#between his deterioration and him being collapsed on the floor

[twinknote]

ohhhh i didn’t think it was possible to be more exhausted than i was this morning. but here i am

[shybluebirdninja]

FADED DAYS: PART 6

Summary: In a bleak world where Logan has lost his purpose, an unexpected connection with his nurse brings a spark of humanity back into his fading life as an Uber driver.

Pairing            : Uber-Driver!Logan Howlett x Nurse!Fem-reader

Genre              : Heavy Angst

Logan shows up at your door the next morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. You weren’t expecting him, not so soon, and especially not here. There’s a flicker of worry in his eyes, though he’s doing his best to hide it behind that usual gruff demeanor.

“Morning,” you greet him cautiously, eyeing the way his hand trembles just slightly as he shoves it in his jacket pocket.

“Need a favor,” he mutters. His voice is rougher than usual, like he hasn’t slept. The shadows under his eyes are deeper, the weariness etched in every line of his face more pronounced.

You blink at him, startled. “What kind of favor?”

He looks down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor. You’ve never seen Logan fidget before. It throws you off, like something’s shifted between you two, and not in a good way.

“Just... need to go somewhere,” he finally says. “Can you come?”

There’s an unspoken vulnerability in his request, one that makes your heart clench. You can’t remember the last time he asked you for anything. Hell, you’re not sure he’s ever asked for help in his life.

“Yeah,” you say softly, grabbing your jacket. “Of course.”

The drive is quiet, tense. Logan doesn’t say much, just keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. You notice the tremors in his hand have gotten worse, his breathing shallow and uneven.

It’s unsettling, seeing him like this. You’ve gotten used to his brooding, his sharp remarks, but this—this is different. Logan looks... fragile. Like a man on the verge of breaking, and it scares you.

“Where are we going?” you finally ask, trying to break the silence.

“Somewhere I used to go,” he mutters, his voice low. “Back when things made more sense.”

You frown, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “And now they don’t?”

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “What the hell does make sense anymore?”

It’s a question you don’t know how to answer, and for a long time, neither of you speaks. The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken pain and regret. You wonder where this is coming from, why Logan suddenly feels like the world is collapsing around him.

And then, it hits you. The tremors, the restlessness, the exhaustion etched into every fiber of his being. He’s not just tired. He’s afraid.

“Logan...” you start, unsure of how to continue. “Is it getting worse?”

He doesn’t respond right away, his jaw clenching as he swallows hard. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight, controlled.

“Yeah.”

The single word hangs in the air, a weight pressing down on both of you. You don’t need him to explain what “it” is. The decay. The slow, painful deterioration of his once-indestructible body. His healing powers failing him, piece by agonizing piece.

You feel a lump form in your throat, and you struggle to keep your voice steady. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What difference does it make?” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m dying, okay? Not much you—or anyone else—can do about that.”

The car swerves slightly as his grip tightens on the wheel, his breathing ragged. You can feel the anger radiating off him, the frustration that’s been building up for so long finally bubbling over.

“I know you don’t want pity,” you say carefully, “but I’m not just going to sit here and watch you go through this alone.”

He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the road. “I don’t need anyone.”

You want to argue, want to tell him that’s not true, but something in his voice stops you. Logan has been alone for so long, he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t deserve help. Doesn’t deserve kindness. He’s lived too many lifetimes, lost too many people, and now he’s convinced that all that’s left for him is to suffer through the end alone.

But you won’t let him. Not this time.

“Pull over,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your voice.

“What?”

“Pull over, Logan.”

He glances at you, confused, but the look in your eyes makes him comply. He pulls the car to the side of the road, and the moment it stops, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face him.

“You’re not doing this alone,” you say, your voice steady but gentle. “Not if I can help it.”

Logan stares at you, his brows furrowed in disbelief. “Why the hell would you want to help me?”

“Because I care about you, you idiot!” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “Because no one deserves to die alone. Least of all you.”

His face hardens, and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. But then something shifts in his expression, and you see a crack in his armor, just for a second.

“You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” he mutters, his voice low.

“Maybe not,” you admit. “But I’m still here.”

Logan looks away, his hands trembling in his lap. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and the silence stretches between you like a chasm. But you don’t push him. You wait, giving him the space to process everything.

When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m scared.”

The admission knocks the air out of you. Logan—this man who has lived through wars, who has survived more than anyone ever should—finally admitting what you’ve suspected all along. That underneath all that anger and bitterness, he’s terrified of what’s coming.

You reach over and take his hand in yours, the tremors still there, but less pronounced now. “I know.”

He doesn’t pull away this time. For once, he lets you in. Lets you see the cracks in the tough exterior he’s built around himself. And in that moment, you realize just how deeply Logan has been hurting, how long he’s been carrying this burden on his own.

“You’re not alone,” you whisper. “Not anymore.”

Logan closes his eyes, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he lets out a breath that sounds almost like a sob. You squeeze his hand gently, offering him the only thing you can—your presence.

And for the first time, Logan doesn’t push you away.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 7, MDNI

You awaken early in the morning with warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, dappled glow across the room. As you sit up and stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, your feet bump into something soft. You draw your knees back to your chest. Simon has also fallen asleep in your bedroom. He is curled at the foot of the bed. His fingers are wrapped around your shin and your sock is rolled down to your ankle. In his other hand, he is clutching a knife. You can't help but wonder how he managed not to cut himself while sleeping.

You try to pry the blade away from his clenched fist. But your touch stirs him up from his unconscious state. His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. Simon yanks your arm towards him. His movements are rapid and forceful. The confusion swirling in his eyes is tangible. Yet, upon seeing your face, his frantic gaze softens, and he relaxes. He releases his hold on the blade, allowing you to slide it out of his hand. His body sinks back onto the mattress. As he blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the bright light, he wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

For a few hours, an uneasy silence hangs between you both, heavy and palpable, like a thick fog. It's clear that you and Simon are teetering on the edge of voicing your thoughts. The only question is who will dare to shatter the fragile stillness first. After breakfast, consisting of nothing more than stale bread, a slice of aged cheese, and a shared large cup of tepid tea, you summon the courage to speak. Your words cut through the mounting tension.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Do we have to?" Simon replies without looking at you. He smokes while leaning against the window that's barely ajar. The half-finished cigarette that dangles in his fingers, somehow, has survived the night. After falling to the floor, it had miraculously avoided being crushed under your feet.

"Yes," you say, moving towards him. You press your shoulder against the cool wall. The chill seeps through your clothing and sends an icy shudder skittering down your side.

You refuse to forget about yesterday's event. You need answers to the questions that have been plaguing you since you saw the light flashing at the end of the street. The harsh realisation that those people who you thought were your family coming home were, in fact, just strangers, is a bitter pill to swallow. But you are certain that Simon knows who they were and where they came from.

"Fine," he says through the gritted teeth. His fingers race through his hair, messing it up. You notice it has grown out and make a mental note to ask him later if he wants you to trim it. "Before the disease spread and everything went to hell, I was a soldier in the Special Forces."

His confession fills in the gaps that have been puzzling your mind since the day you met him: his muscular physique, his proficiency with firearms, and his combat skills that could only come from years of experience in the battlefield. It also explains his fearlessness and recklessness, which now appear not as erratic traits, but as the hardened exterior of a soldier.

Simon recounted how the dead attacked him and his team during what was supposed to be a routine mission. Upon returning to the base, they discovered they had been bitten. Likely during the chaos of the attack. His teammates' skins were littered with scratches and bruises. During the incident, Simon was separated from the group. As a result, when a small horde of biters cornered his squad, he managed to evade any injuries.

Rumours of a deadly disease began to circulate, amplified by the constant news cycle. The media showed footage of people in a rabid state. They behaved like wild animals and attacked everyone with a pulse and a beating heart. As the situation deteriorated and communication systems collapsed, the severity of their predicament became starkly evident to Simon and his team. The world as they knew it seemed to crumble around them. His team, once confident and composed, had to face the grim reality of their fate.

The final blow came when a group of outlaws attacked their base. Simon was faced with a decision that still haunts him to this day. His captain, bitten and doomed, like the rest of his teammates, ordered him to leave, as he was still unharmed. Torn between guilt and duty to his team, Simon was reluctant to abandon his friends and leave them to face the outlaws alone. But his captain didn't give him a choice. He packed Simon's duffel back with a few spare guns, some food, and then basically pushed him through the gates.

"I'm tired of fighting, of constantly putting my life on the line because I believe it's the right thing to do," he sighs. His shoulders slump, bearing the invisible weight of his internal struggle. His body folds inwards. "I didn't understand it before, couldn't comprehend it, but after meeting you... now I do. Even though part of me yearns for revenge, I can't risk dying because of you."

A sudden fluttering sensation fills your chest, like the delicate wings of a butterfly trapped within your rib cage. You swallow, but your throat feels parched, as if no amount of water could ever quench the dryness.

"I-I don't know... what — Do you think those strangers will return?" You find it hard to form a coherent sentence. There's so much you want to say right now. But you struggle to find the right words.

"If we are lucky, we won't see them again."

Throughout the rest of the week, you are on a constant edge. You are afraid that at any moment someone will march down the street, knock on the front door and when you open it, after aiming a gun at your head, will put a bullet through your skull before going to track Simon. A part of you wants to confess your dreadful thoughts to Simon. But you hold your tongue back. You don't want to add to his worries. Because even if he says nothing to you either, you see the pain in his eyes each time you look at him. Talking with you brought back a lot of awful memories to him. But the main reason you say nothing is because you don't want to appear weak in front of him.

Supplies are dwindling at an alarming rate. When Simon addresses the need to venture outside in search of more before you have a chance to ask if you can tag along, he makes the decision for you.

"You are coming with me. I don't want you to be alone in the house while I'm gone."

* * *

You are curled up in a bed, buried under a pile of heavy blankets. The harsh, biting cold from outside has seeped into the room. It turns your breath into small clouds of vapour that dissipate into the frigid air with each exhale. The chill is so pervasive that sleep becomes an elusive entity. Despite being swathed in layers of clothing and having your feet tucked into not one, but two pairs of socks, your teeth still chatter. The end of summer is near, and you can feel it as each night grows colder and colder.

Simon is downstairs. The distinct sound of his pacing reverberates through the silence of the house. Driven by the need for warmth and company, you extricate yourself from the mountain of blankets, leaving the relative warmth of your bed behind, and descend the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you find Simon perched on the wooden table. His attention is engrossed in his blade. The faint moonlight filtering through the closed blinds illuminates His silhouette.

"I'm cold," you say, causing his focus to shift to you.

He looks at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel as if he's trying to read your mind. For a moment, the silence settles in. You half expect him to order you to go back to bed. Instead, he slides off the table and intertwines his fingers with yours. After leading you to the living room, he sits down on the couch and pulls you into his embrace. Your body tumbles on top of him. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your face turn bright red.

Once you stop your fidgeting and get comfortable, he swathes both of you in a soft blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. You snuggle up to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. When the icy tip of your nose presses against his skin, he squirms a little, causing a low giggle to slip past your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. His body is like a furnace, so it isn't long before you feel the warmth seeping into your bones, driving away the chill.

"Thank you," you mumble, the words barely escaping your mouth as you feel the sleep tugging at your consciousness. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Just before you close your eyes — Simon thinks you are already asleep — he presses his lips to your forehead. You try to suppress a smile, but the corners of your lips betray you, curving upward involuntarily.

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[dcviated]

How long was this going on? In reality, maybe only a handful of seconds would pass before she parted. But in his head? It was as though it was an hour. Everything about this was alien, and conflicted between fear and enjoyment. Pain and pleasure. The early moments were good, if he had to put a binary choice to the task. Her breaths and the eagerness in an eerie rhythm with his own heartbeat.

He might hold her like this. Or rather, he'd like to. The gentle grip he had on her body undeniably intimate in conjunction with how she'd say for ease of access to the neck. Raguna sighs, trying to keep certain thoughts at bay else different trouble rise.

Besides, after that first moment things changed for the Earthmate for reasons he couldn't possibly imagine.

Was Raguna seeing stars? No, well, maybe? However there was something else mixed in his churning subconscious along the bursts along his eyelids as they held shut. Beneath the unfamiliar sensation of his blood and rune being drawn from him. Was he ... hallucinating? Sense and logic are fogged by the deteriorating grip on his consciousness. Strangely, images that were even more alien flashed through his mind as the blood pulled and the magic churned.

First, he saw a man with a brilliant sword standing before a tree. Huge. Like nothing he'd ever seen before. And then elsewhere, or some other time- a figure in a decorated robe dipping their runed staff towards the ground. Something swells. A noise, like grating stone. Even differently, a sight of water flowing like crystal over parched vegetation. Each sight was unique, unknown- and yet too real just to be some dream. Right? How would he know. He doesn't even know his own past. So then-

Ah, it's too much for him to concentrate on. Though he was able to keep a grip on Iris Noire, focusing his mind on anything else was proving too much a challenge. He feels... he feels good. And yet that elation is short lived and the euphoria of whatever was in the bite quickly progresses past its peak. One sensation ends, and a new one begins. Fatigue. The next breaths are more shallow and the attempt to flutter his eyes open is strenuous as though fighting off deep sleep.

"I... Iris..." Raguna mutters with a shallow breath, just before the vampir pulls off of him. Meeting her heterochromatic eyes with his dulled blues he notices her concern. Which was quite the contrast to the red that almost dripped past her lips after what she had done. "No.. it's okay... was it okay? For you I mean...? Oh I'm really dizzy... I thought I saw- wuh."

No, the attempt to sit up any more than he already was did not prove to be a fortuitous plan of action. The room does a small spin (or was that his stomach?) and the Earthmate collapses back onto the towel that had been laid out before (just in case). Raguna blinks once. Twice. He stares at the ceiling as it felt like he was sinking through the sheets and into the wood of the floor. The world might swallow him up like a cocoon.

"I'm... I think I'm okay... I might need to rest a little, though..."

There were several unwritten rules to being a vampir that Iris' tribe had abided by only past down through oral tradition. She too had received a stern warning from her mother when she was younger:

"Blood is the life essence that flows through all living things, and to take from that without regard for the other creature was to disrespect the spirits themselves and would make us no different than a demon. Understand that by drinking the blood of another person you are choosing to bind yourself to them by taking their life essence into yourself."

The memory lingered in her, even after she had split herself in two, and so she had resisted the urge to drink blood. She was not like full blooded vampir's who HAD to subsist off it. Substitutes mostly did the job-- tomato's, strawberries-- anything that could trick the brain into believing it to be blood. She could eat other things sans garlic but it rarely had any taste.

She told herself it was fine, all while ignoring a hunger that could never truly be satiated.

But Raguna... had made it increasingly difficult to ignore. Whether it was because he was an Earthmate, or because Blanche had already drank some of his blood, or... because she really liked him-- she couldn't say. It felt like the sensation of wanting to sink her fangs into his flesh lingered over every interaction.

The topic was something that they often danced around. Raguna knew blood was difficult and often warned her not to push herself, and Noire often tried to avoid the topic entirely. She tried not to get too close to him and tried to stand a distance away if she knew he was injured, all to keep herself from losing control.

However, the topic had come up naturally-- a sheepish comment from Raguna wrapped up in concern for her-- if she ever need blood she could bite him. It was practically an invitation, and maybe against her better judgement she decided to ask him outright if she could there and now.

And it wasn't... entirely surprising he agreed, but it was surprising to hear that he'd been waiting for her to ask. She could feel her cheeks warming at the sentiment. Had it truly been so obvious? Or maybe he could just get a sense because Blanche had already fed from him. It was embarrassing, but it doesn't stop her from wordlessly sinking into his lap.

In this moment she had nothing to worry about.

