you every Saturday, you alway ordered the same thing.” His brown eyes glanced at her.

“Pale Ale, with a garnish.” He recall’s, her dropped slightly agape. 

“And you always looked like you had so much on your mind.” His voice vibrated. Her brows furrowed as she began to rerun scenes from the world before. Every Saturday. She thought. It couldn't be him, could it. “I never got the confidence though, kind of mad at myself on that one.” He chuckled weakly, he shook his head. Her thoughts raced as she played everything back, she only caught glimpses from behind, his sunglasses always his eyes from her, and the crowd’s of civilians and armed forces. 

He turned around. “It was you wasn't it?” Valerie say’s, she sits up with her hand in her lap. His heart pounded, he 

“Great balls of Fire, every saturday…the piano.” She lists,their eyes not daring to look away. 

“Was that you?” She asks softly. He smiled warmly. His hand’s stopped wrapping, he taped it sealing her wound off. Her hand’s hold his on her bare thigh.

"Yes." He anwserd, he looked down at the floor. "That was me." He says.

She smiled, caressing his cheek, making him look her in the eye. The gap between the two of them began to get smaller As his hand slowly trailed to her waist. She holds the back of his neck pulling him in, inhaling deeply as their lips begin to move in sync.

His finger grazes across her skin, the warmth of them contrasting with her cold body. He leaned forward, hooking his hand under knee .

Her back pushed into the grey comforter, the both of them keeping the rhythm of lips . She wrapped her bare leg around his waist, while her other hand played with the hem of his plaid shirt.

She pulled away as sharp pain shot through her body. Valerie held her leg groaning in pain.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, his hot breath on her face. She smiled, their foreheads touching. "It's okay…should take it slow." She says softly.

"Not really my style." Bradley teases her, she could feel him smirk.

"Me neither." She agreed. Valerie untangled herself from, he pulled himself away from her. His blonde hair messy from her fingers.

"You should get some rest, I'll see how far we are." He tell's her. He adjusted his pant leg as he turned around. She smirked at her effect.

"You know if this isn't a rumor, then we won't have to worry about that." Valerie teased him. He bit his lip, turning around to face her.

"Are you good on that promise?" Bradley challenged her. She smirked looking him up and down.

" I might be." She smirked. He shook his head as his cheeks became hot. His brown eyes gazed on the injured girl.

"Get some rest." He says walking out of the cabin room. She sighed leaning her head back against the pillow. Groaning loudly as she closed her eyes as the ache in body remained. The boat slowly rocked her back to sleep.

A/N: AND THAT IS ALL SHE WROTE, God i hope this dosent flop because if it does I have to go down with. Anyway's, your favorite smart mouth guy is next.

Tagged: @cowboysandpilots @bobfloydssunnies @sugarcoated-lame @sorchathered @fairyheart @senawashere @swiftsgirlfriend @

[unholy-curiosities]

The basics of my TMC AU

Alternates:

Humans live pretty much the same as they always have. They just aren't really at THE TOP of the food chain. Alternates hunt humans. Humans have many names for them across the earth, but they all have one job and end goal. Spread and end humans.

Humans, as they do, have adapted to this. It's all really one big arms race of trying to survive. They can't really be killed, at least not by humans, so trying to survive them is the next best choice. The best way to survive an alternate is to not engage when you come across one and get as far away as you can immediately.

The big man in charge:

Alternate Gabriel, much like his alternates he has many names, and they all are true to him.

He's OLD. He has existed before humans and the earth they existed on.

He rules over all of hell in it's entirely, and he stays at the top of it. He is king, after all. He has completely destroyed heaven. It is abandoned completely.

What is he? He is the fallen angel lucifer. He gets confused with Satan...which he doesn't care too much for, but he rolls with it. In this form, he's tall (for human standards), and his wings are deformed, scarred, and broken. He has eyes that are a deep dark gem green. But they are uncomfortable to look at. They look off. Similar to the eyes of a dead human. His teeth are perfect, completely symmetrical, and white, with long canines that are sharp. Almost akin to a snake. He has sharp features and a strong nose. Not to be a little silly but he has a bad case of resting bitch face. He looks as if he has not known joy. Body wise, he is built. He looks to have the same body as old greek sculptures (maybe they were made in his image) he has long blonde hair, but it's almost coppery. It's not entirely one color

His false form is the form of the angel Gabriel, without the wings. He uses this form to communicate with humans. He feeds them lies and false promises. All of his promises are lies. But they aren't aware of that, and when they are it's to late for them to tell anyone else.

