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bookishdream · 4 years ago

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Could you do a Kaz x reader where the reader have to "cheat on him" (not in relationship but like she goes to another gang) because someone's threatening her and when he discovers she was just trying to protect him and the gang she dies

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for a request, I've been wanting to write some angst for a really long time! I hope it is as hurtful as you wished, enjoy xx

TW: angst, blood, killing

kaz brekker x reader

Your hands were sweaty and shaking. You crossed your arms on your chest in order to hide that. You didn’t like being threatened, especially by some amateurs. But it wasn’t a threat against you, it was against your family in Novyi Ziem. You had to use your whole will power to not kill them right there and then.

“Why do you think I’d do anything you want me to?” you asked snapping your gaze between a woman and a man in front of you. “You don’t know anything about me and my family you assume I have.”

“Oh, y/n, but we know everything. For instance, your little brother is playing as we talking on your vast field, your parents are watching him with so much love in their eyes,” woman with blonde hair spoke first, describing the scene so vividly that you almost showed an emotion on your face. “maybe they have already forgotten about you? Maybe your mother is pregnant so they could fill a blank you left in their home.”

“Shut up, you think you’re so smart, aren’t you?” you snapped, face blank and mind filling with memories from times when you were as young as your brother was then, playing on the exact same field. “I will never betray Kaz, and you should know that.”

“Oh sweetie,” the guy beside walked closer to you, you made a step, in order to make some distance between you and them. “we’re not asking you to betray him, we’re asking you to leave this silly gang and join us, Pekka Rollins would be really happy if you did.”

“You two are much denser than I thought, if you think I want to make him happy.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Blonde said, making you shiver. “We have someone who would be pleased to kill this little family of yours. I don’t think you want them dead, even though they think you are, in fact, dead.”

You started to think about that. Crows were your friends and you love them. Inej and Nina always found various ways to make you cheerful when your day wasn’t the best, Jesper taught you how to use a pistol and flirted with you like his life depended on it. Wylan was like a sun in rainy days, even if you loved them, you also loved this boy and his stupid jokes. Matthias was funny to tease, he always was saying how awful you and the girls were, but you could also see this little twitch of his lip corner when he tried to suppress his laugh. And there was Kaz, your beginning wasn’t the pleasant one, you nearly killed him when you saw him for the first time, and in revenge he left you in the Barrel for the whole night, all alone. But after that, you started falling for him, and you fell hard. You couldn’t exactly point out when that happened, but you were sure you’d anything to save him from himself. He had tough personality, he cared only for money and how he could invest it to get the whole city only for himself. But he let you do that with him, barley sleeping and when you did it was in the same bed. Arm-length gap but you always were less exhausted than when you were sleeping in your own bed. You loved him and the rest of the Crows, but you loved your family more. And you knew what you had to do.

“Bitch.” You murmured. “Fine, whatever. Just stay the hell out of my family. And the gang.”

“We knew you’d make a right decision. Pekka will send money to Per Haskell in order to buy your contract. You won’t regret that.”

“I already do.”

After that day, you were about to start living with your new gang, family, like Pekka had said to you the previous day, he’d also told you to not worry about your parents and brother, that they were safe as long as you were working with him, willingly.

You wouldn’t call this willingly, but you guessed it was enough to prevent your family from any harm coming from Pekka and his stupid gang. You hated being here, you missed the Crow Club, late night talks with Inej and Nina, and helping Kaz with buying new ships. You wanted nothing more than to escape, but you couldn’t. Kaz and Crows could fight and kill, whereas your family was vulnerable, they couldn’t even hurt a fly. You spent the whole evening in your empty room. Window with grids making you shiver, you felt like a prisoner you were.

“We have a job for you.” The blonde girl who captured you came in, like it was her cell, not yours. “Behave and perhaps we’ll get rid of those grids.”

You wanted to punch her, you didn’t even know her name, it wasn’t even relevant, your hand was itching. You took a long, calming breath and looked at her, frowning. “I thought it was another week until you’d trust me enough to even open my window.”

“You’ve been here for two weeks. Plans have changed, we need you right now, so cut the attitude and come with me.”

You rolled your eyes and went after her, going up the stairs and leaving the place Pekka’s gang lived. You took another deep breath, smelling the awful scent of Ketterdam, smoke and money as Kaz used to say. Gods, you missed him.

“Where are we going?” you asked, falling into step with the girl, there were only the two of you, you assumed the rest will be somewhere where you were going. “What’s the job?”

“Can’t you just shut up? You’ll know when we’re there.”

You really wanted to punch her, still you said nothing, you wouldn’t get anything from her. It was dark on the city’s streets, buildings high enough to cover the moon, didn’t let its shine to light up the roads. You were annoyed and cold, your hair was swaying with the wind, goose bumps poking on your skin.

“Here.” Blonde said, handing you a pistol. “If you kill someone from ours, you’re dead before you take your last breath.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your gun into the pocket of a coat you had. The metal was cold, making your hands even colder than they were before. Now when you had a real gun, not only your knife, perhaps you’d be able to escape. But where would you go? You were sure Kaz knew where you were, perhaps thinking you betrayed him, that thought only made you feel guilty in your guts, he trusted you and you chose people who you hadn’t seen for years over him. You had to escape, the cost didn’t matter.

When you came to the place, you saw a guy from Pekka’s gang and Kaz. Both of them were talking, but members of both groups had their guns or blades taken out. The Dirtyhands had his black coat, and his walking stick, as always. Jesper also was beside him, hands on his gun belt, ready to take them out and fire. You were more than sure that Inej was also there, somewhere on the roof or in the shadows, waiting and prepared to fight.

“We have men everywhere, two on roofs, one behind the bridge. All of them have guns pointed on you and your previous friends. I hope you know what that means.” The girl said, eyeing you. You only nodded, worrying too much about the Crows to even snap at her. “Good, now go and wait for a signal.”

You did as you were told, you hid somewhere behind a building, trying to recall every piece of information you gathered while snooping on guards or using the fact that they didn’t always close your doors. You had to find someone and tell them, you couldn’t waste any more time.

You poked your head out, searching for Matthias or Wylan. You doubted Nina would be here, since she was still working in the pleasure house. You were sure Wylan was there with his explosion ready to, well, explode. You cursed under your breath, when you couldn’t spot any of them, panic getting out of you with frustration. Someone from the Dime Lions would notice you’re not somewhere where they could spot you.

You crossed the narrow lane, as you noticed Matthias, you whistled hoping he would look into your direction. He turned his head and spotted you, anger on his face visible even in the dark. You cringed, knowing you’d get beaten up.

“You’ve got some nerve,” He said, his voice low. “after you started working with them, you have the audacity to come here.”

“Listen, I didn’t have a choice,” your voice so close to start begging him for forgiveness. “It was about my family.”

He looked at you wordlessly, confusion painting his face. Of course, he didn’t know you had a family, why would he. After a second, the ire came again. “You’re lying.”

“I'm not, I want to help you.”

“Oh, so now you did that to help us?”

“Matthias, I’m begging you, just let me tell you what I learnt.” You pleaded, your voice small. “Pekka wants to kill you as you’re standing, he has those new guns that can shoot you from really long distance.”

“What?” he looked alarmed, “We have to tell Kaz. Come.”

You let out a breath, it wasn’t the best look he sent you, but at least he didn’t leave you here. You told him everything you knew, he listened but his face still didn’t have pleasant expression.

You took out your gun, making your way behind the dumpster, hiding in shadows. You tried to calm your nerves, but the adrenaline had already kicked in. Matthias and you startled when you heard a shot, then another. You sent yourselves a knowing look, taking a step closer to the place where Kaz and the other guy were talking. Jesper had his guns out and Kaz was looking at the boy in front of him with disgust. You saw one of the Dregs were bleeding, you lifted your gun, targeting the closest one from the Dime Lions and fired. The bullet hit the girl in her stomach, making her stumble and fall to the ground. You hid yourself behind the wall and waited. Matthias sent you a look and you only lifted your arms, not knowing what to said.

After that, guns started firing, screams were everywhere. You saw the blonde girl that came here with you, standing with her pistol, aiming Kaz. You shot without looking, trying to hit her in an arm, you heard her scream and saw how the gun was laying on a ground. You looked up and saw that Kaz was looking at you, his face blank and unreadable. Jesper beside him, shooting people and screaming at Wylan to explode. The sound of explosion came from the roof, exactly where members of Lions were, you let out a shaky breath and made a step into the fight. Matthias fighting with his fists, slowly making his way toward Kaz, you tried to help him clear the path by shooting few people either in their heads or legs.

Your hands were tired, your head pounding but you were fighting hard, you had to make this in order to confess Kaz the whole truth. When you were close to him, he locked his eyes into yours.

“We have to talk.” You told him, lowering your tone. “Please.”

“This is not the best time to talk, y/n” the way he said your name made you shivered. It wasn’t an intimate way, it was with so much poison in only one word. “Why aren’t you fighting with your new gang?”

“Kaz, please, I’m trying to help.” You voiced, your eyes burning with sweat that slowly dripped from your forehead.

“Whatever.” He smacked an opponent with his cane, you only heard the sound of cracked bone and a loud thud when the enemy fell to the ground.

You two were fighting as you had before Pekka came into your life. Kaz understood you without any words, knew exactly where he should cover you because you couldn’t. Your movements were precise, keeping people away from Kaz’s vulnerable leg. You were fighting in a harmony, you kept your focus on people you had to kill, you shot them without any hesitation. When your bullets ended, you took out your knife and started stabbing everyone who wanted to stab you.

“I– “you paused, feeling a pain in your abdomen. You looked at Kaz, but he was looking at your lower stomach, you placed your gaze there and you saw blood. A lot of blood, then you felt pain, you stumbled, but Kaz placed his hand on your waist, slowly letting you fall on the ground. Your whole stomach was on fire, slowly burning you with its flame.

“Don’t you even dare dying here, messing my coat with your blood” he said, caressing your cheek. You chuckled, tasting blood on your tongue. “Don’t even think about it, y/n.”

“I’m–, please forgive me, Kaz” you murmured, hoped your words were understandable. “I was trying to save my family, but you’re my family too.”

“Y/n, I forgive you, but I’m begging you, don’t close your eyes” his voice filled with regret, eyes burning with anger, but you knew it wasn’t toward you. “Keep your eyes open.” He yelled at someone, but you couldn’t understand either it was Jesper or Matthias.

“Tell them I love them” you started to give up, your eyelids slowly closing. “I love you, Kaz Brekker.”

“Y/n, please don’t leave me” he tried to keep his voice from cracking, but he failed.

But you didn’t hear that, you had your eyes closed, hand that was laying on your stomach, now laying on the ground. He carefully removed his arm and got up. He spotted a blonde girl, smirking and looking at him, she slowly lifted her pistol, mockingly swaying it. She winked at him and still with a smirk, she left. Kaz made a promise he would kill her, he would do it for him. And for you.

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edupunkn00b · 3 years ago

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Dee, Chapter 7: The Way of Peace

Prev - The Way of Peace - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated M - CW: vampirism, blood drinking, injuries, brief but graphic description of broken bone, graphic description of reset broken bone, sex referenced/implied - WC: 6979 ---

The monster in the shape of his dead brother twisted back his arm, tearing the tendons and shattering his bones. Geminus cried out and hid further down the dark alley, cradling his arm, fighting to stay conscious against the overwhelming pain as he watched his pack brethren leap down to his defense. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the high pitched whine pushing past the back of his throat. His arm was on fire, every pant jostling the bits of broken bone, jabbing and grinding them into his flesh as his supernatural healing tried to make sense of his injury.

“Logan, Remus, get behind me!” Geminus thought he would be sick. Dracula spoke to its spawn like they were still people, desecrating his brother’s name. He watched from behind the edge of the dumpster, curled protectively around his wounded arm. He’d let down his brethren. He’d let down his pack. He’d jumped too soon. He just couldn’t stop himself. When he saw Dracula’s spawn pass the alleyway, when he saw with his own eyes what they’d done to his brother’s body… a white-hot rage filled his gut and he felt a roar press against his lips and his muscles and bones moved before he could even think.

And now Pathos and Ire were left to take on not three, but four bloodsuckers by themselves. He whined and winced in empathetic pain as he watched Dracula grab Pathos, twisting his fur and throwing him against the dumpster.

Get up, get up, get up, get up! He prayed. Those monsters’ll kill you if you don’t get up! Finally, Pathos shook himself and, glancing quickly in Geminus' direction, let out a low, soothing growl to tell him he was alright, and then he leapt back into the battle.

Outnumbered, Pathos and Ire still fought with everything they had. Ire snarled as he grabbed onto Dracula’s spawn with both paws, ripping and tearing at the monster’s flesh. Geminus cheered with a low growl when Ire managed to almost drive his teeth into the creature’s thin skin, scraping just deeply enough to draw blood and leave behind his venom. If nothing else, that made tonight a victory.

But it wasn’t a fair fight.

Dracula grabbed Pathos and shouted at him, its reptilian yellow eyes filled with animalistic fury. Then the impossible happened. The monster ordered Pathos to stop fighting and he did. Geminus watched, eyes wide, as Pathos froze in Dracula’s grip and changed from his powerful battle form and into his weak, vulnerable human form. By the word of the monster itself.