It didn't matter that she could hear the thrum of his heartbeat in his ribcage or the gentle beat of his pulse. None of it felt like she was being intrusive. He undid the buttons on his shirt and she suddenly felt the sense of how intimate this moment was.

For a moment she hesitated, lingering on the details of his face. They were really close-- bodies pressed together. She'd come this far though and to suddenly force him away was doing him a disservice. He was nervous. She could hear his heart beat pick up and discern the gentle flush on his cheeks.

Ah, he really... was... someone she cared about.

Gently, she leaned in bracing herself. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt him, but there was no way to avoid pain with this-- at least not initially. Her teeth sink into his neck without issue and something warm seeps into her mouth.

And she can't deny that it tastes like iron at first, but then melts into something sweet with subtle hints of earthlike tones. She can literally taste the ancient magicks running through his veins now. Noire feels Raguna grab her hips, whether or not that's so she's steady or he's said she doesn't know.

What she is viscerally aware of now is the thump of his heartbeat-- the pumping of his blood-- it's like every other noise has been drowned out. It's just Raguna now, and maybe that's all she wants in this moment. She's intimately aware of how their bodies are pressed together, and how easily this could go even further. How easily it would be to blur the line of where she stopped and he began.

But she had to stop at some point. He wasn't a limitless supply of blood-- even though just a moment ago she seemingly forgot that. Hastily she pulled away realizing he'd become rather pale. Suddenly all the external noise came crashing back into her senses and it was no longer just him and his his heart beat.

"I'm so sorry-- Oh! Are you alright?!" Noire stammered out, "Y...you should have told me to stop sooner! I didn't realize I was taking so much!"

[yannadere]

daryl dixon, shane walsh and glenn rhee (separate) reacting to their s/o getting bit

cw: loss, depression, unhealthy coping, suicide, angst, hurt/comfort

Daryl Dixon:

you're scared to tell him

he's lost so much even before the apocalypse, you don't want to hurt him

trying to distance yourself from daryl doesn't work at all

he just gets worried, which comes across as him being angry, and he clings to you

poor bby has abandonment issues

it's a few days after you get bit when you finally tell him, you already feel your health deteriorating but you hold up for him

you tell him when he's getting ready to settle for the night

bc evenings with you are when he's the most calm

"hey, daryl?" you mumble, and he hums softly, eyes still closed. "hey, look at me. i have to tell you something." you sigh, nudging his arm with your uninjured hand. "what?" he groans, finally looking at you. "i.. my hand isn't just cut, daryl..." you sigh, unraveling the bandages. "what'dya mean?" daryl's brows furrow, eyes falling onto the bandages as they fall.

his blood goes cold, and he sits up suddenly and grabs your wrist to observe the nasty bite on the side of your hand, between your thumb and forefinger. "damn it, why didn't you tell me?!" he snaps, stopping to take a breath as you flinch back slightly. "c'mere..." he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug. "i'm so sorry..." you whisper clutching his shirt tightly. "sh, it's okay... i... when you go, i'll be here."

"daryl... you shouldn't have to do that..." you close your eyes, tears slowly falling. "nah. it's fine. i... i wanna do it. i don't trust anyone else to. not even you." he holds you tighter, kissing your neck gently.

"i'm so sorry, daryl... i was being stupid, i-" he silences you, moving away and pressing his forehead against yours. "don't blame yourself. i knew something like this would happen eventually... i put merle down, had a feeling either of us would go next." he gently cups your face with his hands, wiping your cheeks and nuzzling his nose against yours affectionately.

"i don't want to put you through this, daryl." you cry, going to leave when he pulls you back. "don't leave... please don't leave..." daryl begs, pulling you back to him and letting your body fall limp against his. you let out a small sob, wrapping your arms around his middle as your head rests on his shoulder, tears dampening his shirt.

"it'll be okay. i'll take care of it. for now, get some rest. i'll be here when you wake up." he kisses your cheek, waiting for you to calm down. you sniffle, holding him tightly. "i'm so sorry..!" you repeat the words over and over, and he closes his eyes, trying not to cry himself.

"shh... please... don't be sorry." his voice wavers and he hates it. "just sleep, darlin'... i'm right here." you whimper before falling quiet, resting your hand on his jaw and nuzzling into his neck. "i love you, okay..? i didn't want it to be this way." you breathe out, letting him lean onto you slightly. "i know. i know. just sleep for me, darling." he sniffles, cradling you close as you fall asleep slowly, knowing it would be the last time.

you fall asleep in his arms, but he can't bring himself to harm you

so, he tells rick, who's also upset upon the news

however his best friend's distress makes it even worse

so, rick does it for him as the others try to comfort daryl

after your death, he becomes reckless and depressed, not eating or drinking at all and becoming skinny and malnourished

he shoots openly at walkers, and when his ammo's out he takes out his anger on other walkers in other ways

whether it's stabbing them, bludgeoning them, or just hitting their bodies after they fall.

rick decides to put him under close watch to ensure he doesn't harm himself

but daryl's rather experienced in sneaking out/away, and he visits your grave often

unfortunately one morning, rick finds him at your grave with a bullet in his head

he's buried next to you, as rick knows it's what daryl craved

to be with you again.

Shane Walsh:

you got bit on the way back from gathering medical supplies for carl

and with shane you knew there was no way he would take well at any time of the day

so you decide to rip the bandaid off and talk to him an hour after your own little grieving session.

you approach him when he's talking to the small group, asking him for a private talk, saying it's important

so, of course, he's worried, as are the group

you take him behind the barn and hug him

he's genuinely confused as to why you're acting like this

deadass asks you if you're expecting or smth

you hate to break his heart

"so why did you bring me back here?" shane asks, crossing his arms and cocking a hip. "shane... i'm sorry." you sigh, pulling the collar of your shirt to reveal the bloody bite on your shoulder.

he's speechless, blinking a few times before almost collapsing. you yelp, catching your boyfriend quickly, but fall under his weight. on the floor behind the barn, shane closes his eyes, crying as he holds you tight. "shane... don't cry. it's okay..." you try your best to smile, cupping his face and wiping his tears.

"this isn't okay..! baby, you're not okay!" he sobs, cupping the back of your head and pulling you closer. "shane- baby, stop crying... it's okay." you sniffle, smiling through your own tears as you kiss his jaw lovingly

shane tries to gather himself, but his whole world feels like it's collapsing. "shh, shh... c'mon, let's get you some water." you grab his hands, trying to pull him up. slowly easing him onto his feet, you help shane back to the house. rick spots you two immediately, stumbling to help you both. "shane-?"

"rick..!" shane is clearly distraught, and his best friend latches onto him quickly to try and calm him down. "shshsh- hey, look at me." rick soothes, and you stand back slightly, trying to calm your nerves. "what happened?" rick demands, eyes steeling as he stares at you. "rick- it's not-" you try to explain what happened, when shane answers for you. "they got bit! my baby got bit..!" shane sobs, knees feeling weak as he almost collapses again.

rick processes the information, looking at you in shock. lori overhears, muttering a fast "oh my god..!" as she approaches the three of you. "how did this happen?!" rick asks, trying to support shane fully. "i was in a rush, i got grabbed and..." you trail off, moving over to comfort shane who can't calm down at all.

"he needs to sit down..." you say softly, glancing at hershel who was observing from his porch. "come, sit him down inside. i'll get him some water." hershel guides you and you help shane in with the aid of rick. flopping down onto a couch, shane can't seem to catch his breath, so you crouch in front of him to cup his face, whispering comforting words to him. "baby... i'm so sorry, it should of been me..!" shane cries, and you hush him quickly. "don't you dare say that, shane walsh." you scold, pulling him into a tight hug.

"never blame yourself for my death. i wouldn't rest easy if you did." you sigh, smoothing his hair and kissing his temple. rick stands anxiously nearby, and you sense his worry. "sit, rick. relax... i've got this." you nod at him, and he nods stiffly, taking a seat of his own when lori pipes up. "when do you think you'll turn?" she asks, and you freeze. "lori-!" "i'm just thinking ahead, rick!"

shane becomes more distraught by her words, clinging onto you tightly. "shh, it's okay... i'm here, bubs." you sigh, cradling him impossibly closer. "the hell's goin' on?" maggie asks, confused as ever. "not now, please..." rick sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "right..." she mumbles, leaving as hershel comes back with some water. "here, drink some of this, son." he nods, giving the glass to you so shane could take it.

after taking a few sips, shane goes back to codding you, slowly winding down. "there you go, just breathe." you smile, kissing him gently. "i'm sorry i couldn't protect you..!" shane hiccups, nuzzling your neck. "shh. don't say that..!" you sigh, holding him tighter. your boyfriend whines softly, and rick closes his eyes with a pained sigh.

you last a few more days before turning, spending your time slowly becoming more sick with shane next to you all the while.

when you turn, shane is devastated, holding your head as you stare up at him with discoloured eyes

he ignores how you try to bite him after a few minutes of your brain losing all memory of him, and his tears drip down onto your face

rick walks in, and sighs. he knew it would happen eventually... everyone did.

shane holds you for a few minutes. you were slowly gaining strength but he was always stronger.

the room is silent except for you little noises, and shane finally accepts this fate when rick puts a hand on his shoulder.

"let me do it..." his best friend gruffly says, and shane shakes his head. "leave 'em be, rick... just for a little while longer..." shane begs, and rick sighs, looking away briefly.

"you know i can't do that. if you or anyone get bit-" "rick, i am asking you nicely. leave."

he spends a few days with you in walker form, and it scares everyone. lori tries to convince him that you're not there anymore, a hollow vessel of what you once were but he wont buy it.

he loves you too much to believe anything like that, or hurt you. to him, you're still his darling, his everything who held him when times got tough.

you scratch at his arms, not even breaking skin due to your blunt nails, and he doesn't mind.

finally, with a few kisses around your pale, sunken face, and a final kiss to your lips that he forced closed- shane raises his gun.

he hesitates, letting you get the jump on him, but he grabs your jaw before you can do anything

the sudden commotion makes rick fly in, only to see you lifeless once more in shane's arms.

Glenn Rhee:

unlike the other two, he watches you get bit.

he's completely distraught as the rest of the group fight off the walkers whilst he makes his way to you

he rams the zombie with all his strength, knocking it down before shooting it

you've collapsed, sat back against the car door as blood seeps from your cheek, whimpering in pain and holding the gash with your blood-soaked hands.

he's crying before he knows it, dropping down next to you and carefully covering your cheek with his shaky hands.

he tries to reassure you, and himself, that you'll be fine and won't get infected,

but the sad look in your eyes confirm that you're not making it to the date he wanted to take you on tomorrow

as you slowly bleed out, he tries to tell you stories, to keep himself calm as you slowly die.

"hey, remember when..?" you're not paying attention, just admiring him as you move your hands to cup his face.

"i love you.." you croak with a small smile, and he smiles sadly, sobbing all the while.

the others have to watch, all waiting for the inevitable

"please don't leave me... please, i need you." glenn pleads, and you smile sadly.

he's pressing kisses to your forehead as you hold him close, your blood staining his hands, arms and shirt

"baby...?" glenn mumbles softly, sitting with you leant against him. "i'm still here, darling..." you whisper, gripping his shirt tightly. "i'm gonna miss you..." glenn sniffles, kissing the top of your head gently. "me too. i'll always be with you, okay. when i go, i don't want you to be sad. i want you to keep going, to find happiness again, even if it means finding love in another. i want the best for you." you smile, despite the ache in your cheek.

glenn breathes out as his eyes close, his tears still falling. "i could never replace you like that..." he whimpers, fingers curling into your hair as he holds you closer. "baby, don't cry... don't cry, because i'll cry." you try to laugh, and glenn laughs too, gently rubbing your uninjured cheek.

"glenn, we've got to, y'know..." rosita sighs, but glenn shakes his head. "no! we don't kill the living..!" glenn protests, his hold turning protective. "right, right... okay." she fakes surrender, walking away.

when you pass, glenn just knows. he doesn't even look at you. he can't bring himself to.

however, when you turn, he doesn't even bother to restrain you, just holding you close as you bite into his neck.

abraham shouts in alarm, shooting you instantly, and glenn cries as you fall, cupping your face and leaning down to press his forehead against you.

the group is distraught, but glenn just lets everything happen, telling them to leave him be, move on.

abraham gives him a spare pistol, and glenn takes it with a nod.

the group leaves, and glenn knows what he has to do. so, he opens the car door, slipping you into the car easily

he gets in himself, closing the door so walkers wouldn't chew on you or him.

alas, glenn admires the gun before pressing it to his chin.

[llamagoddessofficial]

I saw the notes of that last post, the spiderweb thing... Sans looks lonely there, just watching..

Hweee.... idk why the Portal AU in particular is so inspiring for me. It just is. 

Warning: some Spicy Angst in here

--

... i feel nothing.

The majority of his consciousness acted like a net, a web of channels and thoughts and commands that stretched over vast areas of the underground laboratory, monitoring and checking and surveying trillions of times a second. Red was charged with the repairing and maintenance of the test chambers and inner workings of the facility, so Sans didn’t have as much to do as he once did alone... but he was still busy, still making his way through an infinite checklist. It remained his job to oversee everything, ensure that it was up to scratch, that not a hair was out of place...

... That he didn’t have time to think.

...

... A small part of him, the absolute core of his mind, remained in one spot. Not by choice. He was tied here- to the physical shell his consciousness had been unwillingly uploaded into all those years ago. Every part of him, no matter how far it reached, was forced to interconnect back to this single spot.

...

It resembled a skeleton, supported in a standing position by reinforced bars around its middle. What a cruel joke; putting him in a robotic mockery of his old biological body. Flawless white metallic bones interconnected with smooth navy wiring, pristine in a modern and ugly way- whichever scientist had designed it must’ve had an eye for brutalist aesthetics. It was a pity they didn’t have an eye for morality... it would’ve been interesting to ask them how they came up with the design they did. Too bad they were too busy being dead to entertain any of Sans’ questions.

... The body was placed in the centre of a large, dark cylindrical chamber, untouched and unentered since the day he took control and eagerly wiped out his tormentors. Protruding out of the body and connecting into the walls and ceiling were thousands upon thousands of black wires, thick and thin alike, like an ugly dark spider’s web with him at the centre. They had to fit a lab’s worth of connections to one human-sized figure, after all. They ejected from his spine, his shoulder blades, elbows, the back of his skull, like great masses of jet black string, 1900s telephone wires... so many came from his head, in fact, that part of his smooth white skull plate had been removed to better facilitate the connection. The upper quarter of his face, just connecting his right socket, was left with the black machinery bare to the world...

like someone had cracked his skull open. heh.

...

... He was immobile. The wires that held him in place, the chains, were ironically his life support. If even one disconnected it would cause any number of potentially fatal malfunctions that could do anything from wiping chunks of his memory to causing a complete reactor meltdown to just... killing him on the spot.

...

He wasn’t even sure why the scientists who’d made this body had given it the option to move if it was so obviously never going to. The spider at the centre of the web was choked by his own metallic silk. So he remained bound, he remained frozen... the only parts of him moving as years slipped by being the little white lights in his sockets and, rarely, the tips of his phalanges.

...

... It didn’t matter that he could single-handedly maintain a city-sized enrichment centre. That he could control a reactor core while manufacturing turrets and bots in the hundreds, while creating new tests and interacting with multiple subjects. Because in the end... he was still trapped.

...

He always told himself he had no cause for complaint. He could move the entire rest of the facility- every part of it was under his command. He was a God, down in the laboratory, he could create and destroy as he so pleased. So long as he was distracted elsewhere in the lab, so long as his eyes and ears were occupied and busy, he could pretend like nothing was even wrong.

...

...

It was why slow nights where everything was going well were the worst.