What is his goal? To end humanity, to put a stop, everything that is good, and corrupt all that is pure.

Personality: as "Gabriel" he is kind, soft-spoken, gentle, and portrays himself as loving and guiding. A safety in the dangerous world. He is patient.

As himself: he's cold, calculated, and patient. He waits for the best moment to strike and plans accordingly. He is also cruel and feels very little empathy for humans. Aside from hate, all He feels for humans is pity. Especially for human children. He is a very sour looser. He hates loss. He was cast aside once, and he hated it. Then he was completely cast out, and he hated that MORE. He can be petty, very petty. He is selfish. And he doesn't feel love for one. He only feels love for himself (is it truly love?) He feels passionate about his goal, and the only other being he's felt some sort of love or passion for was lilith. (Will talk about her in another post)

Power set? He can change forms at will. He is immortal. He can be injured by humans, no guns can harm him and no blades that aren't holy and pure can cut him. If someone manages to find a weapon like that and can get close enough to use it...hes very shocked, then angry about it. He can teleport at will, and he can transport humans. He can mimic human voices and voices of other angels. He is very skilled in combat, and knows how to play the cruelst of mind games with other beings. He is also VERY quick and has a very oppressing aura. Everything around him seems to become dull and grey. He also has the ability to terraform his own layer of hell at will. He can change the other layers but he has less control the lower he goes. He also chooses not to change the other layers out of respect to the other lords and lilith.

The ACTUAL Angel Gabriel

What is he? He is an archangel. He is the messenger angel. He does not fight, but he can defend himself and humans long enough to make an escape.

What does he look like? He is tall by human standards, but he is shorter than other angels. He is soft, with round cheeks and a softer jawline. He looks like he'd be in his early twenties if he were human. He has soft, cheerful blue eyes. He has blond hair that's on the shorter side. Unlike alternate Gabriel, he is not big and strongly built. He is smaller. He lacks muscle definition. He was not made to be intimidating, and you can see that. His wings are large and pure white. He wears white robes with gold embroidered onto them.

What's he up too? Depending on the what fic I need to write. he is either hiding away near humans. He is a hermit who really hides out in the forest. Living by his own means. Trying not to be discovered.

Or

He is hidden away in a tomb deep beneath the desert sands, trying not to lose himself.

What is his goal? Survive. He knows that he couldn't have possibly killed all the angels or his god. And if he has, the other gods, goddesses, and divine beings MUST still be alive. They can free him even if he is not their servant. Someone must be out there, alive, waiting, and possibly looking for other divine beings.

Personality: he is kind, sweet and patient. He is very very adamant when it comes to speaking. He refuses to speak any lies and he tries his hardest for his communication to be clear and understood. I mean, he is THE messenger. It's his job to be clear. He has only goodwill to the humans. But he prefers to stay out of human conflict until absolutely necessary. He is sweet, and giving. Especially to the downtrodden and those in need. After spending time as a "human" he has become crafty. He picks up on stuff very quickly(that requires the use of his hands) he is also very open minded and is not quick to judge.

What does he do? As a "human" he's doing a lot of volunteer work. Helping the general area he is I'm. He is generally liked by the humans but they think he's a little odd as they only ever see him when he's helping. No one's ever run into him at the store, or walking down the street. He tends to his own little area within the forest, he has built a small home for himself and passes the time going over holy books. All of the holy books and sacred text, not just the ones thag belong to his creator.