“Get out of here, now!” Dracula spat its command at Pathos. And he obeyed. Geminus shook his head. This can’t really be happening. Pathos isn’t a traitor. What is he doing? He watched, unable to believe his eyes, as Pathos let the monster wearing his brother’s skin pick up Dracula’s spawn, tossing its body over its shoulder like a sack of meat and retreat back to the sidewalk.

Geminus whined, hoping to draw Ire’s attention. They’re getting away! Quick, bite another

Then the smallest monster grabbed Ire, staring up at him with its tiny, cold blue eyes. “Go!” it shouted and Ire, powerful, strong, fullblood Ire curled in on himself at the words of the weak little bloodsucker and started to shrink down to his human size.

Geminus stared in horror as Ire simply backed away. He didn’t fight back, he didn’t bite, he didn’t even bare his teeth. He just obeyed the filthy little bloodsucker. Geminus whined in pain when Ire grabbed his fur as he passed, dragging him along. They fled down the alley together, following in Pathos’ cowardly steps.

---

Chopin played quietly in the room as Logan and Remus curled together on top of the covers on the bed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

Unknowingly, they mirrored Dee and Virgil’s positions downstairs, with Logan nestled against Remus’ side, the other's arm wrapped around his back, hand gently carding through his hair. Logan had taken off his glasses so they wouldn't poke against his skin. He hummed along to the melody, drawing little circles against Remus’ chest.

The music had been Logan’s idea. Sound traveled perhaps a little too well in the penthouse, but the soft piano helped, giving them something to distract their preternatural hearing in order to grant Dee and Virgil some degree of privacy. Even over the music, Logan and Remus were both confident they would quickly hear if Virgil was in distress and needed their help. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sound above the quiet murmurs muffled by the sonata, the chance that Virgil would need saving grew slimmer and slimmer.

“How much time do you think we should…” Logan finally asked, tilting his head up to catch Remus’ eyes.

He shrugged with a tiny wince. “I’m… I’m not really sure.” Remus started to gnaw at his lip and Logan reached up, tugging it away before he could draw blood. He smiled a thanks and kissed Logan’s fingertips before holding his hand against his chest. “You’ve known Virgil longer. Do you… do you think he would ever go back?”

“To Europe? No. At least I… I don’t think so. His life is here now.”

“To Dee.”

Logan closed his eyes and buried his face against Remus’ chest, rubbing a cheek against his skin. He sank into Remus’ embrace and sighed. “I don’t know.”

Remus nodded, letting his own eyes fall closed as he breathed in the spicy coffee and cedar scent pouring from his sired. He wrapped his arms tightly around Logan, nuzzling against his hair.

“No matter what—” Logan’s voice caught in his throat and he roughly brushed away a tear that escaped his control. He shook his head. “No matter what Virgil decides to do, though…'' Again he looked up at Remus. “I want you and I to always be together. I won’t ever leave you.”

Remus smiled sadly and leaned in to kiss his lips. “Same for you, Love.” Logan reached for Remus’ shoulders, drawing him closer. Remus lifted him up and settled Logan onto his lap, dragging a hand through his hair before cradling the back of his neck and deepening their kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Logan leaned his forehead against Remus’, panting softly. “We could… we could easily get carried away up here.” Remus nodded, turning his head to leave a line of kisses up Logan’s throat and across his jaw. Logan whispered into Remus’ hair. “We should go downstairs to check on them.”

“Hm-hm,” Remus hummed against the other side of his neck, letting his mustache bristle against Logan's skin as he mouthed his soft flesh.

“Soon,” Logan murmured, pressing his body closer.

“Hm-hm,” he replied, slipping his fingers under the hem of Logan's shirt. “Soon….”

---

Later, Remus and Logan slowly opened the door to Virgil’s room, making no effort to quiet the sound of the hinges, and letting the last movement of Nocturne spill softly from the room. Logan called out, just loudly enough to let his voice carry, “Is it… is it alright if we come down?”

Dee’s low chuckle wafted up from where he still sat on the couch, Virgil curled against him, sleeping. “Yes. Yes, of course, please do.” He looked up just in time to catch them as they nodded to each other and, clasping hands, mimicked Dee’s earlier move and leapt over the edge. They landed safely, if not quite as softly as Dee had.

Raising his eyebrow at their exhilarated smiles, he purred. “Is this the first you’ve tried that?”

Logan nodded and tilted his head away, blushing. Remus grinned. “Yeah, it was fucking awesome,” he whispered.

Dee returned his smile. “I… I hope to show you more.” He met their eyes. “Both of you.” Logan and Remus’ smiles shrank as their eyes fell on Virgil and their earlier uncertainty returned.

All three fell silent, watching the gentle rise and fall of Virgil’s breathing. His wounds were completely closed, now just a series of bright red lines drawn across his skin. “I’ll—I'll get him a shirt,” Logan murmured before squeezing Remus’ hand and darting into his room where Virgil still kept a few sets of pajamas.

Remus called quietly over his shoulder. “Juice?”

Logan nodded as he slipped through the door. “Good idea.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Dee and left him alone again with Virgil. Remus quickly returned bearing a tray with the bottle of pineapple juice from the refrigerator and four tall glasses. With his shin, Remus nudged the coffee table closer to the couch and set down the tray.

Dee watched Remus as he sat on the floor in front of Virgil and poured the juice. “So, uh… you and Virgil, huh?” Remus murmured in a light voice belied by the shaking in his hands as he filled each glass.

Reaching out, Dee brushed his fingers along Remus’ shoulder. The pitcher slipped a bit from his hand, landing heavier on the tray than he’d intended. Remus turned to face him. “While I realize it was perhaps not solely for our benefit…” Dee glanced up at the bedroom, from which the faint strains of Holst were clearly audible to them through the closed door. “You and Logan do not need to hide away from me. Or ask permission to be here. This is… this is your home.” He looked down at Virgil and brushed a lock of hair from his face. “And your sire. If anything, I am the interloper.”

Remus nodded, eyes still on Virgil's face. "Thanks."

Dee looked down, watching Remus’ calloused hands as he continued to prepare their drinks. “Besides, I… I rather enjoy your company, Remus. I would… welcome the opportunity to get to know you better.”

“Hm,” Virgil grunted against Dee’s shoulder, eyes still closed. “Dee, are you hitting on Remus right in front of me?” He sat up and stretched, wincing against the bright light. He blinked, then smirked at them. “At least wait until I’m awake so I can help.”

Before Dee or Remus could respond, Virgil asked, “Where’s Logan?” as he looked around the room.

“I’m right here, V,” Logan whispered from his doorway, hugging a soft purple fleece against his chest. His voice was rough and eyes ringed in red. Virgil craned his neck and held out his arm.

“My star,” he called, and Logan moved to Virgil’s side, sitting on his knees next to him on the couch and draping his arms around his shoulders.

Logan sighed against him. “You are looking much improved.” He gently prodded the skin around his wounds, smile broadening at their rapid healing. “How are you feeling, though?”

“Much better. Thanks to you.” Virgil cupped Logan’s cheek and dragged his other hand through Remus’ hair before meeting Dee’s eyes. “Thanks to all of you.”

“We’re simply relieved that you are well.” Logan turned his head to kiss Virgil’s wrist. “We know you would have done the same for any of us.”

Remus stroked his thigh. “As you literally already have. And on that note,” He raised his hand with a flourish and twisted to grab one of the drinks on the table. He pressed the cold glass into Virgil’s hand. “Drink. I bet you need it.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” Virgil said, bending down to kiss his forehead and then his lips.

Grinnning, Remus picked up two more glasses, handing one to each Logan and Dee. Logan let his hand linger on Remus’ as he accepted it with a smile and sipped. Dee held his with both hands, inspecting the bright yellow liquid.

“I thought you were only using a euphemism when you suggested ‘juice.’” He looked at Remus. “Surely it’s acceptable to have something with a little more bite at this time of the evening.”

Remus tilted his head at the windows, lips twitching in a barely concealed grin. “The sun is up.”

“Just drink the damn juice, Dee,” Virgil laughed.

Logan chuckled, pushing up his glasses. “Actually, the bromelain enzymes in pineapples are sufficiently strong to break down protein chains into simpler amino acids. In fact, they're a common ingredient in meat tenderizers.” He took another long swig. “In a way, pineapple juice does have a bite.”

Dee merely raised an eyebrow and tilted his head as he sniffed at the glass.

“But that’s not why Virgil likes it,” Remus sang quietly, leaning back against Virgil’s leg, tilting his head to rest on his thigh and wink up at them.

“Oh… Are you referring to the belief that pineapple consumption may have a positive effect on the gustatory perception of”—Logan cleared this throat—”fluids?”

“Bingo,” Remus laughed, chugging half his glass.

“While there is a paucity of true scientific evidence to either support or refute such claims, anecdotal reports”—Logan adjusted his glasses—”seem to support such hypotheses.”

“Yep, Lo's saying it works.” He raised his glass to Dee and waggled his eyebrows.

Dee narrowed his eyes at Remus, then, smirking, clinked their glasses together and took a sip.

Laughing, Virgil stood and picked up the shirt Logan had brought for him. “You are all incorrigible!” Remus shifted when he stood up and, watching Dee out of the corner of his eye, lightly leaned against his knee. Dee let his free hand fall on his lap and rest next to Remus’ shoulder, stroking his skin with the backs of his fingers.

Logan stood, taking Virgil’s glass and setting it down with his own on the coffee table to help when Virgil winced as he stretched his newly healed shoulder. He grinned at him. “Whatever would you do if we were corrigible, V?”

Pulling him closer for a kiss, Virgil murmured against his lips. “I’d be very, very bored.”

---

“Why didn’t you warn us that Drac could enthrall werewolves?” Pathos crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, fighting to keep a calm exterior. He tried to sit at his desk but the shaking restlessness in his legs forced him to his feet and he paced the floor in his small office. Pathos took a few deep breaths. Ire could get away with losing his temper, but he could not.

Ire looked up from where he worked to reset the worst of the fractures in Geminus' arm. They’d waited too long to set it and the bones had healed poorly. “I didn’t think it was real. I thought it was just some trick.” Ire shook his head, growling. “I certainly never thought some pipsqueak little mosquito would be able to do it, too.”

“Well it looks like it can. And if it can do it, any bloodsucker could.” He pounded his fist on the table and the little recruit in the corner edged further against the wall, his uninjured hand gripping his moonstone.

“Oh, Geminus. Nobody's mad at you, Kiddo. Yes, you should’ve waited for the signal, but… I don’t think it would’ve made a difference either way tonight. Not with this new power they have.” Ire looked away.

The room was mostly silent, save Ire’s whispered warning, a sharp, wet snap, and a whine of pain as he broke and realigned the last of Geminus' fractures. Ire growled empathetically, stroking the hair around his ear. Geminus leaned against his hand for a moment, then nodded.

Ire wrapped a splint around his arm, securing it with a long bandage, winding slowly and checking the tension every few turns. Geminus was a particularly active recruit and could not be counted on to remain still long enough for the arm to heal without support.

He kept his eyes trained on the young hybrid’s arm and muttered to Pathos. “I’m not sure how new this power really is. He did this the first time I met him, as well… back when I first started.”

“What!? How could the Carpathian Guild keep this from us?”

“We weren’t sure. The thrall fades with distance and time and by the time I’d returned…” He sighed, helping Geminus adjust the straps on his sling. “We didn’t know if it was just the natural fading… or if it hadn’t even been real. They nearly expelled me over it.”

He stood. “You must understand. That book caused an uproar across Europe. We didn’t want to cause a panic. And we certainly didn’t want to give any of the damned bloodsuckers ideas. We needed to be sure before we raised an alarm. It shouldn’t be possible to enthrall us.”

“Well, clearly it is real.” Pathos growled.

“Why didn’t you come forward, then? Before this? Drac seemed to know you.

Pathos whined in the back of his throat, pacing the room.

“He compelled you not to, didn’t he?” Geminus finally spoke. Pathos lowered his head, curling his back away from the other two. “Did he do the same to you, Ire?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.” They were quiet for a long time, the stench of their fear pheromones stifling in the room.

“We have a real problem if we can’t trust each other.” Pathos finally spoke, looking each of them in the eye. “If we can’t even trust ourselves.” Ire and Geminus nodded, looking down at the floor.

“We're losing this war. We need a new plan.”

---

Laughing, Virgil was bringing the juice tray back to the kitchen when something was slipped under the front door. He set down the tray and picked up a light blue envelope, turning it around in his hands. It was unaddressed and had no postage stamps, adorned only with the Hunter’s Guild seal embossed on the back of the heavy linen paper.

Alerted by his sudden silence, the others gathered around. Dee’s eyes widened when he saw their mark. He rushed to the door, yanked it open and looked down the hall, searching for any evidence of which Hunter had delivered it.

Logan shook his head, staring at the envelope. Remus curled his arm around Virgil’s waist protectively. “We have a private entrance,” Logan said. “They’re trying to scare you by demonstrating they could get in.”

Dee closed and locked the door, scowling.

“There’s only one way to find out what they have to say.” Virgil brought the envelope back to the couch and tore it open. They gathered around him as he read the short letter inside. Remus read over his shoulder. Virgil looked up, eyes wide. “They want a meeting.”

