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written-in-flowers · 4 days ago

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Lovesick: Chan x Male!Reader Finale

Pairing: Bang Chan x Male!Reader | Side pairings: Minho x Chan, Minho x Male!Reader (unrequited)

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Horror, Angst, Smut | AU: Yandere!au, Videogame!AU, Highschool!AU

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary: After being sucked into the dating simulator "Lovesick", Park YN has to defeat five rivals to reach his goal. However, he soon learns his rivals aren't the only thing he must contend with for Chan's love.

Tags: Graphic depictions of violence, Main Character Death, dark fic, dead dove: do not eat, yandere behaviors, yandere!reader, stalking, murder/violence, blood and violence, toxic relationships, mentions of murder, unrequited love, mentions of domestic violence, school massacre/genocide, implied teacher/student relationship, homophobic parents, mentions of bullying/trauma, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, high school setting, anal sex, anal fingering, edging, eventual smut, pool sex, locker room sex, blowjobs, choking, sex toys, mutual masturbation

A/N: PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE READING! I'm not responsible for any feelings you end up having because you ignored this warning and the ones above.

Kim Seungmin: Tuesday <

****

You woke up with a start. Your body covered in sweat, your heart pounding from the pressure, it took you a moment to realize your surroundings. You expected to be covered with blood, bleeding from various wounds and dying. You thought you might see the void of a coding system, or have already become a pixel in space. You died. You lost the game. You must be in the infinite limbo all losers ended up in.

Instead, you sat in an unfamiliar bedroom. Dark purple walls decorated with band and anime posters went around you. You saw the bookshelf of mangas, classic novels, CDs and vinyl records standing next to a computer with a two monitor setup and a pair of purple headphones. Potted plants hung from the ceiling in a corner, and a bonsai tree was flourishing on the bedside table. You sensed you might know where you were. In the long mirror attached to the door, you saw yourself sitting up in the bed. You looked like you'd done before, only healthier and less bloody. You put your feet over the side of the large bed when the phone next to the tree buzzed. It wasn’t pink, but a deep purple instead. You picked it up to see an alarm message.

‘7:00am, Week 1, Monday.’

Monday? That made no sense. ‘Week 1’ couldn’t be right either. The game is not supposed to restart when you die. Were you dead? You guessed there’d be only one way to find out. You got up, going into the closet where your uniform hung. A game controller, a computer, plus the swim and gardening pins on the lapel. No more student council. Not that you cared. You snapped yourself into the uniform, grabbed your backpack and left the room. You didn’t recognize the house either. Nothing appeared the way it once did. You knew you should approach it with more caution, but your curiosity fueled you forward.

You pushed through the pink portal and onto school grounds. Rather than be met with the slaughter Minho left behind, you found the usual morning foot traffic. People met up with friends; others fixed things in their bookbags, or casually walked towards the school entrance. Hours ago, possibly days, these people had all been dead. Now, they walked along as if nothing ever happened. You found it hard to believe. Maybe you'd somehow escaped punishment and are now a non playable character. You couldn't see another alternative. You were approaching the steps when a muscular figure accidentally bumped into you. You looked to see the dark eyes of Seo Changbin looking back at you.

"Sorry, YN-ssi!" He grinned. "Didn't see you there…Hey, are you okay?"

"What? Um, oh, yeah. I'm good. You?"

"I'll be better once I make my smoothie and get some jogging miles in," he assured. "I'll see you at practice. Later, dude."

"Yeah…bye?"

You continued walking while watching Changbin meet up with friends and leave for the Home Economics room. Changbin could not possibly be standing there in his varsity jacket, laughing with friends as if nothing happened. The last time you saw him, he’d been bleeding on the courtyard floor beside his adult lover. According to your timeline, he shouldn’t be here, yet he was. The change put a streak of panic up your spine. You walked into the courtyard area to find more changes.

"YN-hyung, good morning!" Kitae walked up to you with Jisung, who smiled brightly.

"Morning?"

"Kitae and I wanted to talk to you about uprooting the fall plants," Jisung said next, "The stuff we're growing is going to fall out of season and start dying, so we wanted to know what you wanted to do with them."

You stared at the younger students with confusion. "Um, why are you asking me?"

"Because you're the president?" Jisung asked with a confused smile. "We didn't want to remove anything without telling you first."

When did that happen? "I, uh, guess so then. Yeah, uproot them and we can discuss spring ones at the meeting."

"Cool! Thanks!"

"No problem."

You watched them walk away, astonished. With the game restarting, surely all the characters came back. But, seeing the pair on their bench as you passed left a weird sensation in your stomach. You continued onwards through and into the clubs’ corridor, where you saw Seungmin talking to one of his members. They discussed something hurriedly before Chorong approached them, smiling up at Seungmin, who returned to his notes. He then saw you walking by.

"Park YN!" Seungmin rushed over to you, withdrawing his pencil and notepad, "Listen, are you free during lunch for like ten or fifteen minutes?"

"Hello to you too, Seungmin."

"Yeah, hi, so are you? I'm running an article about club plans for spring term, and I need a little run down from the gardening crew.”

You had no clue what Seungmin was talking about, but you still said, "Yeah. I can spare some time. Want to meet in your clubroom?" All because you were glad Seungmin was alive.

"Perfect! When can we meet?”

You made plans to meet at the beginning of lunch, then parted ways. What the hell was going on? Looking around the halls, you expected Minho to pop up somewhere. You looked at the dark corners, the luring areas where he’d wait to spring up on you. Yet, you saw nobody particularly suspicious. Coming out into the canteen area, someone wolf whistled as you passed a table.

"Hey Park," it was Felix sitting with his gang of delinquents, "Let me know if you and Chan want a third. I don't mind being in the middle."

The group cackled at his shameless words, but you only replied, "Sorry, I'm not the sharing type."

You exhaled deeply as Felix's image burned itself into your head. You shuffled through the canteen area, past the locker rooms and found the school garden. You peeked inside to only one person sitting there. A young man with shaggy black hair sat with a manga comic in his hands, reading and munching on strawberries. A lump formed in the base of your throat. The terrible thought that this Chan might've reset too came to you. You almost did not approach. You can't feel the hurt if you never experienced it in the first place. However, Chan lifted his head first.

"YN!" He beamed brightly.

Chan put down his book and rushed over to you. You gripped your backpack straps, not sure what you'd get before Chan sealed his lips over your mouth. A sudden burst of relief made you let go, reaching into Chan's hair and pulling him closer. He was real. You smoothed your hands through his black curls and felt for his tongue piercing. Chan giggled into the kiss, his hands falling to your hips.

"Good morning to me, huh?" Chan joked, briefly kissing you again. "I was wondering when you'd come back."

You kept gazing over his features. The last time you'd seen them was before the massacre. You looked at his long nose and round eyes. The curves of his lips and the hoop he'd put in today instead of the black stud. You shuddered imagining how it'd feel you'd woken up as a stranger. Then Chan would never recognize you, and you'd never be able to talk or kiss or touch him. You couldn't get enough of him. Chan caught you staring.

"What's the matter?" He asked, also examining your face and watery eyes.

"I could have lost you," the words made your nose tingle and eyes tear up. "I thought he'd killed you."

"Oh, YNie, no," he cooed, embracing you tightly.

You buried your head in the crook of Chan's neck, smelling flowery soap and laundry detergent. It wasn't overwhelming or artificial like Minho's citrus fragrance. The scent carried a soothing effect that you drown yourself into. Chan kissed your head a few times, then brought you over to the usual garden bench. He wiped your wet eyes with a napkin and continued kissing your cheeks and lips.

"I thought you might reset and you wouldn't…" the words lodged themselves underneath the lump, and he didn't say anything else.

"And wouldn't recognize you?" Chan finished wiping the last of your tears away.

"Yeah."

"YN, how could you think that's true? Can't you tell what's happened here?" He asked, handing you a water bottle to drink from. "You must be starving. You've been asleep for weeks."

"For weeks?"

"Your body had to recuperate after Minho stabbed you and, um…I might have kept you that way for a while."

"What do you mean? Chan, please. I'm so confused. Don't do that mysterious conversation thing right now," you pleaded before drinking.

"I redesigned the game from scratch," he began. "When I killed Minho, I realized the only way to really stop him was to erase the game. Him being such an integral part of it, there’s the possibility he can still be latching onto it. The only surefire way was redoing everything from the bottom up. There are still some bugs and glitches here and there, but I'm working on those." He let you pick at the strawberries as he said, "Then, when I did that, I realized why go back to the old Lovesick when I can make a new one that's just as good?"

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when you suggested the player be the love interest and they'd investigate the yandere's murders?"

"I do."

"I did it."

"You what?"

"Yeah, I did it. I turned my horror game into a murder mystery, where the culprit changes every time," Chan smiled, "So we don't get bored watching the same outcome. It was surprisingly easy. It has the same randomized system as, like, the Clue PC games. I made new characters too!" He withdrew a sketchbook from his backpack and showed you the first drawing of a female student with long brown hair, brown eyes and pouty lips. You hesitated as you studied the photo. Minho. "Meet Lee Minji , student council president and leader of the debate team."

"You remade him."

"Yeah, as a female though. She's one of the possible suspects. Don't worry. Minji is a totally different person from Minho, with none of his coding at all."

He flipped the page to show all the concept art for the new game. He’d drawn new classrooms, new side-characters, rearranged parts of the game and added onto the town and suburban area. You marveled at each one. Chan was certainly talented. "These are gorgeous, Channie,’' you said, examining the ramen shop Chan drew for the town. "I love them."

"I thought you might," he smiled.

"What changes did you make to me?"

"Nothing," he said. "Jeongin said I should give you tattoos and piercings, but I said I liked you how you are.”

“Jeongin!” you remembered the last time you’d seen the game guide. “Where is he?!”

“Check your phone."

You unlocked his phone to see a new message pop up. Instead of an anime girl, it was a cartoon fox dressed like a chef. The name ‘Bott’ appeared with a fox emoji next to it.

‘Hey, hyung! I’m happy you’re awake! I hope you like the changes Chan-hyung and I made to the game. If you need anything, just message me or come to the computer room.

“I managed to rebuild him,” Chan explained when he saw your confusion, “Minho did a number on him, but with a bit of rest and resetting, I got him back. He wanted to keep his body, so you can find him when you need him.”

“That’s a relief,” you breathed deeply. “So, I lost. How am I here?”

“It was pretty easy. When I rebuilt the game, I entered you as one of the main characters, so now you’re part of the game. I thought I’d give it a try after Minho killed you,” he shrugged. “Good thing it worked, huh?”

You did not know how to feel. Elated? Scared? You’d considered staying in the game, but you'd hoped to win.

"I'm guessing the horror element is still there?" you asked.

"It is. The closer the character gets to discovering the truth, the more in danger they become. Of course, the player can fight back this time instead of just standing there when they're nearly murdered."

You liked the idea. It followed the murder mystery vein, but kept Lovesick's original characters and setting. "What did you name it now?"

"I don't have a title for it yet," he said. "Maybe you have some ideas?"

"Investigation: Heart Break? Implies it's a mystery game?" It sounded dumb, but it was the best you could do at the moment.

"Hm, maybe. I'll have to think about it more," he said, leaning back and crossing his legs to make a surface for his sketchbook. "Whatever we call it, it's different from what we had before."

"But, I thought you liked all that horror and death stuff."

"I did. I still do. When it's my turn to be the murderer, I'll have a jolly good time," he grinned, starting a new drawing. "When you're the murderer, I'll have fun watching you bump off students." He put a hand on your thigh, "In the meantime, we can enjoy the universe as it is."

You brought him in for a kiss, "How about we start in the third floor closet?"

"I’m down for it, if you are."

You shared one more kiss before picking up your things and leaving the garden. You didn't know what to expect, but you knew you'd like this new game so much more.

****

A/N: Awww, what a happy ending! I wanted to thank everyone who read and supported this fic. I know I took a long hiatus from it, but I hope finishing it made up for that <3 Let me know what you guys think, love ya!

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #bangchan #bang chan #chan stray kids #chan x male reader #male reader x chan #skz #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction

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hatsukeii · 8 months ago

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hi hatssun!! congrats on 900 followers!!

i would love to be on the guitar and bass with kageyama! i heard someone say "takes one to know one" in my in-ear monitor and prefer my “pining” guitar pick ;) thank you <3

nice! the band you've joined is...

lessons in love / bsf!kageyama tobio x reader

genre(s): angst in between bouts of fluff but this will be a very sweet fic methinks, lowkey found family, subtle but definitely pining, learning to love and learning to live!!!

warning(s): family issues smh, blood because kageyama is reckless and upset ngl, a smidge of depression/implied self-harm + suicidal ideation so pls be cautious! im basing those things off of what i've felt before so im trying not to romanticise it iykwim

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is at… a waste yard?!

setlist:

🎵踊り子, vaundy

🎵lonely rhapsody, fuji kaze

🎵fake plastic trees, radiohead

Life leads Kageyama Tobio to a wasteland.

His feet kick at soda cans as he treks through mountains of thrown out televisions, yellowed mattresses, emptied beer bottles with the edges smashed open. His hand holds a baseball bat, yours carry along a skateboard. Leaves and paper crunch beneath your board as you jam it into the sooty ground ahead of a worn down Corvette. Once, a long time ago, it must have been the priceless possession of some young, fiery man. Now, it ages with him, alone and rusting through trials of life.

"The car? You sure?"

"Go on. Tell it what you want to." You egg him on, smacking your board into the ground once, twice. Tobio tosses the bat and catches it by the hilt, but his steps are shaky, careful as he approaches the hunk of metal. He raises it by his side, and slams it into the sideview mirror until it comes clean off with a snap. You watch him, hands pressing your board firm into the ground. Tobio is silent, even as he hammers and slashes and plows relentlessly into the rusted metal body of an unloved, unwanted Corvette. You imagine every crack in the car's windows carrying a little weight for him.

"I can't stand it here anymore."

Tobio gives the windshield one final blow, before the entire thing collapses into the cockpit of the car in chunks and shimmers of foggy glass. Frowning, his hands grab onto the frame, palms sinking into jagged shards of smashed window. He'll patch them up for volleyball, he thinks, but for now, he would rather watch them bleed for tonight. His feet push off the bumper, hands pushing further into the glass as he swings himself onto the roof of the car. He lies his head down on his bloodied palms, hair poking into fresh wounds. You sigh, tossing your unused skateboard to the side, and push yourself onto the trunk of the car, standing over Tobio's head.

"You're actually insane, you know? Dragging me out here so I can assault a car." He stares at the sky. The moon cowers behind grey clouds tonight, billions of stars following suit. The only star he sees is hovering above his face, but he's too busy trying not to wince at the stench of his blood oozing into his hair.

"Takes one to know one, Tobio. You fucked it up real good."

He sits up, pushing himself to the side and leaving bloody handprints on the off-white roof of the car. You press your hand onto the cool metal , swinging one leg over. Your boot lands on Tobio's stomach, and he doubles over before falling limp again. A second leg follows up, slinging itself onto the first. His eyes flicker from the sky to your seated figure, legs sprawled across his body, a fallen star in a barren wasteland. If his palms weren't bloodied and battered tonight, he'd lift you back up into the sky and away from the abyss that is himself. You deserve at least that much.

"Need to get away from here." He mumbles into the air, wisps of cold puffing from his mouth.

Your legs shift, one bent for your boot to rest between his legs, the other lying comfortably across his knee. Swallowing thickly, he lolls his head to the side, the corner of his eye catching the way your hair falls loose from behind your ear when you turn to look at him. If his hands weren't stinging like hell behind his head, he would push it back to see you properly. His eyes train onto nothing in particular, melancholic. Tired. You click your tongue and reach over to pinch his earlobe, a pinch that tells him, hey, I'm still here. You're still here. We can stay forever if you'd like. Once an odd quirk of yours turned a habit that seems to ground Tobio every time he feels the dull ache. You've done it so much that he's memorised the swirls etched into the pads of your fingers just by the feeling of them pressed against his ears.

"Hey, y/n."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I have it in me to live?"

You gasp, feigning hurt as your hand shoots up to your chest. Yet in your mind, you do not want to talk about this, because you have no answer for him. So, you hope that Tobio laughs at you. He doesn't. Instead, he pushes himself upright on his elbows, palms facing the air. The blood has dried and clotted now, streaks of reddish-brown slashing across the pale skin of his hands.

"Live?"

"Yeah, like really live."

He stops to think, eyes rolling to stare at the blank sky, devoid of stellar or lunar presence. His eyes dart around to draw into the clouds, two people sitting atop a Corvette that has expended its time, legs tangled betwen each other, minds connected by brain waves unseen by each other, but so very present nevertheless. Two minds so detached from the rest of the world, from fighting parents that storm into different rooms at midnight, from the horrors that have made their marks in their chests, their heads, their ears, their eyes too. Two wandering souls that bumped into each other on a school rooftop by chance one day, one learning to live, the other living as if tomorrow was not guaranteed.

"I'm still alive, for what it's worth. What makes you think you can't?"

Tobio looks back to you, and it's almost like he's back on that school rooftop a year ago. The rooftop where the wind howls and whistles, no matter how low he crouches behind the barriers to breathe. The rooftop where you pinched his ear for the first time, and he didn't even know your name. Now, he knows where you head to when nights of muffled screaming from downstairs become ringing in your ears, and how you like your breakfast on the mornings that you jog to his house when dewdrops form on leaves at dusk, usually after sleeping through the night in a Corvette at a waste disposal. You know the recurring nightmare that plagues his waking dreams, the one where his toss hits an empty court, his teammates huddled outside the lines, and the anxiety that eats at his very being, fear that he will never really learn how to live freely, to spread his wings and take off.

"I have nothing but volleyball. I don't know if anyone really cares for me outside of that. Except you, probably. Which is weird already."

"What's so weird about that? I think I love you anyways." You freeze at your casual confession, holding your breath. Then you decide that it's not worth it, and breathe out. Tobio stares, the thought of what you have just said being true is inconceivable. Heavy breaths line the silent air, your chests heave at the same pace, and he thinks that maybe your bodies are connected in some capacity too.

"You think?"

"Don't exactly have a good reference to go by now, do I?"

Tobio can't bring himself to nod. The idea that you've chosen to consider loving him, of all people, is frightening. The prospect of you choosing to stay in this abyss alongside him, refusing to go back amongst the stars, where you belong, is gut wrenching. Why? Why stay here? All he knows is volleyball. He can't even figure out how he wants to exist. There's so much waiting ahead for you, beyond the dysfunctional family, and the wasteland, and the Corvette. A youth of dancing on top of cars, and watching planes fly by from grassy fields, and chats of last night's dinner instead of last night's nightmare. So much that he knows someone else could give you, maybe even better than he can. You puff your cheeks, and blow a raspberry at his silence, before he finally breaks it.