In the tomb? He does nothing exciting, it's not like alternate Gabriel took the time to stock the tomb up with books and games. And if he did...with how long he's been in there he'd have read every book and memorized them and played the same games over and over and over... so he passes the time praying, hoping that he can be heard by someone. ANYONE! he talks to himself and repeats the messages he has shared and the one he was supposed too. He has also tried escaping, but most attempts had been in vain

Power set? He can purify and bless items. He can bless humans. He is immortal and can fly. He cannot be injured by things that'd cause injury to humans. He does not need food or water to survive, but having those things from time to time make his existence a little more comfortable.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 11 Surrogate

A Desertwalkers Weird West AU Story (I did not intend to write any of the FC AUs, but such things happen. How the Strikers' perpetual helpfulness lands them a new home...)

“Now hold on just a minute,” Zaine said, staring at the Landsguard officer. The doppro rider stared back, impatience evident. “This was supposed to be a temporary position.”

“I am simply the messenger,” the officer replied with a shrug of his mottled shoulders. “Take it up with the city if you wish to change the terms of the contract.”

Zaine stared down at the paper before him. He had sort of fallen into helping Stonewood’s judiciary with the claims office, as he was a decent mediator, able to make friends with both locals and those coming to the plains of Xak Tural for work in the ceruleum refineries and railway expansion. There were land disputes, and water disputes, and animal issues, and crop concerns...

But he was just here for the interim. They would find a real officer from Tuliyollal to take over, and Zaine and his sister could move on, exploring the land as they had planned. Once things settled down a bit for Stonewood and the friends they had made here.

The writ from the city, delivered by the increasingly impatient Landsguard officer, not only confirmed Zaine permanently for the role, but expanded the responsibilities—as someone dealing with the local property issues would also be responsible for estate settlement and the probate of wills.

“I might have to,” Zaine said, a headache coming on. “I didn’t really think they would hire an immigrant drifter into such a position.”

Then again, he and Aeryn had stood up to Baelsar and his aggressive expansion on behalf of this town and neighboring communities. That probably had a chunk to do with it.

The officer chuckled. “What you get for being good at it,” he said. “And Tuliyollal is more concerned with what one chooses to do, than where one is from. We could not have formed our nation otherwise.”

“Suppose that’s true,” Zaine muttered. “All right, I won’t take more of your time. I’d best speak to my sister and see what we do from here.”

“Great. Have a good day,” the officer said, leaving before Zaine could get his own farewell in.

Well. All right then.

He closed up his office for the day (and it really was his office now, wasn’t it?) and stepped out into the hot, dusty street. He thought of getting a drink, thought better of it, and continued on to the schoolhouse, where Aeryn had been helping out.

Aeryn was outside, class apparently dismissed for the day. She was talking to one of the adolescent students, a petite redhead she seemed fond of. Or maybe it was the girl’s uncle, a smarmy, fair-haired, gunblade-using bodyguard for the local coven, and sometimes bouncer for the Cat’s Eye Cabaret. Normally Aeryn didn’t notice anyone who noticed her. But there was...something...in the way her and the bodyguard interacted that made Zaine’s brotherly hackles rise.

His sister saw him coming now, smiling and waving cheerfully, her student following suit. Nice girl, that Ryne. Her mum was a lovely blonde mining foreman, often busy, hence the girl spending more time with her uncle. There was some connection to the cabaret owner, too. Zaine hadn’t thought he needed to worry too deeply about complicated family dynamics around here.

Maybe he would have to start.

Ryne stayed long enough to greet him before skipping off to meet with her friends, taking the hand of a dark-haired gal as the youths rushed off. Aeryn let out a deep breath. “I have something to talk to you about,” she said with no preamble.

“I have something to talk to you about,” Zaine answered, walking with her toward the rooms they were renting. “You go first.”

“The superintendent rode out today,” she said. “They want to extend my contract.”

Zaine frowned. “Thought this teaching gig was a temporary thing?”

“I thought so too, but they’re having trouble finding anyone qualified willing to come out here, and I’m apparently doing well enough for the board and the parents both. And the children are all so good…”

“And you want to stay,” Zaine said.

“I’ve thought about it,” Aeryn admitted. “It still may not be forever, but...for awhile?” She looked over at him.

“Well,” he said. “That could work. Considering my interim position isn’t so interim now.”

“Were you fired?”

“What? No! Why is that your first assumption?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve only known you my whole life.”

“Whatever, smartypants. It’s the opposite actually. They made my role permanent.”