He passed the note to Logan and Dee and they read together, exchanging a quick glance.

“They want to meet tomorrow morning, at the library on Fifth.” Logan’s brow crinkled. “That leaves them very little time to prepare and it’s a true neutral ground. They’d have no advantage.” He turned the letter over in his hands, sniffed it and held it out to Dee. “They’re panicking.”

Dee nodded. “We’ve revealed the Hunters’ quiet shame.”

“I believe you are correct.” Logan frowned at Virgil and Remus. “While Dee was enthralling the werewolves one at a time, they were able to maintain plausible deniability and could perpetuate the myth that the new Hunters could not be enthralled.” Logan returned the letter to Virgil. “But after last night—”

Dee nodded at Logan. “And last night Logan at least partially enthralled a pureblood.” He bowed his head slightly. “That was… impressive,” he murmured. Logan fidgeted with his sleeves, looking away until Virgil stroked his cheek.

“And there was a witness. That other hybrid.” Remus added. “I think I broke its arm.” He grinned wildly. “I sure hope I did.”

“It doesn’t give us much time to prepare, either,” Virgil said, looking down at the letter.

Remus stared at the other three. He shook his head. “We’re not seriously considering answering this creepy-ass summons to some giant library though, are we?”

Logan gestured to the letter. “It’s a safe location.”

“What, the books will keep us safe?” Remus snapped. Immediately he groaned, then moved to sit on the armrest next to Logan and buried his face against his hair. “Fuck, no… I’m sorry, Lo, I—”

Logan turned and tugged him down into a kiss. “It’s alright.” He shrugged. “In a way they will. That library is run by Thecari. It’s neutral ground. The protective spells over the space are there for everyone.”

Remus huffed out a little laugh. “But magic isn’t real…right?”

“‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’” Logan shrugged.

“Bibiliothecari simply use very old ‘sufficiently advanced technology.’”

Logan turned to Dee in surprise. “Are you familiar with them? How old are they?”

"How old are the Bibiliothecari?" He winked at Logan. "Or how old am I?"

Logan shrugged with a smirk.

Dee chuckled. “They were founded after the Library at Alexandria was destroyed. That day made it clear that libraries needed more than the biased and limited protection that a single political leader could provide.”

“Fascinating. What leads you to believe thecariwere a response to the attack on the Library and not a reactionary cause?”

Dee raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I was there.”

“Really?” Logan leaned in closer to Dee, eyes bright. “So who actuallydestroyed The Library?”

Virgil sat back against the couch and watched Dee and Logan gossip about two thousand year old history. Remus stood, kissed the top of Logan’s head, then brought Virgil another glass of juice. He curled next to him, tucking up his feet and nestling against his shoulder. Virgil wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer, fingertips brushing up and down his arm.

“They could be at this for a while,” Remus murmured quietly.

Virgil chuckled, “I have no doubt.”

“So you really think this is a good idea?”

Kissing the side of his head, Virgil nodded. “I do.”

Remus sighed against him. “I just…” He gripped Virgil’s hand, holding it against his cheek. “I just don't want you to get hurt again. We… We were so worried about you.”

“I’m right here, my Prince.” He cradled Remus’ chin in his hand and kissed him. “We’ll all be working together and be ready for anything.”

He nodded and snuggled back against Virgil’s side. “So… It looks like you and Dee are… patching things up.”

“How do you feel about that?” Virgil asked, meeting his eyes. “How would you feel if… he was around more? A lot more?”

“Dee’s good in a fight. And now that he’s treating you and Logan better, I won't hafta kick his ass…” His voice trailed off as he watched Dee and Logan talk excitedly over a book, gesticulating wildly. The pair had moved their conversation to the small library in the corner and were flipping through the pages of a giant atlas.

“And, um, he… he’s got the whole sexy nerd thing going on like Lo.” Dee hefted the atlas, lifting it to a high shelf, and the thin, tight material of his borrowed shirt revealed the cut of every muscle in his arms and back. Remus swallowed. “I… I can see the appeal.”

“Good,” Virgil hummed, stroking Remus’ hip. “I think he likes you, too.”

---

The four vampires stood under the arches at the top of the steps of the New York Public Library. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon at their backs but was not yet high enough to breach the skyscrapers along the eastern edge of Manhattan. The street was quiet, dark, and cold. One lone dog walker across the street muttered to themselves—or their pooch—while they huddled against the chill, hurrying back home. The Library would not officially open for several more hours. By then, the building would be crowded with patrons, and tourists, and scholars of all types. At this hour, the doors were ordinarily sealed and locked.

But this morning, they were expected.

After a few moments, two of the Thecari met them at the doors. They entered the darkened building, and their footsteps echoed as they were led through the vast, high-ceiling Rose Reading Hall and back to a secluded study room in the northwest corner of the building. The room was lined with books and journals, and had two broad floor-to-ceiling windows draped in heavy velvet blackout curtains.

A circular conference table sat at the center of the room, its polished surface gleaming in the low light diffused from the sconces along the walls. Several high-backed chairs surrounded the table, providing plenty of seating for their two parties.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” the one called Gaineamh said. “The others are yet to arrive.”

The one called Ni smiled. “If you need anything, we’ll be here.” Ni looked closely at Dee, then bowed his head, murmuring, “Namal 'an tajlib alsalam maeak alyawm.”

Dee nodded, translating for the others. “Ni hopes we”—Ni’s head shook—”that I brought peace with us today.” He nodded again. “Han waqt alsalam baynana. It is time for peace between us.”

Ni and Gaineamh smiled one more time, then slipped through the heavy door, letting it fall closed behind them. Dee sank into a chair, fingers steepled in front of him. Virgil sat next to him and took his hand. “Did you know them?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly. “They’re older than they look.” He took a deep breath and found a smile. “And a lot stronger. We’ll be safe here.”

Logan and Remus settled into seats on either side of them. “That was a big fucking thing to promise, Dee,” Remus said, tightening his jaw.

Dee took Virgil’s hand and kissed his palm, then held it against his cheek. “Fighting won’t keep you safe. Any of you. Not forever. The Hunters nearly got you last night.” He looked at Logan and Remus. “If there’d been more of them, they would’ve gotten all of you.”

Logan gripped Dee’s shoulder as he searched for words. “We’ve been at war with the Hunters for thousands of years. I’ve been at war with them for thousands of years. They’ve taken enough from me. And I’ve…” He shook his head and blew out a hard breath. “And I’ve taken enough from them. We need to find a better way.” Virgil nodded and reached over to squeeze Remus’ hand. Remus squeezed back.

“By calling for this meeting here," Logan said quietly. "The Hunters appear to have drawn a similar conclusion.”

“Let’s fucking hope so,” Remus said. “I just hope—”

The door opened and they all stood. Ni and Gaineamh led in two Hunters, both in human form.

Pathos entered first, brandishing a large wooden cross as they entered. Dee rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, I was copying scrolls Euclid three hundred years before that god was born.” He snatched the crucifix out of the shocked Hunter’s hands, kissed it, then returned it. “Now will you put it away?”

Pathos exchanged a look with Ire. “So what else do we have wrong about you?”

“What, are we playing I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Remus looked around the room. “I suspect there won’t be a whole lotta surprises in here.”

Dee shook his head. “Most of what is in that book you cling to isn’t accurate.”

“Maybe you’d be willing to share your notes with us, then,” Pathos said smoothly, settling into a seat opposite Virgil and Dee.

“I have an annotated copy.” Logan winked at Dee. “I wouldn’t turn down a fact check from another primary source, though.” Virgil chuckled into his hand.

Ire remained standing. “If you think I’m going to sit down with Vlad the Impaler and chat, you all must be out of your mind!” He crossed his arms in front of himself and glared at Dee.

“You do realize we were different individuals, don’t you? I was born over eighteen centuries before Vlad Țepeș.”

“Then why did people call you that?”

Dee rolled his eyes. “Oh, sweetie. Ever heard of a double entendre?” After a second, Remus threw his head back and laughed. Virgil just lowered his head and tried to hide his smile. Ira growled and shook his head at the same moment that Logan met Virgil’s eyes, one eyebrow raised.

Pathos shook his head. “I really don’t see anything funny about torture.”

Ira scoffed and leaned over to whisper in Patton’s ear. His jaw dropped. “Why—why would you let people call you that?”

“What people? It was a phallic joke made in poor taste by one vampire in Styria over five hundred years ago. I didn’t think it would evolve to the point that anyone was actually foolish enough to take it literally.”

“I have some bad news for you about that word, then,” Ira muttered. Logan chuckled and quickly covered his mouth.

“Fine, I’ve heard enough.” Pathos nodded at Ni. “It’s safe for the kid. Can you let in Geminus?” He scoffed at Virgil’s raised eyebrow. “What, you, thought we’d walk in here that badly outnumbered?" He shook his head. "We just protect our young ones,” he snarled at Logan and Remus.

The third Hunter stepped through the door and Remus’ jaw dropped. “Ro? What are you doing here?”

“How dare you say his name, bloodsucker!” Pathos jumped to his feet and snarled. Ni and Gainaemh raised their hands and a gossamer veil slid down, splitting the room in half. Both sides found they could not cross to the other half of the table.

Remus barely noticed, eyes fixed on his twin’s face. “Wh—what?” He shook his head. His eyes finally landed on the cotton sling strapped over his chest, his broken arm immobilized. “Wait, Ro… You’re the one who attacked us?”

“You do not have permission to call him that.” Ire growled, standing between him and the others. “He is called Geminus.”

Logan’s eyes jumped between the brothers. “Twins,” he whispered.

“Oh, Patton, really!” Dee rolled his eyes. “They are clearly brothers. Look at them!”

“Enough!” Virgil raised his hands at right angles in an eerie imitation of the Thecari. Everyone fell silent and Ni and Gaineamh nodded, then backed out of the room. “Between all of us, we all know each other's real names. I’m Virgil, this is Logan, and Remus, and this is Dee.”

Dee nodded across the table at Pathos and Ire. “And you are Patton, and Luka.”

“And my brother is Roman,” Remus added quietly, staring across the table at Roman’s injured arm.

“You’re not my brother, bloodsucker. I know what happened to him. My friend Marcus told me where he saw you, impersonating him. You had him fooled at first, too, until we could educate him. My brother died and you’re just walking about in his skin.”

“Ro. No, it’s me.” He shook his head. “Virgil saved me. How else could I know your name, Geminus?”

“You could’ve just enthralled him and compelled him to tell you his true name.” Luka sneered at Dee. “It’s how Drac learned ours.”

“Fine!” Remus stepped as far around the table toward his brother that he could within the bounds of the Thecari’s spell. “Ask me something only I would know. Where did we grow up? Who was your first crush? Why did—”

“Okay, bloodsucker, you wanna play?” Roman glared at him. “If you’re really my brother, tell me how you got the scars on your back.”

Remus froze. His eyes darted over to Virgil and Logan. His voice shook as he mumbled, “Please don’t ask me that, Ro.”

“Why? Because you don’t know?”

He stepped a little closer, whispering to his twin as he glanced again at the others. “No, I just—”

“Speak so we can hear you,” Patton demanded. “No parlor tricks today, bloodsucker.”

Remus shifted his weight from side to side and he shook out his hands. Virgil was closest to him and tried to stand behind him, but the spell blocked his path. “I got hurt. And had to go to the hospital. We told mom and dad how we were playing on the fire escape. I fell.”

Roman shook his head, turning back to the Hunters. “He's a fake.”

“Okay, wait.” He hung his head and hugged himself. “I jumped out of the car when Dad was driving.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And when I told the truth at the emergency room, Mom and Dad said I was lying to get attention. I had to stay in the “behavioral health” unit for two weeks until I changed my story.”

Roman shook his head but didn’t turn away. “That’s all in my brother’s hospital records." Luka and Patton growled to each other, muttering. "You could have wormed your way into someone’s mind there and just—”

“I jumped because I thought it was the only way to make sure you wouldn’t crash when you got your permit." The room fell silent. Remus wouldn't look at anyone. "Then they sent me back when I punched Coach Greaves for poisoning your athletic tape. And then again—" he voice failed and he tried to catch his breath, squeezing his hands into fists.

After a minute, he continued. "And then again when I attacked your biology professor so he couldn't dissect you in class.” He rubbed his arms. “By then I’d graduated to the adult ward.”

Remus finally met his brother’s eyes. “The last time you saw me was right before I got out and I showed you the bruises I got for talking in my sleep.”

“My brother never told anyone else why he did all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Remus whispered as he stared at the floor. “That's ‘cause it’s really me, Ro.”

Remus looked up and saw Roman was crying. Roman stepped forward, meeting Remus at the centerline of the room. He pulled Remus toward him with his unbroken arm and cried against his shoulder. “It really is you. I thought you were dead, Re. It's why I…” he tugged at his moonstone Hunter necklace.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you, dumbass." He sniffled. "I’m just different now… like you.” He smirked. “Just… I won’t need a flea bath every night.”

Roman laughed out a little sob. “Yeah ‘cause you’re the flea.”

Wiping his tears with one hand, Remus pressed the other against his chest. “Excuse you, I am not a flea. I am a sparkly sexy vampire, thank you very much.”

“Oh, shut up,” Roman muttered and hugged him again.