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm awful?"

"You're just learning to live, like everyone else. That doesn't make you awful. That doesn't stop me from loving you either."

"You've gotta stop saying that, man." You raise your eyebrow at his request, heart sinking to your stomach.

"What, that I love you? Does that scare you?" He shakes his head, and you only just notice the faint pink that lines his cheeks. The clouds above thin out, the glow of the moon is diffused, but finally there nevertheless. His bloodied palm tucks the fallen strands of hair behind your ear, tracing over the curve tentatively. He wants to learn you all over again.

"It scares me. But it excites me. It excites me to like, no end." His fingers ghost across your neck, gliding over your pulse. This feels like the real thing, he wonders if you know when you smile back at him.

"Good. That's what it feels like to live."

You reach for his hand, feeling the cuts and gashes in his palm when you press your own to his. He links his fingers with yours, and sets your hands back on the cold metal of the Corvette. Then, he pushes forward to you, pressing his lips against yours for just a second. This tastes like the real thing, and Tobio hopes that by the way you pull him back in, you know it too. His other hand snakes around to your back, pushing you impossibly close to him. You don't let him go until your lungs are shrivelled discs, begging for air. And even then, you hold his forehead against yours, and breathe against his lips, cupid's bows still touching. His eyes are lidded, staring at the puffs of white that don't stop coming from your mouths.

"Yeah, I think I love you too." His confession sends shivers down your spine, shivers that are caught by his hand on your back, his fingers against yours on the roof of a car, and his lips on yours again.

Life leads Kageyama Tobio to a wasteland. Love leads him into the night sky, right beside you instead.

author's note:

this is an apology and a fulfilment of a promise for ave because yeah ushijima HURT you but im about to pull you back out of it bb<3 have yourself a wonderful angsty fluff pining hurt/comfort found family learning to live learning to love fic i love you also i hope it's angsty enough because i think i went the found family route a little too much so it's not explicitly sad but it's more like melancholic iykwim

off topic but i haven't gone so heavy on like mental turmoil in my writing since forever but i hope that what i've written here is realistic(?) i personally have dealt with most things i wrote here so im not worried about being weird and romanticising awful things but i need to like just clarify LOL

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @catsoupki @staraxiaa @fiannee @akaakeis @4ngelfries @wyrcan @kuroppiii @bailey-reeds

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

#haikyuu x reader #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama fluff #kageyama angst #hq kageyama #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu kageyama #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq angst #kageyama imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshots #kageyama scenarios #dividers by saradika

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3-2-whump · 9 months ago

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Relapse: Crumbling Promises

Please heed the TW/CWs on this chapter. Also, thanks @generic-whumperz and @whumped-by-glitter for your input into the ending of this chapter, your feedback has been applied

TW/CW: dubcon (lots of dubcon), allusions to previous dubcon, prostitution, slave whump, degrading language, degraded whumpee (in that whumpee has to haggle their own value -idk what that’s called, but it’s pretty degrading), intimate whumper, possessive whumper, asphyxiation, emotional whump, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive relationship dynamics, whumper x whumpee (although pretty unbalanced)

The frenetic stimulation of his cock and the wild fragility in Khaled’s eyes continued to haunt the mob boss long after their reunion of the flesh in the parking lot a month ago. He thought about it from when he couldn’t sleep at night to the first waking moments of consciousness in the morning. He thought about it in the shower, at the gym, during meetings, and in the middle of intercourse at the brothels. It was just as Khaled had said; those girls (and occasional boys) in the whorehouses could only satisfy him for so long, and he believed he had finally run his course after his fourth threesome in a month. Now here he sat, in his desk chair, trying to compose an email he’d rather not send, with his mind far away from the zoom conference he was supposed to be a part of.

He looked over his shoulder at Khaled, who had broken away from his usual positon right behind his chair to water the potted fig tree by the window. Nothing in his composure betrayed his lapse in decorum on that fateful night, though he was moving a lot slower than usual, and his eye-bags seemed darker than his foundation could cover up. Tom studied him closely, noting Khaled had been like this for months now. Was he still sneaking out at night to see that damn cholo? He’d been meaning to do something about his slave’s newfound promiscuity, but something more important always came up, and ever since their near-death experiences, Thomas had been trying to turn over a new leaf and give Khaled a longer leash, metaphorically speaking. Although, if the boy kept dragging his feet, he might tie him onto a literal leash, too.

Some static-y goodbyes and well-wishings sounded from his monitor, signaling the end of the conference call. Tom cleared his throat and jumped in with his own farewells. “Yes, you too, happy holidays, buon natale –yeah, yeah, I’ll see you next year, Matteo. You too, Gio, happy new year! Okay, okay, bye!” He exited out of the call, minimized the screen, and swiveled his desk chair to face the young man by the windowsill. “Khaled, come here,” he called.

As soon as Khaled was within reaching distance, the boss grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his lap, trapping him between the hard edge of the desk at his back and his own body in the front.

“What are you doing?” Khaled neither squirmed or struggled in his grasp, instead opting to stare at him quizzically. “Let me off, I don’t want this-”

“Like you didn’t want it in the parking lot on the night of your birthday last month?” He grinned in triumph as his slave’s face blushed bright red from the tops of his ears down to the black band of his collar. “You do,” Tom whispered, voice low and sultry. “You want this, and you need this, Khaled.” He ran his hands from the young man’s waist up his sides, slightly untucking his shirt in the process. “I’ve seen you work yourself to the bone trying to be my executive assistant. Isn’t it exhausting, working so hard?” Khaled sat as still as a statue as his fingers raked over the front of his body. “Isn’t it tiresome, doing what free people do?” He snaked his hands down Khaled’s sides to dip under his shirt hem, feeling a familiar rush of heat below as he touched the warm skin underneath. “Don’t you just want to relax?”

The way Khaled’s body responded under his hands as he laid him over the desk was nothing like any of the whores the brothels could give him. Here, splayed back-first onto the hardwood, was his own personal fuck hole, who pleasured him exactly how he wanted. “But, this isn’t- I don’t want this,” his slave protested, lightly pushing back, “and this isn’t even what I’m being paid to do anyway-”

“Well, if it’s pay you’re after, I can pay you for this,” he snickered. “It’s called prostitution, Khaled, and if that’s how you want to earn your money, I certainly won’t get in your way.”

“But I don’t want this!”

“Not even for $100?”

Khaled’s mouth snapped shut. Thomas laughed.

“$500.” Thomas stopped laughing.

Khaled stuck his lower lip out and shot him the most pathetic pout he could give. “Am I, your own personal fuck slave, not even worth what you pay your high-class call girls?”

He scoffed incredulously. So, that’s how it’s gonna be? Alright then! “$200,” he countered, “you’re out of practice, and a little too assertive for my tastes lately.”

In an unprecedented turn of events, Khaled wrapped his legs around Thomas’ lower back and pulled him in closer by the front of his shirt. “$450,” he whispered, his soft, sweet lips mere inches from his own. “I’m not as out of practice as you may think, and I can be as meek as a lamb when I need to be.”

The mob boss did not expect this to turn him on as much as it did, and yet the ignition of arousal in his core and the hardening member in his slacks spoke for themselves. He emitted something akin to a purr or a growl. “$250,” he murmured sultrily, “take it or leave it, boy.”

“$300, and I’ll do that thing with your balls that you like.”

“You’ve got a deal!” He leaned in to kiss Khaled’s lips, pinning him further onto the desk as he unfastened the belt and pants around Khaled’s waist and peeled them off. He smiled into the kiss as Khaled yielded to him, opening his mouth so the older man could penetrate his mouth with his tongue and claim every inch inside him. He reluctantly broke off from the kiss to undo his own belt and pants. Once he had gotten himself out, he noted with satisfaction that Khaled’s knees were already hitched up to his shoulders, displaying that perfect set of three and that lovely little hole, all for Thomas J Costa. “And a merry fucking Christmas to me!” he murmured, completely satisfied. He opened the top drawer of his desk, where hiding among the paperclips and stapler refills was an innocuous little bottle of lubricant, with just enough fluid to get them through this session. “I never thought you’d be such a whore,” he teased. “Where is your self-respect?”

“Just hurry up, please,” Khaled whined, cheeks flaming red in –arousal? Shame? Not like Thomas could tell, or care.

“Oh no, whore, I’m gonna make you work for your $300 and ensure you earn every cent!”

He emptied what was left of the lube onto his hardened shaft and threw the bottle away. He gave himself a few quick pumps to spread the slippery substance from base to tip, then aligned himself between Khaled’s spread legs, pushing in without any sort of prelude or preparation. The boy groaned at the sudden intrusion. His nails bit into the wood of the desk as Thomas bottomed out inside of his tight little hole. “Oh my god, how do you still feel like you’re a virgin down there?” he grunted. He began to thrust his hips, slowly at first, then building up a nice rhythm as the lithe body underneath him slowly relaxed and opened for him. “There, that’s it,” he murmured as he leaned over Khaled. “You know how this works…” He nuzzled into the crook of Khaled’s neck, murmuring against the curve of the boy’s neck and shoulder. “Your body knows exactly what to do...” God, even the smell of Khaled’s skin was enough to stoke his arousal into a full inferno. The boss kissed hungrily against Khaled’s neck, breathing in the boy’s scent like it was air and he’d been holding his breath. The whimpers he got out of the boy as he began to use his teeth were some of the best noises he’d ever heard him make. Why on earth would he, Thomas Costa, want to give this up? Why did he ever think he could go one more day in his life without being inside this amazing little being? He sucked what he hoped would be a nice, dark hickey right over the strip of black ink across Khaled’s throat. A collar is not complete without its gemstones, right? he thought. He tongued the tattooed line thoughtfully. He licked at it as if he was trying to wipe it away with his tongue, even though he knew he couldn’t. Those permanent black bands were just another part of Khaled’s near-infinite sex appeal.

“You’re mine forever,” he whispered, lips brushing against that graceful neck with every word. “Doesn’t matter if you’re free one day, because you will always be mine.” And honestly, why would he ever have thought of freeing Khaled, when the boy made him feel this good?

“Please…” Khaled whined beneath him.

He pushed up from the crook of Khaled’s neck, placing the palms of his hands on the desk as he propped himself up. “Please what, my little slut?” he teased. “Please go faster?” Khaled screamed and moaned as Thomas picked up an enthusiastic pace inside of him. He pressed the boy between the hard desk and the weight of his heavier body as he pistoned in and out of his ass with only his own pleasure on his mind.

“What is it you want?” Khaled stared up at him, his dark brown eyes shimmering like pools of liquid ink. “Please what?” he panted huskily. “Please choke me?”

Dark brown eyes widened and his lips formed the beginnings of the word ‘no’ before Thomas wrapped both hands around Khaled’s slender neck. Instinctively, Khaled released his grip on the desk to futilely scratch and tug at his hands as he increased the pressure on his neck. Thomas released one of his hands just to slap him across the face. “Hands on the table,” he growled. A squeaky wheeze left Khaled’s lips as he still tried to pull the remaining hand away from his throat. Thomas slapped him again as he held the boy’s neck in a crushing grip. “Now!”

Khaled dropped his hands to his sides. His tears flowed over his reddening cheeks. His pulse quickened under Tom’s fingers as his trembling lips formed breathy words. “Please… please… no more… I’ve been… good... please…” he whispered hoarsely. His fingers clawed at the desk, carving long furrows into its surface as he struggled to dutifully keep his hands on it. “Mas…ter… please…” he begged.

I have your literal life in my hands, he thought, smiling down with a sadistic awe. No escorts of any economic bracket would ever let the man take it this far. Nothing could ever come close to this feeling of absolute power and control, and only his slave could make him feel this powerful. Only you, Khaled, only you, he repeated in his head as he fucked his way to climax. As Thomas emptied his balls inside Khaled’s hole, he knew he would never feel this way with anybody else. What was this feeling exactly? he wondered, finally letting go of the boy’s bruised neck. He stayed sheathed inside of Khaled’s warm, tight hole, listening to nothing but Khaled’s desperate breaths for air over the sound of his own heavy breathing. It isn’t possessiveness, it isn’t just lust. He pulled his softening length out of the boy’s fluttering hole, watching his own seed seep out with fascination and pride. So, what was that feeling, where you know nobody else can make you feel this way, and you wouldn’t want anybody else to, anyway?

Khaled turned over, leaning over the desk by bracing himself on his hands as he coughed and sputtered. Once the hacking and coughing sounds had subsided, and Khaled was nothing more than a trembling body barely keeping itself propped up against the desk, Thomas gently turned him around to face him. “You good?” he asked.

Khaled nodded. He had crushed the boy’s throat, making it difficult for him to respond in any verbal capacity. His reddened eyes blinked up at him, shining anxiously under their tear-dampened eyelashes. “Alright, down you go,” he replied softly. He pushed Khaled down to his knees, putting him face-to-face with the cock that had just been inside him. “Clean me off, and don’t forget my balls,” he ordered, murmuring a quiet “you know what I like,” at the end. He brushed a hand through Khaled’s disheveled hair, thinking about what to call that feeling he held for his dear slave. He tipped his head back and groaned as Khaled’s skilled little tongue set to work.

If it isn’t possessiveness, and it isn’t lust, his thoughts began, before he lost himself in the sensation of Khaled’s mouth.

Is it…love?

“Why didn’t you love me?!” Khaled screamed in the parking lot that night.

Love. That was a sensitive subject for Thomas. What was love, even? Between his long-absent stepfather, his sperm donor of a biological father, his neglectful mother who pissed away her inheritance into casinos, and his hard-ass grandfather who demanded nothing but perfection as he pitted brother against brother, the man was painfully aware of the lack of love in his and his brother’s childhoods. The closest thing they had to a loving adult in their formative years was Val, the nanny, but she left them too, once they were old enough.

It was no wonder his honest attempts at dating had failed so spectacularly. It culminated in self-sabotaging his wedding with Lenore on the day of, making sure that she could never break his heart like everyone else by leaving him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was not.

The pleasurable oral sensations had stopped down there, and Khaled now stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Satisfied?” he croaked. His voice was wrecked. He looked angelic.

“Yes.” Always. Forever.

Whoever said ‘if you love them, let them go’ obviously didn’t understand the pain of watching those loved ones abandon you one by one. Yet here, at Thomas’ feet, was someone who made him feel like the luckiest, most powerful man alive, who outshone everyone else as he pleasured him like no one else could, and who –if he reneged on their deal– would never leave him.

I love you, Khaled, he said in his mind, even if he wasn’t ready to say it aloud.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

#whump writing #tw dubcon #graphically described #prostitution whump #slave whump #degrading language #tw asphyxiation #intimate whumper #possessive whumper #emotional whump #whumper x whumpee #but pretty unbalanced #unhealthy relationships #possessive relationship

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beanarie · 4 months ago

Text

several sentence sunday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard 😘

it feels like most people who ordinarily do these are already doing make me write or they're offline. consider yourself tagged if you want to post a snippet

"That's the music you're playing to wake sleeping beauty?" Chim asks, forcing Buck to expand his awareness past Tommy.

Melton shrugs and takes his foot off the guard-rail on the side of the bed. "What," he says, frowning. "Chopin is great. I'm being respectful."

"I'm about to join him and I just got here. Never mind that I'm getting off a 48. Don't even bring that up." Earning a scoff from Melton just encourages Chim. "Let me see your phone. Do you have Spotify or what? Buck, take the chair. I'm teaching the man about 90s rock. He's gonna need to stand for this."

Buck sits amid talk of Mother Love Bone, Screaming Trees, Porno for Pyros, and other supposed bands he assumes Chimney just made up on the spot. This time the heart monitor and the ventilator aren't all that he can hear. It helps.

#bucktommy #911 abc #my writing #things by beanarie

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 7 months ago

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The safety of your embrace (part 2)

GIF by lasaraconor

Arondir x reader. This is part two of two. (moodboard)

Set before the beginning of series one. Descriptions of nightmares and sleep troubles.

This fic is dedicated to @eowyn7023.

*****

You wake up hours later, already late for your next assignment, feeling even more tired than before. Your head hurts as if a band of Dwarves were pickaxing it, and your movements feel sluggish; when at midday you reach the kitchens for lunch, you spill a cup of light ale on your clean uniform and it takes you several seconds to realise you’re supposed to do something about it.

Later that day you have an archery practice session, as usual monitored by Revion; you have barely the strength to draw the bow, and not only none of your arrows hits the centre of the target, but one of them even misses the straw filled sack altogether, something that hadn’t happened since your first month after enlistment. The watchwarden, who had unfortunately chosen that very moment to walk beside you, meets your eyes with an unimpressed gaze; you look away, blushing furiously, already dreading the night to come.

By sundown you can barely keep yourself upright, and have stumbled into your comrades -or a wall. It hurts- at least three times because you couldn’t concentrate on your movements enough to avoid it. You have just realised that you have no more leaves, nor the time to ask for more and have them delivered to you, to keep awake during your second night shift, but in your heart you know that even if you did, if you put a whole tree in your mouth, it would change nothing. Elves are the most resilient and durable of the Free Folks, but even they need sleep, like they need food and water, to live; both your mind and body are at the very limits of their endurance, and if you don’t allow yourself to rest you’ll lose your mind, or worse you’ll fall asleep in the middle of the day in front of everyone.

How could you do this to yourself? You are a soldier, and you are responsible for the security of every other Elf living within it, like each of them is also responsible for yours; the inattentiveness and physical weakness brought by the lack of sleep could put dozens of Elves at risk in case of Orc attack - or Men rebellion. You didn’t choose this, you would happily sleep soundly seven hours per night if you could, so as to carry out your duties to the best of your abilities, but you can’t. Nightmares keep plaguing you almost every night, and even during your brief day naps, and the insomnia, caused by the fact you always struggle to go back to sleep after a bad dream, is not the only problem; you don’t rest well, waking up still tired and not back to full strength.

Every night is worse than the one before; like even the best weapon gets rusty, and its blade dull, if a warrior keeps using it for years without proper maintenance, an Elf, or any creature actually, needs to take care of their body and mind in order to function. You aren’t, at all, and you haven’t for some time, and you shiver to think what consequences that deficiency might have.

Unfortunately, you still haven’t found a new place to sleep away from your room, which means that tomorrow night you’ll be in trouble; you need sleep, at least one night of long, uninterrupted rest, otherwise you’ll lose your mind and won’t be able to help your comrades in case of necessity. Revion has already noticed there is something wrong with you, both with your results during training and your behaviour in general, and the last thing you need is for him to suspect something is amiss - or to dismiss you from the garrison because you’re not at the same level as the others. You need to find a solution, quickly; but how?