Aeryn hugged him, grinning. “This is a good thing, right?”

He hugged her back. “I mean, yeah. I didn’t really expect it so it caught me off guard.”

“This is what you get for standing up to Baelsar.”

“I guess. You did too, though, and that might have convinced the board to keep you around.”

She shrugged. “I helped a little. You did most of it.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t ever seem to convince her that she was, possibly, more instrumental to such actions than himself. She would continue to blow it off until getting angry if pushed, so he let her change the subject.

“If we’re staying, we need somewhere to live besides a couple rented rooms.”

“I’ve thought about it,” he said. “Funnily enough, I am aware of available land around here. There’s a couple acres just outside town that I think between the two of use we could afford and manage, with our other work.”

“When you say a couple—”

“Literally two.”

She considered that, then nodded. “It’d be nice to have our own place. Weird, maybe, but nice.”

They stopped at the same time and looked at one another. Zaine began to smile, which made Aeryn smile in return.

“All right,” he said. “I guess we’re staying.”

[areapermostcapricious]

send me your favorite song | accepting!

@infideliis sent: ♫

“Why do you weep?”

Such an embarrassingly sympathetic question is, alas, instinctive; delivered from the painted lips of a Divine Messenger, aimlessly wandering with a vague goal due to recent events, and reduced to his most observant state. Having passed through the ruins of Altissia, and finally finding respite in what little was left of Tenebrae, his powers were brimming with untapped potential. And, though Kuja has wished so fervently to deny his innate nature as an Angelic Messenger, there is such an overwhelming sorrow within the man who had barely brushed past his left that the words escape his mouth without regard.

Then, in hopes to recover---to appear an unassuming mortal---and retain an image of composure, hands folded over his front with chaste representation:

“It is simply that, so much has happened recently, I know---and, from my profession, I do my best to listen. After all, these are…” he pauses to consider the significance of his words, “…troubling times.”

[fatestouch]

The young prince is running as soon as he sees them. "Uncle! Auntie!"

"Merry~!" Morgan catches him with a laugh, spinning her nephew once. "Look at you, you've gotten so big! Soon enough, you'll be as tall as your fathers~"

"Perhaps even taller besides. Cari is taller than you and Avelan, correct, Cecil?"

"And he reminds me every day--that little brat shot up like a weed!" Laughing, he ruffled Merry's hair a bit. "Merry, why don't you go and find your brother and sister? Let them know we've got some special visitors?"

Once Merry was off and running, Cecil turned back to his siblings. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you both. But..."

"...Will you be okay, Morgan? You know he's still here."

"Ever the worrywart... don't worry. I'll be fine. I won't let something like this stop me from seeing my family~"

"..."

[kingscourthouse]

YOU'RE ALSO DOING AN EPIC THE MUSICAL HERMIT AU?? :O

TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT /nf ofc I'm just really curious as to how our ideas compare and contrast :D

I'll be honest it's not really set in stone. It started as a joke concept of Boat Boys since I was talking to my friend about how they're obsessed but infatuated like how Odysseus is with Penelope in the Odessey.

<Massive ramble incoming>

It's very loosely based on Epic since there's some things in epic that would be hard to work around and also I feel bad putting some people in certain roles. Since it's loosely based on it, everything I post about it won't always be following the story because I had this really stupid idea of Grian following Scar to the underworld after he died bc he's in love. /silly

Over all its a very stupid au.

Mainly its Joel fighting in the war for years so he can return to Etho. Unlike Odysseus though, Joel carries an oar given to him from Etho everywhere he goes. The end is sharpened into a spear and is enchanted with fire aspect. The bands wrapped around his arms are from Scar who believes they will bring him safety. Throughout the journey, Joel will cycle through a lot of looks as he grows in age and changes. Near the end of the war and beginning of the story, he's inspired by his Stratos outfit. As he's in the underworld his hair grows out and covers more, he looks more like (my design) of Bad Boy Joel from Limited Life. Only difference is that instead of his hair being wild, it's long braids that he's never touched. And then when he finally returns home he'll look more like his skins in the early Life Series with long hair, long beard and obviously out for blood. He's a man with a trail of bodies and isn't afraid to leave more.