Luka plopped into a chair and propped his feet on the table. He growled, “This is all very touching, but how do we know he hasn’t just enthralled you?”

Patton stood next to Luka. “Geminus,” he called. Dee cleared his throat, eyebrow raised and Patton rolled his eyes. ”Roman, come here.”

Roman hugged Remus one more time, “We're gonna figure this out.” Remus nodded and waited for his brother to return.

“Remus?” Virgil’s voice was quiet and just behind him. The spell had let him take another step forward, but he still couldn’t get close enough to touch him. “Remus, what did you think would happen if you told us?”

“I—I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.” He shrugged. “Most people were, when they’d heard where I'd been.”

“Oh, my Prince,” Virgil held out his arms and Remus fell into them. Virgil rubbed his back and whispered in his ear.

Logan and Dee approached. Logan kissed the top of Remus’ head where it rested against Virgil’s shoulder. “We love you, Remus. Nothing could ever stop that.”

Dee pulled Virgil aside, so Logan sat with Remus at the table, speaking quietly. Dee crossed his arms, watching the Hunters speaking together, communicating mostly with growls and pheromones to prevent the vampires from listening in. “Any guesses on what they’re saying?”

Virgil shook his head. “None. Let’s be ready for anything.” He stood a little closer to Dee. "I'm really glad you're here."

Dee smiled as ran his hand down Virgil's spine and whispered, "Me, too, Dragă."

Logan held Remus’ hand and turned their seats to face the windows, their backs to the Hunters. Dee and Virgil stood between their chairs and the border of the spell. Logan whispered, “That’s why you went looking for someone to turn you. You’d heard it cures schizophrenia.”

“Yeah. It was a popular rumor back in the hospital. I thought it was better than going back. But how…?”

He shrugged with a little smile. “There are several documented cases in the literature.”

Remus cupped Logan’s cheek, chuckling. “I should’ve expected you to know about it. Is there anything you don’t know?”

Logan kissed him and covered Remus' hand, pressing his palm closer to his cheek. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh! That’s just sappy enough to work,” Remus laughed lightly, kissing him back. Then they turned and waited for the Hunters' next move.

---

“For heaven’s sake, Ira, how can I prove to you that I’m not enthralled?” Roman flung his arm in the air, growling softly.

“We can’t prove a negative. That’s part of why we’re here.” Patton scowled and scratched the back of his neck. “We can’t even tell when one of us has been compromised.”

“Well, there must be something,” Luka insisted.

Roman leaned back in his chair. “I dunno… tell me to do something you think he wouldn’t want me to do.”

“Punch him,” Luka shrugged.

“What? I don’t wanna hit my brother.”

Luka waved a hand dismissively. “He’s a bloodsucker. He’ll heal. Punch him. That or we walk. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Well, we started at zero,” Patton sighed. “We can’t win this war. The vamps have nukes and we’ve got wooden stakes.”

“But the toxin—” Luka started to insist.

Patton shook his head. “Virgil’s right there. Look at him, Ire. The toxin doesn’t work.” Patton growled low in his throat. “Go on. Geminus, go do it.”

Roman sighed heavily and walked up to the border as far as he could. It wasn’t as close as last time. “Remus? Can you step forward?”

Nodding, but noticing the change in the border on his side, Remus stepped close enough to touch his brother.

“Remus… I’m really sorry,” Roman muttered and he swung back and socked him in the mouth. With a layered growl that shook the windows, Logan, Virgil, and Dee leapt to their feet and tried to force their way to the brothers.

“I’m alright, I’m alright, I’m alright.” Remus stood up, waving his arms and wiping away his blood with the back of his hand “Don’t touch him! Don’t do anything!” Remus shouted. “What the fuck, Ro!?”

“I’m sorry, Re. They needed to see that I wasn’t in your thrall.” He stretched his hand across the border. “Call it even for the arm?”

Remus scowled but he shook his brother’s hand. “Even.”

“Satisfied?” Roman asked, glaring at Luka and Patton.

They growled quietly to each other. “Fine.”

“Shall we sit?” Virgil said. Everyone found seats around the table again. Roman and Remus sat next to each other, Remus next to Virgil and Roman next to Patton, linking the opposing sides. They all noticed at the same time that the table had also shrunk, leaving only seven chairs around it. There was was a gap at the side opposite the brothers, where the border separated Logan and Luka.

“It appears as though the Thecari believe we’re ready to begin.”

---

Two hours later, all the sides could negotiate was a temporary truce until they met again in two weeks.

“We will enforce our side,” Virgil said. “But we need Emile’s and other meeting places to be safe zones.” Patton sighed but nodded once in concession. “And you need to tell us who’s your mole there.”

Patton looked at Roman. He nodded rapidly. “It was Marcus.” Patton sighed. “And Yann. but you took care of him”—he eyed Remus—”for other reasons.”

“And did you really execute all of my Hunter contacts?” Virgil asked.

Patton and Luka growled to each other. Finally, Luka shook his head. “They were ordered to stand down but they’re fine.” He glared at Dee. “We were just trying to get Drac here.”

Ni and Gaineamh slipped into the room. Ni looked at both sides of the table, gaze lingering on the twins. “You have made more progress today than you realize. Lilsalam.”

“To the peace. Lilsalam,” Dee answered as Ni and Gaineamh led them out.

---

After an abbreviated visit to Emile’s to spread news of the agreement—and to allow the younger vampires a much-needed chance to feed—the four returned to the penthouse, exhausted. With a pointed look at Virgil, Logan and Remus excused themselves to prepare for bed upstairs.

“You’ll be needed upstairs, as well, Dragă.” Dee stroked Virgil’s cheek as he looked up at the bedroom door as it closed. “They—they might not admit it, but they’ll need you tonight.”

Virgil nodded and started to turn toward the stairs.

“Before you—I—I need to…” Virgil looked back at Dee, brow furrowed at his tone. He swallowed hard, his sarcastic charm dissolving. “Your forgiveness means so much to me.” Dee shook his head and took Virgil’s hands, pressing them against his lips. “You really do carry a part of me with you. Right there.” He placed his palm flat against Virgil’s chest. “And I am so grateful that you have been able to grow and….” He exhaled and tried again.

“I'd thought… when all this is done and I go home, I was going to ask you to come with me, Dragă. So we could be together, but—” His voice broke and his eyes trailed upstairs. “I'm part your past. The rest of your world… the rest of your life is waiting for you up there.”

Virgil took Dee’s hand and held it tight. He nodded, brushing away a tear that stole down Dee's cheek. “I’ve already lost one family because of you, Dee. I cannot lose another.”

Dee's mouth trembled as he pressed his lips together and he nodded. "Of course," he managed. He turned away and began to leave. Virgil wouldn’t let go of his hand.

“So stay with us, Dee.”

Dee turned around and held his breath, afraid to speak, afraid to make a noise that might break this spell and wake him. “They’re falling for you, too," Virgil said, grasping his other hand. "You don't need the thrall to be… needed.”

“You'd still want me… Even… even after everything I’ve done?” Dee whispered, eyes filled with tears.

Virgil pulled Dee close, hands tangled in his hair as he captured his mouth in a kiss. Dee hummed happily and opened his mouth, bottom lip grazing Virgil’s teeth, tongue darting out. Finally, Virgil broke away and whispered against his neck. “You said you’d always be with me.” His teeth brushed against his ear. “So prove it.”

Dee melted into Virgil's arms as he kissed him again, the soft, familiar taste of his mouth and skin bringing back a long-dead warmth in the center of chest. He drove his hands through Virgil's silky hair, letting his fingers trail down over the back of his neck. He began to float, tethered only by Virgil's mouth, the feel of his skin, and the salt of his own tears. Suddenly he leaned back, looking into Virgil’s eyes. “Dragă, but are sure they'll want me—”

“So are you two coming up here or do we have to come down there?” Dee and Virgil looked up at the balcony and saw Logan and Remus, arms linked as they leaned over the railing, grinning. Remus winked. “I gotta warn you, though, the bed downstairs is a lot smaller than the one up here.”

---

"Hey, Lo…" Remus whispered as he drew his arms low around his hips, fingers splayed against the small of his back. "They caught that I said come upstairs right?" Logan laced his fingers behind the back of his head, lightly scratching his scalp. He pulled Remus close and chuckled against his lips, "Oh, yes, Remus, they definitely did." "Good, 'cause if not, I could always just say we're all gonna go fu—" Logan crashed their lips together in a hungry kiss as they waited for Virgil and Dee to join them.

taglist: @anxceitweek21 @mavenmush @melaniidarling @braingoburr @lunatatic @demon9980 @psychedelicships @justmeandmygayships @ts-creator-boost @bluerosesbleedred @tsfanficarchive

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proclaimersofheroes · 4 years ago

Text

The Cracks In Our Family

For @gentrychild, and their lovely nonnies. Feast, vampires and loyalists! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644959 For those who prefer ao3 He didn't want to go back.

Crawling back to that house, after all that man had done to him? No.

He'd found the family grave, his name washed of the red that had declared him still alive. What ashes had they used? What bones?

It took a lot of effort and a crowbar to get into the storage underneath the Todoroki family grave. But, after living so long on the street it hadn't made him that much more grimy.

Urns lined the space neatly. Blue eyes fell on the newest looking one, and his hands hovered over it.

He was sweating, his throat felt tight. The hammering of his heart in his chest should prove beyond all doubt that he was alive.

Right?

A small breeze ruffled matted white hair. Patchy skin itched and sagged, dirty clothes and skin threatening infection along burns that were prepared to split open. The earlier birdsong was drowned out by the memory of hearing his father read out an obituary for him.

"Todoroki Touya was a determined young man, and a budding hero. Even with the control he was taught, his flames were too powerful for his body. Had he only better restraint and better health, my eldest son would not have been taken from us so soon."

A bitter laugh bubbled from singed lips. Todoroki Enji, the 'hero' Endeavor, didn't know the meaning of the word restraint. Not when it came to catching villains, not when it came to chasing All Might's back. Not when it came to hiding his distaste of people. Not when it came to breeding and abusing Touya's mom.

Not when it came to beating and burning Touya, little Shoto.

He couldn't laugh any more, bile bubbling up from an empty, roiling stomach instead. The smell of burning flesh, of intense pain so great before it turned cold and numb. Visits to doctors with medical quirks who were passed fistfulls of money to keep quiet. Little baby Shoto, not even fully reading and writing hiragana or katakana, covered in massive bruises and sobbing on the floor.

Todoroki Enji had control over everything from his fire to his family to his words, but he never bothered with restraint. Always more, always faster, always hotter.

Always Touya taking his ire, to try and spare Shoto and his mom.

If he thought Touya was dead, who would protect his mom and siblings?

He knew he had to go back.

He couldn't.

Go home.

Run away.

Go home.

Run away.

Something wet dripped on Touya. It startled him out of his endless turmoil, the cycle of indecision. Blue eyes blinked, and when Touya touched his face his fingers came away bloody. "Shit," another drop landed on him, and Touya wondered where else he was bleeding from now.

But no, while Touya had been trapped in his own head clouds had moved in. The sun was lower in the sky, painting orange across the distant horizon while dripping clouds puffed up all purple and blue. He had to get under shelter.

But first, Touya braced himself for what he had come here to check. Lifting the lid of 'his' urn, the young man peered inside.

Well. It seemed even in death he had been replaced.

___

It seemed that scars made you look untrustworthy, even these days.

Normal people avoided him, at the first glimpse of his charred flesh and grungy appearance. He was covered in filth from living outdoors, begging and dumpster diving for scraps. His previously white shirt was yellow, grey and brown with mostly unknown stains, grey shorts tattered as he'd scavenged and had to tear strips for bandages.

Criminals and lowlifes seemed split between whether his scars meant that he was dangerous, or that he was weak and easy pickings. His fire had scared them off easily enough, but there were a few who had caught him off guard.

Of course, there were nice people on the streets too. Homeless, those down on their luck or kicked out due to their quirks. Or lack of, in quite a few cases. A foreigner named Jane had shared her meager meal with him last week, after he'd scared off some black-tongued addicts trying to steal from her.

It was hard to keep hold of any morals out here. But he wouldn't be like his father, who didn't care which villains died in his arrests. No, 'Dabi' as he went by now would not be a murderer.

Of course, Dabi would be dead soon if he didn't do something. The teen hissed as he pressed at the tattered edge of his scars. The bubble under dead flesh moved slowly, until he was able to extract the pus from the infected area.

The shelters were overcrowded, the hospitals would ask questions he couldn't answer.

But, there was one place he knew of that was always stocked with medical supplies. A hot shower. Washing machines. Food.

Pushing off the wall of the alley, Dabi looked towards the sky. It would be late by the time he reached his old home. That was just fine for him, everyone would be asleep.

He skulked down the streets and alleys, doing his best to act natural, act like he wasn't planning on breaking and entering a 'hero's' home. The sun cast a long shadow, eventually taking most light with it.

In blues and greys, Dabi traveled, staying out of the illumination of street lamps. The night turned cool, causing shivers along what nerves hadn't been burnt out. By now, Dabi was used to moving in the dark. For some reason, he suspected that his eyesight was better at night than it was before his untimely and mysterious 'death.'