Still, you are not even sure you’ll reach tomorrow night, because it’s the one approaching that scares you the most - your second night shift in a row. You present yourself at your post, ready to do your duty even if it means paying it with your blood…

… and you fall asleep.

The night is calm, less cold than one would expect in the middle of the winter, a myriad of stars casting sufficient light to make the guards’ work easier. You’ve tried everything you could think of -walking back and forth in the hope that the movement of your body would also keep your mind active, pinching yourself until it hurts, even filling your waterskin with cold water to sprinkle on your face- but Irmo’s power is inexorable and impossible to avoid, and after you have fought valiantly for an hour the Valar comes to take you in his arms, filling your mind with pleasant dreams in which you are still young, and innocent, in the company of your family, your heart free from guilt and shame…

“(name)! (name), you need to wake up!”

So deep was your sleep, it takes you a while to wake up, even though as a soldier you have been trained to be ready for battle at any moment, and when your eyes finally open, and you become vaguely aware of the hand urgently shaking you by the arm, you need even longer to realise the thing in front of you is Arondir’s face, looking worried and anxious. “You need to wake up! Revion is coming!”

No nightmare has ever made you scream like you’re about to do now; now that your roommate, comrade and friend -this is what you are by now, but you’re not sure that will be enough to earn you his silence regarding your unjustifiable conduct- has found you sleeping, deeply even!, when alertness and vigilance is of the utmost importance. You hadn’t even realised he would be on duty tonight as well.

“Arondir, I… I can explain…” you babble as you let him help you up to your feet; you don’t remember sitting down, which means you must have fallen on your rump while already fast asleep, your quiver abandoned on the stone pavement “I am so sorry, I… I didn’t mean…”

Arondir quickly interrupts you. “It’s alright.” he says, and then winces, as if realising the absurdity of words “Médhor came to warn us, the watchwarden is coming up for a surprise inspection; you need to be awake.”

Surprise inspections are a habit of Revion’s, you have been informed by the comrades who have been serving under him longer than you have, the watchwarden visiting the soldiers on guard duty in the middle of their shift -or even in the middle of the night, when he could be in his bed sleeping- to make sure they’re carrying out their duties satisfactorily. You hurry to assume the correct position, sword by your side, eyes focused on the fortunately silent and still plain in front of you.

“Thank you.” you murmur, unable to look your friend in the eyes, and he simply pats your arm before returning to his post.

Revion joins you five minutes later.

“Something to report, (name)?”

“Nothing, sir; all quiet.”

“Good.”

You let yourself sigh in relief as soon as the soft sound of the watchwarden’s steps has left your ears, but you know you are not safe - far from it; Arondir might not be the sort of Elf who talks ill of his comrades behind their back, especially not with the watchwarden, but the simple fact that he, a respected and stalwart soldier, saw you sleeping while on duty, makes you burn with shame. What if he decides to write home about it, tell his family and friends, until the whole village knows? You don’t think you could ever overcome the humiliation…

You somehow survive the night without falling asleep again, but once more, when you rise after the few hours of rest you had been allowed, you feel worse than before - exhausted, confused, awkward. Can an Elf die of tiredness? You’re not sure, but part of you would not mind finding out - at least, in that case, you’d be allowed to rest as much as you need.

Despite the burning shame, you force yourself to confront Arondir, who you at least owe your thanks for having saved you from Revion’s ire; you meet near the stables on a cloudy, melancholic morning, the sort of day you don’t expect good things to happen in.

“There is really no need; I know you would have done the same for me.” he says simply, in that kind, modest attitude he has. Arondir is the sort of Elf who doesn’t ask for thanks or praises; he simply does what he thinks is right, whatever the consequences “I have been meaning to ask, (name)... are you well?”

“I am, thank you. I, err, it was my second night shift in a row, and sometimes I get sleepy when I eat too much at dinner…”

“You don’t need to justify yourself either; I’m not blaming you, and I’m not the commander.”

“No, but you are probably the best soldier in this garrison, and my friend; I know what I did was inexcusable, but I’d hate for you to have a bad opinion of me.”

Arondir reassures he never could; he knows well what it means to feel exhausted, dearly wishing the dawn -or the sunset- would come soon so that one could go rest, and regardless you are comrades, you should always support and help yourself when you can.

“Maybe next time you’ll be the one saving my hide, after I fall asleep.” he jokes, before quickly sobering up “To be honest, I wasn’t only speaking about last night. Forgive me, but you seem… out of sorts, so to speak; distracted. Not in the sense you don’t pay attention to your duties, mind you; rather… as if there was something that worried you. I thought that perhaps you had received ill news from home.”

If only you still had people to write to you from home. “No, it’s not that. Well, I…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to; but if you need help, or just… someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

It’s so kind of him, so generous to offer to share his time, most of which is already occupied with duties and worries, with you, not because he cares about your problems but rather out of simple interest in your well-being. Gratitude fills your eyes with tears, and for a moment you are actually tempted to accept his offer - to tell him how fatigued, drained, you are, unable to sleep and even more to rest, of the nightmares that plague you and of how you fear this will end up affecting your job as a soldier - it already is, to be honest.

You wish you could tell him. There is little Arondir, and anyone else for that matter, could do to help you, since the pain and sorrow are in your heart and it’s up to you to come to terms with them, not forgetting the loss of your family -you never could- but learning to live and be at peace despite it, but sharing your troubles with someone… have a friend listen, sympathise and even embrace you and offer you a shoulder to cry on… that would be a treasure more precious than any of the richness of the Dwarven Kings.

“I’m fine, really; simply a bit tired.” you reassure him, forcing yourself to smile and begging in your heart he doesn’t know you well enough to perceive you are lying “But thank you, Arondir; I appreciate it, truly.”

He doesn’t insist, simply smiling and nodding in good-bye as he leaves, and you sigh in relief, trying desperately to ignore the presentiment that you haven’t convinced him, not at all, rather that you only managed to make him worry, and suspect there is something wrong with you, even more than before.

Your only hopes are the latrines, you decide that night at dinner. The cubicles are even more cramped than your previous hiding place, not to mention the smell is unpleasant even when freshly cleaned, but you have no other choice; tired as you are, you know you will easily sleep sitting, or even standing, so the lack of space is not an issue, and if someone feels the call of nature at night and comes knocking at the door, you’ll pretend you were also using them for their original purpose, hide behind the corner, and then return. Since the latrines are closer to the dormitories than you’d feel safe with, you prepared a rag to gag yourself with, and suffocate your screams should the nightmares wake you up for the umpteenth time.

And so, that night, you huddle in your bed, feeling almost guilty as you enjoy the softness of your mattress, turning your back to Arondir and listening carefully for when his deeper breathing will reassure you he has fallen asleep.

And so you wait, and you listen.

You listen, and you wait.

And you fall asleep.

Arondir is not taking longer than usual to drift off; the fault is only yours, and of the tiredness that makes it impossible to resist the comfortable bedding you’re lying on. You don’t even realise you are giving in, and it’s your breathing that deepens, and in a matter of minutes you are sleeping, in bed for the first time in months, peacefully huddled under your blanket.

It’s the most blissful sleep you remember having; pity that it only lasts an hour.

“No! No! Sister…!”

“(name), help! Please!”

“No… no…!”

“Squeal like a pig, Elf! I’ll put your head on my spike!

“Let her go! You monster… take me…!”

“(name)? Are you…?”

The abundance of blood on their clothes, the lack of life in their eyes; you struggle with all your might, but the Orcs keep you still while one of them raises his axe above your youngest sister’s neck, to make good on their promise, while the other… the other is being…

“(name), you need to wake up. You’re having a nightmare…”

… eaten…

Your scream is the howling of a wolf. It is the roar of a lion, and the cry of a hawk. It is pain and fear and shame and hate -for yourself- all in once, a sound that could not be depicted in words, an instinctive, uncontrolled shout erupting from the hiddenmost part of you, inexorable like blood gushing from a deadly wound, and the ground approaching after a high fall, and the oncoming darkness at the end of the world. You scream, you scream because you can’t help it, scream because there is nothing else that you can do, you scream because your mouth and your throat and your whole body and your mind are not yours anymore, you’re nothing more than a puppet at the mercy of what happened and that you were too weak to stop it…

We died because of you. Why did you not help us, (name)? Why did you not try harder? Did you not love us? You might as well have killed us with your hands…

You struggle, still fast asleep, fighting desperately against something -or someone- pressing you against the mattress, and your hand instinctively slips under your pillow. Then it’s a lash of your arm… a groan of pain… and your eyes open to embrace the darkness of the room, not less than three of your comrades peeking in from the open door, identical expression of horror and fear on their faces, and Arondir standing in front of your bed, cradling the wound on his arm the dagger in your hand has just inflicted.

“Please tell the watchwarden everything is fine. Yes, I’m sure. Go, I’ll take care of her.”

Such is Arondir’s quiet, comforting authority, that your comrades -most of the garrison by now, since your screams first and word of mouth then made it so that the rest of the dormitories are all but empty, and two dozens of Elves have gathered in front of your door- promptly disperse, returning to their beds and leaving you and your roommate alone.

“I am so sorry…” you murmur, your voice forced down to a whisper by shame, but Arondir gently refuses your offer of help and quickly cleans and bandages the wound, that is fortunately little more than a scratch, by himself.

You remain in bed, sitting cross-legged with the blanket around your shoulders, shaking for something that has nothing to do with the cold of the winter night. It’s over, you keep repeating in your mind, your life is over; you’ll be forced to leave your post, leave the Southlands, leave the army, and return home, to your now lonely house and empty shop, with nothing more to do than making sure other Elves can clean themselves after a day of work and smell nice when meeting a suitor or attending a festival. There is nothing shameful about that, and you actually enjoyed your job as a soaper, but having to return to such mundane, humble tasks because you had been too weak to succeed as a soldier, and your nightmares had led you to be dismissed, would be a shame you would never overcome.

Still, you should have known. You couldn’t even defend your family, what made you think you could help defend the whole of the Southlands?

The sob that escapes your mouth is tiny, barely audible after you have been quick enough to press a hand to your mouth to suffocate it, but Arondir hears it nonetheless, and he can feel his heart break for you. Having taken care of his wound, he approaches slowly, as if you were a doe ready to bolt at the least sign of danger; and in fact, you already mean to leave - at dawn, making sure no on sees you, so as to spare both yourself and the watchwarden the indignity of the discussion that will lead to your dismissal.

In the end, you see him sit next to you; neither speaks for a while, but then Arondir’s hand takes yours, and you feel ready to cry again. “I am so sorry…”

“There is no need; it will heal.”

“Still, it’s my fault; and I gave you, and everyone else, such trouble, I should leave…”

“Don’t you dare.” Arondir quickly interrupts you, looking for a moment as stern as Revion does in his worst moments, but then his kind smile returns “Do you want to tell me what ails you?”

“It was just a nightmare; I’m sorry I worried and hurt you, but I feel better now. You can go back to sleep…”

“And what about you? Will you return to bed, or leave like you have done so often until now?”

Silence falls in the room, and for a whole minute you actually struggle to breathe.

“You know.” you murmur in the end, without a questioning tone.

“I do.”

“How?”

His tone low, even soft -and why does it bother you? Why does it fill you with shame that a person you trust and care for feels the need to be tender when talking to you?- Arondir explains that ever since you transferred to the garrison, every time he woke up in the middle of the night, either because he had to use the latrines or a noise had disturbed his sleep, he inevitably found your bed empty. He never saw you leave, or return for that matter, and when he woke up in the morning you were always there, yawning or getting ready by his side, but when once, out of curiosity, he rose to touch your mattress, he found it cold, which suggested you had not simply left for a few minutes to follow the call of nature.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong… anything you could find reprehensible. I swear on my life.”

“I believe you, (name); that I never doubted, even though I was curious.” Arondir admits, almost embarrassed “It was because of your nightmares, yes? This is not your first time, nor is it an occasional event; you suffer from them.”

You can only nod.

“Regularly?”

“Yes. And I often wake up… screaming, or fretting.” you admit; you don’t quite know why you are telling him, why you are sharing with a person whose respect and trust is so important to you the most painful and humiliating side of your life, but the words are uncontrollable as they spill from your lips, as if you couldn’t stop talking, as if confessing your plight were as desperately important to you now as a cup of water for a person dying of thirst in the desert “Most of the time, actually.”

“Most of the time? But…” realisation blossoms in Arondir’s lovely brown eyes “(name)... how often do you leave your bed at night?”

You can’t even meet his gaze as you answer. “Always. This is literally the first night I spend here in the room; I leave as soon as you fall asleep, and return at dawn. I used to sleep in the little room whose roof collapsed recently, and I planned to go to the latrines tonight, for lack of a better option. That is also why I offered myself for as many patrol night shifts as I could; I munched on leaves to keep myself awake, and I drink a draught that sometimes helps me sleep without nightmares - or at least used to; I fear I have built an immunity. And I had thought about gagging myself, because the latrines are so close to the dormitories, and… and…”

And, you have finally run out of things to say; you sob again, and then Arondir’s arm is wrapped around your shoulders, gently drawing you close, and soon you are crying, softly but desperately, against his chest. You cry for your brave, generous parents, and for your sisters, who had so many plans for the future they didn’t get to live, and for yourself as well, you who could not defend any of them, and who you know will bear that guilt until the end of your days.

“I’m sorry… I’m so embarrassed, I should let you return to sleep…” you babble miserably in the end, but Arondir’s only answer is a gentle shake of his head; he’s now holding you with both arms, rocking back and forward, a hand resting on the back of your neck. You are so close you can feel his heartbeat against your ribcage, the steady, tranquil sound finally lulling you to peace.

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Yes, thank you; I’m sorry you had to witness this, Arondir, I swear I’m usually stronger than this.” you murmur, drying your tears on your sleeve as you try to regain a little composure.

“I know how strong you are.” your friend reassures you; having let you go, he’s still holding your hands in yours “And I’m sorry you felt you had to go to such lengths to hide how much you were suffering. (name), there is nothing shameful about having nightmares; most Elves suffer from them, especially soldiers.”

You assure him you’re well aware, but since it would be unfair to keep your fellow soldiers awake as you scream and toss and turn, you simply wanted to make sure your crises wouldn’t be heard, or witnessed, by other Elves. You have learnt to live with your nightmares, but no one has to suffer because of them but you.

“I’m sure most of them wouldn’t mind; we are comrades, it is normal for soldiers to support each other, and help in moments of need.”

“True; but sleep is important for soldiers, and… I didn’t want Revion, or my previous watchwarden, to know; they would have lost any respect for me, and probably put me on indefinite leave, which is the last thing I want.”

Arondir accepts your reasoning with a nod of his head; for a minute you see him lost in his thoughts, and you’re about to suggest you both return to sleep, or at least try, when he looks at you and “What are your nightmares about?” he asks.

Ah.

“Why does it matter?” you ask miserably, gaze lowered on your naked feet.

“Of course it matters. As far as I know nightmares, especially if repeated like in your case, are the symptom of a disquiet of some kind, something you fear or are anxious about. If we were able to go back to the source of this unease, we could find a solution that allows you to sleep better.”

You manage to smile; hearing him say we, and sound sure and nonchalant as he does it, as if that problem were his to share and not yours alone, is a gift that fills your heart with warmth, and for which you will never be able to repay him. If only that were enough, if only the kindness and empathy of a friend were all you need to keep the darkness at bay, and allow you to sleep peacefully, even just once a week… or a month…

“Thank you, but there’s no need; and it wouldn’t work. The source of my nightmares is not something I fear might happen; it took place already, and there’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do to change the outcome.”

Silence again; Arondir is still holding you, the firm but gentle clasp of his hands feels like a rock you have grabbed in the middle of a stormy sea.

“I lost my family about two years and a half ago. We had left the village to go visit some relatives a day’s walk away; we thought we would be safe, my parents had chosen the safest road, and took their swords with them only out of habit.” you explain quietly “A… a rogue band of Orcs stumbled upon us; I do not know where they came from, there had been no sign of their kin in the area for decades. My… my parents stayed to fight them, to give the three of us a chance to run; they told me to protect my sisters, but…”

But they were too numerous, armed unlike the three of you, and then your youngest sister tripped over a rock…

“... but I could not; I let them down, all of them, and they died, and for some reason I alone survived; and now I have nightmares, almost every night since that day, because Eru and Irmo are punishing me for my weakness. It hurts, and I am ashamed, and I miss them so much, but I deserve it, I deserve much worse for letting my parents and sisters get killed, but I wish I could see them only once more, and tell them I’m sorry and that there has never been a moment since then I haven’t missed them…”

Every time you think about your family you invariably find yourself crying; this time is different, and not because you have already wept all your tears while held in Arondir’s embrace. Your suffering goes beyond tears, beyond physical pain; it’s knowing you have let the people you loved the most in the world down, a hole in your fëa that allows you walk and work and live a normal, even a content, life, but that grows inside you until, one day, it will swallow you whole, leaving only an empty husk behind.

Arondir looks at you; it takes him a moment to realise that right now nothing could comfort you and absolve you from the guilt you took upon yourself, not even if he swore on his life you have no fault for what happened, not even if every Elf in Middle-Earth promised you are a victim as well, and that you deserve kindness and empathy, not reproach and shame. He can’t free you from your pain, maybe no one can except yourself, and he dearly hopes you will find the strength to forgive yourself or better, to understand you had nothing to be blamed for in the first place, or that pain will destroy you… not last, because you need rest more than any creature he has ever met. He can’t help feeling guilty: a warm friendship has been born between the two of you, and you have been sharing a room for two months, but how can he not have noticed your bloodshot eyes, and the evident effort even the simplest tasks took you these last days?

You are more than tired, more than exhausted; you are worn out, fatigue and anxiety gnawing at you with such ferocity Arondir is vaguely surprised you are not tearing at the seams or missing a few pieces, like a worn garment or an old working tool.

But you are neither; you are an Elf, a good, hard-working, kind one, a person he has grown sincerely fond of, and he wishes dearly there was something he could do to help you…

“Have you really slept in that tiny closet for more than two months?”

“Every night I was not on patrol, yes.”

“And you’ve had nightmares for two years, ever since you enlisted?”

“I have.” you admit tiredly “From before that, technically, since I became a soldier about four months after my… after it happened. At my previous garrison I had it easier, I had a room for myself, but here… I fear the anxiety I feel during the day has made my nightmares even more vivid and painful; I… I don’t know what to do.”

“You could go home.” Arondir suggests, and immediately regrets it when you look at him, completely unimpressed; you have just realised how horrible you must look, bloodshot eyes and untidy hair, but you don’t care, not now, not with him, even though you don’t linger to wonder why exactly.