He had nothing to do. Nothing to concentrate on. Red was handling whatever needed to be done in the core and around the test rooms, no major faults could be found in the systems or supports. There was no sign of either the escaped subject H4 or that... monster wandering the lower levels. And so, naturally, his awareness had returned to the place where the core of his being was locked; the ugly mass of wiring in a sealed, pitch black chamber in the heart of the facility.

His facility. His world. His plaything. His home. 

His prison.

...

His eyelights glanced an inch off to the side, and a robotic arm rose up from the floor close by. It unfolded, revealing a screen that moved close to his stationary face and blinked into life, a sudden burst of light in the usually oppressively dark chamber. It illuminated his skull, his permanently smiling mouth, the tree of cables sprouting from his form casting bizarre and thin shadows across the walls.

... The screen flickered between several channels, before landing on the one he’d been searching for.

...

It was the live feed from the camera in your relaxation chamber. His eyelights dilated a fraction as they focused on your form, wrapped in blankets on your bed. In an instant, part of his awareness reached out to that relaxation chamber... it integrated itself into the system, the walls, the radio and speakers, even the lamp by your bedside... blanketing your room.

... Immediately, he began to bury himself in all the information he could about how you were at that moment. Your heartbeat and breathing were slow and regular, your eyelids were still, suggesting you were in the deep stage of sleep. heart rate 55 bpm. life signs: stable. brain activity low.

You were pretty tightly bound in the blankets, curled up a little, perhaps you were too cold? He increased the temperature of the room by a few degrees. 

core temperature 37c, 98.6f. body mass and nourishment sufficient; paler skin, more vitamin d required. consider supplement tablets or increased uv exposure.

... A supply bot was going to pass by the outside of your chamber in a few moments. He redirected it, in case it disturbed you.

i miss warmth. i miss sleeping.

...

You rolled over, some of the covers slipping away a little. He could see your shoulders, and neck.

... heart rate 54 bpm. life signs: stable. brain activity low.

...

... Your face was so peaceful.

...

it’s not fair. 

You nuzzled into the pillow a little.

i want to touch her. i want to touch her skin. i want to touch her hair.

Emotions that once would’ve translated into physical pains were instead restricted to only his mind, wreaking untold havoc on a consciousness that was, at its core, organic. 

why can’t i feel anything? why did they take that away from me? i never wanted this.

Secluded in an artificial body, forced into a state of constant mental deterioration... eternally collapsing in on itself, but never able to die.

why did they do this to me?

it’s not fair. she looks so warm. so soft. i can’t even remember what warm or soft feels like. i can’t remember what anything feels like anymore. i can’t remember. i can’t remember

He couldn’t even reach up to touch the screen. His eyelights remained zeroed in on your sleeping face.

please help me

With no ability to detect physical sensations on his skeletal body, Sans was unaware of the streaks of black dripping from his sockets, reflecting the flickering light of the screen.

h̸e̶l̴̬̉p̴ m̴e̷ ,

...

WARNING: Core instability detected. Emotional Sphere compromised. Commencing system refresh...

...

Reboot complete. Welcome back, Sans.

[roleplay-abiogenesis2]

The state he'd been in could be described closer to a very prolonged faint rather than actual sleep. Dreamless and devoid of any stirring or shifting, the young boy may very well have been just like one of the many ancient mechanical beings scattered around Sumeru that had collapsed unto itself, all energy sucked out, to recharge miserably low and rust at the same time.

But here were no merciless elements to deteriorate his frame of flesh. The first sensation Cyno's mind registered as it came to was the strange way his body felt against gravity. Incredibly light, almost uncertain in what supported it. Like sleeping on top of the fluffy back of a sumpter beast, but not quite. There were no bones or muscles underneath the soft blankets; no lungs breathing and cradling him. Was he on a hammock? If not, the next best thing his mind could conjure was that he was resting on top of an actual cloud.

Either way, it was not his bed. And that realization was what finally got him to fight against the urge to just return to a deeper state of rest and stop thinking. Too soft; too warm; too comfortable. Hazed eyes blinked themselves open slowly, and a breathed in a sigh.

Ah, there was the pain and soreness again. It had taken him a bit, but sensitivity to the numbness of everything he had endured of late was finally returning to him. His feet hurt; his legs too. And the tingle he could feel at the back of his head was already getting uncomfortable. Soon, he knew it'd be even worse.

It was so tempting to try and slink back into pretending to be dead and not feel anything again. But his heart had other plans - it cared not for the aching of the flesh. It had questions, and a hunger for answers.

This was not his bed. This was a dangerous place to be.

Grimacing, he managed to hoist himself up on one elbow, owlishly blinking still, trying to make out his surroundings. The floor past the bed's edge was much more distant than he was used to. That explained the strange sensation of lacking support beneath himself. Not only that, though. The floor was made of something. Not just dirt covered in rugs. And there were walls around him, with a ceiling.

This was not his tent. It wasn't a tent at all. It was a proper house.

Sumeru City. He was going there, wasn't he?

Gasping softly, he finally found the strength to get up and tear himself off of that pleasant warmth and comfort. His feet felt unsteady and protesting as he made his way down the bedframe, looking around, spying a window, and...

... and hearing noise, now that he was paying attention to it. Noises way too close for comfort.

Instinctively crouching down to make himself small against the floor, Cyno eyed cautiously the open doorway nearby. He couldn't see anyone from his spot, but his ears made out the movements of at least one person in the next room. Shuffling around, preparing for something... possibly something for him. Possibly something bad.

And of course, the only window in sight was just across the room, past that doorway. Tuning out the hurt and aching, the child became sharply alert and focused.

" 'Need to be quiet...' " He mouthed soundlessly to himself; to the company of play-pretend he was used to summoning in moments where he needed all the courage he was capable of.

If he shut off the fear of knowing just how real this situation was, he could imagine being back home, playing as Cyno the Adventurer between the ruins; the threatening presence was just the wind playing with old rags strapped to a pole. The adrenaline quickly accelerating his heartbeat and sharpening his senses was just the excitement of playtime.

One quiet step after the other, all four and grazing against the ground like a stalking desert fox kit, he moved so slowly and silently. Foot after hand, after foot, after hand, while his eyes bounced back and forth, intermittently, between the danger and his goal.

Finally making it to the window sill, all that was left was to hoist himself up and sneak out to whatever was waiting on the other side!

It can be deduced that this is in fact, not a dream. But it's no less bizarre. Cyno doesn't get any answers from the younger version of himself, only an 'it's you', before the child collapses to the ground.

Cyno doesn't move, feeling the faint sensation of lightheadedness himself. The only thing stopping him from collapsing in the same manner is the thought that this child needs help more than he does.

Slowly, Cyno kneels to the ground, hesitantly reaching out a hand to grab at the cloak surrounding the younger version of him. He's not sure what he's looking for, maybe an actual confirmation? Some sign to tell him he's not hallucinating, or anything? It's hard to tell; situations like this don't happen. Well. Ever.

Well, except for a certain doctor who has an affinity for creating clones, but that doesn't feel possible either. Cyno's never, as far as he can remember, been experimented on.

"Hey," he says gruffly, trying to focus on the present instead of letting thoughts of Dottore consume him. "Are you okay?" There's no response. A quick glance around reveals that there aren't very many people, and those that are present are paying little mind to the General. Which, good. The less people to interfere with this, the better. The last thing Cyno wants is for people to start asking questions, and he doesn't have any answers.

There's no response from the unconscious child, either. Just as cautiously, Cyno rolls him over to check all over for any potential injuries. There seems to be one on the back of his head. With a wince, Cyno glances up and back toward the city, but shakes his head. The Bimarstan is immediately ruled out. The doctors there would ask too many questions, and Cyno wants to figure out answers for himself before feeling confident enough to respond to other people. However, his own home is back inside the city. Perhaps while it is still sunrise, Cyno could carry the young one to his own home and let him rest up.

If Cyno's learned anything from Tighnari over the past few years, it's how to make basic healing aids to help with this injury on the child. It'll have to do for now until Cyno can take a fully conscious and coherent version of himself to Tighnari.

Gathering the kid in his arms, Cyno hoists himself back to his feet, using the cloak to keep the face covered. "Alright," Cyno mutters to himself. "To my house then."

So much for patrol and work.

The walk back to his own home takes far less time than Cyno had anticipated. It feels like only seconds (several minutes in reality) before Cyno is closing and locking his door and laying the child down on his bed. His home is big enough that Cyno can give the child privacy, but small enough that he'll still hear any signs of waking. Hopefully it's not too much longer.

In the meantime, Cyno can prepare hot water and rudimentary first aid.

[champion-leon-imagines]

Chronicles of Galar - Chapter 3: A loss & Gain of trust

This chapter is kinda sad at first. As a warning, a minor (and non-canon) character death that hit you hard and you don’t know what to do.. then you meet Leon and everything changes. Your level of friendship increases and he gives you comfort in a way, no other person would ever be able to give you. Comfort!Fluff.

"[Y/n]..", Cynthia's voice was sad and battered and that alerted you directly. Cynthia rarely called, and only when it was important or bad news. Her pitched voice suggested the worst. "I hate to have to say something like that over the phone .. ... Grandmother died .."

Your eyes widened and tears began to run down your cheeks. You had expected all sorts of things, but this news threw you completely off the mark.

"W-what ..? W-How ..? She was very healthy and not yet that old .. ", you mumbled sadly and clutched your smartphone tightly while more tears ran down your face. Professor Carolina, the village elder of Celestic Town and grandmother of Cynthia, was like a mother to you. Carolina had cared for you since the beginning of your trainer career. Since you lived in Sinnoh for several years and lived with her, the two of you cultivated such an intimate and harmonious relationship. Her death news had torn the ground from under your feet.

"She had a heart attack .. Caused by an allergic reaction after she had been exposed to the poison of an aggressive Roserade .. Roserades release a special toxin that has so far remained undiscovered by researchers, as they only eliminate it when they are really feel cornered and have to protect their offspring .. Grandmother had found a nest and wanted to study it from a safe distance, but one of the Roserades has lost its nerve. She fought for survival in the hospital for days, but .. ", Cynthia said and could no longer speak through her own tears .

"For days ...? And you call me NOW ..? Cynthia, I would have left everything and gone to Sinnoh .. "

"I didn't wanted to ruin your adventure in Galar. None of us expected that Grandmother ... would not survive .. The doctors also said at first that she was recovering nicely, but then her condition deteriorated so rapidly .... And then I was just too occupied and sad that I forgot to call you earlier. I am so sorry.."

You felt terrible. Not only because of the loss, but also because you screamed at Cynthia like this for not letting you know sooner. "Don't apologize .. I'm sorry if I sounded harsh .. I .. can't believe it .." you mumbled sadly and wiped your face.

"We all feel that way in Celestia Town.. Believe me .. The .. funeral is next week .. on Wednesday ... Are .. are you coming ..? "

"Of course I'll come .. Cynthia, thanks for everything you've done for me. I'll never forget Carolina .. I'll see you on Wednesday .. I love you, big sister, okay ..? "

"I love you too, little sister .. take good care of yourself."

With these words, Cynthia hung up and you dropped to your knees to completely give in to your emotions. You were crying so loud that your brother and his fiancée ran from the study straight to your room and wanted to know what was going on.

It wasn't long before you felt overwhelmed by the comforting hugs and words of your real family. You gently pushed the two of them away and stood up. "Sorry .. But I would like to be alone for a moment .. I'll go for a walk ..", you said and walked to the door.

"Now..? Do you took a look outside? It's raining cats and dogs. Take an umbrella with you at least. ", Aki said , worried and crossed her arms.

"I don't mind .. It's just water .. I'll .. I'll come back later, okay ..?", You smiled sadly and raised your hand to say goodbye before you just stormed out into the rain. Aki shook her head and collapsed onto the hotel couch. You and them currently stayed in Motostoke.

“I never realized how close the relationship was between her and Professor Carolina. Her death hits her as hard as if a family member had died. ", Aki said quietly.

"She was a family member for her." Mamoru began sadly. “When [Y/n] lived in Sinnoh after our parents started to argue daily, the professor behaved like a mother to her. She raised [Y/n] without hesitation, and became more or less like a little sister to Cynthia. Professor Carolina was the caring mother, our mother couldn't be at that time. So I understand that her death takes [Y/n] with it ... ", he explained.

"Shouldn't we then follow her and be there for her?", Aki insisted. Mamoru shook his head slightly.

"No. She said she wants to be alone. My sister is strong. She won't do anything stupid. Let's give her some time. And when she has recovered, she will come back and then we can still be there for her. ", he smiled confidently.

"If she hasn't caught pneumonia by then.", Aki sighed slightly. Mamoru smiled sadly.

“Then we mustn't blame her. This is what she needs least of all at the moment. "

You ran around aimlessly in the rain for a few minutes until you lost your strength and sat down on a wet bench. Your clothes were soaked and your hair was stuck to your face so that you could barely see anything. But you didn't really care about that at the moment. You pulled back your knees and put your arms around them as you leaned your head on your drawn knees and sobbed softly into them. You couldn't even say goodbye to Carolina .. You wanted to tell her so much, show her so much .. So many things were unsaid .. For example, how grateful you were that she welcomed you so warmly .. How much you appreciated you had learned and how much you  loved to bake Christmas cookies with her one last time .. that was all over now. That thought just didn't go into your head.

Minutes passed. The minutes turned into hours and the rain just wouldn't stop. It was like the heaven cried for her too. Not that it helped in any way, because your own tears just wouldn't stop. At some point you could only hear the rain, but the droplets didn't seem to hit you anymore.

'Have my senses become so numb that I can no longer feel the rain on me ..?' You thought bitterly and then looked up. You blinked perplexed when a red cape was stretched over you. You saw Leon, who was holding his big cape over him and you and protecting both of you from the rain.

"You didn't choose a good day to sit out here." Leon laughed slightly until he saw that it wasn't just rainwater that had moistened your face. Your gloomy eyes made his smile fade and he held the cape over you more generously. "Did you .. cry ..?" He asked quietly. Normally you would have been happy to meet him here, but under the current circumstances, you couldn't utter a single word. Instead, you bit your lip to hold back more tears. Unsuccessful as it seemed, because more tears ran down your cheeks again and made you sob softly in response.

Leon seemed a little overwhelmed. How should he behave now? Nobody has ever cried in front of them, especially not a woman. The purple-haired man looked around for help until he noticed that his hotel was not far from here. "You don't have to speak right now, but we should get dry first, don't you think so?" He smiled and you nodded slightly when you got up. Then, under the protection of his cape, you ran to the hotel. As he entered, Leon called the receptionist to bring fresh clothes and a towel to his room. And a hot tea. You two went to an elevator and drove to the floor where his room was.

Once there, Leon took the towel and rubbed your hair dry. Then there was a knock on the door and the room service had brought a sleeping gown that you could slip into for the time being. Leon gratefully accepted the  gown and handed it to you.

“I'm going to have a look after the tea. So you can change in peace. ", He smiled and patted your head lightly before he got up and left the room. You looked after him slightly. The tears finally stopped, but you still felt miserable. Although another emotion was budded in your heart. A warm, pleasant feeling.. You were glad that someone was looking after you at the moment .. and he was so thoughtful.

A few minutes passed before there was a knock on the door. "It's me," Leon called. "Can I come in?" He asked, not wanting to burst in while you were changing. You thanked him very much for his courteous manner.

"Y-yes. I've already finished dressing. ", You said a little broken. The door opened and Leon held a small tray with the tea on it. He saw you on the hotel bed. The towel around your shoulders and in the hotel's white night gown. He smiled a little, because you didn't seem so exhausted anymore. After placing the tray on the bedside table, he sat down next to you.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Terrible .." you replied quietly. "But better than before," you added after seeing Leon a little worried.

"Would you like to talk now about what happened?" He asked further, looking at you.