Beef takes the place of Eurlylocus, as Joel's second in command and a brother in arms. Beef is the one of the people always by his side and knows what Joel is fighting for. He makes the most level headed decisions but won't hesitate when he thinks it's time to kill or leave. While Joel wants a peaceful way out, Beef will do what it takes to make sure their men survive. When perishing in the storm, Beef is found with Scar in the underworld. Speaking of llamas-

Scar takes the place of Polites. Throughout the story the amount of scars he has grows from his working on the ship. Most on his face and chest are from the war, but a good portion of the ones on his arms are from working on the galley. He uses a bow and his sharp aim had gained him a title in the war, but he's actually fairly strong, tying ropes around his arms and fallen men to drag them across the battlefield. He'll tie the rope to multiple oars on the ship so people can have breaks. A lot of his scars are barely seen as scars now and more as his stories. A walking display of honour and comradery. Some say he was blessed by one of the gods for his silliness and bravery. Sometimes being near him you can hear faint laughter. Some think it's the messenger god. Others believe it's the vex that haunt the lotus eaters. Scar is a mystery to a lot of them.

Now that we got the boring ones out of the way (/that's a joke, I love them)

THE GODS

From what ones I've posted so far there's a few that I think I've finally settled on.

Skizz takes the place of Posiden. And yeah yeah I hear you, Xb would've made a great Posiden he's literally known for guardian stuff. But while I agree, I think Skizz would make a better fit to match the energy and motives from the musical.

Instead of Skizz having a son and that's what sends him into drowning Joel's ship, Skizz made a friend. Which is odd for the gods seeing as they're above everything. Skizz found a cyclops one day on the shores with his sheep. He would spend his days around it til eventually the cyclops just told him he knew he was there. Weirdly enough, he ended up becoming really attached to this cyclops. They became close friends and something that Skizz really cared about, even if he couldn't see him that often without being caught or seen. When Skizz returns one day to see that his friend is blinded and suffering, he goes into a rage and follows Joel to make him pay.

The cyclops is Impulse. He's kind, but if you wrong him then it's over. His sheep were a gift from Skizz and to have them slaughtered is a crime that won't go unpunished.

Gem is Athena. I actually struggled with who to make Athena because so many of them would make a great Athena. Honestly all the female hermits I've struggled with. Gem is Athena, the god of wisdom and war. She helps Joel until she realises the mistake she's made and leaves him to suffer his own consequences. Gem can take the disguise of a deer and sometimes owl. She was gifted her two fish, Aylin and Lucien, by whoever will be Circe. One of the moon and one of light. They are disguised under her cloak as a part of the patterns she wears but are used as messangers and omens for those who look. Her fish are actually how she found out that Skizz had gotten attached to Impulse. She promised she wouldn't tell and mostly teases him about it.

GRIAN. Ough sorry but I LOVE how Hermes is depicted in Epic. There's no way I couldn't make him Grian. He has a habit of watching everything that's happening. Especially with Scar. He'd whiz through the battlefield unseen by the gods just to grant him small blessings at a time to aid his fight. When he returned eventually to the ship and found that a bunch of men had died, including Scar, he started taking longer trips to the underworld. It's not often he stops to sightsee. Always places to go, places to be, orders to be carried out and messages to be sent. But for once he doesn't take the quickest route. Will take detours. He won't get close, he never has and never will. But he'll spot Scar's spirit mindlessly singing and spreading hope throughout the underworld, and will enjoy it for only a moment before leaving. When helping Joel, he wants nothing more than to see him escape safely. Though he does mess with him a bit. Pulling a few pranks here and there until he reveals himself. After the underworld saga, Grian is seen carrying Scar's old bow that had been blessed by him. If anyone asks he'd just say that he was taking back what was rightfully his. He has no use for it, but it is his none the less.

Circe and Aeolus are still in the works because as I said before, I keep switching the female hermits to and fro and can't decide. Though I've got an idea of who I want them to be.

Idk man this whole au was supposed to be a joke to teach my friend about the Odessey through Epic and it somehow became serious and I really like it and like designing it and oh my god I cannot wait for Thunder saga because then we get to see more of the full pantheon and I already have ideas of who's gonna be who.