“You think I did not think about it? I know it would be infinitely easier if I was still in the village, living alone and working at my shop; but I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity feeling sorry for myself. I know that even if I killed every Orc from here to Ost-in-Edhil my parents and sisters would still be lost to me; but I want to do my part, and if I can protect even just one Elf, making sure they do not suffer the same torment as my loved ones, I will feel a little better.”

“You really do? Feel better, I mean.”

“Sometimes.”

You sigh; you are so tired you can barely talk and keep your eyes open, not to mention dawn must be only a few hours away, but the mere thought of trying to sleep scares you. Still, Arondir deserves better than to spend the rest of the night comforting you, so you tell him you actually feel tired and want to go back to bed.

“Are you sure? What about your nightmares?” your friend objects, clearly unconvinced; you can see how tired he is, fatigue evident on his fair face.

“I’ll manage. You’ve done more than enough, you should sleep for a few hours at least…”

Arondir meditates on the matter for a minute. “There’s something I’d like to try.” he proposes then slowly, not so much unconvinced but strangely… awkward, as if fearing his words could be misinterpreted “And that could help you sleep well. It helped me, years ago, when I still lived with my family in the village and couldn’t sleep.”

“What is it?”

“It’s better if I show you.”

His dark eyes ask for a permission you don’t hesitate to give with a simple nod. A moment later Arondir rises to close the door of the room, returns to you and gently pushes you on your back, an arm already holding you around the shoulders while your heads touch the pillow. A moment later the blanket covers you both, and the Elf in front of you gets comfortable on the tight space of the bed before slipping his arm across your waist.

He looks at you, almost afraid of your reaction, but you’re too surprised -too flabbergasted- to decide what to do, or what to say.

“You really think this would help me sleep better?” you ask in the end.

“I… do, actually. My mother did it with me when I was younger, and I did the same for my brother. Feeling you’re not alone, and that someone is there to protect you, should ease your sleep and ward you from evil dreams.”

Part of you would like to point out you’re a few centuries too old to believe that sort of pretence; there has been a time when you thought your parents’ embrace could shield you from any harm, but he is not your father, nor your brother. You are Elves, for your kin chaste physical intimacy is as natural as breathing even among those who are not related by blood or marriage, but while not inappropriate or awkward, Arondir’s embrace does feel a little… odd.

You are so close you can feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I can leave if you…”

“No. I mean, I am sure. This is fine.” you decide, and almost reflexively, you snuggle against Arondir’s body, firm and warm and safe, a shield against any danger that might threaten you - even those who only exist inside your mind “More than fine, actually. Can we… I mean, I’d hate to impose, but would you please remain until I fall asleep?”

Arondir -now your bedmate rather than roommate- has rested his chin on the top of your head, literally enveloping you with his body, but you can still feel him smile. “My friend, I can remain as long as you want me to.”

Your legs intertwine; your cheek rests against his shoulder, your chests pressed against each other close enough you can feel each other’s heartbeat. You close your eyes, sorely tempted to abandon yourself to the security and solace of Arondir’s embrace and at the same time feeling almost embarrassed for it, as if you were stealing from the house of someone who had offered you a bed for the night. There are so many things you would like to tell him, but they can wait, and you have the strong suspicion your friend knows them already.

This time sleep is not a black hole you fall in; it’s a soft cloud enveloping and supporting you, and you let it, sleeping and dreaming peacefully for the first time in longer than you can remember.

When you finally wake up, content and well-rested -a sensation of wellness you actually struggle for a moment to identify, so long it has been since the last time you experienced it- you remain with your eyes closed for a minute, enjoying the warmth of your bed, and the full light filling the room…

Wait. The full light? But the sun at dawn can’t… what time is it?!

“Good morning.” Arondir greets you softly, smiling as he observes you raising your head from the pillow, moving carefully so as not to break his embrace “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, but… oh, Eru… it’s already past noon!” you cry, horrified, looking at the position of the sun out of the window “I was meant to go on patrol this morning, and we are already late for archery practice…”

“No, you are not.”

“What?”

Arondir, perfectly calm, explains that this morning, as you slept, he intercepted Médhor as he and the others prepared to start their day and asked him to relay a message to the watchwarden: you would both be taking one of the free days you are allotted every month.

“You as well?”

“Well, I did not want to leave you alone.”

He spent the little free time he had taking care of you - resting, which probably did not hurt, since Arondir works harder than most soldiers in the garrison, but you can’t help thinking it was a waste, and that there were better ways he could have employed those hours. “I’m sorry…”

“(name), stop apologising for things you do not need to. Now, what say you and I go have some lunch? I’m sure they have put aside something for us in the kitchens.”

You are hungry, indeed, more than you remember being for many days, as if now that your mind has rested, your body were also demanding attention to its needs. You take a minute to wash your face in the basin and put your clothes on, and then follow Arondir towards the kitchens.

“Do you feel better, (name)?” Médhor asks as he meets you in the corridor; both him and the soldiers close enough to hear your conversation smile kindly at you, empathy rather than blame in their eyes, which fills your heart with an odd mixture of gratitude and guilt.

“I do, thank you. I am sorry I… disturbed all of you, last night; I, err, had a dream…”

“You needn’t apologise; we all suffer from nightmares once in a while.” one of your comrades points out, while another pats your back in comfort.

“Yes; most soldiers do, I think. There are draughts you can drink, to help you sleep.”

“I find it easier to sleep with an open window… or if I take a walk before going to bed…”

You assure them you will remember their advice, and Arondir smiles at you.

“You see? No one thinks there is something wrong about you; we are comrades, (name), supporting each other is natural.”

You tell him that you’ll try to remember.

A few minutes later you are both sitting in the kitchens, eating bread and a soup one of the cooks has warmed for you on the fire. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this: well-rested, yes, more alert and focused, but your body feels stronger, healthier, as well, as if a few hours spent lying on a mattress were enough to counteract two months of nights squeezed in a tight, crammed space where you did not even have the space to lie down. It doesn’t work like that, you know it well, and it will take you more than a single night of rest to return to your full strength, both mentally and physically. You can’t very well expect your roommate to spend every night of the next century sleeping in your bed, and sooner or later, as you get used to his calming and protective presence, your nightmares will return; if you don’t find a way to control them, to stop memories and dreams from controlling your life, you will lose your mind.

Still, it’s a start. And knowing that you’re not alone, that the Elves around you understand what you’re going through and are ready to offer help and sympathy rather than to blame you helps as well - it helps more than you could explain in words.

Your foot touches Arondir’s under the table; your gazes meet, and he smiles at you - a smile you can’t help but return as you enjoy your soup. “(name), I…”

“(name)? The watchwarden wants to see you, as soon as you are done eating.” a passing soldier informs you, making all the quiet joy you were enjoying in your heart evaporate.

The moment of reckoning has come.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“There is no need; or better, there is, but this is something I have to do alone.” you admit with a sigh, before smiling at your roommate, this time without having to make an effort for it “I will see you later.”

“Of course you will.”

Revion’s tiny office is at the end of the corridor where you first spoke; having quickly reached the door, you square your shoulders, remind yourself you have nothing to feel ashamed for -you still believe you do, in your heart of hearts, but every bit of self-confidence helps, even if you limit yourself to think something without feeling it- and knock.

“Did you ask for me, sir?”

“Yes, (name); come in and close the door.”

You obey, walking to stand in front of Revion’s desk, perfectly tidy and well-organised despite the numerous scrolls and maps placed on it. The watchwarden observes you from above his intertwined fingers; there is no reproach or anger in it, but its intensity makes it hard to hold his gaze nonetheless.

“According to Médhor, the roof in the small room behind the kitchens will be repaired within a couple of days.” he says in the end, his tone inexpressive, as he finally lowers his eyes to a scroll you know he has had for at least three weeks “We will find a place for the crates held within, and I am sure the others will help you move your bed there.”

Silence.

“I could not hear you, (name).”

“Y-yes, sir; thank you, sir.” you stammer; he knows, you realise without the need to ask, either he has from the start or he has realised once he heard about last night. He knows, which means he’s also aware you disobeyed his orders of sleeping in your bed like all your comrades, and this is nothing less than a catastrophe “I-I am sorry, sir. I really am, but…”

“But you had no choice, did you? I was on patrol last night, but I was told you screamed loud enough to alert the whole dormitory.”

“The room is farther away; it would have been unfair to disturb the others for a matter that is mine and mine alone.”

The watchwarden nods in agreement. He sighs, before resting his back against the chair, and looks up at you again. “There is a healer, in a garrison not far from here, that specialises in sicknesses of the mind.”

“I am not crazy, sir.” you tell him, not caring how disrespectful you sound as you do it.

“I never said you were, (name); nor do I think it. But a soldier who is not at her full strength could have repercussions on the security of the whole troop, and this is a situation we both want to avoid.” Revion points out, more gently than you deserve “Also, you might find it hard to believe it but I actually care about the well-being of my soldiers. There is nothing shameful about having nightmares, but I know how debilitating they can be, and I’d rather have you serene and calm, as well as physically healthy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. The healer I was telling you about is a trusted friend, and very experienced in helping soldiers in your situation; I will ask him to come and talk to you, and I am sure you will follow his directions to the letter, doing nothing less and nothing more.”

“I will, sir.”

“Good; I hope you enjoy your day of rest. You are dismissed.”

You nod, stand on attention, and turn to leave; on the door you linger for a moment.

“Thank you, sir.” you murmur, turning your head only partially “I appreciate it, truly.”

You can’t see him, nor feel it in his voice, but you know Revion is smiling. “I’m sure you do.”

All things considered the talk went better than you dared to hope, but you sigh nonetheless in relief once the office’s door is closed behind you.

Who knows, perhaps a room to yourself away from the dormitories is everything you need, and the best you can aspire to; or maybe the healer will actually find a way to make you sleep peacefully once in a while. The guilt and shame for the loss of your family still envelop you, as resilient and impossible to eliminate as the scar of an old wound; you are not quite sure you want to make the pain go away, not if it means forgetting the love you still hold for them and the nostalgia for their absence. But punishing yourself for their death will amount to nothing, at least as long as there are other soldiers who need you at your full strength; until there is a war to fight, and comrades to support and protect, you will take care of yourself, for their sake if not for your own.

I promise. So that perhaps, one day, you can love me again.

You cross the corridor at a half-run, your body feeling lighter and stronger than it has in a long time; the light of the mid-afternoon sun envelops you as you step on the porch.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Arondir #Arondir x reader #Ismael Cruz Cordova #Ismael Cruz Córdova #Bellona's stuff

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rjzimmerman · 5 months ago

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Excerpt from this story from The Revelator:

Extirpated from the United States a century ago and almost unknown until the mid-1990s, this endangered species can make a comeback if we give it a small boost. New technology for tracking has allowed an assessment and intervention that may help these birds hold on in several critical areas.

Species name:

Thick-billed parrot (Rhynchopsitta pachyrhyncha)

Description:

A typical parrot-green, mid-sized bird weighing 14-17 ounces (400-500 grams) with a distinctive wine-red mask. In flight, a distinctive yellow band is visible under the wings. Their raucous calls sound like laughter in the middle of the forest.

Where They’re Found:

Thick-billed parrots live mostly in Mexico’s Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range. They were presumably once abundant representatives of high-altitude pine forests, where they persist to this day in much smaller numbers due to the destruction of most old-growth forests and the reduction of mature forests. The species is only present in a small number of zones with adequate conditions for nesting, where they’re mostly under protection or good forest management.

IUCN Red List status:

Considered “endangered” in the most recent 2020 assessment, mainly due to habitat loss and an apparent constant decline. The first comprehensive population estimate will be conducted this fall. The parrot will be one of the first bird species to undergo the IUCN’s new Green Status Assessment, which measures the recovery of species populations and their conservation success.

Major Threats:

The extirpation of thick-billed parrots in the northern part of their range is believed to have been caused by hunting or shooting the parrots for “sport” or food. In the Sierra Madre Occidental of Mexico, where the core populations and range have been holding on, massive land-use change — particularly forestry practices to harvest all old-growth and large trees and remove snags that serve as nesting trees — resulted in precipitous decline over the past century, up until very recently.

From the 1970s to the 1990s, demand by collectors and the pet trade became an additional threat that has since largely disappeared or represents minimal pressure on the species.

Notable Conservation Programs or Legal Protections:

For 30 years a small group of individuals and institutions have been doing research and developing a suite of techniques for thick-billed parrots, not only for research but also to enhance population growth by mitigating or eliminating factors that increase mortality and reduce productivity.

Most of the work during this time, which provided valuable information and insights, was done at a “pilot scale” and with meager resources. As a result we were basically frustrated witnesses to a species’ decline and potential demise.

Fortunately the species is currently the focus of a comprehensive binational effort of community-based conservation to change the trajectory of decline. The field team is led by Organización Vida Silvestre (OVIS) and supported notably by San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance, the Arizona Game and Fish Department, World Parrot Trust, and additional supporters and donors.

Over the next five years (2024-2028) we will implement the full suite of actions, including intensive nest monitoring and management, parasite control on an ad-hoc basis, food supplementation to chicks in select clutches to prevent emaciation, an enhanced nesting box program, fire pre-suppression activities, incentives to local communities, community-based monitoring and nest protection, greater understanding of landscape level need of the thick-billed parrot, and amplifying the telemetry information to include not only long distance movements but also daily activities to food, water and clay licks.

#thick-billed parrots #Mexico

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vanalex · 7 months ago

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PUMPKINS, TREES & SNOW 🎃🍂

It's that lavish Type O Negative stage-set in full…

‐ The “October Rust” stage-set features lots of trees. Leaves cover the mike-stands, monitors and amps. They are individually applied by hand. Presumably, to maintain the spirit of realism, thes fall off during the autumn months.

- It 'snows' onstage during “Frozen". Everyone ends up covered in white powder - which will either get you arrested, or lead to a sponsorship deal with Head & Shoulders.

During each gig. Peter Steele drinks a whole bottle of red wine. But this doesn't mean the band covers AC/DC's famous 'Claret There Be Rock'.

- For the band's forthcoming European tour, the original plan was to decorate the stage with loads of "lit-up' pumpkins”. But the promoters couldn't find enough decent pumpkins.

- The whole show cost a hefty $40,000 to put together. A spokesperson for the band's record company, Roadrunner, says: "It's really spectacular, and it shouldn't be missed."

Kerrang Magazine 1996

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skwigelfskwisgaar · 1 year ago

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Cold.

Skwisgaar always hated the cold. But it wasn't like he wasn't used to it - he had grown up swaddled in the biting cold winds, reminders that his mother had forgotten to buy food, to purchase new coats, socks, boots for her growing boy. He was an afterthought, to be left outside like the rest of her worries.

It was why he hated the cold.

He said it was because he was always stuck outside and exposed to it - which wasn't a total lie - but in reality it was because it was a reminder that he was unwanted by the one person he ever wanted to be noticed by when he was young. He wasn't meant for love, he wasn't deserving of it. He was unworthy of it.

He loathed everything about the cold and the snow.

It's why he was probably the only one opposed to the idea of the concert in Danzig - the cold affected sound quality, and it was cold.

Right now, he was trapped in the icy wilds of who knew where and stuck with Toki, without a guitar, and no cell reception. In the cold. But to the more pressing matter at hand, he had to tell Toki about something that was absolutely necessary before he forgot.

"I coulds hear your feedback in mine monitors!"

Skwisgaar hated the snow, but maybe because they were stranded together and he felt some kinship with a fellow Scandinavian that instead of complaining about the fact that they were needing rescue, the blonde felt maybe he should try to dig into Toki's subpar playing at their concert. Especially given that Toki had grown up playing in the harsh Norwegian landscapes and should know to tune his guitar for colder temps -

"How dares you - !" Toki cuts him off, offended that Skwisgaar had told him his playing sucked. Maybe if he practiced or actually paid attention to Skwisgaar when they practiced, maybe he wouldn't have feedback during the concert. Sometimes, it felt like Toki wanted Skwisgaar to be disappointed. It didn't make sense that such a talented guitarist would make such careless mistakes otherwise.

Regardless, he tried to hear Toki's rebuttal about how he was 'killings it', but he was too worried about the cold.

There was a pit growing in his stomach with each step they both took and it was taking every fiber in his body to stop himself from cutting Toki off on his rant - it felt like he was that young little boy again running home excited to show his mom that he got a passing grade in his home ec and music class only to see --

A tree exploded next to them. Halted to a stop, Skwisgaar's thoughts froze, and he stood still, much like Toki before he decided to comment.

"That was weirds."

A large brutish man emerged from the tree line, letting loose a battle cry. Already on edge from the botched concert and a failed escape attempt, Skwisgaar joined Toki in screaming out in fright.

"Time to die!" Both turn in a frenzy and run, long hair wildly whipping behind them. Neither make it far enough and get shoved down as their chaser pulls out a weapon.

In a panic, Skwisgaar thought of how much he hated that after all this time, he was going to die in the snow. Surrounded by the cold. The very thing reminding him the he was unworthy of love. He looked over to see Toki, who was much more confused than panicked, maybe because he had a fighting chance at kicking this guy's ass than Skwisgaar. He took a moment to let his mind calm down from the frantic thoughts speeding through it before he spoke.

He thought of the way the snow crunched under the boots of the man as he took his time to pick between him and his friend. He thought of how he often wanted to play music forever with Toki, and so, quickly formulated that into words before anything else happened.

He thought of all the times he felt the happiest.

The image of Toki and his audition, and how he impressed the band and blew Skwisgaar's mind.

The first recording of them in the studio together as a band.

The privilege of having a fellow Scandinavian who understood basic Swedish and knowing enough Norsk to talk to Toki when he could.

The times when Toki told him how safe he felt, or the times he opened up about why guitars had saved him much like how Skwisgaar felt they had saved him too.

So he said the only thing he could.

The only thing he felt was appropriate.

"I's ... will sees you in Valhallska, Toki."

Toki looked over, a hesitation lasting half a second.

"I always ... hateds you, Skwisgaar." There was a half second in his response but Skwisgaar's heart was singing at the very idea that anyone admitted to feeling anything for him. Toki admitting that he felt this passionate anger, this brutal fury for Skwisgaar made the blonde's heart soar. Toki had this black fury, brutal anger, raw talent that he had trusted Skwisgaar with to pour into their music. To hear Toki aim at him when it was probably more of Toki trusting Skwisgaar with it was neither here nor there, but nonetheless it cemented what Skwisgaar had thought of their musical dynamic for a long time now.

To hear him say it out loud was euphoric.