Even having left the place two months ago, Dabi would never forget it. Large imposing gates, locked and barred for the night, before a traditional japanese mansion.

But it wasn't his first time sneaking into the place, remembering nighttime escapades with Natsuo whenever he wasn't too injured. The hole was right where it had always been, hiding behind hydrangeas. His malnutrition made it even easier to squeeze through.

As ridiculous as it was, the spare key was where it had always been too, under a false rock by the empty koi pond.

Silently delighting in dirtying Enji's immaculate home, bare toes rubbed on the waxed floorboards as Dabi tried to decide what he wanted to do first.

___

Shoto needed to pee.

That was the first and only thought, that led him to carefully crawl out of bed. Rubbing at his eyes, the little boy carefully looked either way down the hall. No one was around, which meant Shoto was free to leave his room.

All the lights were off, his family sound asleep. Oh so quietly, delicately, Shoto tiptoed with the wall to guide him. He couldn't remember who it was who taught him that the floorboards nearest the wall were quietest, but it was good to remember when he didn't want to catch his father's attention.

The bathroom was found without incident, and Shoto silently closed the door behind him before turning on the light. It felt damp in the room, for some reason. Little brows furrowed in confusion, but nature's call was too pressing.

When he stepped onto the stool to wash his hands, Shoto frowned at having to wipe the mirror. Water droplets clung to the smooth surface, and now his hand. Was the mirror sweating?

When he left the bathroom, Shoto left the door open behind him. Maybe the extra air would cool off the mirror.

There was a faint rattle from below, followed by a word he didn't know, and the little boy froze. Was someone awake after all?

His parent's door was closed and dark, so it wasn't his father at least. Peering down, a faint light was visible from the kitchen.

Juggling between just going to bed and investigating, Shoto's curiosity won in the end. Being as quiet as he could, Shoto snuck down the hallway and then carefully felt out the stairs one by one so he wouldn't trip.

Reaching the ground floor, he continued his silent quest. His siblings' rooms were dark and quiet too, but he could hear a quiet rumbling as he passed the laundry room.

No one was supposed to do laundry at nighttime, and Shoto grew worried for whoever it was.

There was something moving around in the kitchen, something big. He could hear the heavy breathing, the crunch of food being bitten into. Was it a villain?

No, villains attacked people. Focusing, Shoto held out his left hand and called up some fire. It burst to life, traveling up his arm and into his hair.

His pajamas were fireproof, but the boy didn't even focus on that. No, instead of that he saw blue eyes flash in the light, heard the clatter of the plate and utensils as whatever was in the kitchen flailed and disappeared.

Again he heard that call. "Fuck!" quiet, fast, and Shoto wasn't even sure if it was a word. Slowly, he circled around to get a better look.

"Hello?" he called in a whisper, and got a response.

"Shh! Shh, shh, shh." Illuminated in his light was a poof of white, retreating away from him backwards. Reflective blue eyes framed by black circles, a large mouth opened with the remains of a sandwich in it swallowed by black.

In his surprise, Shoto lost control and the fire went out. The boy was left blinking in rapid confusion as he tried to adjust to the sudden darkness. "Hello?" Shoto tried again, and got no response.

He didn't dare try his fire again, instead fumbling around in the dark for a bit. Whatever small thing had been making a sandwich in the kitchen must be gone. Shoulders slumping in disappointment, Shoto carefully made his way back to bed.

In the morning, it was a surprise to get some time with his remaining brother. When he mentioned his encounter, the bigger boy frowned. "Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

"There was a mess in the kitchen." he pointed out. "Bits of bread and lettuce and meat." Natsuo at least seemed to consider this seriously.

"Touya used to say we had racoons and tanuki come in sometimes." His tone held sorrow, and Shoto tucked himself more into his brother's side. Ever since Touya had died four months back, the hole in their family hadn't closed up. "Maybe they're back. What did it look like again?"

Shoto thought back, through the haze of having woken up in the middle of the night. "It was scared of my fire. And was big, had reflective eyes. Lots of black and white, with circles around its eyes."

"Yep, sounds like a raccoon to me."

#bnha fic #a gift!#oneshot #Todofam #Angst To Crack

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stones-x-bones · 4 years ago

Text

Faeted End || Rio and Bex (ft. A Special Guest)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @3starsquinn and @inbextween, Jim the Warden (written by Virginia) SUMMARY: Rio wants to keep his friend safe, and Bex has had enough of people hurting Mina. CONTENT: Head injury, Memory Loss, Gun mention (but no usage), Domestic abuse mentions

Anger wasn’t a feeling Bex was used to, but how could she not be angry? Someone had hurt Mina, badly, and they were still out there. They were still allowed to walk around, unscathed, unpunished, unjustly. Rio had told her all about it, even if Mina wouldn’t, and the second she’d heard that it was someone like Frank, someone who hurt people specifically like Mina, the rage had begun to build in her stomach. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Why were there people out there who specifically hunted others? It was disgusting. That man needed to be stopped. She’d decided that the instant she’d talked to Rio. He needed to be stopped, and Bex now had the tools to do that. You can stop the fight before it even begins. Nell had taught her a bit more since she’d last exploded that doll, and Bex knew she was right-- she was going to stop this man before he hurt anyone again. Before he hurt Mina again.

It was with that boiling rage inside of her-- that fear, that worry, that pain-- that she ended up in the Outskirts with Rio. Apparently the man was at a bar down here, as Rio had told her. It just made her more angry. Was Adam like this? Was Dani? Was Mina supposed to be like this? She pushed the thoughts down and tried to calm herself, gathering her energy in the pit of her stomach, readying it for when she’d need it most. “Should we just go inside?” she asked in a hushed voice to Rio, “Or wait for him to come out?”

It was very possible that Orion had made a mistake. He had almost died on two separate occasions now, ironically with two girls that were dating. Once he knew, he couldn’t keep it to himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about the hunter that would almost undoubtedly go after Mina again. But he didn’t know how to stop him. When he first told Bex about the man, it was more as a warning than anything else. Just so they could keep an eye out for him. Now, he stood in front of the worst places in town.

His arms were crossed, a very deliberate attempt to hide his goosebumps. He rocked back and forth on his feet to hide any shaking. He hadn’t been inside of this bar in a long time. But all of the horrible memories were too vivid. He used to sit at the same table with his parents and sister, headphones in but still unable to block the conversations other hunters had. Terrible, evil conversations about the supernatural creatures Rio wanted only to protect. “Going in is a very bad idea.” Rio answered as soon as it was suggested. They never stood a chance against a group of hunters. They barely stood a chance against one. “He’s dangerous. And we don’t exactly want to attract any attention.” He hadn’t exactly mentioned that this bar was almost exclusively hunters. Well, besides that one guy. He seemed nice. “That wouldn’t be good for us.”

“Yeah, well,” Bex spat, surprised at her own ire, “I’m dangerous, too.” The power inside her stomach was dangerous. She didn’t want to wait for this man, but Rio was right-- going inside was a bad idea. She could recognize that much. So they would wait. “Fine, we’ll wait.” She ushered Rio over to one of the stores that was across the street from the innocuous looking bar. They’d have to keep a close watch, to see when he left. Not wanting to make a scene also meant they’d have to follow him a little distance away until they could get him well and truly alone. Just like he’d had Mina. Just like he’d probably had so many others. Bex felt her anger growing again and the window beside her cracked a little. She looked back at Rio. “You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” she told him. He looked absolutely frightened, which Bex was sure was fair. From what he’d told her, this man had attacked him, too, and there were still signs of that evident on his skin. Her eyes lingered on the bruises around his neck. She needed to calm down before she exploded too soon. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

The two perched in a nearby store, Bex seemingly intent on watching the entrance to the Silver Bullet at all times, while Orion barely wanted to see the place at all. The longer the two waited, the more anxious Rio was going to get. But there was no way he was going to leave Bex alone to try to talk to the man. Besides, he had no interest in anyone dying tonight. It was clear the warden had no issues killing non-fae. And the only examples of Bex’s magic that Rio had seen so far was her blowing things up. It was a hostile mixture.

“It’s fine. Just keep your eye out for the door okay? I’m going to go get him” He hated the words even has he said them, but pulled his jacket tighter shut and left quickly. His legs were going to give out quickly if he fought it off any longer. His choice now was to get in and get out quickly. He hoped that the sight of Rio would peak the hunter’s interest enough to follow him. As long as he didn’t call him out in front of the entire bar, this would probably end in no death.

The place hadn’t changed a bit, right down to the nausea Rio felt being inside of it. He stood in the entrance way for a while, looking past the prying eyes turning to see who had just walked in. Many faces were familiar, and from the look on their faces Rio could tell they recognized him too. The kid whose parents got offed by the supernatural last year. The news had spread through the hunter community that had known his parents. He didn’t want to give them a chance to start a conversation, so he pushed on his tippy toes and glanced around the bar as if looking for someone. Rio spotted him in the corner of the bar, eyes staring directly in Rio’s direction. So he noticed me too. Great. Though this was technically according to plan, he still hated the feeling of that man looking at him. When the man stood up, Rio spun in place and pushed out the door, glancing at the shop window and pointing in the direction down the street before high tailing away from the bar.

Since coming to this shitstain of a town, Jim’d learned two things: the people were fucking crazy, and what the Silver Bullet lacked in company and good beer, it made up for in information. And interesting sightings. He’d been feeling like shit since those two kids handed him his ass on a platter. One twerpy boy and an already injured fae should’ve been cake to take down, but somehow they’d gotten the better of him, and he couldn’t stand it, trying to swallow down the bitterness of it with watery beer. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He’d thought maybe the boy had been brainwashed, promised into protecting the fae, but that hadn’t appeared to be the case. Then he’d thought the fae might try to flee while he took care of the boy, but she’d stuck around, and the two of them had managed to wail on him until he hadn’t been able to stand. Fucking kids. He’d kill the boy just for interrupting with his hunt, but not before he made the little punk tell him where the fae was. He’d make a pretty penny off of her, he just knew it. Somebody was always in the market for nix teeth and scales, and hers had been a nice, silvery color from what he could remember of her goddamn hand and claws ripping into him. He’d kill her slow, make it hurt. He’d be doing the world a service, too.

It was Jim’s lucky night, too. Not the fae; of course it’d be too easy to give him the fae, but the punk was in the Silver Bullet of all places, locking eyes with Jim and then scurrying a way like the fucking pest that he was. Jim grinned at the bartender and laid down his money. “Duty call, pal.” He headed out the door, following the kid and his weird gestures. Maybe the fae was around here after all, though he couldn’t sense her. He allow a bit of iron to concentrate in his hands, though, before reaching for the gun holstered under his jacket. No sword, this time. No point in losing another fine weapon when iron bullets did their job on all kinds of targets. “Hey, Peter Pan!” Jim called out. “Where are you, boy? I just wanna talk about your friend from the other day.”

Bex watched Rio scurry off and stilled herself, watching the door. She wasn’t a hunter or anyone who hurt people by a long shot-- she wasn’t like Nell, her magic wasn’t the kind you used to fight, and she wasn’t like Mina, she wasn’t strong or capable-- but Nell had given her the tools to do what neither of them could. Stop it before it even started. And oh, would she. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Mina again. Not like this. Not with broken bones and hand-shaped burns, and black-eyes. She could protect people, too.

Her eyes locked with Rio’s when he exited the bar. The man was coming. Rio darted towards an emptier part of the street, and Bex dropped whatever distraction she’d been holding and followed after, watching the man leave the bar in a hurry, trailing Rio towards the abandoned bits of town. Bex looked as innocent as a flower, with her pretty, blue dress, her hair tied up nice, and her matching purse. She followed casually behind the man, despite the anger in her stomach making her fingers feel like they were on fire. Somehow, there was no fear. No worry. No anxiety. Just anger.

The man turned off behind one of the buildings after Rio and Bex followed close behind them. He called out, but Rio didn’t answer. Bex cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, clicking her heels on the cement, “are you looking for someone?”

This had been Orion’s own idea, yet his heart exploded in his chest as he rushed out of the bar and down the street. He could hear the hunter behind him, the heavy footsteps loud enough that Rio’s hunter senses weren’t even necessary. He dipped into the alleyway, dipping behind a dumpster and pressing his back against it. The hunter would find him. Rio knew that much. He couldn’t hide forever. He looked for anything he could to defend himself, eventually settling on a broken piece of wood from a nearby pallet board. He gripped the wood tightly and held it against his chest, waiting for the footsteps. They drew closer and closer, feet away from him now until he heard Bex’s voice cut through the quiet of the night. Jesus. She really had no fears. Rio inched closer to the dumpster. He needed to be ready to jump in if the hunter lunged for her.

Jim was expecting a boy, not a girl to start talking to him. He turned around to face the voice and relaxed. Easy. Just a girl, no fae, just a kid in a dress with a purse to match it. “Heya, little lady. Yeah, yeah, I’m looking for a boy about,” he put up his hand, guessing the size of the kid from when he’d last seen him, “yay high?” Runty looking, he almost said, but he was playing nice. Girl was probably a normie. “Might look a little skittish. Kid owes me something, and I need to talk to him real bad.” He put his thumbs in his front pockets, his posture loose, easy. Then he said, “Or he might have a friend with him? Been needing to talk to her, too. She’s about your height, wide eyes.” Doesn’t fucking belong here. “I just need to talk to them both like you believe. Saw them the other day, but they just ran off before we could have our chat, can you believe that? You’re not rude like that, are you, sweetheart? You’d tell me if you saw them?”