But yeah. That's ehhh.... That's all I can think of off the top of my head. What's hard is not confusing this with my Hades au which is a whole 'nother can of worms I do NOT wanna touch rn XD

[fistfuloflightning]

Because there was some interest for my Feanorians get blamed for the fall of Gondolin au, have some disjointed snippets from the fic that never was:

Falling stone and the clear chime of silver had Tuor jerking around to find Idril clambering over the rubble towards them. Her hair ornaments were tangled in her hair, ash from the Alley of Roses smeared across her face. Eärendil broke free from his nurse’s hands to cling fearfully to his mother leg. “What of your father?” Tuor asked, voice harsh from the smoke. “He knew the city would fall, and so he took his own life.” Idril’s gaze was blank, and Tuor realized with a grim pang that his wife had surely watched her father slide a blade into his own stomach. Turgon would rather die at his own hand than witness his shame and the fall of his city. And it had all come at the hands of one most dear to the king. Tuor glanced behind them, at the roof of Gar Ainion’s burning temple. He had flung Maeglin from its highest stepshinself, knowing the fall would finish what his sword had begun. The traitor’s body had tumbled down the unforgiving stone, black hair and blood, but Tuor had not seen the end as smoke billowed out between them. His hands had finally purged the filth from Turgon’s family, and its honor was restored. There was no more he could do, not here.

.

The messenger looked half-dead, and no doubt his mount looked equally worn, as he had ridden days and nights without rest to bring them news. That Gondolin… was destroyed. The room was silent after the messenger had made his grim report. The doors had been opened to let birdsong and the spring sun pour in, unsuitable accompaniment to the words of death. The silence was broken by a furious snort. “Fire follows where the Fëanorians go. Apparently no one is safe from their grasping hands, not even Turgon sequestered in his hidden city.” The firebrand that was Gwedhion of Mithrim was not one Fingon wished to have present for such reports, jumping to conclusions based solely on his own bias. “Be not so swift to lay this tragedy at the Fëanorians’ feet,” Fingon said wearily. “The brothers who would incite fire and bloodshed for any perceived slight are dead, fallen beside Dior.” “And you think Maedhros would not stoop to this?” Calaerchon said acidly. Fingolfin’s old war advisor tapped his closed fan against the floor. It was clear in his eyes that Fingon was not his father. “Do not defend him because of your shared blood.” Fingon’s lips thinned. It was an old argument. “I do not defend him. I simply think you leaping to conclusions is sufficient idiocy for today.”

.

Maedhros sat across from the boy, watching as he scarfed down a bowl of noodles like a starving cat. “…When was the last time you ate?” he asked bluntly. There was a furtive look to the boy’s eyes that told him enough. A beggar who stank of corpses and looked like he’d crawled out of a mass grave himself. The way he’d reacted when Curufin had pounced on him had spoken of someone with training—as an assassin or something else, Maedhros did not know. And he would take pleasure in tearing this little traitor apart and examining the pieces at his leisure. But first… A bath, Maedhros decided.

[smashboxgirl26]

in another life — i knew you were mine.

ph! bakugou x reader / soulmates au! for @klamydia423 as a part of 900 follower event!! hope you enjoy it!!

You weren’t really thinking of anything specific when the cement cracked under you. It was more of a rush of adrenaline than anything else — the shock as you clutched your torn messenger bag close to your chest.

However, the only lingering thought that you could remember, even after you’d fallen and your knees were scraped and bruised, was that you hoped your heels hadn’t scuffed in the process. You had a job interview: and while you being late could be accepted under your current circumstances, for some reason your mind couldn’t justify walking into that huge office with scuffed, dirty shoes.

There were people screaming in the distance — it was something you could hear, but not really register; even the sounds of blasts and shouting from the distance had no meaning in your ringing ears. Instead you sat, layered in the dust and rubble of the fallen overpass, thinking about your shoes.

The teetering sound of concrete above you was lost, and it was only at the last second that you looked up: helplessly watching as a chunk of concrete broke off just above your head, mouth open wide and staring.