He knew there were days that Toki wanted to rip Skwisgaar apart, or who knew what else with that wild primal look he had in his eyes after practice sessions - but for him to admit this on what might be their metaphorical deathbeds?

It was the highest form of flattery Skwisgaar had ever been granted and he had no way of of knowing how to respond. So he smiled.

He cracked a small, albeit genuine, smile.

And he answered honestly.

"...I knows Toki, I knows."

- - - - -

It was cold in his room, no matter how often he fiddled with the thermostat. Ever since he had the scare with Toki and his new guitar teacher, Skwisgaar's room became colder. He was sure Toki was playing tricks on him at this point, or the others were messing around with him when he wasn't looking. They all knew he hated the cold. It was probably more mind tricks.

Right now he had a hard time even playing classic Dethklok songs because his hands were so cold. He muttered a few curses under his breath and started again from the top, gluing his eyes back on to the metronome and internalizing the beat.

Closing his eyes, Skwisgaar tried to playing the Duncan Hills jingle again from memory, trying to forget the recital and the events that led up to it. Toki's tutor had died last week, which should have meant Toki and the other guys would find a way to stop fucking around with Skwisgaar - they moved on to the next thing which was Murderface and a line of Planet Piss watches he was planning on launching. Yet Skwisgaar hadn't been able to find a way to regulate the room to a stable temperature he could tolerate.

He was in the middle of playing the stupid coffee jingle when he heard a knock on the door. Skwisgaar mumbled something about coming in before rolling his eyes at the hulking mass that was Nathan - probably there to tease him about Toki still. He made his peace that he wasn't the best tutor for Toki, as much as that hurt to admit, but they weren't going to stop him from being better.

"Hey, I heard Toki was - holy shit Skwisgaar - !"

In a flash Nathan had torn Skwisgaar's hands away from his Explorer, with Pickles and Murderface in tow as they now poked and prodded at his bloodied hands with very poorly veiled concerns.

It took over an hour of some careful wording and promises to Charles to get everyone to leave him alone after all was said and done. Even Toki had stopped by to see what happened, to which he put his foot down and shooed everyone out with promises of care and rest if they left him alone

Everyone except Nathan.

"Nat'an, you amnst needs to dotes on mes like Fatty Ding Dongs."

Nathan had taken a seat on the bed next to him, looking at him like he did when Toki or Murderface screwed up their parts.

With pity.

"Uh. Just. Take it easy, need you in peak shape."

"Can'ts stays in peak shapes if I can'ts praktises." Skwisgaar pulled his signature white fur cover on himself, his room unbearably cold still. He forgot to mention to Charles about the fact that his room needed servicing.

"Well. Maybe. Hrm. Maybe ease up. On the whole... uh. On the whole practicing thing."

"Nat'an, I has to be betters than Tokis - !"

"Skwisgaar. We were messing with you. We - I didn't think - this was a joke."

Skwisgaar looked down at his hands. He knew guitarists who had done bloody messes of themselves trying to meet deadlines. Hell, Skwisgaar had done that to himself several times trying to complete songs with Toki and Murderface, all 3 of them sporting some gnarly blisters; bloody bandaids the days after recordings were finished worn as badges of honor. Why was this a concern all of a sudden?

"I's had bloody blisters before meeting deadlines. Williams, Toki, mes toos. Amns dis about somet'ings else, Nat'ans?" Skwisgaar could see Nathan struggling to spin this in a way where nobody broke that stupid rule but it wasn't like they had particularly tried to hide it this time. Maybe it was habit at this point - Pickles talking about the insurance policies Charles took out on each of his fingers and Murderface talking about how devastated Toki would be and how he would be burdened with the younger man. As if either one of them actually played their instrument outside of concerts or the recording room.

"Look, I'm only saying this because no one else is here to hear this but Skwisgaar, this is ... uh. Concerning."

"Ands?"

"And? Is Toki getting better than you really that big a deal to you?"

"Woulds it be that bigs a deal to admit that I has not'ing else?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I only has de guitar. If I amnst de best at de guitar, what do I has to mine name?"

"You have Dethklok. You have us."

Nathan got up, giving Skwisgaar a squeeze on the shoulder, before leaving the room. His room, oddly enough, was no longer cold after that night. At least now he knew he had his band. He had his friends.

- - - - -

The Dethcopter was cold. Maybe it was because Toki and Pickles beat the living shit out of Murderface and he insisted they stay an extra hour to get some ice for his aching bruises, or maybe because he had just broken up with Tori, the first time he felt like he was at home outside of Mordhaus. Regardless of which, Skwisgaar was over it. The cold was exactly as it was from his memories - sharp, biting, numbing.

Sitting across from him, Murderface gave him an accusatory look - something Murderface had mastered over the years as their profit chasing bassist. Despite both seats facing the same direction, they both managed to face each other while they made small talk.

"Looks like Pickle and Tokis really puts de boots to you."

"I wish those fuckers put the boots to me..."

Skwisgaar, out of pity, or out of duty to the band, took his freezing hands and placed them on Murderface's knuckles, red and bruised from covering himself from Toki's and Pickles' beating. Couldn't have a bassist with useless hands. Murderface flinched at first, then took Skwisgaar's cold fingers and placed them on his other knuckles, alternating them every few seconds.

"Amns wantings to knows whats you dids to get beaten by Pickle and Toki." Murderface grumbled, or mumbled, Skwisgaar could never tell with that terrible lisp of his, before he responded.

"You know, that chick you were with looked an awful lot like schomeone we know, Skwischgaar."

Skwisgaar arched an eyebrow. He thought about all the women they knew, which wasn't many to begin with, and tried very hard to think of who his ex-girlfriend could even remotely look like.

"I's... not sure who she amns looking like." Murderface made a smug face, as a Klokateer came by to give him an ice pack for his leg.

"Whats?" Murderface took the ice pack from his knee and placed it on his hands when Skwisgaar retreated his hands, trying to question Murderface now.

"Brown hair, blue eyes. Blue sweater, really Skwischgaar?"

"She amns sweet and kinds, and likes animals. She hads a small collection of sea creature plushies. Wants to be a doctor." He smiled a little, remembering the fun dates he had with Tori, and the fun outing to the aquarium in Stockholm. He didn't even know about Skansen-Akvariet and now it became a new favorite spot in his home country to visit.

"Holy schit, plushies?" Murderface clamped a less bruised hand over his mouth, looking more like he was trying to contain his laughter instead of trying to have a conversation. Skwisgaar scowled at him.

"Ja, Williams. She amns havings a sweet side. Classy lady nameds Tori Skarsgard. She hads me whats call binge watch Moomintroll wit her, even if I alreadies seen it with Toki when he amns join - !"

"Why the fuck am I the only one here to hear this?!"

"You amns just jealous dat I founds a wonderful lady even ifs I's not famous." Skwisgaar crossed his arms in indignance, a bit upset that Murderface was finding humor in any of this. Maybe Skwisgaar was sore about letting Tori go. Maybe he was upset about the cold. Or maybe it was a mixture of both.

"Skwischgaar." Murderface stopped smiling and more or less kept a serious face. At this point Skwisgaar saw that maybe Murderface was seeing something he wasn't - maybe that Tori resembled someone he already knew.

" ... whatevers. It amns over wit her." Murderface sighed, a placed a hand on Skwisgaar's shoulder. Was that pity he picked up on in the bassist's voice?

"What, Williams? Are you goings to tells me to stops de moping over Tori? Tori amns amazings but evens Tori amnst a worthy of a gods?"

"What the fuck - no, I wasch going to say that she was Toki with tits, you fucking egotistical prick!"

Skwisgaar's brain short circuited at the words that came spilling out of Murderface's mouth. He blinked, and he registered that Murderface had begun to to snap his fingers in front of his face and had said - asked actually, about something. But nothing was registering.

Brunette with a large plushie collection. The blue sweater he gifted her for their aquarium date. A shared love for animals. The fact that both of them made him sit down and watch Moomintroll nonstop --

Snap!

Skwisgaar shot his hands up and slapped it over Murderface's mouth, as he scanned the Dethcopter for prying ears. Once he saw not even Klokateers were nearby, he leaned in to whisper. Murderface, who was caught mid finger snap, stopped as if frozen in ice. He locked eyes with Skwisgaar once the hands came off his mouth.

"So, what gives Skwischgaar?! Your first ever girlfriend and it's literally a female Toki - !"

"I misseds Mordhaus."

"Excuses." He and Murderface glare at each other before Murderface sighs and lets out a laugh.

"What amns funny, Williams?!" Skwisgaar crosses his arms again, furious that he didn't have his Explorer on hand and sits facing the right direction, forward to avoid looking at Murderface and his ridicule.

"You literally just realized that?!"

"Whatevers, you dildo. At least I amnst denyings dat I misses mine band."

"Nah, you missed him." Skiwsgaar spun around so fast Murderface almost got a mouth full of blonde hair.

"Never mention dis agains. Got its?"

"...I got it. If it makes you feel better - well, you didn't hear it from me personally- but I- we saw more blonde groupies too. Not even to like fuck them or anything, but just like, to have them around. The other guys, I mean. I- we all missed you." Murderface looked away, trying to put on a cool bravado and not look like he was outing himself but instead more like he was ratting out the rest of the band for blatantly caring as much as they did. With both now facing forward, Skwisgaar could swallow the humiliation of being told by Murderface of all people that Tori had been 'Toki with tits'.

Skwisgaar nodded, then replied, "What a weird ways to says the bands misses me."

"Whatever." Murderface leaned away again, before he spoke again.

"What a weird way to admit you dated a Toki with tits."

"Dat amnst true, Moidaface - !"

When Pickles and Nathan came back on the Dethcopter they found Skwisgaar and Murderface rolling around like idiots, fighting about who knew what - probably about who slept with more groupies. Again.

- - - - -

Skwisgaar felt a bone-deep cold that he couldn't shake off. It was Sweden 1984 all over again. In the distance, he could see the dying fires of riots from fans still upset about Dethklok breaking up. Rumbling in the sky signaled that the weatherman was correct as always, and rain should be coming in later. Despite this, Skwisgaar doesn't care.

His band is no more.

He takes a swig of the ipen bottle of vodka he has with him and looks from his high balcony as he leans forward on his arms. Everyone is trying to put out fires, it feels like.

With Murderface still dealing with the fallout in the political sphere after his nudes leaked, and Pickles and Nathan still fighting over a woman that Skwisgaar was positive wanted nothing to do with either of them, it left little for Skwisgaar to do except drink and think. He wandered Mordhaus like a ghost, except he was riddled with dread and stress. Maybe less a ghost, and more a haunted soul left to carry the burdens of mistakes made. To drink and think on decisions made.

And he's had plenty of time to drink and think since Pickles announced he was quitting the band.

To think about how awful he's been to Toki. To drink to the good times he took for granted. To blame himself on how he turned Toki's admiration, that righteous brutality he wanted to draw out and funnel into his playing - how he twisted it into an acidic poison that's corrupted into a desperate plea for validation. While Toki could have attempted to pour that angry energy into his guitar playing, Skwisgaar definitely didn't encourage Toki in positive ways.

He twisted Toki into the monstrosity that backstabbed him all for a stupid solo - which Toki bombed and was also still trying to make up for with those fans too.

" Oh hey, Skwisgahr! Mind if I join ya?"

Seeing that this was the balcony overlooking what was the Mordhaus equivalent of a backyard, Skwisgaar looked at Pickles and nodded. It's not like he and Pickles didn't hang out often, but nowadays, it felt like Skwisgaar had been left out to dry just like everyone else, while Pickles and Nathan feuded over Abigail.

"I see you're hitting the liquor early tonight."

"Heughs, I ackshualies am starting lates tonights."

"...is that so?"

"Yeahs. But amns enoughs about mes. Wants some?"

"Sure!" Pickles took the vodka from Skwisgaar and really took in the sight of the man. He felt those emerald green eyes look over him as he approached. Blonde locks looked dull, skin had a grey pallor, and unless his eyes betrayed him, the guitarist looked sleep deprived. Or at least Skwisgaar would assume Pickles could tell that from a glance - Pickles was always so good at seeing and telling right away what was wrong with someone.

"You okey, dood?"

"I wills be. Not my foirst times having a band break ups."

"Right. Look, I was actually lookin for ya, I wanted to say sorry fer -!"

"For whats? Tellings Nat'an dat he amnst right for breakings de master records?"

"No - !"

"For goings back to your moms after you tolds me you amnst let hers do whats she dids last time we dids mom talk?"

"Dood, unrelated and no!" Pickles downs almost the entire bottle of vodka like a true champ before Skwisgaar takes it back and drinks the remainder. He doesn't look at him when he produces the other bottle he had brought out with him, and he just knows Pickles is going to judge him for it - which is rich coming from the guy who was in rehab for drinking.

"I came to say sorry for being a shit friend. I was so bent outta shape about my shit wit' Nathan thet I forgot to check in with ya, especially after the whole thin' with Toki."

Skwisgaar spins around and smacks Pickles with his hair. Pickles sputters, trying to wipe his face.

"What amns you knows about me and Tokis?" he asks, popping the cork on the new bottle, before leaning to look at the dying riots in the distance, "Amns as much mine faults anyways, amns a punishments for mine hubris." He takes the bottle to his lips and takes a sip, and not wanting to not wake up hungover for Cornickelson's funeral offers the bottle to Pickles.

Pickles stands there gobsmacked before he takes the bottle away from Skwisgaar again. Skwisgaar rolls his eyes.

"Looks, Pickle. I cames here to be miserables before de funeral. I amnst in de mood - !"

"I'm not gonna stand here and see you kill your liver over fuckin' Toki!"

"It amnst over just hims! It amns de band, mine friends, mine music careers! I pours mine entire hearts and souls into dis!" Pickles takes a step back as Skwisgaar, drunk on both vodka and misery, looms over him as each syllable spills out of him.

"Seems likes I amns de only ones who amns not wanting Dethklok to breaks up, because it amns de foirst time I likes people - de fans and de label and mine friends - !"

Pickles tries to tackle Skwisgaar but becomes a hug when the guitarist wraps his arms around him; Skwisgaar pets his head and while the humiliation of the failed tackle stabs at his pride for a split second, there remains a longer burning shame for neglecting a friend who has been suffering in the shadows of the much more prominent fighting between himself and Nathan. He feel Skwisgaar's arms shudder, no doubt because the man was always somehow cold.

"... fuck, Skwisgahr - I'm so fuckin' sorry."

"I don'ts want de pity. I wants mine band backs."

"It's not pity, you fuckin' douchebag."

"What amns dis huh, Pickle?"

"Fuckin' ... shut up and just let me keep yer beanpole ass warm for a sec."

"You amns such a moms."

"So... do you accept my apology?"

"Ja, apolejacks accepteds."

"Geez, we have got to get you an' Toki to some classes - wait, I got an idea."

Tearing himself off of Skwisgaar, Pickles produces his phone out of his pocket and taps away, while clouds overhead blot out the stars. Skwisgaar decides his legs need too much coordination to keep him upright and slumps down next to the railing.

"You invites goirls?"

"No, I invited Toki."

Pickles had never seen someone try to sober up as quickly as Skwisgaar did. The man knew he was an emotional drunk, as evidenced by the hug earlier, and the half-confession, half-admission of him caring about the break up. And for some reason unknown to the band, Skwisgaar always refused to get drunk around Toki alone, or would get drunk with everyone. Pickles squinted at Skwisgaar as a suspicion began setting in; the guitarist is busy trying to make himself puke over the balcony, before looking back to the entryway to their home.

"Skwisgahr."

"Nej, dis amns terribles time, I's drunk as shits - !"

"Skwisgahr."

"Calls Williams, or get some groupies - !"

"Skwisgahr."

"Waits, maybes I gets sloppies and just pass out - !"

"Dood, why are you so against having Toki here?"

Skwisgaar freezes like a deer in headlights, before slumping back down against the balcony and pulling his legs up and laying his head against his knees. Realizing he wasn't going to get an answer, Pickles joins him, pulling out a joint and asking again.

"Skwisgahr, I'm askin' as a friend 'ere."

"You guys knows I amnst likings to be drunk with Toki around. Amns bad influence."

"... never stopped you from drinking and partying with 'im on ... tours..." Skwisgaar looks up to Pickles as if confused for the drifting off at the end.

Pickles looks back at him, confusion in his face.

"Now that I say it, it's like - it's with the rest of the band. Is there something else I'm not seein' here, beanpole?"

"Nothings you dildo! I don't wants him to sees de poirson whats invites him to de band to acts like... wells like drunk idiot!" Skwisgaar and Pickles both look to the entryway for a short second because they saw movement; when they see a few Klokateers come and go and one come out with ice, some drinks and glasses, Pickles continues. He thought Toki said he was close by, and he could swear on his drum set that he saw those pale blue eyes for a split second.

"What's wrong with thet?"

"Toki ands I went drinking alones once. We don't drives anymore. It were a careless act." Pickles gives him a face of realization, recalling the incident. They thought it was really awesome to see them on the news, drunk driving on live TV on a police chase. Toki shooting a gun at the news helicopter and then the crash into the barricade was the highlight. The band was excited to pick them up, even if it meant that Skwisgaar and Toki had lost their licenses to drive.

"I remember! Thet was fuckin' great."

"I crash de car. We hads de buckles on, which amns goods but..."

"Oh yeah, so... you really care thet much?"

"Toki ... he amns like music... soul twin. He amns differents. I's be a dildo to not says dat. I has been dildo to hims. Amns why I amnst mads about de book, I's mad it took a book to sees it. I deserves it for not appreskiatings Toki's skill. "

"... this is the first time I've ever heard ya talk about the kid in a nice way. But I've seen ya, Skwisgahr! You care, like, a lot."

" You amnst foirst to tells me dat." Pickles lit a joint up and passed it to Skwisgaar, who took a good puff out of it.

"Pickle? Ams Toki, I's here!"

Skwisgaar promptly started choking on the puff he took. Pickles let out a hearty chuckle. Toki waved, looking at Pickles before his eyes landed on Skwisgaar. The kid seemed nervous. Apprehensive about approaching them, and for a second it felt like he was watching a rabbit approach a wolf in its den. Maybe his eyes hadn't played tricks on him earlier.

"Amns you been arounds a long time?!"

"Nei? I's uhm, I's justs gots here." After composing himself from what looked like a potential heart attack, Skwisgaar passed the joint back to Pickles, who made a huge wave of his arm to make Toki sit down. He took a small puff then passed it to Toki once he finally sat across from them.

"So, Toki. Heard ya leaked the nudes that killed Murderface's political cahreer."

Skwisgaar leaned in, and so did the others. "If you dids, Toki, I says you dids de woirld a favors. No ones in politics amns taking bads nudes like dat."