She hated the way he talked. So many men had talked to her like that in her life already. It only made her more sure of what she was going to do. What that was? Even Bex wasn’t sure yet, but it was going to be something. Her magic could mess with people’s heads, that’s what she knew for sure. She’d given Eddie her memories of Kyle, had linked her and Kyle’s thoughts, had jumped through Hina’s dreams-- whatever she was going to do to this man, he was going to be left wishing he’d never laid a hand on Mina, or Rio. She smiled pleasantly. “Oh! You must mean Rio,” she said, grinning wider. “He owes you something? That’s strange. He usually always makes sure he follows up on that kinda stuff.” She tapped the strap of her purse, as if in thought. “A girl?” she tilted her head, innocently. All those years of pretending to be proper, pretending to be a good girl were paying off, weren’t they? She knew exactly how to be sweet and unassuming to old men who would never even guess that she hid a power they couldn’t fight again. “Do you mean...Mina? Brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes? A voice that sounds like a babbling brook?” She kept the innocent look on her face. “Are those the two you mean? My friends?” Her voice grew dark in a way she hadn’t known possible of herself, but she couldn't hold it back. “Do you mean the friends of mine you tried to kill, simply because, what?” she held her hand out in a shrugging gesture, “you’re human and they’re not?”

Well, this was… confusing. Jim furrowed his brow, lips dragging down into a frown as he looked at the girl in front of him. “Well, now, I don’t know names or anything like that, but--” Well, huh. Jim relaxed his face, looking at this girl with new eyes. Little lady had bite, then. “Like I said, don’t know names. And I don’t know if I’d say ‘babbling brook.’” He laughed, finding irony in the descriptor. Of course this girl would say that the water nymph sounded like a goddamn stream. “She did babble, though, on and on about shit I just didn’t care about until I shut her up. Got to give it to her, though. Wretch didn’t cry out when I snapped her arm.” This one wasn’t fae, but, just like the boy, she was a liability. Pixy-led, they called them, led astray or promise bound, tricked by the trickiest of the supernaturals. This girl was just like the boy, a fool to fall for a pretty facade. Beautiful hazel eyes. Jim wondered if this girl would think they were so beautiful if they were the last thing she saw as she got dragged under the waves. “I’m like pest control, girl. That’s all there is to it. I’m getting rid of dangerous things. Things you might think you understand, but that you just don’t. Now, you can tell me where this Rio is, this Mina is, or you can stay the hell out of my way. We clear?”

It wasn’t the way he talked to her that set Bex off, no. It wasn’t even the things he was saying, or the way in which he talked down to her, like she knew nothing and was nothing, the same way her parents did. No, it was the casualty with which he talked about snapping Mina’s arm. Bex couldn’t help the release of anger that erupted from her. The windows next to the man cracked and shattered. The dumpster Rio hid behind caved in as if by some invisible force, crashing into it. Bex’s chest flared and she breathed in deeply, holding it. How dare he hold that memory like a laugh in his mind. How dare he think about Mina as if she were prey, a pest. Her teeth clenched so hard together she heard her jaw pop. “Stop,” she hissed through her teeth, and a pulse of magic went out and it commanded him, whether he wanted to or not, to stop. Stop talking, stop moving, stop thinking. “You get her name out of your mouth.” Her hand tightened on the strap of her purse, and, slowly, she removed it from her shoulder, setting it on the ground. Inside it, the ingredients she’d used for the spell, red hot on the palm of her hands. She locked eyes with Rio behind the man. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear, but she began her path forward, towards the man. Her hands were tingling with what felt like fire, all of her energy concentrated in them. She’d rip the memories from his head if she had to. She’d decided-- she would not let this man hurt anyone, ever again. “She is not a pest,” she said with shaky conviction in her voice, “and right now, she’s not the dangerous one.” She reached out her hands, placed them on the man’s head. “I am.”

Jim immediately realized that something was fucked up when he couldn’t move. He couldn’t flinch as the glass rained down on him, couldn’t blink, could even move his eyes from where they were focused on this goddamn child in front of him. Motherfucking witches. He didn’t think that witches gave two shits about fae, but what the hell did he know about these fucking kids? All of them had gone off the deep end. His brain felt like the cogs in it had grinded to a stop before they sputtered back to life, and he started to regain pieces of himself the closer the girl walked to him. He could move his eyes. He could twitch his fingers. He could grit his teeth. When she reached her hand out, Jim jerked his up. “Nice try, kid,” he grunted out, taking her hand before she could touch his head. “But I’ve dealt with fae mind magic my whole goddamn life. You’re gonna have to be better than that.” He grinned, savagely. What an important little fae this must be if she had not one but two humans at her beck and call. “Mina, Mina, Mina,” he drawled out mockingly. “What a fucking whiny name. Can’t believe something like that’s got a witch on her side, of all things.” He brought her hands down to her waist. “You’re not dangerous, sweetheart. You’re just fucking annoying.”

The movement caught Bex by surprise. She probably should have been afraid-- this man had ruthlessly attacked Mina, had even tried to go through Rio to get to her-- but she couldn’t feel her fear through all of the anger coursing through her. It was an unstoppable energy now, even as her hands were yanked down to her sides and she was held in place. She tried to pull from his grip, but he was too strong, and she couldn’t move. Her eyes went to Rio behind them. She wanted to call for his help, but her magic was volatile, he might get hurt. “Stay back!” she shouted instead. She hoped it would distract him enough to look away, but the fact of the matter was that she didn’t need him to look away. Instead, she threw her head forward, like they had taught her in those self-defense classes, and slammed her head as hard as she could into his nose. She could hear it crack. Her head splintered with pain-- oh, yeah, she had a cut on her head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She saw the gun on his hip and it just didn’t matter. What mattered was Mina. And how he kept saying her name and how he kept thinking about killing her and Bex wanted it to stop. She wanted him to suffer, to feel the pain and hurt and agony he had caused every fae he’d met up until this moment. And she wanted him to crumble to his knees. And she let go of all of her energy, eyes flashing, and let it pour into his head as she focused on everything she wanted this man to feel. And when he crumpled, she would take everything else from him. She would tear Mina’s name from his mouth and his mind and she would make him wish he’d never met them.

Hunter reflexes or not, Orion knew that Bex’s magic was keeping him preoccupied. He took the opportunity when it prevented itself, sliding out from the dumpster and swinging his makeshift weapon like a bat, bringing the board against the back of the warden’s neck. If Bex’s magic was already overpowering him, then that would just add some extra fuel to the fire. The act of violence triggered a wave of unease in Rio, but he tried to remind himself of how passionately the man had tried to kill Mina and Rio just days ago. He just needed to remember that they weren’t here to kill him. Unlike him, they weren’t monsters. Rio reached for his holster, unclipping and pulling the gun free. He hated the way it fit into his palm. He had always hated guns even more than usual weaponry, but he knew how to work one. His parents had made sure of that. He pressed the magazine release, dropping the round from the gun and then cocking back the slide to release the last bullet from the barrel. Once the gun was dismantled, he tossed the pieces aside. He had no plans of using the gun and he definitely didn’t want the hunter getting to it. “Unlike you, we don’t plan on killing you. We just want to make sure you’re going to leave our friend alone.”

“Fuck!” Jim managed to shout as the girl jerked her head against his nose, blood pouring out. It didn’t do anything more than piss him off, and he was about to tell this goddamn brat that before he felt something whack him against the back of the head. He stumbled, enraged like a bull with a red flag waving out in front of him. He was pissed off, and somebody was about to suffer for it, fae or not. Nobody taught their goddamn kids the rules anymore. Nobody taught their fucking offspring to stay out of a hunter’s way. As he was about to speak, Jim felt warm, like he tended to when he brought iron to the surface of his skin. Then he felt hot, burning, like he’d been sliced and burned and cut and scorched, an agonizing burn that started under his skin and in his brain, and he screamed out, as if he was on fire, but he wasn’t. He looked at his shaky hands, but they were fine. But Jim was on fire. He couldn’t even comprehend what the boy, the one from the woods and the one who hit him with a goddamn board, was saying to him. He couldn’t comprehend the sound of the magazine hitting the ground, and he couldn’t comprehend the sound of the gun being thrown. He could only comprehend the feeling of burning on his skin, and the smell of iron in his nose, and the screams that he recognized, vaguely, as ones that he’d caused melding with the sounds that came out of his clenched teeth as the realization that this is what cold iron felt like on the skin of a fae overwhelmed him. Jim fell to his knees, clawing at his skin. “Please,” he said, voice ragged, choked. “Make it stop, witch. Make it fucking stop.”

Bex stumbled and fell from his grip. Blood dripped down her head, the cut gashed back open. She fell to her knees, shaking. She’d used a lot of energy, she could feel it aching in her bones. But she wasn’t done. He was still able to feel and walk and talk and that wasn’t fair, was it? That wasn’t fair. He’d snapped Mina’s arm and tried to strangle Rio and if he was left to walk away from this unscatched, he’d do it again. She heaved a breath and stood back up on shaky legs, stumbling one step before catching herself. She locked eyes with Rio for a moment, breathing heavy, before she let her eyes fall back to the man on the ground, writhing in invisible pain. She’d done that. Nell was right. She had so much power. She managed to walk the few steps over to the man before she fell back to her knees in front of him. “Did you ever stop?” was all she asked, making sure he knew his fate before she reached her hand back out and placed it on his forehead. Just like in the books, she closed her eyes and concentrated on whatever memories he had of Mina, of Rio. Of hurting anyone who was fae. And she heaved with exhaustion as she cried out and ripped them from his head, her hand pulling back as if on fire, palm blazing red.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Orion stole glances back and forth between the man and Bex. His breathing quickened as he looked away from the visible pain the man was in. He knew hunters exactly like him, had grown up with them. They valued pride above anything else. He would be doing everything in his power to remain stoic if he could. Whatever Bex was doing, it hurt. The thought made Rio uncomfortable, shifting back and forth in an attempt to clear his head from it. He thought about the way his vision began to blur as he was held underwater. This man was a monster. A murderer. If they didn’t do something, he would kill again. If the scene didn’t look so painfully cruel, Rio might almost be fascinated by what she was doing. Instead he tried to think about the fae that would be safer in the world.

Jim managed to look up at this witch, this fucking child, who held so much distaste for him just from doing his goddamn job. He could just barely make out her question, but he couldn’t be bothered to be moved by it. Of course he hadn’t stopped, he wanted to say, but there were no words on his tongue. Why would he stop? He was doing his duty, and if that meant that he took a few extra lives that got in his way, then it didn’t matter. They were beyond saying. Fae were dangerous, they were cruel, and they would twist everything they could get their hands on until it was a perversion of itself. This girl would find that out eventually. The boy would, too. He couldn’t really voice that, though. Couldn’t really voice anything, and, as the girl cried out, Jim did, too, as he watched with his mind’s eye as all the parts of him that made him got dragged out, scrambled, distorted. Was it his mama that gave him his first knife or his pop? Was it a knife or a gun? Was it anything at all? Was he anything at all? He didn’t know. He slumped a bit, head bowed, and blood dripped from his nose onto the ground in front of him. Glassy eyes stared at it but didn’t see. He didn’t know anything at all, really.

Bex’s lungs heaved for air as she fell away from the man, a coughing fit overcoming her; she laid out in the alley on her back, just trying to breathe. She’d used too much, she knew that, but she didn’t care. She tasted iron in the back of her throat, on her tongue, wiped it from her lips once she’d stopped hacking up air. She sat up, the world was spinning, the road was stretching out before her, Rio somewhere down it, staring wide eyed. Visions of the man’s memories played behind her eyes and she blinked heavily several times to make them go away, speckles of light dotting her vision. “Is he…” she started to say, lightheaded and dizzy as she tried to climb to her feet, stumbling into a dumpster and collapsing back to the ground. She looked back at the man’s slumped form and knew that he was. He was gone. He wasn’t going to be hurting anyone, anytime soon. She’d done it. Blood trickled from her nose down over her lips as she smiled. “I did it,” she mumbled, before her world went black and she slumped backwards onto the pavement.

Eventually, the man stopped fighting against the magic and went still on his knees. Orion tilted his head slightly at the sight. He was breathing, Rio could hear it. But he didn’t look aware of his surroundings. He took a step toward the man, “You did it?” Rio asked, unsure exactly what she had just done exactly. But Rio wasn’t going to get an answer. He heard the rush of air and turned as Bex started to fall backwards. His reflexes kicked into effect quickly, his arm shooting forward so he could grab onto her wrist just before she hit the pavement. He breathed a quick sigh of relief that his hunter reflexes had at least been good for something tonight. “Uh… Bex?” Rio asked quietly, slowly lowering her against the ground. She was probably fine, right? He knew that spells could be draining. It must be that. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the hunter. It was a weird feeling, knowing that the two had just taken on a hunter. Even if Rio didn’t do much besides play bait. He took a small step back and patted the hunter’s shoulder, “I’m uh- sure that you’ll be fine here.” He mostly said to reassure himself before squatting down to lift Bex up and toss her over his shoulders. And she called him scrawny. He supposed he was responsible for getting her home now.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: rio #rio #domestic abuse mention tw #gun tw #head injury tw #memory loss tw #//pls feel free to message if u need a tw free summary!