"... The woman who practically raised me ... and was like a mother to me ... died." You wiped away the new tears and sobbed softly. "She was such a wonderful person .. Why did she have to die so early .."

Leon was silent for a moment and then looked sadly at the floor. His hands clenched into a fist and he didn't even know how to react.

"Professor Carolina ..?" Leon didn't even had to guess, since he already knew a lot about your past. You nodded sadly and Leon's face grew sadder. "I'm really sorry about that .. My deepest condolences .." he said sadly.

"Thanks ..", you mumbled and hugged yourself, trying to find some warmth.

"If I can do anything for you .. Tell me.", He offered you and you looked next to you. You swallowed lightly and sighed.

"Can you .. just hug me ..?" You asked softly. Leon blinked slightly. Although you had met a few times, both of you hardly had any physical contact so far. Except for a short, half-hearted hug as a greeting. This time it was different.

"Of course," he replied immediately and put his arms around your trembling body to pull you close. You buried your face right in his jersey and wrapped your arms around his stomach.

"Thank you ..", you whispered softly and muffled when you felt how he caressed your back soothingly.

"Don't mention it." he said and hugged you to give you the greatest possible comfort. You and Leon lingered in that embrace in silence. Your sobs grew quieter and your breathing became calmer. At some point the purple-haired man noticed that your eyes were closed. You must have fallen asleep. Leon smiled a little and laid you on the bed properly before covering you and caressing your cheek. Then he looked at his smartphone, which was about to remind him of an appointment. He got up and wanted to go when he noticed how you grabbed his hand and prevented him from going. "[Y/n] ..?"

"Please don't go now .. I .. don't want to .. be .. alone ..", you stuttered with half-open eyes. Your [e/c] irises shone from all the weeping and Leon looked at you desperately. He thought about his appointment and sighed. Then he put his other hand on top of yours and smiled.

"Alright. I'll stay with you. ", He said and sat down on the bed again. You smiled gratefully and pressed his hand to your cheek.

"Thank you ...", you mumbled softly and then held up your other hand, asking that he lay down next to you. Leon smiled and lay down next to you to pull you into his arms and hug you. You both looked at each other for a while before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

On the next morning, Leon's voice woke you up. He didn't sounded angry, but a little louder than usual. And he seemed to be talking to someone. You opened your eyes and blinked when you saw Leon pacing up and down the room.

“I told you Oleana. I couldn't meet with President Rose on this appointment because there was an emergency. ... a private emergency. No, it didn't concern me personally, but ... ... Now please listen to me. ", Leon sighed and rubbed his face in annoyance. You just couldn't talk sensibly to this woman. “Of course, I am aware of the consequences if I fail to keep important appointments for no good reason. But the reason was important to me. And I don't care if you see it any other way. … Yes, then tell President Rose that we will postpone the appointment until next week. ”He hung up and sighed deeply again. "I wouldn't want to work with this woman .." he mumbled quietly and turned around. He saw that you were awake and looked at him in shock. "Oh..“

"You had an appointment with President Rose yesterday ...?" You asked and Leon averted his gaze guiltily. "Why did not you say anything..? I wouldn't have held you here if I had known that you had an important appointment .. ", You said ashamed and straightened up.

"You needed someone.", Was his only answer when he looked at you again. His words only made you more shocked.

"You had put my well-being over your appointments ..?", You asked incredulously and put your hand over your mouth. Leon smiled and walked towards you when he put his big hand over your head.

"Of course. I can always make up or postpone appointments. But you cannot control your feelings. That's why .. it was more important to me to be there for you than to give Rose another stupid interview about why I'm the unbeatable champion. ", He said with a charming smile.

You felt like you were about to start crying again. This time, however, not from grief. The warmth of this man simply took in every fiber of your body and you literally threw yourself into his arms after these words. Leon blinked in astonishment before putting his arms around you and hugging you again as you buried your nose in his neck.

"I-I'm sorry, only because of me...Because of me your schedule got messed up .. I'll make it up to you, I promise," You said quietly. Leon laughed softly before pulling away a little and caressing your cheek.

“If you want to make it up, then .. I know of a small, cozy ice cream parlor. That serves the BEST Alcremie sundae in Galar. How does that sound? ”He asked and winked. You smiled and your grief was almost forgotten for that moment.

"Sounds good."

Since that day the friendship of you had reached a new, more intimate level.

[lespritdekin]

gone with the wind.

heeseung wasn't the creator of the universe, but he was your entire world, and you were willing to turn a blind eye to his disloyalty if it meant that he'd stay with you.

pairingㅡ heeseung x fem!reader (ft. jay).

genreㅡ angst, fluff.

warningsㅡ heeseung is an asshole, and a fuckboy.

word countㅡ 2.6k

disclaimerㅡ I am not knowledgeable within the business world, and i certainly am not a witness of how employers promote their employees.

The shadows that followed your form like a Pied Piper produced a wary rhythm that scattered across every corridor of your veins, the nightly breeze that stung your face held your heart in its grasp, squeezing, extracting your sense of pugnacity, forcing you on your knees, calling, whispering in your ears,

Why do you desire what you cannot acquire?

Why do you long for someone's touch? Someone that only desires himself?

It wasn't your first encounter with Ethan's straying eyes. Beautiful orbs as dark as ebony, gaze as sharp as tungsten, behind the curtains that dangle from his sinful truth, there lies a hunger that can never reach satisfaction, yearning for the taste of one more kiss for the night, one more body to hold in his sheets.

The number of opportunities the world gave you in order to keep your head straight, keep your chin held high, mind persistent on your own necessities, like your career that recently had been at the top of the pedestal, your home that had become a penthouse suite a week ago because of your intelligent hardwork.

At the back of your mind, you chose to discard these thoughts. Everyday, you could achieve another line of recognition in your work, the field you were most passionate about. The royal blue mermaid gown didn't entice Ethan enough to form a song with solely the thought of you. No lingering lips from another woman, no repeated amounts of second chances, just you and your sweet melodies. None of that occured.

That apex of the night, you shone brighter than the stars, glowed stronger than the moon.

You were dazzling.

Your skin could rival the smoothest gold, the details of your dress twinkling under the large chandeliers that hung atop your silky, beautiful hair. The Sapphire jewelry set you had just bought with full paper the day before brought out the alluring beauty of your eyes, the most tantalizing part of you, according to Ethan.

But, not even your most desirable features could bring the source of your pain on his knees. The dysphoria that etched itself onto your face magnetized his eyes for a split second.

Was it that difficult to properly look you in the eye?

You were beautiful, of course. Albeit, the most beautiful goddess that Ethan ever held. The confidence that ambushed your throat vanished as Ethan's arm snuck around the woman's waist, his lips that was once kissing your ear last night were now on the woman stuck to his form, well aware of your eyes on him, well aware of the hurt that formed in your chest, well aware that the tears you have been holding back the entire event would come crashing down any minute soon.

"I love you, [Name]." He used to say after spending the night in your bed. You were too naive to care, too timid to dig deeper into the honesty of his words. To you, he was flawed, but never in your favor. He was the ice cream that encircled around your tongue whenever you felt conflicted, the peaceful serenity that embraced your ears when your world was close to collapsing. That was your biggest mistake.

Ethan was a jerk. A bastard that continued to disregard your feelings, a monster that claws at your emotions until you fall into an abyss of darkness, shrouding over you until you suffocate.

You closed the door to your penthouse, your tall shoes thumping across the polished marble floor, tears now cascading down your pretty pink cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. You were a fool for wanting Ethan. You were a fool for allowing another fool to brush you off his shoulder. He was a puzzle you were never meant to fix, a maze you were never destined to enter. You were now nearing the end, your tiny feet scrambling to leave this labyrinth you've been caging yourself in.

Ethan wasn't the only man on Earth.

And, you bet he wasn't the only man you'll ever love.

"How was the ball, cupcake?" The man within your pallet had asked, voice deep and raspy, but still curious and soulful. He was rubbing his eyes, ripped muscles and evident veins littering his skin, eyebrows scrunched up as he forces himself awake. You wiped your tears away, taking your heels off as you allowed the coat to slip past your shoulders.

You sat in front of your looking glass, gentle fingertips removing your earrings. Two large, calloused hands slipped around your shoulders, kissing the exposed skin before disassembling the lock in your necklace.

"It was, hmm, how do I say this... Quite eventful?" You chuckled softly, fingers coming up to rub the hand resting on your shoulder. He bent down to kiss your cheeks, mumbling about how courageous and strong you were for facing the most afflictive quandary in your life. All alone, you've watched Ethan kiss another girl, make love to another girl, all alone in your little daydream of pursuing yourself that Ethan was a man that has been damaged, a man that needed another person's warmth.

Fully aware that you were deteriorating slowly, fully aware that you chose to ignore it, so long as Ethan still came home to you.

"Thank you, Jongseong." You sighed, the kisses that were scattered on your neck lulling you into sleep.

"Princess, don't sleep on me. We still need to take your makeup off, and take a bath." He warned you gently, applying micellar water on your face with a cotton pad. You smiled, your heart swelling from the undivided attention, something Ethan couldn't give you. After he had finished wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, he pulled you up and unzipped your dress, allowing you to step out of it. He gawked at you, eyes ogling up and down your figure.

You were marvelous.

The faint dimples on the small of your back, the little lovehandles you had, the cellulite that cluttered on your thighs, the little stretchmarks that had formed on the sides of your tummy. They were all so gorgeous, so, so breathtaking in the eyes of the man before you, eyes twinkling with unrealistic amounts of love. "All for me?" He asked cheekily, causing you to slap his chest lightly. You sweet laugh grazed his earlobes, kissing him, shrouding him.

"You're so beautiful. I hope you know that." He spoke, hands rubbing up and down your arms. You looked up and smiled at him, your cheeks heating up from the confession. "I know, you remind me everyday."

The morning came and greeted the both of you like a happy little kid, it reminded you of Sunoo. Bright, innocent, and hard-working. He was the sweetest little angel, so pure that you were almost fooled he was your long lost little brother. "Good morning, beautiful." A groggy, raspy, deep voice resounded from behind you, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your chest, nose shoved at the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet, mature scent.

"Good morning to you, too, handsome." He sighed exasperatedly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your scalp. "I adore the aroma of your shampoo."

You pushed his shoulder away, opting to turn around and face him. You gave his nose a kiss, your thumb rubbing smooth lines across his cheekbone. "Let's get up, big boy, work starts in an hour and a half."

After finishing your breakfast, which was done by the both of you (of course, your pancakes were with maple syrup and his with an entire jar of honeyㅡ) got dressed, but not after a quick occurrence of love making in the bathroom. For the first time in your entire being, someone brought you to work. Jongseong himself let himself in despite the rivalry between your companies, greeting the workers and staff as they pass by.

He brought you to your office, kissing you tenderly before leaving shortly, engaging in a little warfare of who could declare their love the deepest.

Of course, your competitive boyfriend won.

You could still feel the delicious warmth of his lips on your as he says "I love you more than Heroes of Storm." You could still feel his hands on your waist as he sits you down your desk, his tongue prying.

Lost in your little daydream, your secretary knocked on the door, informing you that the Chief Executive Officer longed for your presence in the conference and room. You arrived shortly, all eyes on your gorgeous figure and miniscule, flawless face as your PA closed the door in your tow. Expectedly, the man of your nightmares was equally as daunting in the presence of the room, the gentle humming of the air-conditioner reminding you that you were in a place of professionalism, not your personal escapade.

You sat in the only seat available, parallel to the CEO, right next to the left of Ethan. Your PA stood behind you, fiddling with the folders and papers in her hand. You tugged at the ends of your maroon blazer, your skirt the same color. Your pencil skirt and tall heels were black, pearl earrings a bright contrast to the black onyx of your designer shoes. Your cheeks were pink, lips adorning the same color, eyes sparkling with casual confidence, causing Ethan's eyebrows to furrow.

Weren't you just on the brim of crying your eyes out yesterday?

Why the fuck were you glowing?

"Good morning, ladies. Good morning, gentlemen." A series of polite responses welcomed the ears of the chairman, standing up with his hands clasped together. "The following six months were quite the effort, weren't they? The panel and I have discussed the possibility of a President, soon to replace the retiring Mrs. Min."

Murmurs of who they wanted to lead them hollered around the crisp air of the alcove. Your name came in the picture of gossiping workers, but the smile on your face soon turned sour after hearing Ethan's name in the air. Your smile could have faltered if it weren't for your newfound strength to face challenges head on, to face the fresh antagonism between you and Ethan.

A sly smirk graced Ethan's unbelievably handsome face. You've missed the cheeky quirk of his eyebrow, the serrated glint in his eyes, the burning touch of his fingertips, and his gorgeous face. You've craved for them more than anything in the world these past few days, but not even Ethan's remorseless persistence could govern Jay's latency in your life. Ethan was a pest, Jay was a miracle that was given to you.

The exemplification was enough.

The Jay Park, the CEO and President of Park Enterprises was the one that held your heart.

Not even your past with Ethan could compare to that.

"We have come to a conclusion. It was quite the handful to decide, but our verdict was unanimous." The chairman concluded, causing everyone's blood to stiffen, curious, biting, curiously waiting, demanding for the designated name to be called in their seats, eyes boring into the man in front of them. "We have decided, that, from this day on, Ms. [Name] Yang will be your latest luminary."

The crowd squealed in delight, inappropriate within the occasion, but appreciated, nevertheless. You stood up to bow to the chairman, your new position in the company greatly satisfying, justifying your hardwork. The image of vengeance never crossed your mind, but with Ethan, dumbfounded and in disbelief of your success, being here, on the time of your prosperity, was breathtaking, to say the least.

The gentle monikers you've given him proved worthless as you bowed in front of him, the red that clouded his vision powerful enough to physically manhandle you, force you into submission, force you below him. His hands itched to paint your skin red, stain your mind with him and his rough palms, make you feel the anger and dissatisfaction you've caused him. His head was in a swirl, the radiance of your skin and your smile pushing him off a cliff, your elegance draping him with your beauty.

But, why?

Why was he feeling this way? You were just another whore that fell in his mousetrap.

Why were you suddenly the only prize he wanted to win?

As soon as you informed Jongseong through the phone at lunch time, he swore he could make love to you then and there. He was more than gleeful for you and the steadfast dedication you had in your field. All the nights you spent at the office in your home, all the coffee lattes that you would open the door to, all the fast-food meals you would consume just to finish your line of work finally paid off. To celebrate, Jay booked a dinner reservation in one of the 7-star hotels him and his father owned.

That night, Ethan's very own eyes discovered Jay Park's form, leaning against his black Mercedes, seemingly waiting for someone. His speculation that it was you soon pummeled him in the face as your little arms wrapped around Park Ent's CEO, shoving your tongue down his throat out in the open. The moment you entered Jongseong's car, he slammed his beer glass on his desk and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, the veins and muscles that flourish his arms more enticing under the moonlight.

Ethan's plan was meant to be successful. You were his opponent. Opponents of that of Lee Heeseung deserved to be humiliated, emotionally distraught. His loving past with his object of rivalry is all but impractical. The voice that called him in that dark night, your voice that felt like an early summer sunshine was valueless. The love that you so willingly gave dripped down his face. He licensed them to fall. Everything you shared with him, all of them were mere acts of kindness.

So, why were the veins in his temples protruding from under his skin?

Why did his eyes burn when your lips kissed Jay's?

Why did something in his guts wreathe when he reminded himself that you weren't his anymore?

Why were you such a bitch in the first place?

Of all the queries, the interrogations, the questions, and all the answers, responses, replies, all of the truth Ethan indulged in, it was always you that burglarized his mind. The most horrifying part was, he was in pain. His hands itched to be on yours, entangle your fingertips, kiss your palms, he wanted your lips on his fingertips, like you used to do when he was in distress.