For a second you closed your eyes, perhaps just as a last ditch attempt of your brain trying to protect you from your emptying mind — but instead of feeling the weight of the world press you deep into the ground, a different sensation overtook you: hands, around your waist; hot hands.

When you opened your eyes once more, your breath came out staggered and ragged — almost like you couldn’t believe you were still able to breathe; though they were nothing compared to the those of the hero who’d saved you — short, puffs of air stumbling from his nose as the both of you tumbled into the grass of the park on the other side. 

Blonde hair and furious eyes appeared into your view as you laid there on the grass, and you suddenly regretted being saved. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight wasn’t exactly known for his kindness towards the civilians he saved. 

And yet, though his eyes were scrunched and his lips were pursed in an anger that was clearly directed towards you as he picked himself off the ground, no obscenities were hurled at you for not paying attention and moving out of the way. Instead, his eyes wandered over your face: slowly, methodically, thoughtfully.

“Yer okay?” he asked, a husked, quieted voice instead of the shouts you were used to hearing on the TV.

His gloved hand came up to press against your temple, and for a minute you weren’t even sure what he was looking at until you spotted the knotted concern in his tinged eyebrows and maroon eyes.

“Yer bleeding.”

With that, he’d scooped you up in his arms once more, quickly blasting towards the other side of the park (where you’d guessed the medical help was laying) while you clutched to his costume, face buried into his chest while air whirled past your ears.

When you got there, you’d noticed the three other heroes that had joined the fight — though they were moving too fast (or you were too out of it) to tell who they were as they whizzed over the treetops of the park trading blasts and punches. You did realize that the villain had some sort of earthquake type quirk, which he’d obviously used in order to distract the heroes from fighting him with the need to save civilians, such as yourself. 

But even after Dynamight had handed you off towards one of the paramedics stationed, and you were ushered to one of the ambulances — you looked back to see him still standing there, watching you with unsure eyes; though he eventually shook his head and propelled himself back up into the fight, it was enough that you could suspect something brewing beneath the surface. 

It took a little less than an hour for the fight to end, and you watched from where you were huddled in the ambulance as the heroes successfully captured and reprimanded the villain before handing him off to the police. You were feeling slightly better by then, after having all your wounds bandaged and being force-fed water and small crackers by the paramedic who’d taken care of you. He explained you’d probably suffered a minor concussion from hitting your head on the concrete when you fell — which explained the bleeding and the fogginess you’d experienced immediately afterwards.

You were grateful, of course: for being saved, for being alive — but your mind wandered back to your job interview. They’d be understanding and all, but now your heels were all scuffed.

Even worse, your messenger bag had gotten lost in the fray of chaos — containing your laptop and phone — but you knew better than to go back and try to look for it again.

After a couple minutes, when the paramedic finally decided that you seemed well enough to be able to go home (and it was also safe), he handed you another cup of water for your walk and ordered you to rest for the next day or so.

What you hadn’t expected though, was to see Dynamight, again, standing near the edge of the medical era while on his phone with your messenger bag in hand. Your eyes widened when you recognized the (now cracked) bunny keychain your roommate had given you hanging from its side — and you approached him gently, still taking small sips from your water cup.

“You found my bag,” was all that came out of your mouth, and his head whipped towards you, his eyes softening instantly.

“Yeah,” he looked down toward your bag, like he was checking it was still in his hands before handing it off to you. After a second or two, (and gaping and closing his mouth a couple of times like a fish) he started to walk off — which you took as him leaving, until he turned back around and gestured for you to follow him. 

“M’walking you home,” he said simply when you caught up to him. “Don’t think it’s right to let you leave alone with your injury.”

You nodded silently, leading him towards the edge of the park back towards the city — but your mind was buried with questions. If Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight was actually normal in real life, what was up with the persona? From all the years you’d seen him on TV, you’d never seen him act like this. Did he do it to differentiate himself? 

He walked beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, basically looking at everything around him but you — but you were pulled in for a surprise when you both stopped at a crosswalk and he finally turned to you.

“We’re soulmates,” he grunted.

“What?” You gaped up at him, almost dropping your bag completely.

“We’re soulmates,” he repeated. “You might’ve forgotten in this life, but I can tell. I can always tell.”