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khanlusa · 3 years ago

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I was reading Firecracker and you made a throwaway joke about Shadowlands in the Notes and honestly? I think Shadowlands' story gets a bad rap. Its worst sin by far is just being a sequel to the dumpster fire that was BFA. Which means if anyone wants to write a shadowlands au they either have to accept BFA's nonsense like genocide!sylvanas or they have to first do a bfa au and both those options kinda stink. I'm not saying SL's story is good! It's kinda mediocre! But its worst bits are basically just bfa writing it into a corner. Thoughts?

And I'd make the same joke about BFA even though I liked plenty of things in BFA when it wasn't doing the faction war.

I imagine if I actually played Shadowlands there would be plenty of things I would like as well.

But BFA being the reason SL is bad doesn't let SL off the hook for being bad, at least to me. The writers still chose to continue forging ahead with what they did in BFA, into SL, which just compounds the frustrations I had with BFA in new and horrible ways.

SL is absolutely a product of BFA's bad decisions, and that just means it inherits my ire for BFA, but even worse now, because everything BFA was doing that I didn't like (at least in the overarching story b/c zones tend to be good/fun) it does even worse now.

I.E Sylvanas getting absolutely mangled for the sake of plot and the end goal of Arthas-On-Steroids weeeee~ but now made to look like a complete fool, which is just another layer of disrespect.

People are absolutely free to not hate SL, I'm glad for everyone who is able to enjoy it and I like seeing folks tweet about their cool mount drops and latest mogs. Wish that was me, but if I sub again it'll be to screw around in old content or poke Classic.

#a talking post #and I will of course drink the tears of dudebros mad over Sylvanas's continued survival #'but how can you have an opinion if you haven't played it'#I follow the story developments

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of-elitiism · 3 years ago

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Am I too late to 2021 gush? I’ve been sleeping, but Im here to 2021 gush now.

Ah, what can I say that I probably haven’t already said a million times over to you? You’re a wonderful and beautiful creative soul that i always have the most fun just writing and screwing around with. You inspire me often to be a better artist and writer, and without you Chika and I wouldn’t be who we are today. Thanks for giving us a chance all those years ago and thanks for continuing to put up with us. Hopefully we can continue to make beautiful messes together into the New Year. Love you friendo~ :3

End of the year thoughts~

Never too late, imma gobble up all your freaking nice words and will hoard them for eternity >.< The downside of reblogging good vibes memes is that i just dunno how to take a compliment, man.

BUT-!!! I can't freaking thank you enough because you too are a lovely writer and an amazing artist and my characters wouldn't have become who they are without sweet little Chika's strong af influence. Your little ray of sunshine singlehandedly proved to Adrianna that she still kinda has a bit of a heart somewhere in there and while she still doesn't fully know how to cope with it, it's a MAJOR development for a muse who was supposed to be pure, silent ire and resentment.

And don't get me starter on Achim! From the first few threads of them meeting as kids to the dumpster fire of them leaving and reuniting eachother, growing up together, developing feelings and learning to understand them.... that's top notch story-telling right there.

You better brace yourself cuz this year i'm not going any lighter on you or Chika xD

#[ ooc ]#thewanderingchika

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vex-bittys · 4 years ago

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Imagine the Possum-bilities: An Underfell Story (part 3)

The Possum Posse

The world of Underfell has gone to the possums!

Warning: child death mention

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Gloomfanger’s brood of tiny opossums easily integrated themselves into the daily lives of the skeleton brothers. Their instinctual desire to climb and cling to other living creatures proved endearing to everyone in the household, and there was no shortage of willing baby possum perches. The baby possums began their supreme reign over the home by electing the local regent, Doomfanger, as their second mother.

From the moment that they’d first emerged from Gloomfanger’s pouch, eyes barely opened and legs still wobbly, Doomfanger fascinated them with her silky white fur, rumbling purr, and insistent grooming. Eight small passengers could barely cram themselves comfortably atop Gloomfanger’s coarsely-furred back, but split equally between the cat and the possum, the baby Gloomies (as Red called them) enjoyed a roomy and luxurious mode of transportation.

It wasn’t until the baby possums were quite a bit bigger and significantly less fragile that they were allowed to clamber onto the other members of the household, but as soon as the first miniature pink possum hands wrapped around the skeleton brothers’ pant legs, the little possums secured their positions in Red and Edge’s hearts. The gruff brothers, unused to expressing positive emotions, both denied the tears of joy in their sockets, blaming allergies and invisible onions as the baby Gloomies played on their new skeleton jungle gyms.

“hey, Boss, check it out,” said Red one day, opening his jacket like a flasher to show seven little possums hanging upside down by their tails from various ribs. Gloomfanger herself peered over the waistband of Red’s shorts, where she was nestled in the bowl of his pelvis. Edge sighed.

“THAT’S VULGAR,” he scolded, arms folded across his chest. A very small baby possum head popped up from the folds of his tattered scarf and chattered a scolding of her own. The only female in the brood happened to prefer Edge’s scarf over any other perch, and Edge allowed her unprecedented access to it, and to his well-guarded affections.

The rambunctious baby Gloomies grew quickly. In order to tell them apart more easily, Edge made each small possum a differently colored bandana. The female of the group received a bandana in the same color as Doomfanger’s jeweled collar- a delicate rose pink just a few shades lighter than Edge’s magic. The other possums, a rowdy bunch of boys who loved greasy Grillby’s food as much as Red and Gloomfanger did, wore vibrant shades of yellow, orange, green, violet, midnight blue, pale blue, and dark red.

Admiring his handiwork, Edge scowled when Red announced that he had also chosen names for the entire brood. The tall skeleton had a feeling that Red’s choices would not meet his very high standards, and Red proved him right, holding up a possum in a green bandana and declaring with authority: “Dumpster.”

One by one, Red lifted the baby possums, Lion King style, and proclaimed their terrible names to an appalled audience of one.

The possum wearing the yellow bandana: “Rubbish.”

The possum in the violet bandana: “Trashy.”

The possum sporting the orange bandana: “Debris.”

The possums who had midnight blue and pale blue bandanas: “Filth” and “Scraps.”

Finally, Red lifted the baby possum wearing his namesake, the red bandana. “this little guy’s called Slop, or Junior for short.”

Edge swatted Red’s hand away from his beloved scarf-dwelling baby possum. “YOU CAN’T NAME THEM ALL AFTER GARBAGE,” he shouted, not wanting to hear the horrible name that his brother had chosen for his favorite possum of the litter.

“of course not, Boss,” said Red with a mischievous grin. “the little girl is called-”

Edge clenched his sharp teeth and braced himself for the mental onslaught of whatever Red would say next. “IF YOU CALL HER SCUMBELINA, I WILL END YOU.”

“- Anastasia.”

Edge blinked, and Red howled with laughter.

----------

Edge volunteered to take the young possums with him to the Capitol to give his brother and Gloomfanger a day to themselves to relax and stuff their faces with greasy junk food. The Captain of Snowdin’s Royal Guard would be meeting Undyne and the King for their annual status report. Edge tucked the eight little furballs into his armor, thinking that they would spend the entire time dozing off to his boring reports about inventory, training, and guard rotations. Of course nothing ever went that smoothly when Gloomfanger’s little ones were involved.

Anastasia, ever the dignified young lady, climbed up and nestled herself in Edge’s scarf underneath his chin and stayed quiet and out-of-sight during the visit. Her brothers, however, decided that they wanted to see what was happening around them, not snooze through the experience in Edge’s stuffy armor.

The first sign of trouble came when Edge felt stiff little whiskers tickling his ribs. He managed to turn a very unbecoming giggle into a much less embarrassing clearing of his nonexistent throat. Undyne was familiar enough with her skeleton counterpart to know something was amiss, but she chose to observe the situation instead of interrupting the report. Her instinct for hilarious chaos turned out to be right.

It didn’t take long for a triangular little face to appear through the armhole of Edge’s armor. Hairless ears brushed the underside of Edge’s humerus, making him yelp, a sound that could not be disguised as anything else. Undyne barely held back a laugh. The King regarded the skeleton with a frown. Edge’s mind raced, desperately reaching for any plausible explanation.

“I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I LEFT A LASAGNA IN THE OVEN,” he offered lamely. The King’s eyes narrowed skeptically, and Undyne sputtered.

“He really cares about his lasagna,” Undyne added unhelpfully.

More possum faces pushed their way to the potential exits at the neck and arms of Edge’s armor, and their movements made him twitch and spasm in a strange parody of dancing. Undyne doubled over, filling the halls with her raucous laughter. In response to the unfamiliar noise, the baby possums wrapped their tails around Edge’s arms, hissing in fear.

“What is the meaning of this behavior?” bellowed King Asgore, a monster to be feared and respected.

Edge spread his arms, and seven baby possums dropped into upside down hanging positions. Edge looked like he wore a fringed cape made of scruffy two-toned fur. Undyne rolled on the palace floor. Asgore leaned close to the possums to inspect them. Anastasia climbed out of Edge’s scarf to stand boldly in front of the massive ruler of the Underground. She chattered aggressively at Asgore, and there could be no mistaking her protective stance or ferocious noises. The feisty female possum would not allow Edge to come to harm under her watchful button eyes.

A slow smile spread across Asgore’s severe features. He chuckled and stepped back. Satisfied at having driven off the threat, Anastasia returned to her hiding place in Edge’s scarf folds. He gave her tiny head a gentle scritch with one sharp phalange.

“I see Snowdin’s Junior Guard is coming along nicely,” the King commented. “Of course, as Royal Guard members, these creatures are under my protection, and I trust you, Captain, to make sure all of the monsters of Snowdin know it.”

“YES, SIR,” replied Edge, silently thinking that this was the exact opposite of the way a royal guard actually worked but refusing to argue with his monarch, especially after such a gracious declaration.

“Do make sure you bring them along when you make your next report, Captain. You are dismissed.”

“YES, SIR.”

As Asgore turned and walked away, Edge spotted a very brave young possum, Scraps if he remembered correctly (and he always did), clinging to one of King Asgore’s impressive horns. Though the fearsome ruler pretended not to notice his illicit passenger, he proceeded to walk with exceptional care so as not to jostle the tiny creature. He also murmured to Scraps once he believed himself to be out of earshot of the two Captains.

Undyne laid on the floor, gasping for air. When she finally composed herself, she grinned an unsettling toothy grin at Edge. “The big softy,” she commented, and she would know since Asgore had adopted her when she was still very young. “He hasn’t looked at another creature like that since I graduated from stripes!”

----------

From the moment Red stepped across the threshold into Grillby’s restaurant, he could feel the purple fire elemental’s seething ire. His hunger overpowered what dismal common sense he possessed, so he sauntered up to the bar anyway and plopped his bony behind on an empty stool.

Grillby glowered at Red so hard that Red might’ve expected him to burst into flames… if he wasn’t already consumed by them on a daily basis. “Unless you’re here to pay your tab, Red,” growled Grillby, leaving the threat open ended.

Red blinked at the fire elemental with exaggerated innocence. “my bro’s going to pay it when he gets back from guard duty,” he explained.

The glower and purple flames intensified. “That’s what you said last time,” growled Grillby.

“yeah, but i was lying that time.”

“And are you lying this time?”

“probably. anyway, can i get a burger and an extra large order of fries?”

The pure audacity of the skeleton in front of him struck Grillby speechless. Before he could recover enough coherent communication skills to tell Red exactly where he could go and what he could do with himself once he got there in extreme graphic detail, eight small possums emerged from Red’s jacket and scurried across the counter to an abandoned plate of fries. The little ones picked up the now-cold fries in their little pink possum hands and nibbled them delicately, eyes half-closed as they savored the flavor.

Any monster who wasn’t as familiar with the expressions of Grillby’s not-quite-face as Red wouldn’t have noticed the agitation giving way and the sharp-edged flames softening. Grillby whirled and entered the kitchen, returning a moment later with a plate of stir-fried vegetables and a small order of fries. He cleared the plate of leftovers from the counter and set the freshly-made dish in front of the hungry baby possums. The possums descended on the food with gusto, making adorable small noises of pleasure as they tasted the gourmet cuisine.

Gloomfanger’s head popped up from the collar of Red’s sweater, and a smile rippled to life in the purple fire of Grillby’s mouth. “This must be the mother. A moment please, m’lady.” Grillby disappeared into the kitchen again and again he returned with a plate of hot fries and a burger with extra vegetables and no bun. He placed this offering in front of Gloomfanger who gave it an investigative sniff before picking it up and eating it like a hairy miniature Red.

Red reached for one of the fries on Gloomfanger’s plate, and Grillby slapped his hand away. “That food is for the mother of this adorable brood, not a degenerate lazybones who doesn’t pay his tab,” snapped Grillby.

“but what about my order?” pouted Red, watching the possum family chirp happily as they enjoyed their meals.

“Your order? Red, you’re lucky I don’t toss your free-loading ass out into the nearest snow poff.” Grillby folded his arms across his chest, but once again hunger outweighed sense when it came to a certain skeleton.