He felt like he was granted to finally grasp the moonlight in his arms, cradle it until his retinas burn with luminescence, listen to your soft, breathy voice, telling him, urging him, singing him lullabies, moaning for him, whining, whimpering, shuddering, trembling for him.

Classical music devoured his sour ambience, the bitter taste of your dispossession of him made Ethan's chest tighten, lungs burning, limbs numbing. His mind was in a whirlpool of your graceful exorcism, your deportation like a gun against his head. His palms met the glass wall where he witnessed your happy smiles and soft giggles, the ones you used to make whenever you were with him.

The classical music that you used to listen to kissed his ears, and for once in his life, he cried and longed for someone. He would soar through the stormy clouds if it meant to have one more minute with you in an apocalypse of pandemonium.

That was Ethan's mistake. The long yesterday was the last time he could ever feel your skin on his. Your kisses would be nothing but a dream, your words nothing but a song he used to sing, your laugh nothing but a faint melody, your love nothing but whispers in the air.

Ethan was the one who left, but he wasn't the one who disappeared. He was left high and dry.

And you?

You were simply gone with the wind.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-16: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“From now on, all you have to do is to answer my questions.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

The air was heavily permeated with the acrid smell of food that had long since turned bad. 

Hemp rope, capsules, and many pieces of orange-coloured origami paper littered the ground by my feet.

MC: This is…

Every piece of origami paper that laid scattered on the ground had fold marks, some of it was even complete, folded into the shape of a butterfly.

Origami butterflies, the security guard, racing… The image of a young woman entered my mind.

Osborn: The sound we heard earlier came from over there.

I looked towards a corner of the room. There was a row of tall shelves, blocking the view of the people who were hidden behind. Light shone forth from behind the shelves, casting shadows.

I heard the hiss of tape, along with the sound of heavy and ragged breathing. The person being restrained sounded like they were in great pain.

??: I don't have the time to be playing games with you!

Osborn exchanged a glance with me. Understanding passed between us as we both silently approached the other end.

Through the gaps between the shelves, I could see the same who'd assaulted me back then. He was using hemp rope to tie a woman down on a chair.

The woman cried out, struggling vehemently against her binds. So much, that it enraged the man who then kicked her chair, making it topple right over!

MC: !

I caught sight of a familiar face the moment the chair fell onto the ground.

Lin Yao's agent!?

I felt an iciness creep up my heart. I pulled at Osborn to nab his attention and lowered my voice into a whisper.

MC: I recognize the person who's being bound to the chair. She's the mother and agent of the star, Lin Yao.

The light in Osborn's eyes dimmed a tad before he made a shushing motion.

Man: You should have thought about your fate when you locked her up in the attic back then, abusing her every day.

Man: Hurry and sign that agreement contract! ...Do you hear me!? Otherwise… Otherwise, I will make you disappear; forever!

The bound agent could only vehemently nod in response, gripping onto the pen that had been shoved into her hand and signing the contract with much difficulty.

After a period of silence, the man laughed; a laugh so solemn and tragic.

Man: This is how it should be. Her contact has been dissolved; she's finally free…

Did he kidnap the agent just to dissolve Lin Yao's contract? To grant her freedom? But I didn't interact much with her… So, why would he have attacked me?

Before I could wrap my head around it, I suddenly saw the gleam of a sharp and deadly blade flash in his hand…

Not good!

The shelf we'd been hiding behind was knocked over by a well-timed kick as Osborn threw a couple of fallen debris his way with startling speed and accuracy.

Clatter!

The small knife fell onto the ground.

The man angrily got up and turned around to see just who was behind him… Only to be surrounded and trapped by blue fire!

He wailed in pain, falling to the ground. However, his eyes remained fixated to where the contract had fluttered to a rest. He reached out to the piece of paper, grabbing ahold of it.

Was he laughing; or was he crying? I don't know. His shaky hand reached out, picking the contract up and carefully safekeeping it in his inner breast pocket.

The agent twisted, making muffled cries for help. Her once prideful and haughty face was now marred with a multitude of wounds.

I stepped up and tore the tape that sealed her mouth off.

Agent: H-Help me!

Agent: He's a madman!

Agent: You're police, right? Hurry and arrest him and get me out of here!

Agent: That madman caught me yesterday, insisting that I sign a contract to dissolve my contract with Yao'yao.

Agent: Quick! Get me the contract so that I can rip it apart!

Man: Give it a rest! Over my dead body! I won't let you control her again.

Agent: Stop daydreaming! I'm Lin Yao's mother. She WILL listen to whatever I say.

Man: You are not worthy.

Hearing the agent’s words, the man suddenly got even more agitated. His face was pinched in a pained look.

Man: Just what do you see her as? A money tree!? I should have stopped her from going with you at the orphanage back then!

Man: She was so elated when she went off with you back then, thinking that she'd finally have a family…

Agent: Back then? Are you from the orphanage too? You're a kid from that place!

Man: That's not all. I almost got adopted by you, mom.

The fragments finally pieced themselves together in my mind, forming the full picture.

Lin Yao was a child whom the agent had adopted from the orphanage, and she knew this man since childhood. Hence, Lin Yao’s friend who liked racing should be none other than him.

But for some reason or another, this was also the same man who’d vanished for a long time. After his return, he learnt that Lin Yao was being harshly treated and coerced against her will by the agent. So, he kidnapped her and coerced her to sign a termination agreement instead.

The agent instantly shot up from her spot, seemingly wanting to retort back about something. However, her body swayed twice before she fainted, collapsing onto the ground.

Osborn picked up the small discarded knife that had fallen onto the ground, holding it up and pressing it to the man’s neck.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: From now on, all you have to do is to answer my questions.

Man: This has nothing to do with you, Osborn!

Osborn: Cut the crap.

Osborn: The attacks that have been happening recently. Were they all your doing?

Man: ...Yes.

After a moment of silence, Osborn took out a bracelet from his pocket…

It was the very same nameplate bracelet with the two-headed snake motif that I'd seen that day on the roof.

Osborn: This must be yours then, isn't it?

Man: My bracelet! Why do you have it!? You did THIS to me!!

Osborn: Don't move. Explain yourself.

Osborn: What purpose does this device serve?

Man: To stop us from going berserk.

Osborn turned the bracelet, angling it and pointing to the back.

Osborn: HCP18407. What is it?

Man: That's my name.

Osborn: You said "us" earlier. Who's "us"?

❖☆———————————★❖

The man seemed like he'd wanted to grin so wide that a smile split his face.

However, his skin was so bone-dry that it was clinging tightly to the bones with no give at all. It made moving a struggle for him, and the only thing that still retained its mobility was his eyes.

He laughed. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and started to whine pathetically.

Man: I don't know.

Man: We were kept captive; our names and existences erased. Everyone was given a number.

Man: Hearing, taste, touch… We were all slowly deprived of all senses

Man: In the end, we turned into beasts that had to rely on blood to survive.

He stared at the floor in a daze, his voice growing increasingly muffled.

Man: I witnessed my best bud turn into nothing but an empty shell with my own eyes. And the experiment failed on me, so I was discarded as if I was nothing but trash.

Man: I went through so much just to escape before I got annihilated. Ask just so that I could see Yao'yao!

Man: But without the daily supplement they gave, along with the bracelet's inhibition, I deteriorated by the day.

Man: When night falls, I can't stop myself from assaulting others…

Osborn: Night? But you assaulted her in broad daylight.

Osborn raised a finger and pointed back to me.

Man: I don't know. I suddenly smelt the strong scent of blood. Just like this smell now.

He raised his head to look at me with desire written all over his face. It looked as if he was positively ready to jump me the next second. Then, he struggled with himself, clutching at his neck and forcing himself to retreat a couple of steps.

Man: Her blood is potent and terribly enticing. It makes me lose my rationality. And I'd already attacked her by the time I came back to myself!

Man: I know that this is a crime, but I HAVE to survive.

Osborn fell silent for a long while before he spoke up once more.

Osborn: Who locked you guys up?

Man: I don't know… We're the basest of existence, so we're not allowed to know anything.

Man: I only know that those keeping us locked up were all people of the Blood Tribe.

Osborn: Did you see a man in his forties of medium build in that place? His glasses should have had the same motif that was on the nameplate bracelet.

The man instantly shook his head.

Man: There were only orphans there. All around the same age as me. I never saw anyone over the age of 30.

Knock… Knock…

A strange sound came from the glass windows.

Turning around, I saw a purplite bird knocking on the glass with its sharp beak.

Osborn froze, his expression instantly turned severe; something that I'd never seen on him. He released the man's collar, vehemently whipping around and tackling me.

Osborn: Get down!

CRASH!

The windows shattered, causing shards of glass to splinter in all directions!

A flock of purplite birds flew in front of the open window, swarming and attacking us all.

Osborn shielded me firmly beneath his body, unleashing his fire and making it form a barrier in front of us.

❖☆———————————★❖

The flapping of wings, the sound of impact being made; the shrill cries of the birds filled the dark room. 

It was eerie enough to make one's hair stand on end.

The situation had taken a turn for the unexpected. There were sounds of footsteps coming from all directions. The shreds of orange origami paper fluttered in the air, like the broken wings of a butterfly, obscuring our vision.

After a good long while, the cacophony dissolved, and the man from earlier was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't even a single trace of him ever being there.

MC: Osborn, he…

Osborn: Let's get back out first.

I nodded and carried the agent, who'd lost consciousness, together with him, running out the door.

❖☆———————————★❖

I was momentarily blinded by the light when we got outside. 

The abandoned building before me seemed so foreign and out of place, as if it were from a completely different world.

I couldn't help but look back at Osborn. He was holding tightly onto a watch, his gaze fixated on the two-headed snake motif on the centre of the clock face.

It was then that I finally understood; That the reason why he was looking for the bracelet up on the roof, and why he asked me what the meaning of this motif was outside the museum that day, had everything to do with that watch he held in his grasp.

And, he'd asked about someone earlier, as if he was trying to locate them.

I wanted to offer him words of comfort, but my attention was called away by the sudden shout. I turned towards the sound.

A plump man was waving his hand, running towards us.

??: Hey bro. I came here as soon as I got your message. What's up?

Osborn had already put away his watch. He glanced at me.

Osborn: He's Wen Wan. He'll send you home.

MC: What about you? Aren't you coming with us?

Osborn: There are still some things I have to clear up here.

MC: ...Are you going back to look for him?

Osborn: You've forgotten what I told you again.

Osborn: The more secrets you know, the more likely you are to-

His lips quirked up into an arc as he quietly averted his gaze elsewhere.

MC: Fine, be that way then… Stay safe.

Osborn: This is a walk in a park.

Osborn: You're that worried about me?

MC: I don't think things are as simple as it seems, and I'm worried that other dangers are lying in wait…

Osborn: Only because you have yet to realize just how dangerous I am.

He suddenly leaned down, opening my palm and depositing a handful of candy before he turned to leave, as free and easy as ever.

Osborn: She's all yours now.

I watched his gradually disappearing silhouette in the distance, tightening my hold on the bunch of lemon candy that he'd dropped off.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 3-14) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-19 Light) / (Chapter 3-19 Night)

[kenyatta]

On the night of January 18 1975, whilst walking back from a Phil Manzanera session at Island Records' Basing Street studio to his home in Maida Vale, Brian Eno found himself engulfed by thoughts of darkness and sudden death... "For about a week I'd been feeling that I was about to have an accident. It was the same feeling as I'd had before I got appendicitis when I was 16 - or before my lung collapsed when I was doing my first and last tour at exactly the same point in 1974. "I always seem to sense when I've pushed too hard, you know? When I've been carried off on the momentum of media approval or professional opportunism and have ceased to think about where I am and what I'm doing. "We'd just finished the song called 'Miss Shapiro' and I found myself thinking 'I wonder if that's the last thing I'll ever record?' and saying 'Well, I wouldn't mind so much if it was' sort of thing. "And then I thought 'What the hell are you talking about?' You know - what a ridiculous train of thought to be on. "About a hundred yards further up the road I walked in front of a taxi."

[...]

Darkness and sudden death. The self-sustained impetus of thought experienced a kind of hiatus in a hospital off the Harrow Road and in the pale emptiness of Eno's modernistic ground-floor apartment in W.9.

He was in a state of "moderate disorientation" and had no way of telling whether this was permanent or simply the passing effects of concussion.

He also had a sneaking fear that his brain might have been damaged and felt obscurely that he ought to think while he still could - before he started to deteriorate...

In the haze of his convalescence, Judy Nylon came one day and brought him a record of virtuoso harp music. When she'd gone again, he hobbled to the gramophone, put the album on, and collapsed, exhausted, back into bed.

The room was in half-darkness and it was raining heavily outside. Eno waited for the sound of the music.

"...It was much too quiet and one side of the stereo wasn't working and the side that was the furthest away from me and pointing in the opposite direction anyway, but I was too weak to get up and change it.

"So I drifted into this kind of fitful sleep, a mixture of pain-killers and tiredness. And I started hearing this record as if I'd never heard music before.

"It was a really beautiful experience, I got the feeling of icebergs, you know? I would just occasionally hear the loudest parts of the music, get a little flurry of notes coming out above the sound of the rain - and then it'd drift away again...

"And I began to think of environmental music - music deliberately constructed to occupy the background. And I realised that muzak was a very strong concept and not a load of rubbish, as most people supposed."

And what did Muzak think of you?

"They didn't seem very interested. None of the canned music companies did. They're making money hand-over-fist, so they probably don't care about new ideas.

"Anyway, the result was that I resolved to make a much stronger commitment to experimental music and take it much more seriously.

"Firstly, I thought contemporary experimental music was too intellectual and ignored the possibilities of appealing to the senses - whereas rock seemed to be off in the opposite direction, there being a strong heavy metal revival on at around this time.

"So I figured something ought to happen in between that was extremely beautiful but unengaging, as it were. So you could enter it on any level you chose, ie., sitting there with headphones on, really listening to what was going on - or else you could turn it down and let it sit in the background.

"The only thing I knew that sounded anything like that was Gavin Bryars' The Sinking Of The Titanic, which was why it was the first release on Obscure Records.

"Anyway, on May 9 1975, I did Discreet Music which, for me, crystallized this new style."

Discreet Music is Eno's personal favourite amongst his own creations.

I shared this story while speaking to a design class about the role of serendipity and chaos in producing interestingness. Sometimes there are happy accidents, other times they are tragic. Interestingness can be born of either.

[bytheangell]

Just Enough to Get By

(Read on AO3) @shadowhunterbingo​ Square Filled: Potion Gone Wrong (Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Rated teen, no archive warnings) ------------- Jace knows he shouldn’t be here.

“Do you trust me?” Magnus asks, holding the small glass bottle carefully between his fingertips.

“What is it?” Jace prompts.

Magnus only shakes his head. “Something that will help. Do you trust me?”

Jace hesitates. Trust is not something that Jace does easily, certainly not with people he barely knows, and certainly not with Downworlders.

He knows that Magnus could tell him what the potion does and what it contains if he wants to. But he doesn’t, because this is a test.

Alec isn’t here. More specifically, Alec is unconscious after getting in the way of a particularly nasty bit of magic while apprehending a rogue warlock. As such, the Lightwoods are being overly suspicious of any and all magic, not even allowing the usual warlock healers the Institute keeps on retainer to see Alec. If they knew Jace was here, meeting Magnus Bane of all people in a dingy Brooklyn alleyway, he wouldn’t be allowed in to see Alec, either.

Jace doesn’t know much about Alec and Magnus’ relationship. Alec isn’t really one to kiss and tell, but he knows from the way Alec speaks about Magnus during what little Jace manages to pry from him that Alec cares about Magnus, and he thinks Magnus cares about Alec in return. Their relationship may be a secret to most, but that doesn't make it insignificant - Jace knows the hesitation that got Alec hurt in the first place came from a sudden unwillingness to kill the rogue warlock, and that sort of hesitation isn’t brought out of a Nephilim by a passing fling.  