Pickes let out a loud howl of laughter as Toki giggled.

"...amns you been drinking, Skwisgaar?"

"Ja, amns been rough wit ... Nat'an and de new music he amns doings. It's dildos." Pickles gave him a disapproving look, but Skwisgaar would rather go back to Sweden than talk about why he was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Nat'en ams needs to apologise to Pickle. It ams wrong what he did." Pickles raised the vodka bottle he had managed to get without much moving and then drank. Toki took it next after passing the joint to Skwisgaar, who snatched it from him.

"Nej, amns bads for yous."

"Pickle!?" Pickles smacked him on the arm.

"Fines."

"Play nice, both of ya."

"Skwisgaar started it."

"Toki, we all need apologize. I came to say sorry to Beanpole here." Skwisgaar felt himself shrivel up, as Toki looked at Pickles with curiosity.

"Whats about?"

"Eh, another time, kid. But I think, before we get crazy here - ya both need to clear up some shit. I'm gonna get Murderface, he just texted thet he got lost."

Toki asked why not text him again, like he did with him as Skwisgaar flopped on either trying to pull Pickles back down or freezing up.

As Pickles vanished, Skwisgaar felt too drunk and too aware and in his skin all at once. His eyes locked with Toki, and he immediately slumped back on the balcony railing, opting to grab the abandoned bottle.

"... yous not just drinking because of Nat'ens, ams you."

"Amazings brain usings, Toki. De skies amns blue too, you knows dat?"

"Okei fucker, whys Pickle says dat and leaves me wit your sour pusses?"

Skwisgaar didn't respond. He took the bottle to his lips, dipped his head back and drank. And drank. And drank. And drank --

"Stops! You amns gonna kills your liver!"

'I's not drunk or highs enoughs for dis."

"For whats?!"

He looks at Toki, who looks lost and afraid. He's not seen Skwisgaar hit a low like this, not even when he lost the endorsements after the book published, or his career was pulverized into pieces. Last time he saw Skwisgaar this drunk was the night they got arrested for drunk driving. He thought about how things were different then, how simpler their dynamic was, how easier it was to trust his band, to trust Toki.

How he took it all for granted.

"I's sorries, Tokis. You amnst deserves dis."

"What ams you talking abouts?!" Toki pulled himself closer; Skwisgaar's eyes drifted away from those pale blue hues and to Toki's hands. Those hands that he had been trusted to write for. To care for. To cherish and to play music with.

He sighed.

"You needs to talk to mes when I amnst fuckeds up. Meets me at de bar after de funerals?"

Toki, looking at him with concern and apprehension and some suspicion, nodded in agreement. Pickles came back and told them it would be a few more minutes, and Toki volunteered to go with him.

Skwisgaar cracked a small smile. Toki did too. Pickles looked at Skwisgaar, and he gave him a sloppy thumbs up. Pickles gave him one back.

- - - - -

The first thing he felt was cold. It was a common thing to feel when he didn't remember the events leading him there. Stiff and sore, he took an attempt to slip back under because being sober was awful.

Was that puke on his face?

"...eurgh.....hrmph..."

He pulled himself out of the tangle of hair, limbs and liquor spilled on and around him before he grabbed a bottle. Surprisingly, it still had alcohol in it, so he took it and a semi-clean robe and wandered out of the room. Alcohol was better for avoiding sobriety this early, for now.

It felt like it was a lifetime ago that he spent his night under that cloudy night getting drunk and high with Murderface and Pickles and Toki. With the promise of meeting Toki under better circumstances after the funeral to talk.

That night he sat at the bar by himself until he couldn't sit straight anymore.

And since then, he refused to stay sober.

It was easier that way.

And when alcohol wasn't doing it, he began to raid Pickles' stash. When Pickles cornered him, he lashed out and finally went out and found himself back on the streets of 1999, chasing a high that he promised to leave behind.

Pickles finally came to him in hysterics when he threw out his Explorer, a book he wrote some music ideas on, and a few CD cases he had stashed Toki's old guitar riffs on. Pickles only knew Skwisgaar was doing it because a CD hit one of the groupie sluts he was talking to in the backyard.

Skiwsgaar was so high on meth that Pickles had to get Murderface and Nathan to help him bring the blonde inside. It didn't take long to see that the guitarist was not drunk but high and less time for Pickles to see what it was when he saw track marks.

"I's not gonnas get lectures from you Pickle. You wents to rehabs for dis." Stunned at the remark, Murderface and Nathan watched as they both had a shouting match until both stormed off. At least Skwisgaar stopped taking meth.

That was last month.

Or last week.

Or was it last year?

He lost track of time.

It didn't matter anymore. Not without Toki.

Skwisgaar picked up a pastry in the kitchen and listened as they talked about using a new recording as part of the concert coming up. Skwisgaar nearly gagged.

"Amnst de sames."

"It'll have to do. We have recordings - !"

"Nei, Nat'an. I won'ts do its."

"Skwischgaar - !"

He threw his glass of juice at the first wall he saw.

"Fines! Dos whatever, fucking dildos."

He shoved the pastry into his mouth before they said anything and walked off. Stumbling, like a toddler just learning to walk. He makes it to the entry of the kitchen as he hears Pickles finally pipe up.

"What the fuck is Skwisgahr's problem now?"

"He, uh. He doesn't want recordings."

"... did I ever tell you guysch about the girlfriend he had in Sweden?"

Immediately, Skwisgaar turns on his heel and comes back into the kitchen and makes a dive at Murderface, until Nathan tackles him and tosses him against a counter. Pickles makes a dash to get out of the way as Murderface slowly lowers the arms he instinctively raised in his defense.

"Yous amns fuckings dildo lickers! You fuckings-- you amnst GETS ITS!"

And while his silent cries and tears didn't make sense that day, a week later when he quietly held Toki in the Dethcopter and whispered all the things he didn't get to tell him at the bar the day of the funeral, they understood.

- - - - -

Cold.

Something about the Arctic cold that made bones creak. It made joints crack like glass. Fingers ache. Skwisgaar hated it. Maybe it was his age. Maybe it was the cold, still.

How long had it been since they had first stepped onto Danzig? How much had changed since then?

His head throbbed, the ground wobbled -

A warm arm wrapped around his middle before his knees gave out.

"Shit - Toki, come help with yer brother!"

If Skwisgaar wasn't on the verge of puking his guts out he'd chew out Pickles for calling on Toki to help him. With Murderface on his right side Toki came up on the other, clutching Deaddy Bear as Pickles ran his hand over Skwisgaar's head. Wait, when did Skwisgaar get shorter?

"Of course Skwischgaar is a mess, he's light as fuck! Feels like a lady!"

"Yous a lady, Williams!"

"Dood, how many fingers am I holdin'?"

"Amnst blind, Pickle - !"

"No, but uh. You have a concussion. Got those in high school. Erm. A lot. I know one when I see one."

As Pickles and Nathan both talked about how Skwisgaar was going to recover, and Murderface grumbled about how no one cared about how he felt after having been possessed - all Skwisgaar wanted to do was make sure he at least made it back to Mordhaus -

"Skwisgaar?"

Toki pressed Deaddy Bear to Skwisgaar's arms, and then held Skwisgaar in a tight hug. The cold he felt began to seep out of him as Toki slowly looked up and finally locked eyes with him. He had taken a seat next to him, under Skwisgaar's arm still.

"I know it was you who carried me," he said in Swedish, "Let Toki carry you now."

"... this is a hug, Toki." Toki just hugged him tighter.

"What have I said about not speakin' English? No Snow-Speak!"

"Picklesch, its called Swedish." Toki gave Murderface a look, as Skwisgaar finally manages to hold down the Doritos they gave them in their cells the night before. He says what he assumed Toki was also thinking.

"...what de fucks amns Snows ... Speaks?"

"A schtupid term he picked up from reading ..."

Skwisgaar saw Pickles panic for a split second as Murderface stopped. Toki loosens his arms, but doesn't let go of Skwisgaar, to lean closer to Murderface, who also looks like he's panicking.

"Readings what?"

"Wowies, Mordaface, how ams you knows wes speaking Svenska?"

"I made an educated guessch."

"Yeah! Ya only speak in Swedish when - !"

"Readings what, Pickle?!"

"Uh... fans! Social media stuff! The fans think you an' Tokes have some secret language! They call it thet." Based on Nathan's own face, Skwisgaar felt like maybe Pickles was lying through his teeth. He was not going to pry further now, however - his stomach was threatening to empty itself again. Skwisgaar pried his right arm away from Murderface to clamp his mouth and then rub his stomach as he took a deep breath.

"Shit, uh. We gotta get you, mhrm, Murderface, and Charles looked at. Like, now." Pickles made a quick turn and immediately pointed at something Skwisgaar couldn't see from his angle. Sitting on the snow aside, the view out here wasn't bad. Nathan patted Pickles on the shoulder before walking in the direction he pointed. Maybe it was Charles? Pickles began walking away and talking with Nathan, before he stopped and made a motion to Murderface.

"Murderface, come help Nathan grab Charles! Looks like there's someone helpin' already."

Murderface grumbled something about suffering from success, which made absolutely no sense to Skwisgaar, but he was using the time of quiet to gather his thoughts. Toki finally, slowly pulled himself away from him and smiled sweetly.

"...Skwisgaar, I know you and I have had our problems, and I haven't made a great friend. But I mean it. Let Toki carry the weight for now. If that includes you when things get tough, then I will." Skwisgaar grabs Toki's fretting hand and rubs his thumb over the callouses there. Even now Toki is clingy, needy, affectionate, caring. And it's not just with Skwisgaar, even if it is who he does it the most with - he went to Pickles or Nathan if he needed help with anything or to Murderface for fun and laughter.

With Skwisgaar he often just sat and listened to what the Swede said, chords and strings and arpeggios the backdrop for the lessons and practice sessions in Deus Keep.

He wondered what happened in the time they forgot.

He wondered what made this Toki so clingy.

He wondered if he did something to him.

He wondered why Toki and not --

"You are thinking too loud."

"Sorry, my head is a mess."

"Speak your mind, Skwisgaar."

He lets go of Toki's hand, and holds himself in the biting cold as he formulates his thoughts. Danzig is where they both 'confessed' to their intentions going forward in their music, and Skwisgaar wanted to keep that same spirit. Here was Toki wanting to mend things - either because he felt guilty about the book or because he felt he wasn't pulling enough weight in the dynamic, but here he was ready to help Skwisgaar.

Ready to not just be an equal, but his friend.

"Toki... if you have been a bad friend, then I've been outright shit to you. You trusted me with your talent, and I squandered that. I never gave you reason enough to be excited or passionate for the music if I never let you shine. It's just as much my fault - !"

Toki launches himself on Skwisgaar, a crushing hug and then shaking shoulders. Skwisgaar panics as he realizes Toki's crying, and he slowly and awkwardly begins to rub the younger man's back as he pulls himself tighter on the blonde.

"I promise to put my ego aside from now on. Okay?"

Toki nods his head, and Skwisgaar suddenly realizes something.

"Tokis... amns you using mine shoirts to wipes your face?!"

Toki shakes his head no, but then pulls himself away and gives Skwisgaar an angry look.

"You says nice things and you worry about yous stupid shirt?!"

"It amnst a hankys chef to wipes snot off ... your - !" Almost immediately, Skwisgaar feels it and loses to his stomach, as it empties itself and he only feels Toki rub his back as he goes for a second round, and finally, his stomach gives up fighting him. Thankfully all he did was turn his face to the side and Toki managed to get his face out of the way before he whispered reassurances that it would get better once he had something to eat and some proper food and sleep.

"...the fucker exploded into red mist! Farm equipment is brutal!"

"That uh. That explains why we didn't see a corpse."

"Skwisgahr ain't doing so great too, Charles, we're gonna get ya'll checked out."

"Thanks, boys."

Skwisgaar wipes part of his mouth as Toki keeps a hand on him and the other cradling Deaddy Bear. It sounds like they did find Charles. Good.

His ears ring for half a second, before he sees Charles carried by Nathan and Murderface. Behind them is what looks like a nurse and a paramedic, and a Klokateer with a duffel bag slung on over a shoulder - if he recalled correctly, many of the non-combat Gears had been left in chapters scattered throughout cities to help in the days of the prophecy but to still see them around was --

"Wowies, a Klokateers?!"

"Lord Wartooth, Lord Skwigelf, an honor. I have some emergency first aid kits and these two medical professionals volunteered to assist with what they could. Mr. Offdensen has been stabilized and can be treated for minor injuries while we look at Lord Murderface and Lord Skwigelf."

Pickles approached Toki with a diabetes monitor and insulin kit, while the paramedic looked at Skwisgaar, and the nurse looked over Murderface. Murderface was cleared physically of anomalies, and Toki was given a sticker and insulin to make sure his levels were stable. With that, Pickles and Nathan helped clean up Charles with the nurse ans Toki and Murderface kept Skwisgaar company.

With both sitting next to him, he only has to whisper as the paramedic does some final checks and gives him some medications.

"Sos, Williams, Toki. When amns you thinkings dat Nat'en and Pickle finallies realizes de truth?"

"Truth about what, Skwischgaar?"

"... you amnst sees it!?"

Toki sticks out his tongue as he squints hard at the pair, busy trying to make sure they help. They're both helping Charles with his mangled hand, cleaning and bandaging what they can.

"...thats they sucks at doctors?"

"You amns dildos at dis. Nat'en and Pickles? De worry abohts eqch other? De way de boths amns so carings wit each other?" Murderface and Toki both let out a sound of realization, before excitement and shock creeps over both of them.

"Wait, you think they are together?!"

"That ams make it reals mom and dad?!"

"Looks, we amns smart and can sees it. We amnst idiots. We can sees what amns plains as light of days!"

At this point, Murderface looks at Skwisgaar and then Toki. Henarrows his eyes at the guitarists, as if he's expecting either of them to say something - Skwisgaar looks at him and gives him a questioning look instead.

"What, Williams?"

He just needed to find the people that wanted him first.

"You know what, Skwischgaar? You aschtound me. You really do." Skwisgaar smiled, as he realized that he hadn't felt cold for a while now. Here he was out in Danzig, in near Arctic temperatures, and he felt warm as if he was standing outside on a sunny day. Maybe he was wanted, after all.

Like Nathan, who reminded him he had more than just his guitar - he was Skwisgaar and he had his friends too.

Like Murderface, who reminded him his band wasn't just another gig, it was his friends who liked him for him.

Like Pickles, who reminded him that he didn't need to struggle alone, and apologies made people grow.

And like Toki, who showed Skwisgaar that he was someone worth trusting.

Who, despite all their up and downs, still wanted to be his friend. Who still wanted to play music with him.

Toki, who wanted to shine just as much as he wanted Skwisgaar to shine too.

Toki. His friend. His brother. His equal.

#metalocalypse #mtl #dethklok #fanfic #long fic #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #william murderface #charles foster offdensen #implied skwistok #nickles #other:#felt possessed to write this #so much of this is just what. i think happened between or after big events #will post to AO3 at some point idk

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robynsroseart · 2 months ago

Text

=Heres an Apocalyptic Romance. Noworking name yet. It's subject to change. Might end up as a comic at some point. Its largely unedited. But hopefully you will enjoy.❤️=

(Trigger warning. Someone is knocked out. No SA. No non con. However there will be blood, needles and depictions of madness.)*Edited to the mark* (*)

Within the dead silent landscape, a motor reves to life. A softer sound than this vehicle would normally be capable of. Yet it was loud enough to put the motorcycles rider on edge.

Within this new area, he searches for the place he can allow his bike to rest. Determined to set out on foot moving forwards.

Not a single animal would be found in a place like this. Not a single one aside from those who posed the most danger to him. The infected.

Removing his helmet he listens for them. Any movement among the trees and foliage. A protective mask covering any potential exposed skin.

Almost all of the natural elements surrounding this dead city, had reclaimed the once thriving buildings and streets. Eyes keenly surveying for the slightest difference. For anything human among the ruined buildings.

"Help me," he can hear someone rasp in the distance. For a moment he finds himself stepping forward towards the voice. Realizing this, he stills his movements instead. Evening his breath to become as quiet as physically possible, He listens.

The infected are not what most would suspect. Especially not those sheltered by the last thriving city Within the province.

Most would picture these infected as rotting, already dead things. Shambling around unaware of thier surroundings until a living person disturbed them.

Most people would expect that lone person to perish horribly amidst the sound of thier own screams. Silence setting in. Off set only by the sounds of cracking, squelching and chewing noises. The Air after filled with no more than the moaning dead.

No. Here, in this place. The reality was much more terrifying. Nothing taking up residence in this space is truely dead. Or unaware of his arrival.

Luckily for him. Nothing was willing to mess with his bike either. As he crouched and slowly moved forwards. Pressing the first of the touchscreen buttons that adorned his wrist.

As he moved, he remained silent. Allowing the wristband to monitor and relay everything he could consciously feed into it.

He couldn't spot them. But he could hear thier ragid breathing. Persistent but agitated movements. Though nothing he gathered led him to suspect he'd been spotted yet. Let alone that any of them knew his exact location.

Once safely away from his motorcycle, he activated the rest of the relay function on his touchscreen wrist band. Audio relay, visual relay through his gear. And a kill switch. One that cuts relay in the event his heart were to stop beating.

Navigating around those who coughed and angrily paced thier patrol routes. He could overhear the pained, piercing screams of those who stammered about the hallucinations haunting them. Shortly before those desperately clinging to sanity would silence them. In this case, by taking thier life.

Blood running cold in his veins for a moment. He kept reminding himself of the consequences of being caught. With that in mind he pressed forwards again. Silencing the loud voice shouting at him through his ear peice.

He knew what he was doing was risky. He didn't need Frank to shout it at him. Distracting him from his objective.

Creeping past the encampment he focused on finding any place safely accessible to aquire supplies. He'd found one.

Tapping his wristband before begining his return. Marking it on the digital relay map, he sighed with relief. It appeared un occupied.

"Are you here to help us?"

He froze. Turning to see a young girl swaying in the bushes an arms length away. Not actually looking at him, but she did seem to be talking to him. Waiting for a reply.

Quietly he answered, "I'm sorry sweety. Nothing has been found to help quite yet. I will come back if there is."

Discreetly he relayed this location a bust instead. The infected had also found the only viable supply stash here. It wasn't in him to deny them that. They were alive and needed the same things the city did. Even if it was a considered a waste back home.

"DADDY!" she called. Her eyes suddenly focusing on him with deadly accuracy, "Theres still no cure yet!" Her face twisted into an almost feral rage. She pointed him out and then ran away herself.

"Shit," Running off in the safest direction he could detect, Airen fled. He had forgotten for a moment, the hostility of the infected. All because this one was a child.