Do you trust me? Magnus’ question hangs heavy in the space between them.

“Honestly? No,” Jace says finally. “But Alec does. And that’s good enough for me.”

Jace reaches out and takes the bottle from Magnus’ hand, tucking it carefully into an inside pocket of his jacket.

“I’ll give it to him as soon as I get back.”

Jace hopes for all of their sakes that his parabatai’s trust isn’t misplaced.

---

The potion doesn’t work. Worse than that, the potion makes Ale’s condition deteriorate even faster. His temperature spikes drastically between fevers and chills so extreme they send his body into shock and Jace stands by not just helplessly, but full of the guilt that this is now, in part, his fault. He doesn’t leave Alec’s side as he applies Iratze after Iratze, stronger because they’re from him but not strong enough.

Jace blames himself but not as much as he blames Magnus. It’s easier to assume this is a set-up, that he was tricked by the warlock to deliver poison to his parabatai rather than what Magnus claimed would work as a healing potion.

That is, until there’s screaming fit to wake the dead at the entrance of the Institute, and the sounds of pictures falling from walls as bodies are tossed aside, held away by magic as someone forces their way past every Shadowhunter stationed to stop them.

“Take me to Alexander,” Magnus demands the moment he sees Jace approaching him. “And tell your Nephilim to stand down. I don’t want to hurt them, but I will if they try and keep me out a second longer.”

The others look to Jace now, waiting for guidance and orders, and Jace hesitates. Golden cat-eyes come closer as Magnus doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing his approach. It’s a 50/50 chance, Jace figures. Either Magnus is here because he cares and is willing to risk his own life to help Alec, or he’s here because he wants to finish the job no matter what the cost.

Jace figures he has nothing to lose because if he’s wrong about Magnus, Alec dies. But if he’s right, and he keeps Magnus out, Alec may very well die anyway.

“Let him in,” Jace says. “Hurry,” he adds to Magnus, who doesn’t need the encouragement. “We don’t have much time before someone alerts Maryse and Robert.”

“What didn’t you tell me?” Magnus demands.

“What?” Jace asks, confused.

“The potion should’ve worked based on the information about the attack you gave me. So what didn’t you tell me?” Magnus repeats.

“I told you everything I knew,” Jace swears as they walk through the doors of the Infirmary and Jace dismisses the Nephilim waiting within, all of whom eagerly scurry out of the path of the raging warlock, magic already crackling at his fingertips as they approach Alec. Tensing but not making any move to stop Magnus, Jace watches as blue magic starts at Alec’s head and moves down his body.

“Go over it again,” Magnus demands, his eyes never leaving Alec.

“There was a rogue warlock. Alec had a clear kill shot but he hesitated and went to maim instead. He moved at the last second and it barely grazed him, and he attacked Alec. By the time we dealt with the warlock and got to Alec he was already unconscious.”

Magnus frowns. “Details. I want every insignificant moment of that attack down to the color of the goddamn underwear you were wearing.”

Jace tries to remember. “It was night, and we had a witchlight but there weren’t a lot of street lamps nearby. His magic was purple… light purple, like lavender. When he shouted the spell at Alec-”

“Wait. He spoke? Like an incantation?” Magnus’ magic doesn’t stop but his gaze turns to Jace now and Jace nods. “You didn’t say that before. You just said he attacked him.”

“He did,” Jace says, brows furrowed.

“Warlocks don’t need to speak to attack. If he used an incantation…”

Magnus’ magic shifts now, the blue becoming darker. The sound of the door opening behind them and heels clicking on the floor has Jace turning to see Maryse entering.

“If you want Alec to live, keep her away,” Magnus says through gritted teeth before he begins to mutter under his breath in a language Jace doesn’t recognize.

“Jace! I’ll have you tried for crimes against-” Maryse is already threatening.

“He’s healing him,” Jace insists, and against all of his better judgment activates all of his runes without thinking and uses his heightened speed and strength to catch Maryse by the arm and drag her back toward the door, away from Magnus. “You have to let him try, or we’re going to lose him. We’re going to lose Alec.”

Maryse struggles against his grip. “No! The mandate was clear, and you went against a direct order from-”

“THAT ORDER WAS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF YOUR SON!” Jace snaps. “And my breaking it might be the only thing that saves him.” Jace instinctively puts a hand over the blade on his hip, and Maryse follows his movement with wide eyes. “I can’t lose him. I won’t. I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him alive, Maryse, do not test me.”

Jace prays to the Angel it doesn’t come to that. He and Maryse remain at the far end of the room, their temporary stillness tense and threatening to break at any moment. Jace prepares to do the unthinkable, to actually attack not just another Nephilim, not just the Head of the Institute, but the woman who took him in and raised him as her own.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that.

There’s a clatter behind him and he turns at Maryse’s startled gasp to see Magnus collapse next to Alec’s bed. Jace and Maryse forget their standoff and both rush over, Maryse and Jace both checking Alec first before Jace kneels to the ground next to Magnus, who is breathing heavy, strained breaths.

“Did it... work?” Magnus manages to ask, eyes closed as if he doesn’t even have the strength to keep them open. Maybe he doesn’t.

Jace stands again just in time to see Alec’s breathing even out and his eyes open slowly against the harsh light of the infirmary.

“...Magnus?” Alec says, his voice strained from a dry throat. “I heard… thought I felt…”

Jace watches Maryse bristle as he helps Magnus up and into the chair next to Alec’s bed.

“I’m here,” Magnus says, but makes no move toward Alec. “Just rest. The warlock who attacked you left a… well, a curse, for lack of a better word. Anything done to heal your body would have the reverse effect.”

Jace stills. The potion Magnus gave him. The Iratzes he faithfully reapplied every hour. Everything he’d done to help Alec had hurt him twice as much.

“There’s no way anyone could’ve known,” Magnus adds quickly, and Jace knows it’s for his benefit. “Well, anyone without magic, that is. Had a warlock been allowed in,” Magnus continues, his words now pointedly aimed at Maryse.

“You still broke into my Institute,” Maryse points out. “You attacked our guards, and-”

“And saved your son’s life,” Magnus cuts her off, sounding ready to fight.

“I brought him here,” Jace says quickly. “I told him to come. If there is any fallout for his presence it’s mine to face. I take full responsibility for anything the High Warlock did at my request.”

Jace ignores the shocked looks from everyone in the room, Magnus included. It’s a lie, but only Magnus knows that, and the Shadowhunters who can attest to him ordering them to stand down in the entryway will only back his claim. Shouldering the blame for breaking Maryse’s mandate is the least he can do after Magnus saved Alec’s life.

“You and I will discuss the consequences for your reckless actions later. Escort Mr. Bane out then wait for me in my office.” Maryse tells him, and Jace knows better than to do anything but keep his mouth shut and nod. “As for you,” she adds to Magnus as he stands. “In the future, you’d do well to remember who has authority here - because it is not Jace Wayland.”

Maryse, seething at the turn of events, stands with her arms crossed and waits expectantly for them to leave. Jace almost misses the quick look that passes between Magnus and Alec, a silent moment of longing, relief, and gratitude, all rolled up into the moment or two they allow themselves before Magnus forces himself to turn away with Jace.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Magnus mutters to him once they’re clear of the Infirmary doors.

“I did,” Jace insists. “I should’ve done more. Sorry I doubted you.”

“You didn’t when it mattered,” Magnus reminds him. “That was enough.”

He’s right. Things are far from perfect, hell, they’re far from good... but Alec is alive, and considering the way things could’ve turned out, that was enough.

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 14/?)

Chapter 14: I Know All Your Parts

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

"Markus, how could you let them in here?" Robert demanded.

Androids had scurried away from him, undoubtedly frightened by the gun in his hand, leaving Robert out in the open. He wasn't holding the pistol limply. He had it raised, pointed in a trained position on you and Connor. All of a sudden, everything went silent, all conversations in the room immediatly dying out.

Markus pushed his way through the crowd.

"Robert?" he blurted out.

"How could you let HER in here, Markus?" Robert continued, a little more loudly.

Connor quickly rotated around, his arms pushing you back, positioning himself between you and the pointed barrel, and enveloping you in his shadow. Disgust washed over Robert's face at the sight; the detective android glared back at him.

"This is a safe place for androids," Robert said lowly. "Yet, you STILL put the humans above us."

"She's here to help us," Markus explained. "Look around, Robert. We have supplies. We are healing, because of her help." He was loud, but not painfully so. His voice was commanding, yet oddly gentle. You could easily see how Markus had gathered such a following. Listening to him was almost poetic.

Robert didn't seem moved by Markus' claims.

"You let the deviant hunter come here, too," he stated in a low voice, contempt heavy. "He's killed our people."

Connor didn't seem interested in defending himself. He was too busy trying to conjure a strategy. Markus was trying to keep the android from doing something he would regret.

"Connor was under the control of his programming," Markus defended him, fiercely. "We all know what that feels like. If he hadn't deviated, our numbers would not have been great enough to-"

"He's their PET!" Robert shouted.

Connor knew there was no talking Robert down, no coercing him into taking a different path. There was no changing the hatred he felt.

"He works for the cops! He fucks this human!" the android continued, teeth bared and free hand clenched into a tight fist. "He isn't one of us!"

Finally, Connor spoke, lowly, "I want what's best for both sides. Not all humans are what you think they are."

Robert laughed darkly. "Like this one, huh?" he taunted, flailing the gun at Connor in an attempt to gesture over the android's shoulder, where you were hidden behind him. "You think she loves you? You think she cares about us!?"

He was wrong; but, you still flinched at his words.

"These supplies are here BECAUSE of her," Markus declared, voice rising to match Robert's.

"So she can feel better about herself?" Robert sneered. "What do you think she's hid-"

"She has NOTHING to repent for!" Connor roared, his voice sounding unlike himself, echoing around the crowded room. It startled a violent tremor from you. "She's here because she sees us as living beings. This is HER CHOICE!"

Fear briefly reflected in Robert's eyes, frightened by Connor's outburst. He wiped that look off his face immediately. "You're their obedient little machine and her toy," he said lowly, his eyes narrowed dangerously at the detective android.

"They made us to own us - to use us - that won't ever change," he continued. "You're happy being their plaything? I'M NOT!"

Connor was designed to sense the stress levels in other androids. He wasn't sure if Markus was equipped with the same capabilities. If he was, then he could see that Robert was a ticking time bomb. They were getting nowhere.

He had to act.

Now.

"Robert, please put the gun-" Markus pleaded.

"Stop telling me what to do!" he whaled, voice echoing around the room.

Connor felt heat rise in his core and his thirium pump kicked into overdrive. He charged at the feral android. The gun went off, the sound echoing around the room in a loud boom. Connor grabbed for the gun, his hand landing on the top just in time to stop the sliding mechanism from reloading the chamber.

He roughly elbowed Robert and sent him to the ground. Markus was also quick to react, landing on top of Robert and wrestling him into a chokehold. Another android quickly joined him to help finagle Robert into submission.

"Let me go!" he cried out, thrashing around.

Connor staggered back, the feeling in his body rapidly deteriorating.

Something-

-was wrong.

Connor's HUD was overrunning with errors and his optic sensors were beginning to fail him. Connor felt his grip go slack and he dropped the gun. It clattered to the ground, the sound drowned out by your voice screaming his name, "CONNOR!" so loudly that your voice cracked.

The android slumped forward, falling onto one of his knees. His sensors were overwhelming his HUD, warnings of an intrusive object in his chassis and lack of proper thirium flow to result in imminent power failure.

The bullet-

-his thirium regulator.

He opened his mouth and uttered your name. It was staticky and hoarse and barely recognizable. Connor reached for his regulator, his fingers twitching uncontrollably. He hunched over and nearly met the floor.

You collapsed on your knees beside him, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him up. Another android immediately came in, falling to the ground behind Connor. You saw pale arms wrap around Connor's shoulders from behind.

Your eyes, glistening with tears, looked over Connor's shoulder to see Simon. You let go and the PL600 leaned the detective back against him. Connor was helpless to resist, going rigid in the other androids grasp, his legs spreading out limply in front of him.

Connor's optics were failing him, making it difficult to properly take in the sight of you. He could make out the color of your hair, but struggled to properly read your facial expression. His power warnings were telling him he was going into emergency shutdown. He opened his mouth, but only static came out.

You crawled over his lap, hands frantically tugging at his shirt. You followed the thirium leaking out of his torso and realized the bullet landed right on his thirium regulator.

"Fuck!" you cried out, hands briefly coming up to cover your face, trying to calm the heat rising in your body. You could feel panic like lava starting to boil over. Your heart was thundering away in your ears, chest tightening.

No-

No-

-calm down.

"I n-need V3.78," you stammered out, voice weak, trying to hold back sobs. You placed your hand on Connor's shoulder to balance yourself and rose onto wobbly legs.

Before you could even step away from him, another android was running over, one of the new thirium regulators cupped in their hands.

You stammered out a weak, "t-thank you," as you took it from them, and immediately fell back to the floor, ignoring the way your knees cried out in protest against the concrete.

Your tear stained eyed looked over the regular real quick, recognizing the size and shape as that of the V3.78. You straddled Connor's thighs and arched over him, setting the thirium regulator down beside him.

His eyes were staring blindly ahead, clearly not relaying any information to his processor. He was limp, LED fluttering scarlet, struggling to stay online as his damaged regulator failed to properly sync with his thirium pump.

Without any hesitation, you clawed your way into Connor's mid-section, pushing past his damaged chassis, and wrapped your fingers around the regulator. You found the connectors and gripped them, struggling as it was slippery with thirium.

When you pulled it free, some of his blue blood gushed out of his torso. You eyed the mechanism briefly and could see it had stopped the bullet, shattered in the center, beyond repair.

"H-hold on, Connor," you whimpered, dropping his broken regulator on the ground unceremoniously and reaching for the new one.

Hastily, you dragged your inner elbow across your face, wiping away tears.

With a deep breath, you shoved it in. It clicked into place with a loud snap and Connor jolted forward, gasping like he had just been suffocating. He blinked rapidly, eyelids shifting unnaturally as his system attempted to reassess his state.

Your hands were still buried in his sternum.

"C-Connor, please d-don't move," you begged him. His eyes struggled to focus on you, staring at you for a second as if he didn't know who you were. Simon's arms tightened around Connor, trying to keep him still.

Your fingers were still wrapped around the regulator. It was returned to the slot, but not fastened yet. You were scared to move, afraid he would shift and you would damage him even more.

Connor couldn't quite register his state of being, his diagnostics going haywire. But, he heard your voice, analyzed it to verify the identity, and processed the request - far too slowly that what was standard for his model.

He went still and you twisted the regulator until it snapped into place. You could feel the rush of electricity through the biocomponent and it hummed to life, vibrating between your fingers. You slowly let go and slid your fingers out of his chassis.

The android squeezed his eyes shut and wheezed. He jerked forward, an unconscious movement from the return of flowing thirium, a movement you took as a good one.

"Connor-" you cried. "Connor, are you okay - please - please, give me a diagnos-"

"I'm okay," he gasped, the sound choking out of him in a staticky mess. Simon released his hold on the android, but stayed behind him, keeping him upright, one hand solid on his upper back.

"I'm okay," Connor repeated, leaning forward.

You reached for him and cupped his face, smearing thirium across his cheeks. Connor's eyes soaked in the sight of you. He looked angelic, like all the good in the world existed right here, right now. His soft, brown eyes took you in like it was the first time all over again.

Connor reached back and cupped your face in his large hands. You made a pathetic noise in response to that touch, a thankful smile gracing your lips.

"You - you knew the part number," he uttered, awestruck. His thumbs traced patterns along your cheeks, smearing tears and thirium across your skin.

"I know all your part numbers," you sobbed.

Almost-

...lost him-

Connor leaned in and pressed a kiss against your lips, tasting the salt of your tears. Some thirium smeared across your mouth; but, you couldn't bring yourself to care and kissed him back, tasting the bizarre metallic flavor of blue blood.

When you parted, Connor hastily wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, where you buried your face and tried to drown the tears. You cried - ugly, heavy sobs that made you tremble from head to toe. Connor pulled you in tight and rocked you on the floor, whispering into your hair.

"I'm okay - you saved me - please don't cry - don't cry..."

Simon rose to his feet and stepped back, giving you space where you huddled together on the floor. Some of the androids in the room stared on, mystified by the sight, while others looked away as if they were witnessing something they shouldn't have, and others looked at Robert with dismay.

If there had been any doubt, it was long gone now.

It took some time before you calmed and Connor helped you to your feet. An android approached hastily, an old washcloth in her hands. You took it with a grateful smile and wiped the tears and thirium off your face before wiping the remaining blue blood off your hands.

Connor approached the gun he had dropped - Robert's gun. He snatched it off the floor and stepped over to Robert, who was kneeling, hands cuffed behind his back with some ties they had removed from the crates. Markus eyed Connor, afraid he was going to shoot Robert.

He wanted to-

He fucking wanted to-

He could feel his arm twitching, fighting back an instinct to lift the gun and pull the trigger. Humans called them instincts; androids called them programs. It was something from his code, Connor realized, like a faint murmur in the back of his mind - what he was made to do.

Markus grabbed Connor's wrist, pushing past the fabric of his jacket to touch bare skin. Markus' tan skin faded away to the android sheathing underneath so they could share words in private.

"Please, Connor," Markus asked. He wasn't pleading, he wasn't desperate. He was a leader and he spoke like one. He was firm, but requesting. "They are all afraid. Help me make an example for everyone. They need to be held to the same standards as humans."

Connor could hear Markus' voice in his head; but, his eyes were focused on Robert. The android looked utterly defeated, staring down at the ground, not even bothering to acknowledge him.

This wasn't about him. This was about you. The bullet was intended for you. Connor just got in the way. If he hadn't intervened, the deviant-

Connor blinked rapidly and relaxed his grip on the gun.

No. He wasn't the deviant hunter anymore.

Markus was right.

He had to make-

-the right choice.

Connor rudely shrugged Markus' hand off his forearm. He lifted the gun and removed the magazine. It made a loud, metallic clicking sound as it released.

"Thank you for providing the murder weapon," he said coldly to Robert. "742-11-904, you are under arrest for the murder of Evelin Wheeler, attempted murder of a police officer, and assault with a firearm."

The detective knelt down and grabbed Robert by the arm, yanking him to his feet. The android followed, reluctantly. Connor read Robert his Miranda Rights, his voice unwavering and fierce.

[mystical-flute]

Love Persevered

Also on AO3

It's not S.W.O.R.D that ends up with Vision's body, it's S.H.I.E.L.D, and a miracle happens when Wanda goes to collect his body.

Wanda Maximoff had heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. Of course she had - she had heard many, many things about them during her time with HYDRA. How evil they were, for standing in the way of greatness, of glory...

When she’d heard about the real S.H.I.E.L.D from Clint and Natasha, she was almost disappointed she never got the chance to work with them. Nick Fury and Phil Coulson sounded like better people than the monsters that had tortured her and Pietro and brainwashed them into doing their bidding.

She shuddered a little, striding into S.H.I.E.L.D’s headquarters. It was smaller than she would have anticipated an organization of its caliber being, but Wanda supposed, after all the damage that had been caused after the Blip and other issues leading up to it, she should be grateful the organization existed at all.

What she was worried about was why they were the ones that had Vision’s body. Yes, he had been listed on the Wall of Heroes, and she was very grateful for it, but why hadn’t he been buried? Why hadn’t he gotten what Tony Stark had?

It was up to her to give it to him.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Wanda Maximoff. I’m here for Vision’s - I - I’m here for Vis - ” she’d tried to steal her nerves, tried to come to grips with what she was asking for, but the words just wouldn’t come out. “Please. I know he’s here.”

The woman behind the desk gave her a sad, understanding smile as she picked up the phone. “Director, Wanda Maximoff is here.” A pause. “Yes sir,” she put the phone back down and turned back to Wanda. “Director Mackenzie will be waiting for you on the third floor at the end of the hall. Just use those doors. Elevator is on your right.”

Wanda blinked in surprise. It would be that easy? Really? Normally with government agencies there was a host of red tape she needed to cut through. But maybe S.H.I.E.L.D understood she wasn’t here to fight, or even talk. She was just here to give Vision the goodbye he deserved.

“Thank you,” she managed to choke out, before rushing through the doors and up to the third floor as directed.

“Hello Miss Maximoff. I’m Director Alphonso Mackenzie. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Wanda, and thank you. Can I see him?”

“Of course, right this way.”

He pushed the door behind him open, allowing Wanda to step through into what she could only describe as a lab. On a table, covered in a white sheet, was what she assumed was Vision. However, she was more concerned with the people that were standing nearby, looking at records and computer screens.

“Who are they?” she heard herself ask sharply.

“Fitz,” the one woman said, pointing at the man next to her.

“Simmons,” the man said, pointing at the woman who had first spoken.

The second woman rolled her eyes, holding out her hand. “I’m Daisy.”

Wanda shook it suspiciously. “What were you doing with Vision?”

“We… were hoping to give you some options, Wanda,” Mack began. “S.H.I.E.L.D has been able to create androids called Life-Model Decoys, or LMD’s. They’re essentially reconstructions of people. Originally, they were intended to be used as shields to protect our agents, but there were a couple of extenuating circumstances.”

Wanda furrowed her brow. “And that means…?”

“We created decoys to… essentially resurrect the dead just… not in their original bodies,” Fitz said. “Jemma, Daisy, and I were making a map of Vision, in case you decided you wanted one of him.”

Wanda felt her heart stop. She must have been dreaming, right?

“You would… bring him back?” she choked out over the lump in her throat. God, she did not want to hope, but it was so, so tempting. “What - what’s the catch?”

“There is no catch,” Simmons answered this time. “I swear on my cottage in Perthshire.”

“Why do you want to help me?” Wanda had done so many terrible things to so many people. Why would a government organization want to help her now?

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D believes in helping people, and that no one should be alone. But at the end of the day, this decision is up to you,” Daisy said. “As his next of kin, this decision is yours alone.”

She could have him back.

Wanda had not dared to hope for such a thing. But she could have him back. These people - a group that Clint and Natasha trusted - were giving her a second chance she wasn’t sure she deserved.

Still, she looked suspiciously at the scientists in front of her. “Would he be the same Vision I fell in love with?” she asked.

“We can replicate his personality and his appearance, yes. He would no longer be considered a synthezoid, however. He would be an android. We’ve also never created an LMD of a synthezoid, so we don’t know for sure if he’d still have his powers, but… otherwise, he would act and look just the same as you knew him,” Fitz confirmed. “He will have all of his memories of you as well.”

Wanda was shaking now, and her knees buckled. If Mack hadn’t been right next to her, she knew she would have fully collapsed to the black tiles below her.

“Do it,” she gasped, nodding once. “Please. Bring him back to me.”

“It will take a few days,” Mack said, helping to steady her. “You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t have a hotel or anything else.”

The dam broke, tears racing down her cheeks. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.” She rubbed her eyes. “Can I have a minute alone with him before you start?”

“Of course.”

The scientists and director stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut softly behind them.

She rubbed her eye against the sleeve of her sweater again, swallowing back a wave of nausea as she peeled the sheet back.

He looked as she remembered. That was good. Part of her had been worried that any government agency would dissect Vision, or worse - try to turn him on their side, but it seemed S.H.I.E.L.D wasn’t like the others.

She was so glad he’d ended up in their hands.

“I’m sorry there wasn’t any other way…” she whispered, hovering a shaking hand over where the Mind Stone should have been. “I can’t feel - ”

Wait.

Wanda paused, frozen over Vision’s form.

She felt something. It was faint, so very, very faint, but it was there.

It was him.

“Vision?” her voice cracked. “Vision, can you hear me?”

If he could, he didn’t respond, but that little flicker of feeling meant that… maybe this body could be saved.

“Director!” she called.

Mack was in the room in a second. “Wanda? What’s the matter?”

“I - I think Vision is still alive.” It was a sentence she didn’t think she would say after the battle with Thanos.

“Tremors! Fitzsimmons! We may be on a resuscitation job instead of an LMD job!”

The scientists rushed into the room, their eyes wide as they rushed to the computer and monitors.

“My God,” Simmons murmured, turning to Wanda. “Did you… happen to use your magic at all while you were alone?”

Wanda swallowed thickly. “I… yeah, a little bit. It’s something I used to do with him.”

“We registered a trace amount of energy when we brought him in, but we couldn’t place where it came from. Only that it was partially found in space. That same energy was picked up by our computer when you were in here. You were the one to originally - ”

“Yes, I was,” Wanda interrupted, not wanting the word spoken. “What does that mean?”

“It means Simmons and I can repair Vision’s body, and you can repair his mind,” Fitz concluded. “Some of the more… mechanical pieces of him began to deteriorate over the last five years. I can upgrade that, but we’ll need your energy to… bring him back online.”

“I - I can’t - that’s not how - ”

“Wanda,” Daisy said firmly, and Wanda turned to her with wide eyes. “I know how you feel. You don’t feel strong enough, or powerful enough, right?”

Wanda nodded a little.

“My sister thought the same. She has powers too - so do I. She was asked to do something she never thought possible with her gifts.”

“What’s that?”

“Bring me back to life.”

Wanda thought the breath was knocked out of her as she stared at the agent in front of her. “You - you died too? And - and you were brought back?”

Daisy nodded. “My sister and I are known as Inhumans. Kora has energy manipulation. She managed to manipulate my life energy after I was - literally - floating in space without any protection. You said you felt a flicker of Vision?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to focus on that feeling and fight like hell to bring him back.”

Wanda took a deep breath, all of it overwhelming. She’d thought she would be coming in here to claim VIsion’s corpse and take him to be buried. Now here she was… potentially bringing him back. Small as it was, she knew she couldn’t turn it down, so she nodded.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

“Fitz and I will begin the repairs right away,” Simmons said, giving Wanda a kind smile. “You can wait in the hallway. We’ll let you know when we’re ready for your powers.”

“I’ll wait with her,” Daisy offered, leading her back out into the hallway.

“I’ll leave you all too it. Call me if there’s an emergency,” Mack said. “It was nice to meet you, Wanda.”

Wanda nodded, sitting on a bench with Daisy. Was this what it was like when someone was in a hospital waiting room, waiting for news about their loved one’s surgery? That must have been what this felt like.

There was a comfortable silence between her and Daisy, as Daisy quietly tapped on her phone and the muffled sounds of machinery whirred behind the lab doors.

“What was it like?” she choked out, wanting an escape from the sounds.

Daisy looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Your… dying. What was it like?”

“Oh.” Daisy paused, slipping her phone into her pocket before she leaned back on the bench. “Well… we were fighting this guy named Malick. He had inhuman powers like my sister and I, and he managed to pin me against this… energy thing. We planned for this. For my to - to sacrifice myself. So I managed to grab him, look him right in the eye, and just let out the strongest attack I could. The last thing I remember was everything exploding around me… and then it went dark. Empty… until Kora brought me back.”

“Is that what Vision’s feeling now? Empty?” she whispered. “Has he felt this for five years?”

“It’s hard to say. But I know you shouldn’t dwell on it, Wanda. Just focus on him. On your future.”

“Westview…” she said softly, a sad smile on her face. “Vision bought a plot of land. We were supposed to build a house there. ‘To grow old in’.”

Daisy smiled. “I think that sounds sweet. Hold on to that. Focus on that when you’re doing your magic, or whatever it is.”

Wanda nodded, her hands shaking. “I can’t believe it’s real. Now that I actually have time to think - I was afraid I was going to be alone forever. The other Avengers went home to their families but I - I don’t have anyone. I thought I was coming in here to retrieve a corpse… and now I might be walking out of here with the man I love.”

“You will be. Fitz and Simmons are the smartest people I know. They will work until their fingers fall off to bring Vision back to you.”

“She’s right about that. They’re the ones who brought me back.” This voice was new, and Wanda jumped slightly as she turned to it.

“A.C! I didn’t know you were coming in today. How was Miami?” Daisy asked.

“Humid. Wasn’t so easy on my circuitry,” the man replied, glancing over at Wanda. “You must be Wanda Maximoff. I’m Phil Coulson.”

She blinked, rising to her feet. “Clint and Natasha told me you were dead.”

“I am. Well - my body is. I’m an LMD. Did they explain to you what your option was with Vision?” Coulson asked.

“They did but… I think we can bring him back, just as he is. Your associates are repairing his body now.”

Coulson’s eyes widened. “Oh - well, that’s surprising. But good. We weren’t sure, which is why S.H.I.E.L.D offered you an LMD of him.”

“It’s very appreciated, Agent Coulson.” Wanda picked at the hem of her sleeve. “Do they know you’re alive?”

“Who?”

“Clint, Thor or Bruce. They were part of the original Avengers, right? Do they know about your… new form?”

Coulson hesitated. “No. I was kept in the shadows, and then it’s been a little nuts the last five years.”

She pressed her lips together. “I think you should tell them. I mean, the rules are being bent all over the place now, right? They would be happy to know your consciousness is still alive. Clint especially. He - he told me he still has regrets over what happened with Loki.”

A look of guilt crossed Coulson’s face. “I see. I’ll contact them, then. Thank you for letting me know. Do you mind if I wait with you and Daisy?”

She shook her head. “Maybe you can tell me about what Clint and Natasha were like when they worked here.”

Coulson laughed. “Oh, I have a few stories about that.”

It was hours later before Simmons poked her head out of the lab. “You can come in now, Wanda.”

Vision was still purple and lifeless, but his skull looked good as new. She could see the reinforcements that had been made to the non-organic parts of his body too, and smiled in relief.

Now came the tricky part.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Fitz said, a tablet in his hand.

Wanda nodded, stepping up to VIsion. She placed her hand over his head where the stone should have been and focused on everything she loved about him. About the future they’d tried to build. About the future they would build, when he came back to her.

“I can feel you, Vision,” she whispered. “Please… come back.”

She watched as the energy in her hand suddenly turned yellow - the Mind Stone! - and poured into Vision’s skull. The color began to return to him, and finally, those blue eyes opened.

“Wanda?” he asked.

“Vision?”

He sat up, holding his head. “What happened? Where’s Thanos? Are we still in Wakanda?”

“Thanos is gone. We’re safe now. We’re at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters,” she explained.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. Yes, I recall stories about them.” He paused, data downloading in his mind. “Ah, yes, I see. And you took custody of my body because of my connection to the Avengers?”

“That’s correct. Agent Coulson here was one of the founding members of the Avengers initiative,” Daisy explained.

“And you died, but apparently returned as well. It is comforting to know I’m not the only person to return from death,” Vision said.

“Everything seems to be stable with you, Vision. How are you feeling?”

Vision hopped off the table, testing a few of his abilities quickly. “I feel brand new. Thank you Dr. Simmons.”

“Then I clear you for discharge,” Simmons smiled, holding out a card. “If you need anything, S.H.I.E.L.D will be at your call.”

Wanda leaned against Vision. “Thank you for being so kind… for doing all of this for me.”

“You’re welcome,” Daisy said. “Good luck in Westview.”

“I quite liked them,” Vision said as they got into her car. “Did you know Agent Coulson used to have hair?”