Hot on his heels, he could hear them. Crying out unintelligible insults. Throwing things in his direction. All while he could hear increased numbers of them join the hunt. Steps hurrying closer. Louder. Faster.

The hunting equipment they had found wasn't a surprise. However it made his heart race faster. Beating harder against his chest. They took aim at him with whatever they had found.

Zipping through the air were arrows. Likely from a crossbow, based on what he gathered they could properly weild. Somehow he had narrowly avoided his left arm being impaled. Though he heard the sound of fabric ripping.

Sliding through the mud down a hill in the underbrush, Airen fled in an unexpected direction. Disappearing into the concrete jungle. Trees that once grew neatly having spread through the area, like a true forest.

He did not stop until he found himself among only the older trees and under brush. Where he could hear the animals, startled by his presence. Clicking back on his ear peice.*

"Nice failure, Airen! I thought for sure you were fucking dead meat this time!" Growled his monitor back at base, "I fucking told you not to roam that close to them!"

After a moment and atleast a single reclaimed breath, he answered, "Can it! We are running out of other viable options for supply retrieval and you know it!" Once he gathered his composer, he stood up. Appraising his physical condition.

A ripped sleeve. Caked in mud Otherwise, "Not a scratch by the way. Thanks for asking."

"I HAVE YOUR BIO READINGS, ASSHOLE. I already know your fine. Now! Get your crap and head back to base. I have no choice but to tell comand this time." After a moment of somewhat strained silence, Airen could hear his friend hiss to himself, "Dumb ass!"Before the radio cut.

Privately he grinned to himself. Any other day he'd have played by the book meticulously. However, the infected were losing thier lives. More so everyday. Supplies were disappearing between those who horded them and the sites lost to the infected. If him disobeying meant further progress on a cure- he was to happy to oblige. They needed to see how slim pickings really were. They needed to see the infected as human.

It wasn't as if they could aford to lose him really. So he wasn't worried about comand, after all. No one dared to chose being a Scout. Especially not the son of a founder. He hoped his presence among them could change the public perspective. That Scouts were disposable.

With a deep breath and a moment to collect himself. He walked the safest route back to his bike.

It was right where he left it. None of the infected could focus long enough to pinpoint its location anyway.

Walking it to a place further away, he got on and drove away. Back to the city. Back "home".

Suddenly a stabbing sensation caught him off gaurd. Swerving as his vision blured. Left with little choice, he slowed to a stop along the broken road.

Staggering off of his bike, Airen leaned against the closest tree, roots creeping jaggedly under the cracked cement. He could hardly navigate the uneven ground in his current state.

A hand sized mosquito fluttering full of blood, squeezed back back out of his ripped sleeve. Having crawled out it buzzed away before he could swat at it.

Cursing under his breath he Hesitantly sat down. Pulling his protective mask off over his head, carding his gloved hand through his hair. Short, dark brown locks falling infront of his eyes, "That took longer than expected." He muttered. Opening his bright green eyes. The copper flecks highlighted by the fading sun.

Faced with the reality of his choice, he couldn't help but let the spike of panic out. Punching the tree next to him out of frustration. Forcing himself to remain calm. Forcing his staggering breaths to come evenly. Until they came out evenly on thier own. Gritting his teeth he couldn't help but shout, "Fuck!"

Taking slow deliberately deep breathes, he closed his eyes. Trying to force them to focus normally as he calmed himself. Blinking twice. They focused properly as he opened them a third time. Finally. It didnt take a genus to know he was infected.

Drinking water claimed from his bike sattle bag, he checked himself over again. It didnt take him long to see where he had been infected. It was pretty obviously the mutated misquote that got him was the prime suspect at first. But instant symptoms seemed unlikely.

While that definitely didn't help, he felt the exposed skin of his upper arm. Hissing when his fingertips found the second potential cause of infection.

The arrow hadn't missed him completely. It had grazed him. Leaving a significant but superficial gash in his arm. With a sigh he wrote it down, "Are they really coating arrows with infected blood now?" It seemed like the only fit. So he wrote that down too.

Hearing the radio on his bike crackle to life, he groaned.

"The fuck was that!? Answer the damn com!"

Activating his headpiece he grumbled back, "I'm fine. Fucking deer bolted across the road. Forgive me for needing a minute." The sarcasm in his voice plaily evident.

Turning back off his headpeice, he checked his wrist band. He had successfully maintained normal readings. Looking back through them to check.

So. It could be done. Good. He'd need to continue to do so for his plan to work. One he needed to be infected to achieve.

Once satisfied in his ability to maintain normalized readings, he forced himself back up. Every joint aching painfully, he once again mounted his bike. Enjoying his last drive back to the city. The view. The wind in his hair. The scent of nature. He took in all of it.

The large blue hexagon grid glowed brightly in the distance. Only growing brighter as he approached in the shadow of the setting sun.

It hadn't been his plan to get infected exactly. Rather he simply didn't care if contracted it. Having decided long ago that he'd use it to change the overwhelmingly oppressive nature of the city's government. If or when he did get infected.

Especially given that as a founder's son, he wasn't typically a candidate for a scout. He had hoped his achievements as a scout would change the minds of those in charge. It hadn't been enough.

It left his heart heavy. Now that it had actually happened. When he thought of those he'd have to leave behind, his heart ached. Yet he calmed himself. Steeling his resolve. There was no cure. This was his only option left. Refusing to die quietly without having made a difference. He accepted this as his only remaining choice.

Once he had settled his mind, he took a deep breath of the outside air. Stopping his bike at the checkpoint like normal. Parking it in its dedicated spot. Carrying his helmet with him. Almost like a lifeline.

He began to march towards his own destruction. Ignoring the path he would normally take up to the temporary Medical Screening Area.

Deciding instead to hurry straight for his commander. Someone he knew would not oppose his plan to go public with what happened.

Despite the seething rage he'd be faced with for losing his life this way. The commander cared. For him yes, but also enough to force change in the system with this loss.

His comander cared. Almost as much as he'd imagined his own father would have.

His blood father. Not the one he was to call father. No. He imaginied his true father. The one who's life had been lost defending others from the outbreak. All those years ago. When everything began to fall apart. Back when he was to young to truely remember.

He didn't smoke. But he'd always wondered what it felt like. And it was one way to cover up the oncoming persistent cough. An unavoidable symptom he'd be faced with while he worked to inform the public.

It wasn't something he wanted to do. He despised the effects of the activity. However, it wasn't like his 35 year old ass would survive long enough for it to matter anyway. Not now.

Making his way through the paths of the thickly fortified cement barrier wall, he walked up to the entrance of the city beyond.

Already feeling the fatigue overtake him. Each moment awake growing increasingly irritating. He walked forwards. Breath disobeying him again. World blurring for moments at a time.

He had gotten so used to the deliberately reckless allowances. His preformed at work largely unaffected. No risks he took ever yielding a resulting infection. Eventually he had grown to love his job. Thinking it was helping him make a difference. Believing an infection would never actually come.

Now he had been infected. He wished he had found another way to change things. But it wasn't an option anymore.

Stopping to watch his former colleagues stand at thier post. Laughing with eachother about thier latest close calls. Lecturing eachother for anything to dangerous. Airen felt nostalgia creep in. He wanted to be there, standing beside them.

Giving just as much shit as he got for mistakes. Rotating positions. Getting to call today's observer Frank a dumbass in return. Especially since Frank also frequently bent the rules in the field.

Once he passed into the city it was over for him. And he knew it. Things would never be the same for him again.

After another moment, he had to start telling himself again. It would be worth it. If it pushed the cure forward. All so that no one would have to face this infection again. Especially not alone. Stuck hopelessly losing thier lives at the first sighn of infection. Or worse. Losing thier minds to the insanity of it. Outside, surrounded by those who already had.

With him infected, there was every chance they would start working on a cure again. Those people outside the gates were still alive. Friends and neighbors that could be saved. If only those in power chose to care.

Stepping forward with new resolve, he suddenly faultered. Stopped by an unseen hand. Stumbling back a step to evaluate why.

Grabbing his arm, they pulled him back a step more. Startling him from his train of thought. Then, pulling him into the shadows off the pathway entirely. *

Chapter one.

=How dare you=

The few scouts they had, came and went all day long. In a routine cycle. Endlessly. Until they couldn't anymore.

Checking reading. Recording findings. Rinse and repeat. That's all a doctor's job was now. Scientists had it worse. Mostly relegated to re reading and maintaining what had already been learned.

This job was mind numbing too. But afforded him the right to move around freely. Rather than being trapped in a lab. A lab reduced to a glorified cage.

At least this way he could do something. Even if the one overseeing his work refused to let him actually treat anyone.

Sipping a nutrient rich slurry, he found himself thankful for the restricted movements of the Scouts.

Recently imposed regulations ensured a lack of euthanizations recently. Glancing up at the board. He sighed in relief. A faint smile spread across his face.

27 days without loss of life, it read.

It did well for his heart to see it. To see it there and know his friend was safe.

What had started out as a grim reminder that never changed, finally had. They had never been able to erase that static 0. A 0 that seemed permanently set into the board itself. Promising only that they would lose everyone they looked after. A familar face to him, set among those who might never come back.

27 days where he could see, that person was still alive. It brought him rare peace of mind.

"Did you hear? We lost another one," someone solemly informed one of the other doctors, "Got caught and killed by the southern group. Apparently alot of them have moved to the south. It was the Scout's last report before his signal vanished."

His heart stopped. Ice filling his veins. He listened. Eyes flashing to the one who walked over. Picking up the eraser. Saddened but still, they went to erase the blissfully beautiful number 27. Replacing it hesitantly with a 0.

Dazed. He once again recorded the reading of the scouts in his line. Taking accurate accounts of the events that led to anything unusual.

Heart racing faster as he watched for a very specific face to come through the Medical Screening Room doors. Checking his watch for the usual time Airen strolled in. Lazily appolagizing for the late time.

His watch ticked past that time.

Time ticked by mercilessly. Yet no one else came.

"Did anyone know which Scout we lost?" He asked, masking his concern by finishing the slurry in his hand.

"Does it really mater? They're gone. No one's going to send an executed body to be screened," one of managers of the Screening Area answered dejectedly, "Best not to even learn thier ID numbers at this point. Let alone ask thier names."

Time ticked by.

It ticked and ticked. And then it itched. Itching under his skin with each tick, tick ticking of his watch.

"I don't know how they expect us to work such long hours. I'm taking my break!" He shouted.

Rising to his feet. Hurrying off to check the gates. Grabbing a meal kit on his way out as a cover. Though he had no intention of checking if it was his or not. It ended up in the trash on his way regardless of who's food it was.

Muttering threats to an imaginary Airen and his stupid careless grin. He rushed forward. Imagining the casual banter they both grew so used to. Remembering the distinct lack of this banter before each scouting mission. Especially recently.

And then there was the disturbingly disconnected look in Airen's eyes. The look that appeared before each mission. One that made him anxiously await Airens return. Almost as proof it hadn't been what he suspected when Airen returned.

He had been brushed aside anytime he asked about that look. With a light hearted quip and a casual wave. Even a chuckle at his concern, given with a coyly crooked grin, "What? You worried about me?" He could almost hear Airen say, "I'm sweet enough for you to get attached, huh?"

He'd tease that way as if they didn't know eachother. As if they didn't grow up together. As if no real danger lie beyond the wall.

It had never felt like true flirtation. But he'd be lying if he said it was unwelcome. They both had a habit of such things to lighten the otherwise unbearable mood. It wasn't uncommon. Was it? To let Airen tease him that way.

His heart ached in a way he couldn't describe as he approached the area.

Finally. A familar face graced his path. His heart stopped hard in his chest. There was blood.

In hesitation, he watched Airen stand on the path before the gates. Almost as if he debated going forward.... no medical screening tag. So he hadn't just gone through the other way.

Panic surged through him. Rushing forward thoughtless, he grabbed Airen's arm and yanked him from view of the guards at the gate, "Where were you!?" After a solem realization fully hit. He stared into Airen's eyes. "What did you do!?"

Tightening his grip around Airens injured arm he evaluated the undressed wound. Anger and fear twisting across his face.

"What I had too." Airen responded. Jaring his arm away before his friend could apply a tightening strap above the wound. It still bled lazily when he moved. Slowly scabbing over on its own. But the strap wasn't for blood loss and Airen knew it, "Stop. We've talked about this."

Hising under his breath, the doctor before him grabbed his arm again, tightly, "Your not showing any sighns of infection, Stop moving" the last words almost a growl. They had indeed talked about this. But he had been under the impression it was simply theoretical.

Now that he knew Airen was indeed serious. That he had purposely allowed himself to be infected. He was pissed!

Watching him, Arien narrowed his eyes. Having wished to avoid exactly this in the first place. This experience specifically.

Breathing slowly becoming uneven again. He clenched his teeth, throwing his helmet to the ground. Suddenly light headed. Feeling an unfamiliar rage grow inside him. Stepping back onto the path Arien yelled, "Don't bother! I'm fine."

"The Meds giving you lectures again? Good! You deserve it," Called the second Gaurd at the gate. Laughing carelessly.

He watched his frustrating friend. Eyes fixed on the band at Airen's wrist. Staring as if it was the only thing he could see.

The fluctuation in his vitals had only changed for a moment. That moment was enough. He leveled his gaze at Airen. Something unidentified in his eyes. Something akin to fire.

Stepping further back, Airen caught himself. Startled by the unfamiliar yet strikingly intense gaze. The eyes fixed on his conveying something that felt dangerous.

A mix of confusion and admittedly appolagetic regret filled his heart. Before it could sway him forwards he looked away.

"Yeah. Yeah. Don't mind them. They get attached to us sometimes. It happens." The gaurd assured Airen Lazily. A hint of teasing in his voice.

The guards where clocking out as Airen turned to follow them.

The shift to cover them not yet insight. There was a level of understanding between the Scouts and the Medical staff. Luckily. These guards were Scouts that took over the position from time to time. Covering for thier 'more valuable' military counter parts.

Grabbing at Airen's arm again, he pulled hard. Wrenching Airen from view. Hearing the retreating gaurd call out to Airen, "let's go get drinks! You coming?" only to find him missing.

"Awe man, I think he decided to humor the Med. More drinks for us I guess," they chuckled annoying thier replacements as they took over the post. They could all be dead tomorrow, so the Scouts didn't tend to take things inside the walls to seriously.

"Well, he better hurry up. Lock up is in an hour. If he doesn't show up he'll be sleeping outside with the janitorial crew. Lost one scout already today. Does he want to make it two!?" The new gaurd growled. Already eager to return home and avoid contact entirely.

"Maybe the Med will take him home," snorted the other gaurd. Clearly not invested in the wellbeing of either person, "They can go be useless elsewhere." words while harsh, they lacked any real bite. He pinched his nose in frustration, "Fucking administrative restrictions."

Mumbled as the last words were, Airen's rage subsided with them. It was the way those in power had made things.

Strangely he felt his heart lighten, hearing another be just as frustration by the way of things. Armband slowly shifting from the glitching alert symbol to its usual appearance again. Narrowly avoided an alert alarm.

An increased grip on his arm tugged his senses back to him. Relaxing his muscles and focusing on controlling his breath, Airen nodded to himself. Letting go of the urge to storm over. Erasing the thought of punching the gaurd in the face. He hadn't dared to imagine anything more than that.

Securing the medical band as high as he could above Airen's wound, he then tugged Airen further down the path. Mind racing. Ignoring any attempts Airen made to break free of his grasp. Vendein muttered under his breath something inaudible. Calculations or perhaps a rambling lecture. Airen found himself unable to pay attention.

Was there really any harm to letting Verdien drag him along, "Are you going to deflower me? Now, hardly seems the time."

They wouldn't get far enough from help to be in real danger yet. Maybe he could let it sink in for Vendein. So they could say goodbye properly.

Vendein's grip tightened hard suddenly. As if in response to his thoughts. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Airen gripped at the hand pulling him along, "Vendein!" Before he could even say it. The painful grip loosened, "Your hurting me."

Without answering, Vendien continued on. Met by a sudden steadfast resistance. Airen's breath becoming slowly disregulated. However he tried to hide it, it could be heard.

Turning sharply on his heels to face Airen, he glared. Teeth clenched, "shut up. Your going to get executed!" Vendein hissed quietly.

"I'll save you the time. I already know I'm infected," Clearly but calmly he spoke. Voice quivering in a way anyone else would have missed, "Screening for it isn't going to help."

"I can fucking see that!" Verdien hissed through his teeth again. Straining to quiet his tone, "I'm not letting you turn yourself into some stupid publicity stunt!"

Arien took advantage of the divided concentration. Flirtatiously winking.

Feeling the grip on his arm losen further, he pulled away again. Further this time. Sharing a knowing look with Vendein before turning his head away. An almost pained smile. Settling his eyes anywere but Verdien's own. Unable to continue arguing with the tears he saw, collecting there.

Deciding a clean break was best instead, he sighed "Then you know there's nothing to be done."

"I can bloody well try!" Reaching for Airen's wrist again, he found only empty air. His heart stopping in his chest. Sound vanishing around him. Rooted to the spot as he watched Airen turn away to leave.

Airen already walking back down the path, "Nope. Sorry, I'm already dead. I'm not taking you down with me." He waved back at Vendein over his sholder. His tone matching his usually playful banter. Yet a stone sank in his stomach. Marching forward. Steps slower than he'd like.

Not because of faltering resolve. But because the world before him blured once more. Spinning this time. A wave of sudden of heat washing over his body. Conscious control over his breath slipping. Growing increasingly irritated by the sounds around him. Idle chatter by the gaurds causing painful ringing in his ears.

Not nearly as loudly as the voice speaking directly into his ear, "I'm sorry," the hand that moved to the back of his neck applied painfully sharp presure. Causing him to fall to his knees. The voice speaking to him softly as he felt his mouth covered by a cloth. An arm pressing firmly across his throat as he struggled slugishly.

Gripping the arm while it pressed tighter, he tried to shake the assailant off. Biting at the fabric being held to his mouth and nose. A pulsing headache and sickeningly sweet smell joining the symptoms he ahad. His body Relaxing against his will. Vision fading.

"I told you I'd probably join you. You should have believed me." The words drifting through his mind as his fight to resist faded into the blackness. His body limp in Vendein's arms.

Dragging Airen behind the medical screening area, he stopped to pick him up. Slipping one arm under his knees and the other under Airen's back. Disappearing into the darkening night.

Chapter 2.*

=options=

He knew this smell. It was the smell of the outside. Fading in and out he noticed different things each time. A dilapidated hallway. Unfamiliar lights. Restraints holding him in place on a flat surface. One that was tilted slightly forward. Or so it felt. Focusing on these sensations he struggled back to consciousness. And failed. Once. Twice.