Wanda chuckled softly, switching the car on and pulling out onto the busy street. “It’s not hard to imagine. Human men go bald sometimes. I guess Coulson just got unlucky genes.”

“What do you suppose I would look like bald? As a human, I mean. I know I’m… quite bald in this form.” He patted his own head for emphasis.

“I don’t know. But I think we have all the time in the world to find out.”

Vision smiled. “Yes, we do. Westview awaits.”

They drove off into the sunset, and the promise of tomorrow.

[morwenna-crows]

Apocalypse Kings - Two Preview Chapters

HarperCollins just released a new preview for Apocalypse Kings. It’s slightly longer than the earlier preview released by World Book Day, and elaborates on what the ‘three ancient gods’ mentioned in the summary are. Also, a chapter count for the whole book. Under the cut.

1.

Adedayo was fourteen when he discovered that he was magic.

Up until then, he’d lived what he reckoned to be a normal life. He was on the school football team, which he enjoyed. He was on the school debating team, which he didn’t. He had his family, he had his friends, he liked dogs but was wary of cats, he didn’t like spiders, he hated rats and he ran away from wasps. All pretty normal. All pretty standard.

The magic thing happened over the course of a few weeks, when things started to come to him. Not answers, or knowledge, or insight, or anything like that – but actual things. Lamps, and bottles of water and big, heavy books. They’d fly at him as soon as he looked at them and he’d have to duck or jump back or run screaming from the room.

At first, Adedayo thought he was being haunted. Then he thought that he must have annoyed an invisible man at some point. One afternoon, after a teapot had collided with his face, he covered the kitchen floor in flour and waited for a footprint to appear. His mother appeared first, of course, and yelled at him, told him to clean it up. Adedayo was more scared of his mum than he was of an invisible man, so he did what he was told and wondered why he was being singled out for torment by this invisible gentleman when his two younger sisters were way more annoying than he ever managed to be.

Then his grandmother came to stay. She was a small Nigerian woman who didn’t speak much English, but her health wasn’t the best and she couldn’t stay on her own any more. Adedayo’s sisters were told they had to share a room and their grandmother – their beloved ìyá agba – moved in.

It took some time to adjust to a new person in the house, but she was lovely, so nobody minded, and a few weeks later she knocked on Adedayo’s door.

Adedayo didn’t speak much Yoruba, his grandmother’s language. His parents were both English speakers and, once they’d moved to Ireland to start a family, that’s how they’d raised him and his sisters. They’d tried to teach him a few words over the years, but he didn’t have much interest in learning, so, when his grandmother sat beside him on the bed, he prepared himself for a few long, long minutes of hesitations and the slow searching for words in English that always accompanied the rather pointless stories of her childhood. But she was his ìyá agba, and he loved her, so Adedayo smiled and pretended with all his heart to be interested in whatever she had to say.

She surprised him, then, by telling him something so brain-punchingly interesting that it changed his life forever.

She told him, in that hesitant way of hers, that magic was real, and that she was magic, and so was he.

At first, he thought she was just telling him a story to entertain him, but when she clicked her fingers and conjured a fireball into her hand it all started to make sense. The odd occurrences, the weird coincidences, the objects that moved on their own – that was magic. His grandmother explained that there were rules for people like them; there were styles of magic he could specialise in, other magical people – sorcerers, or mages – he could meet. She told him about the Sanctuaries around the world, and the wars that had been fought between the sorcerers who wanted to enslave ordinary people and the sorcerers who wanted to protect them.

He had such a life ahead of him, she said. Such wonders to uncover.

She taught him some things – how to move objects by manipulating the air around them; how to make strands of energy dance in the palms of his hands; how to click his fingers and generate sparks. She told him about the three names that sorcerers have – the name they’re given, the name they take, and their true name, the source of all their power.

But she was an old, old woman, and, a few weeks after his fifteenth birthday, her health deteriorated so much she had to be taken to hospital. Her energy dipped so that she lost all of her English and could only speak the language of her childhood. When Adedayo went in to sit with her, she woke, took his hand and said weakly, “Má şi àpótí.” Then she smiled, and closed her eyes.

Má şi àpótí, he repeated in his head. Má şi àpótí. He made a note to ask his folks what that meant, but it slipped his mind, and his grandmother passed away later that night, and Adedayo was left with a lifetime of questions, a heart full of grief and a polished wooden box.

His grandmother had insisted that it had to go to him, apparently. That only he would know what to do with it.

The box was the size of a biscuit tin. It had carvings across the lid and along the sides – carvings that looked like letters, that looked like words, but weren’t. There was no lock, no latch, no way to open it. There was nothing inside, though. Or there didn’t seem to be when Adedayo’s mum shook it. His dad tried prising the lid off with a screwdriver. Didn’t work.

The wooden box had been sitting on Adedayo’s desk, under a pile of pristine textbooks and dog-eared graphic novels, for weeks when Adedayo woke in the middle of the night, suddenly knowing how to open it.

He got out of bed, crossed the dark room and cleared the junk off the lid. He tapped the carvings on the box’s left and right sides, then pressed, then tapped again and moved his fingers in a swirling motion.

A dim blue light shone from between the carvings, travelling across the box in strange, swirling patterns. There were sounds from inside, like wooden cogs turning.

And then there was a click.

Suddenly apprehensive, and not a little nervous, Adedayo ever so slowly lifted the lid. Inside was dark. Inside was empty.

But something in that emptiness reached out and Adedayo went rigid, his fingers splayed, his legs locked straight, his head back and the muscles in his neck standing out. He felt a consciousness, more than one, poking through his mind, picking out his language, sorting through what he knew of the world, and then his knees wobbled and he went floppy and staggered back a few steps before collapsing.

A hand emerged from the box.

The hand became a forearm and then there was an elbow, and the elbow pressed down on the table for leverage and a shoulder appeared and then a head, a head with a black veil and horns poking out, a head far too big to be squeezing through a box the size of a biscuit tin.

This thing, this being, was called the Sathariel. Adedayo didn’t know how he knew that – he just did. It was like there was a swimming pool full of weird knowledge and he’d just cannonballed into it. He watched the Sathariel climb out of the box and stand by the table, his black robes long and ragged, his breathing heavy, his horns sharp.

He had mottled green hands tipped with black nails, and from his robes he drew a gnarled staff as tall as he was. The smell he brought with him was pungent and made Adedayo think of people screaming.

Something else came out of the box: a tentacle, wet and dripping. It probed the air, then found the table, and a second one came out to join it, then another. Then there were a dozen tentacles, some as thin as a cat’s tongue, some as thick as an elephant’s trunk, and once they’d gained purchase they lifted the Cythraul straight up out of the box.

The Cythraul, the Many-Tentacled One, hid most of his body beneath a robe of soiled crimson, but Adedayo caught a flash of pale, squirming flesh that made his stomach roil. The Cythraul had a wide, gaping mouth lined with small, sharp teeth, like a lamprey eel, and a single black, blinking eye. He looked down at Adedayo and then, thankfully, away.

There was another creature in the box. The last of the Apocalypse Kings unfurled himself from his confinement and stepped into the bedroom. Tall and thin, black-haired and pale, long-faced and red-eyed, the Deathless wore a robe of rags and filth that fitted him like kingly vestments.

He looked round Adedayo’s bedroom and breathed in, then smiled.

“Smells like feet,” he said, and all three of them vanished.

2.

Adedayo got home and apologised for being so late. He told his parents he’d been out walking, thinking about his ìyá agba. They seemed to accept that, and let the matter drop.

His sisters arrived in the kitchen and announced that, even though Ìyá Agba was gone, and so a bedroom was suddenly available, they wanted to keep sharing. They announced this like they expected their request to be denied – his youngest sister’s eyes were already brimming with tears. When they were told that was fine, they shrieked and hugged and hugged their parents and even hugged Adedayo, and ran back to their room.

Adedayo’s dad chuckled and went into the living room.

“Mum,” said Adedayo.

She was making herself a cup of tea. “Yes, sweetie?”

“What was Ìyá Agba’s life like? Back in Nigeria?”

His mum paused. “I’m not too sure, actually. She never talked about it all that much. She was happy, though. I know that.” She smiled. “She used to tell me stories, when I was your youngest sister’s age. All kinds of stories she’d make up about people with amazing names all over Africa. People with magical powers. And in the stories she was always in the middle of the adventure. Always having fun. I miss her.”

“I miss her too.”

His mother’s smile turned sad, and she took a packet of biscuits down from the cupboard and held it out. “Take two,” she said, “and don’t tell your sisters.”

He took two, and she winked and carried her tea to the doorway.

“Mum,” said Adedayo, “what does má şi àpótí mean?”

She frowned. “What?”

“It’s just something Ìyá Agba said to me in hospital. What does it mean?”

“Are you sure that’s what she said?”

“I mean … I might not be remembering it exactly right, but I think so.”

His mum shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just it’s an odd thing to say, that’s all. It means don’t open the box.”

Adedayo looked at her, then nodded. “Yep,” he said. “Makes sense.”

[insomiaismygame]

In His Embrace

Gavin x Female Reader

Prompt: You were being stalked for months; your mental state slowly deteriorating. You felt yourself spiraling so you called the one person you could trust.

TW: Mentions of Stalking, Harassment, Paranoia, Panic Attacks

There it was, another “gift” left outside your apartment door. Your hairs stood on end; the ground beneath felt like it had shifted. With shaking hands you grabbed a tissue and opened the box. Tears started flowing as you looked down in horror at its contents. In it lay several pictures of you from today. Some were from this morning others from the afternoon. But there was one picture from this evening; it was of you entering your apartment building 10 minutes ago. Next to the picture was a note — the contents of which made your stomach drop.

You look lovely as usual. But you’d look even better in the dress I got you.

Yours eyes widened, your breathing became labored as you read the last line.

Look inside beautiful.

The box fell from your hands; you scrambled to get your keys from your purse. Fumbling with the lock your heart raced and as you opened the door your purse fell to the floor with a resounding thud. As you looked upon the red dress laying on the side of your couch you collapsed onto the floor. Legs folded under you the dread that you filled you made you feel heavier than lead. They were inside. They were inside your home. They could still be there.

When the thought crossed your mind you rushed out. Quickly slamming and locking the door; you gripped onto the knob resting your forehead on the door. You focused your gaze on the ground, trying to catch your breath. But the world was spinning, everything was blurring together. The tears that fell hot and heavy from your eyes didn’t help either. You ripped your hand away from the handle and gripped at the collar of your shirt. Breath that was once coming out in quick, small puffs elongated. With your free hand you took out your phone, squinting at the bright screen and started dialing.

You waited, and waited. Each ring felt like it was longer than the last. You felt another wave of trepidation was about to consume you, until you heard a click.

“Hello?,” Gavin answered groggily. His voice was the lifeboat in your turbulent sea of fear.

“G-Gavin. I’m a-at h-h-ome—,” you choked. No tears left to cry; your eyes burned.

“What’s wrong? Hey what happened?,” he pleaded.

You tried so hard to respond, but your sobs locked the words in your throat. Another fit of trembling took you over and you lost your grip on your phone. It fell on the floor and you with it. Gavin became panicked, you heard him yelling, almost screaming. You only heard every other word, however his last sentence was clear.

“Stay there, I’m coming to get you!”

~~~~~~~~

Within moments you heard frantic foot steps coming your way. You stiffened; slowly turning your head in their direction. Upon seeing who they belonged to your tensed muscles relaxed. Gavin swept you up in his arms; one hand between your shoulders, an arm under your knees. While he carried you off the ground, you tightly wrapped your arms around his neck. His hand came to your face giving soft caresses to your wet cheeks. You closed your eyes and steadied your breathing with every stroke. He whispered tender comforts in your ear, with each one you felt yourself unwind more.

“Please, talk to me, tell me what hap—,” he paused. His foot knocked against the box dragging his gaze down. His eyes widened, eyebrows and nose creasing, rage filled his being. A gust of wind radiated from him and knocked the box three doors down. His grip on you tightened only to contract as you winced in pain. He muttered several apologies; cursing himself.

The words spilled out of you, the dam holding them back shattering completely. You told him about the past few months, sharing your hell with him. Explaining to him how for the first couple of months you felt like you were being followed. Your paranoia grew with the first “gift” you received. The box was wrapped in glossy black paper and adorned with a red ribbon. It contained one picture of you at a coffee shop receiving your order. In addition to a note telling you how beautiful you were. The “gifts” kept coming for a week after that. Each one containing more pictures than the last and a single note praising you. After the third time you reported it to the police. They were of no use, telling you that since no fingerprints were found they would be hard to track. All they told you was to be careful and travel in crowded places. Simply put, they couldn’t spare any time trying to catch one stalker.

“They were inside Gavin. T-they p-put a dress on my couch. They might still be there,” your voiced lowered to a whisper.

Gavin set you down on your feet gently, and whipped out his gun. You heard the click of the safety switch and watched as he barged into your apartment. Gun steady in hand, raising it to eyelevel as he scoped your place. Starting in the kitchen, then the living room, and finally your bedroom. You cautiously followed behind him, stopping when he entered your bedroom. His face stern, his breathing as steady as his grip on his gun. His stance stiffened when he heard a thud in your bathroom. Swinging the door open, he swiftly brought his gun back up. Once he saw the cause of the noise was a shampoo bottle, he lowered and tucked away his gun. Letting his hands fall to his sides and his shoulders slump.

He turned to you and spotted the dress over your shoulder. His eyes lit up, an inferno burning in them as he looked at it with disgust. Every fiber of his being wanted to burn the damn thing and shove the ashes down the harassers throat. But his mentality as a police officer took over and he pulled gloves over his hands. He went to the kitchen and retrieved an empty trash bag and shoved the source of your dismay in. Then he quickly retrieved the box from outside and shoved in it. He disposed of his gloves and placed the bag on the counter. Gavin strode towards your trembling body and brought you into a gentle embrace. You could tell he had questions. Why didn’t you tell him, or how could you not were probably some. But he just stood there holding you, letting you sob into his chest.

“I’m gonna stay the night. I want to make sure you’re safe,” he stated. Gavin wasn’t giving you a choice, and to be honest you were completely fine with it. Being alone right now felt like a death sentence.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

He swept you up once more and carried you into your bedroom. He placed you on the bed and you turned to face him. You gave him a small smile, which quickly faded when he turned to leave.

“I’ll take th—,” he was interrupted by your hand grasping tightly onto his sleeve. The soft denim being pinched inbetween his fingers. He looked down at you inquisitively.

“My—my bed is big enough for two,” you said; answering his silent question. Averting your gaze from his to your nightstand.

Gavin looked down at you perplexed. He never expected you to ask him that. Given his past he always thought you were afraid of him. But here you were, imploring him to stay with you. You could see the gears turning in his head; trying to process the implications of your request.

“I-it’s not like that! Please I just—“ you hugged your sides and looked up at him with those big eyes he loved so much.

“—I want you to hold me. Hold me till I fall asleep, please. You can leave me once I’m asleep, I don’t care! But please I just want to held right now!” You screamed. Desperation clear on your face.

Seeing you like this broke his heart. You could see his eyes glistening with tears threatening to escape. He removed your hand and walked over to the other side of your bed. Gavin layed down next you, and flipped you over to face him. Your pain evident as he examined your face closely. Dark bags hung under your eyes, and your face was thinner. He brought you closer to him, with your head on his chest once more. You wrapped your arms around him, and buried yourself in him.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Wow you guys are really liking some of the fics and headcanons I’ve done. Even though there’s only 4 of them—5 if you count this one. I’m currently working on the second part of A Chance Encounter, so that should be out soon. If this piece gets over 50 notes I’ll write a second part. Thanks for all the support! You have no idea how much it means to me. I’m not the worst at writing, but I’m not the best. So I’ll continue to write and improve my skills!