Then there was just the smell of the outside. And faint antiseptic.

To his surprise, he was in the back of what looked like an old decapitated ambulance instead of an abandoned hospital.

Shaking the ache from his head he groaned. Taking a minute to appreciate the reduced pain he could feel for now, "What the hell?"

"Good. Your awake."

His eyes snapped open. Scanning the back of the ambulance. Until is gaze locked on Vendein, "You fucking drugged me!"

" Yes. And I am deeply sorry for that. I figured it was best if you could truely weigh your options. Before you made the very dumb choice of marching off to die."He spoke calmly however, hesitantly, " I restrained you incase your infection took over. I-" quietly he continued, "I'm going to unrestrain you now."

Guilt clear in his every word and expression, he un-latched each restraint. Allowing Airen to move freely. Wincing at the potential and justified strike at him, that he might recive. There was none.

"I don't care how far you've driven from the city. Your not going to change my mind!" Airen growled. Looking around as he struggled to sit back up. Clutching his head with one hand. Pain swimming back to the surface. The more he tried to move quickly. The worse it got.

"There is something you don't know that might change what you chose to do." Vendein fiddled with his notebook. Sparing the pen which was likely to break. Given the strength he was using to twist at the book of paper.

Equal parts offended and dumbstruck by Vendein's assertion, Airen held back a snarl, " Oh yes! Tell me some sweet lies about a cure!" With a lack of knowledge as to were they were, he saw no reason to be cruel. He evened his tone.

His friend was clearly having a breakdown. He wasn't unreasonable. Once he stabslized, he was sure to return them both back to the city. So Airen teased instead, "And then of white picket fenses. And unicorns! Don't do this to yourself. You need to get us back home. Before they report us Awal."

"Airen, listen to me. Please."

Sighing, he got comfortable. Looking into his friends eyes with a pity he tried to hide "look. I know this is hard. But I need you to get ahold of yourself. It's okay to grieve. But you can't save me. So you need to say your goodbyes."

An unimpressed scowl took the place of any regret or hesitation on Vendein's face, "Don't be stupid. Could you let me fin--"

Cutting him off, Airen continued, "C'mon. Give me a hug. Let it out," he grinned. Seeing a normal expression on his friends face, "Come on. Let it out. Cry on my shoulder. Cry it out. Come on."

"No! You dip! I've been working a cure!" Vendein grumbled loudly. Cutting off any more of his friends nonsense.

"What!?" Now it was Airen who grew enraged that a friend could be so stupid, "Tell me your fucking with me! If they find out you will be killed!"

"Then I suppose I find myself in good company," Vendein countered flatly, "I can do my best to stabslize your condition. So you have more to time to push for your goal. Unrestricting the establishments of medical and scientific practice. I believed you would do so without getting yourself infected!"

Vendien's face grew an angry res, " By the way. How fucking dare you! You absolutely beautiful fucking idiot!"

Shrinking into the stretcher, he tried to grin to calm his friend, "Uh. Ven. Did you just call me beautiful? I mean, take me on a date first. Am I right?"

"YOU. Silence your idiot idea having-- donut hole of a mouth!!! I'm not done!" Airen had never seen Vendien so unhinged in his anger bedore. He had no choice but to continue listening, "Your reckless. Heart attack giving moron! You. YOU WHO TRAINED TO STAY SAFE! By the way! Who Just ran into the damn place! Like an idiot! Knowing full well you could have been killed instantly and accomplished nothing!" He spoke without breathing. Airen sharnk more. Considering just escaping to walk back home. But the door slammed shut to cut off escape. He covered his ears as the tyraid continued, it felt like hours went by. Days. Weeks or even years! He could swear he saw seasons change outside the window.

Wait a minute. Considering what he had been infected with. He realized he was actually seeing impossible seasons changing outside the damn window. Rubbing at his eyes with with one hand, Airen gripped the other around the closest living object. For support or an ancor to reality.

Only the silence brought him back to himself. When he managed to even his breaths again, he relaxed his grip around whatever it was in his hand. Warm... soft. Moving as though independent of a living being. That was an arm!

Snapping his head up he stared at his friends absence. Then looked down at his hand. Shaking violently. He was only holding onto Vendein's severed arm. Where even was the rest of him!?

Vendein snapped his fingers infront of Airen's face. Before Airen's mond could continue that thought. Effectively shaking him from his hallucinations, "I get it. Your in love with me. Could you stop trying to brake my hand."

Glancing down. Airen nodded. Releasing the hand he had been gripping with such force, "I.. I'm sorry. What were you saying?... actually, We need to head back. Now. Vendein. We can't be here when it happens."

"If you let me help you, It's not going to happen." Vendein sat across from Airen. Crossing his arms, "I have an incomplete compound. It won't cure you. But it will slow the infections progression. I have been helping those I can. In the camp by the city. They allowed me to take blood through the begining stages of the infection. I found a lab. It was a trick to make it functional. Honestly it's held together with duct tape and broken dreams. But I was successful in helping me. The compound delays the progression to a degree. " While Vendein went on and on about the process, Airen found it hard to pay attention to more than a few words at a time.

He got the gyst of it, "You were able to help them?"

"For a time. Yes. If you let me help you. It's not a guarantee. But I want you to let me try to save you. Please, Airen. I can't. I won't do it unless you consent. " His voice shook. Vendein couldn't look at Airen as he waited for an answer. Weighing weather or not he was even able to help with how long it took. Weather his solution would function as well with a patient this far along. Already hallucinating.

With a deep sigh, Airen relented, "You can try it on me. If it helps you feel better. Just. Don't get your hopes up." Rubbing his face, Airen felt his resolve wavering, "Hurry up, before I change my mind. When it doesn't work. I want you to bring me to my commanding officer. Dead or alive. Understand."

Having readied the syringe, He felt himself stumble. Ever so slightly. Hearing Airen's tone drop gravely, "I can do that. I need you to relax your arm. After I've given you the compound, I need you to raise your heart rate. Jogging for a bit should do."

"Been ready to run away from you since I woke up," Airen grined. Though they both knew it was less a joke and more truth.

"Yeah, well. I can't blame you." Slipping the needle into Airen's skin, he administered the dose. Holding his breath as he withdrew the needle. Before he could say anything, Airen jumped up ran past him. Thrusting open the ambulance doors.

Heart pounding, he sat down. Hands shaking. Eyes screwed shut. Waiting. Picturing the worst. Then taking deep breaths, he pictures the best case. A healthy breathing Airen. Even if it was one who avoided him. Clenching his hands together, he shook. Listening to the footfall heading into the distance. Followed by silence. Relaxing only when he heard the sound returning. Slowing down as Airen ran back. Getting closer.

His breathing sounding normal as he re-entered the Ambulance, "Holy shit. It worked. I feel fine." He marveled. Able to see and breathe. Temperature fully returning to normal. Checking the monitor on his wrist. Watching his heart rate return to his normal resting range. Surprise and hope written all over his face. Breath relaxing as he sat on the floor of the ambulance.

"Thank Fuck," Vendein breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.

"If you let me drive, I might forgive you for kidnaping me." He grinned.

"I Would. But I didn't drive here. I found it here." appoligeticly, Vendien climbed out of the ambulance, "I carried your fat ass here. " Hesitantly, His finger pointed to the medical building. They hadn't even left the barrier, "Lock up was over and hour ago. We're stuck out here until they open back up. Better get our story straight."

"I don't suppose you brought sleeping bags?"

"Nope. We're sleeping in this ambulance or under the stars tonight. Even the clean up crew made it back on time."

"Your kidding. It's going to get fridged out here"

"Well I was a little more concerned with saving your suicidal ass!" He spoke quietly but it still stung in his throat.

"Look. I'm sorry. I should have chosen a different method to force them to change. I didn't think it would hit you this hard. Any other Med wouldn't have been affected."

"Do you even want to live!"

The question froze his lips shut. Rubbing the back of his neck, Airen cringed. Then took a deep breath, " Of course I do. I just couldn't see another way. You know I've already tried everything else I could. My father dismisses anything I bring to him. He just tells me everything's fine and then he tightens the restrictions further. The other founders ignore me completely. Forcing thier hand was the oy other thing I could think of"

*Note: This is not a tragedy. It's a romance. They just need some simmering down time. I'd need some time too after my crush kidnapped me XD*

Chapter 3

=How it was=

All things under the blue dome of the barrier, were drastically different from the outside.

Almost no plant life unless the preferential citizens chose to care for them. Normally they tended to be in places the regular citizen couldn't see.

However. It was his Airen's favorite time of day. Morning and evening the plants came out to get the best light. Brought onto balconies and rooftops. Allowing even a scout the luxury of peaceful nature.

While the job did allow them outside. Peace was far from what scouts or the supply runners experienced.

He walked from the uper class areas every morning to go visit Vendein. As usual, he was outside studying hard in the natural-ish light aloud in by the barrier.

At one time, the barrier functioned in a different way. Clear and mostly a screening scan for unidentified foreign individuals. The sun and many lively plants were abundant. Even planted along the sidewalks and along the roads. Some even being tended to in the center of each part of the city.

He remembereded flowers and bountiful buzzing insects. Now, only concrete and bright screens could be seen in these spaces. He cringed when he remembered technology as having been a luxury. Rather then the inescapable infrastructure it had become.

"You didn't bring coffee this time," Vendien chuckled, "Did you not even have any yourself? I can tell your miles away." He wore a wry grin. Bearly looking up from his work. Though it did look to be almost finnished.

"I figured I'd save it for your graduation," Airen shot back. A little embarrassed with his own lack of concentration. However, after long enough under Vendien's scrutinizing gaze, he had no choice but to relent, "Trade with other cities has been shutting down. Ever since the connecting environmental barrier went dark. No coffee is being delivered."

"I thought as much. No one seems to be carrying it anymore."

"Luckily for you. I have this." proudly, Airen produced a glass Jar. Shifting around inside the jar was a delightful quantity of coffee grounds.

Verdien's eyes lit up for a moment. To Airen's dismay, Vendien caught himself before a smile could emerge, "Isn't your father going to notice that much of it is missing?"

"Nope. I made a big show of having spilled it on the counter. You know how he is. He thinks every little thing could be dangerous. I scrubbed that counter myself! So it's perfectly clean!"

"If you scrubbed it, I have my doubts this coffee is safe to drink," With a straight face and peiceing gaze, Vendien 'made a show' of appraising the jar.

Puffing out his cheeks, Airen thrust the Jar in his direction, "Don't you want it or not!?"

Chuckling, Vendien took the jar. Softening his expression with a smile, "Thank you, Airen. You know I don't need it though, right?"

"Yeah, I know. But you study so hard and you like it. So consider it an early graduation gift. Your going to be a doctor soon! How does it feel!?"

The cheer in his voice and smile practically radiated off of Airen. The joy of seeing Vendien succeed evident in his every movement. It shone in a way that pried an ever elusive smile from Vendien, "Like I'll Finally be making difference."

Once Vendien was finished with his studying, they walked through the slowly crowding streets. Cheerfully chatting.

Until every screen turned red. Sounding the alert for an announcement. What appeared on the screen stole the smile from Vendien's eyes. 'All professionals in the medical fields and scientific fields are to remain home and wait for further instructions. Hospitals and labs are being downsized. Infected no longer to be treated. They will be temporarily relocated to specialized areas outside the walls. And will be aloud to remain in digital contact with family and friends.'

"Vendein? Hey. It's going to be okay. It's only temporarily for now. So try not to worry about that. You'll be running around as a resident in our best hospital no time... Ven?"

Pale and still. Vendien had wanted that to be true. Unfortunately he and all of his class were already painfully aware that it wouldn't be. There had been warnings for weeks. Should this decision be made at the top. Even the professors were running on a mix of anxiety, cautious optimism and true dread.

Dispite that loss, Vendien continued to study. Once they deemed him fit, they assigned him to the screening team. Yet, Airen still came. Never changing the way he spoke or treated Vendien. Smiling and cracking jokes as usual.

Airen was still bringing the odd jar of coffee. Vendien wasn't blind. The amount in each jar was less and less. He knew even in the upper section households, things were thin. Yet he still went out of his way to spare what he could for Vendien. Until Airen came with a solem appolagy. There was no more to give.

What Vendien knew but hadn't seen made his heart hurt. Airen wouldn't have been drinking any himself if he could see the end of the can. Just so Vendien could have his favorite drink.

"He never makes a big deal of it, but I know somethings wrong," He mused to the doctor next to him at the screening desks.

"Well. If he's not coming forward on his own. Ask him." The bored one next to him offered. She wasn't exactly thrilled to be here. So even if it was mundane conversation, she participated. He knew she didn't really care, "Those in the upper section act like we don't exist. The pretend not to see us but they can't pretend they don't hear us."

Though Vendien wanted to say that Airen wasn't like that. The thought did weigh on him. Given Airen was the son of a city founder. Those who replaced the previous government after the barrier had been breached. Murals around the city depicted the countless lives lost. And those who fought to secure the city. Many died defending others.

However, it took the founder's to rebuild what was lost. They didn't place much value in the fight. Instead they focused almost completely on prevention. Restricting even the movements of the citizenry.

Tightning his jaw, Vendien waited. Yet Airen hadn't come like usual for his break.

After clocking out he walked along the brighter paths to the upper section. As he had so many times growing up. Yet this evening he felt different. This place felt different. People like him weren't welcome here anymore. Yet, he still was. For now atleast.

Knocking on the door, he heard the aurguement inside. Rushing in rather than waiting for the door to be opened as usual. Voices raised. When he made it to the kitchen, Airen's dad held a knife. Panic or rage twisting across his face.

"What the hell were you thinking!? Those decision makes no sense!" Airen yelled. Almost heedless to the knife. Rooted to his spot with a mixture of rage and sadness lacing his voice, "What about Vendein! What about the people outside the walls!?"

Hearing Vendein's footsteps? Airen cast a glance over his shoulder. Frustrated, he pinched the bridge of his nose to calm down, "And I'm not infected. I'm pissed at you. There is a difference!" Airen hissed through his teeth.

Eyes shifting from Airen to Vendein, the man took a breath and calmly but pointedly cast aside the knife. Sliding it along the kitchen counter, "It wasn't a decision made lightly. You can't expect me to trust you based on your word. Your constantly slipping out past the damn wall. Vendein. Could you check him please. " Crossing his arms before pinching the bridge of his nose, he cut an almost identical figure to his equally frustrated son.

Vendein noded. Checking a now calming Airens pulse. Nodding to the founder with a sigh of relief, he stood beside Airen. Not overly impressed with the situation himself.

Relief and exhaustion crept into the founder's now almost natural expression, " We aren't able to comunicate with other cities. Not now or for the foreseeable future. We can't aford to waste resources trying to cure the sick. We must protect the people inside the walls!"

"At what cost!? This is bullshit! What are you going to do next? Seal everyone inside? With no food or supplies?"

"That's not a bad idea actually. No one but the Scouts or Supply Runners will be able to leave," mused the founder. Continuing on dispite the lack of attention his son was paying.

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Airen stormed out. A strangled sound of frustration stuck in his throat. Frustrated air hissing between his teeth as he left the building. Purposely stopping to pick up a small ficus plant on his way out.

Vendein hesitated, but followed him. Not that any verbal prompt caught Airen's attention. They were half way down the path when he stopped. Placing the plant down. Sitting beside it. Out of breath in a way not linked to physical exertion. Muttering under his breath.

Sitting beside him, Vendein sighed, "I'm actually fine you know."

"Don't lie to me. Of course your not. He stole your whole damn future. And your chance to help fix things. Don't act like this doesn't directly hurt you." Airen sighed. Letting his breath relax to a regular rhythm, "Plus it's short sighted! How are we supposed to survive cut off from everything else. What if they are dealing with the same infection and issues. It's in our best interests to keep looking for treatments! How long can we possibly survive the way he's proposing we do!?"

"Maybe it's your turn to make a difference first." Vendein mused. Trying to ignore the implications of a deteriorating future. And how vividly he could imagine it in a medical sense.

Failing to avoid the vivid image of Airen infected to the point of madness. Skin scratched away by the infections ravages. Oozing untreated wounds as he stumbled along outside the wall. Unable to remember that he needed food or water. Biting and clawing at anyone who made it close enough to actually help. Eventually succumbing to other environmental infections or simply being shot to death.

Heart aching, he gripped at his chest. Brought back by Airen's calmer words. In a voice almost defeated yet soft, "This is for you. I have some things I have to do."

Before Vendein couldn't get up or stop him, Airen had already started walking. Though Vendien had a bad feeling he relaxed. It wasn't like he'd be aloud outside the wall. Taking a few deep breaths to clear his head, he turned to look at the ficus. Seriously wondering what he was supposed to do with it.

Just as he decided to take it home, his fingers brushed paper. A blood test Airen had taken. In panic he snatched the sheet and read the results. Sighing In relief once he saw it was a different test, "His father, isn't related by blood? Is that what he's actually upset about?"

Groaning he picked up the plant. He might as well care for it until they wanted it back. He decided to name it Steve.

Days went by with no word from Airen. Work, home, water Steve. Move him to the small balcony of the apartment in the morning. Eat. Work. Return home and move Steve inside so he didn't get to cold.

By the third or forth day, he stuck a pair of big googley eyes on Steve's pot. So he felt like he had someone to talk too.

By day 5, he was fully venting to the plant over his last cup of coffee before heading to work.

By the 8th day, he recived a call from Airen's father asking where he was. Vendein told the truth.

After a month he finally saw Airen again. And his blood ran cold. A Familar face came through his screening line, "Hey Stranger. Did ya miss me?" That familiar sunny grin didn't belong here. Among the sea of grave faces. Especially given the newest restrictions. Infected Scouts were to be eliminated on sight.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't think, "Did I startle you my precious? Can't stand to see me off to war?" Airen tried again. To get any reaction at all.

Unimpressed he stammered back, "Precious? What the hell are you on about!? When are you taking back Steve?"

"Steve?... you mean our Son?" From there any time he stopped talking, Airen took it as an opportunity to deepen the couple 'lore' going around the office.

While frustrated, Vendien found himself imagining the possibility. However, he couldn't fully accept it. Being rather upset with Airen who seemed to be actively trying to throw his life away. Rather than stay and fight the founders for what he believed in.

A life with Airen. What would that even look like?

He found himself drawing at home. With a lack of coffee, he needed something else to do with his hands. Grumpily he held the picture up to Steve, "This is your other dad. He's an ass."

*coming soon- editing and Chapter 4= Camping *

#apocalyptic #Romance #ML #gay #unfinished #writing

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