“i brought the possums to visit you though,” Red wheedled. Grillby’s eyes narrowed behind his ever-present (even indoors) sunglasses, or at least, Red assumed that what passed for Grillby’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses based on the low and dangerous tone of his voice. Red couldn’t actually see through the reflective material at all, but he knew Grillby fairly well after so many years of unpaid and antagonistic patronage.

“I suppose.” Grillby drew out the word suppose, letting Red know that he agreed but with extreme reluctance and utmost disdain.

“I might even be willing to forgive your tab provided that you bring these tiny guests to try out a few new recipes that I have in mind for them.” As Grillby spoke, little Trashy, the possum with the violet bandana, waddled up to him and gave his forearm a nuzzle. The tips of Grillby’s flames flushed blue, and he made a quick escape to the kitchen to hide the fire elemental equivalent of a blush.

Thinking that Grillby couldn’t see him from the other room, Red snuck a fry off of Gloomfanger’s plate only to see flames belch from the double doors leading to the cooking area and hear Grillby’s warning growl:

“RED!”

Busted.

----------

Usually, Red left Gloomfanger and her brood at home during his sentry duties, duties that his brother had signed him up for under the pretense of forcing him to “contribute to monster society” though Edge actually feared that without a task or a purpose, Red might fall down as so many other monsters did. Red was actually grateful for his brother’s strong-armed recruitment; it was during one of his sentry patrols that he’d found a massive ornate door hidden away in Snowdin Forest.

Red had knocked upon the door, not expecting an answer. He’d gotten one, though- a reedy female voice calling out the response “Who’s there?” Unable to resist, Red tried out one of his favorite knock-knock jokes.

“wooden shoe.”

A pause.

Then “Wooden shoe who?” spoken by the same female voice.

“wooden shoe like to know.”

Red knew the monster on the other side of the door couldn’t see him, but he grinned in eager anticipation, waiting for them to get the joke. The voice laughed a moment later, musical laughter that left Red wondering if he should perhaps try another joke.

He knocked again.

Sometimes he told jokes to the voice behind the door to the Ruins. Sometimes he just talked, passing the time by sharing his life experiences. The voice rarely spoke about itself, though it occasionally described happenings in the Ruins that he might find amusing. Red had a sneaking suspicion that the voice might belong to a certain missing Queen, but he didn’t bring it up, not wanting to upset her and lose his audience for the terrible jokes he thought up in his ample free time. His brother sure didn’t appreciate them!

Red even told the voice behind the door about Gloomfanger and her babies. The voice became demure, asking to meet the little ones and sighing wistfully. Red waited until the baby possums were old enough to make the journey through the frigid forest before bringing them to meet his partner in crimes against comedy. Anastasia had opted to do her civic duty alongside Edge, but the male possums wiggled with excitement at the sight of new surroundings. For the first time since he’d discovered it, the door to the Ruins opened, just a crack, just enough for Red to see a yellow eye peering out, watching the little possums wrestle in the snow.

Rubbish, bright yellow bandana flying like a flag behind him, broke away from his brothers and darted through the open doorway. The Ruins door slammed shut behind him, and Red leapt to his feet in a panic. He pounded on the door, causing echoes to boom through the caverns of the Ruins like subterranean thunder. A sickly sweet singsong voice called out a familiar response.

“Who’s there?” The words left a sinister silence after they were spoken.

“gimme my possum back, lady!” Red was in no mood for knock-knock jokes.

The chiming laughter from behind the door was tinged with madness now. “Give me my possum back who?”

“you,” snarled Red. “you gimme my possum back.”

Nobody answered. Red stood dumbfounded in the snow, Gloomfanger and her six unstolen little ones standing in a half-circle behind him. Unsure what to do next, Red pulled out his phone and called his brother for help.

Beyond the door, Toriel, the missing Queen, scooped Rubbish up and cradled him in her arms. The drowsy baby possum snuggled against her chest, letting her heartbeat lull him to sleep after the exertion or romping with his siblings in the snow. His prehensile tail, bright pink and hairless, curled around her wrist like a living bracelet.

“Let’s go to my house, my child,” the unhinged monster crooned. “I’ll bake you a pie, and you’ll be so happy that you’ll never leave me.”

Neither Gloomfanger nor her children had ever been known to turn down a free meal, so when Toriel deposited the little possum onto her kitchen table and began assembling ingredients, Rubbish tucked his feet underneath him and took a quick nap in the loaf position that he had learned from Doomfanger. Toriel hummed as she baked, and the kitchen became pleasantly warm, though the fragrance of baked goods was nowhere to be found.

When the timer on the oven chimed, Rubbish opened his shiny black eyes, watching Toriel don oven mitts and retrieve the pie. She placed it on the table in front of him. The crust appeared to be made of mud like substance, most likely mud by the smell of it. Snails, stunned by the heat of the oven, recovered themselves and attempted to crawl away from their pie pan prison.

Fortunately, possums regard snails as a delicacy, and Rubbish unfolded himself from his loaf position and trotted across the table to hunt the sluggish creatures. Toriel beamed at him like any proud mother would at a precocious child crunching up all of his snails at dinnertime. After Rubbish had finished his snail snack and groomed his long whiskers, Toriel picked him up and carried him into the den. Sitting in front of the fireplace, she opened a photo album, showing the pictures to Rubbish and describing them one by one.

“This is my first child, Asriel, and my adopted child, a human called Chara. They’re dead now, of course.” Toriel spoke in a cheerful voice despite her macabre words. “This child came along later. I found her in the Ruins, but she’s dead now too. My husband killed her, you know. I decided to move to the Ruins to make sure no other young ones would meet the same fate, but they all do, my child. They all do. All my children leave me no matter what I do to stop them.” Toriel stroked the pages of the photo album wistfully, lost in memory. Rubbish put his small pink paw over her hand as if consoling her.

“I even tried training my children so that they would be strong enough to defeat my husband and escape,” Toriel whispered conspiratorially. “Alas, that child also died.” Toriel remembered the scorch marks, all that remained of that particular child, and how long it had taken to scrub them from the cobblestones of the Ruins. No need to worry her newly adopted possum with that detail. Rubbish would not ever leave. She would see to that. Doors weren’t only for keeping unwanted visitors out…

Outside, in Snowdin Forest, the skeleton brothers sent flurries of futile bone attacks smashing into the door to the Ruins. They even summoned their Gast Blasters with equally nonexistent results. These doors were meant to stay closed, and stay closed they did. Gloomfanger was equal parts unimpressed by Red and Edge’s magic and dauntless when it came to recovering her lost little one.

Assembling her seven tiny troops, Gloomfanger walked right up to the heavy doors, gave them a precursory sniff, and began to dig. The possum excavated the frozen ground like a piece of heavy construction equipment being expertly operated by a seasoned professional, and her babies pushed the freshly turned soil out of the way to make room for more. In a matter of minutes, Gloomfanger and her brood had disappeared into the tunnel under the door on their rescue mission, leaving the skeleton brothers standing slack-jawed with amazement in the forest behind them.

When she emerged in the Ruins, Gloomfanger shook the loose dirt from her coarse salt-and-pepper fur. She helped each of her seven babies out of the tunnel, giving them a quick grooming as well. Once all eight possums were suitably presentable, they stormed the proverbial castle, seeking out the Queen who had possum-napped Rubbish.

Toriel faced down the mother possum who had entered her home, seven small soldiers trailing behind her; the former Queen was not a monster to be trifled with. Gloomfanger’s tail shot straight up in the air, she opened her jaws- a pink cavern lined with needle teeth like white stalactites- and emitted an unearthly screech. Rubbish waddled over to her, and she calmed down, chattering at him and checking him for injuries or poor grooming. Toriel’s face softened. She recognized a distraught mother when she saw one.

Toriel backed away, resigning herself to losing this latest adopted child as well. Gloomfanger darted in front of her, meeting dejected yellow eyes with her own glittering black gaze. She clicked her teeth at Toriel, then led her entire brood of baby possums over to climb on the goat monster’s robes. Toriel shuffled to her armchair, and the parade of possums followed.

When Toriel brought out her photo album, every single possum found a perch on her lap or shoulders (with Rubbish in the seat of honor atop her head) and basked in the dancing light and comforting warmth of the fire. Toriel poured her heartache out to the animals, and they listened with quiet compassion. Finally, the Queen closed her book and sighed.

“So you see, my children, you must stay with me,” she explained gently. Gloomfanger lifted her head and chuffed. As Gloomfanger rose from her seat, her brood of baby possums followed. Gloomfanger led them single file to the tunnel under the door, the tunnel that led out of the Ruins, out of Toriel’s life, and into the forest which had claimed so many of her charges.

“No,” begged Toriel. “If you leave me, I’ll be alone.”

Gloomfanger tilted her head in the universal animal sign of confusion, then vanished into the tunnel, followed by her little ones.

Toriel returned to her empty house, numb. She had not stopped Gloomfanger because Rubbish and his siblings were her rightful children, yet their loss left Toriel cold and empty, just like her house. Toriel extinguished the fire, preferring to sit in the encompassing darkness, the shadows wrapping her like a shroud while she wept. Everyone always left her in the end, and boss monsters did not fall down. She would exist in this misery and loneliness until time forgot her as the rest of monsterkind had.

The next day, despite Red’s disapproval, Gloomfanger and the Gloomy brigade tagged along with him to his sentry station. Red sat on the bench with a meaningful look at the possum, but she kept waddling along, babies in tow, towards the door to the Ruins. Red hurried after them just in time to see them entering the tunnel. Red shouted after them, but the last tiny pink tail tip had already disappeared from sight.

Toriel snapped out of her cataonic depression when she felt tiny paws patting at her legs. Nine angular faces stared up at her. She leapt from her chair and headed to the kitchen to prepare her children one of her famous pies. She referred to it as Butterscotch Pie, but Gloomfanger and her babies knew snails when they smelled them… not that they minded. After wolfing down as many snails as nine eternally hungry possums could eat, the visitors followed Toriel into her den to enjoy the fire and listen to the tragic stories that accompanied the appearance of the photo album.

Once more, Gloomfanger and her babies returned home to the skeleton brothers’ house in Snowdin, and once more, Toriel despaired. The pattern continued for weeks. Toriel’s nerves frayed. Each time the possum and her brood left the Ruins, the missing Queen believed that they would never return, yet they did. As time passed, Toriel began to expect the visits. At first her mind anticipated the visits with the bleak notion that surely they would stop at some point. Eventually, she was able to look forward to seeing her small, furry children without the nagging doubts.

One day, during the photos-and-bereavement session, Gloomfanger pointedly knocked the photo album to the floor. She waited, with her babies behind her until Toriel stooped to pick it up then waddled very slowly toward the tunnel that the possums used to travel between the Ruins and the forest. Curious, Toriel followed them, and this time, the baby possums trailed behind her instead of their mother.

When Gloomfanger reached the tunnel, she stopped. Toriel stopped too and stared at the possum. Gloomfanger turned to the giant door with its elaborate embellishments, puffed out her fur and hissed at it. Toriel and the young possums stood in contemplative silence for a moment. “What are you trying to tell me, my child?” Toriel finally asked, though she already suspected what the possum’s intentions might be.

Gloomfanger headbutted the door.

“You believe that I should leave the Ruins and return to a life amongst other monsters,” Toriel stated uneasily. It wasn’t a question, but Gloomfanger answered with an encouraging chirp anyway.

Toriel turned her attention to the photo album clutched in her hands. She had fled to the Ruins to escape from grief and loss, but heartache pursued her, even here. Isolation had done her no favors.

“I can’t face them,” she explained, voicing her fears aloud for perhaps the first time ever. “I can’t bear their pity or their heartless violence.” After spending so long convincing herself that constant abandonment and endless longing were her punishments for her failures as a mother, she did not know how to think differently. Gloomfanger, ever the wise and perceptive possum, trotted over and nuzzled Toriel’s leg.

Toriel’s troubled mind spun. She could choose. She could choose to hold on to her losses, to martyr herself by suffering alone until that torment consumed everything she ever was or dreamed to be, or she could choose to let go. She could choose to move forward. She could reintegrate herself into monster society. She could risk heartbreak, but she could also regain companionship to balance it.

Gloomfanger waited. Slowly, hesitantly, Toriel laid her photo album down on the smooth, familiar stones, giving the faded cover one last caress, then the goat monster faced the door, pushed it open with conviction, and stepped out into the cold Snowdin Forest sunlight.

Hope can be found in the unlikeliest places and in the most unusual forms. Some hold hope deep inside of them where it can never be lost or broken, and some look for it all of their lives without realizing that it's right there in front of them. The monsters of the Underfell Underground lacked all hope, inward and outward, until it arrived in the form of an unkempt, garbage-eating possum named Gloomfanger.

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#vexy writes #underfell #fellbros #underfell sans #underfell doomfanger #underfell papyrus #underfell undyne #underfell asgore #underfell grillby #underfell toriel #uf!sans #doomfanger #gloomfanger #uf!papyrus #uf!undyne #uf!asgore #uf!grillby #fellby #uf!toriel

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perfecttimeseleven · 3 years ago

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https://open.spotify.com/episode/599XTxnDzzcJibnEaEjPdb?si=e9ce5c51fbdb474e

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 7 TRANSCRIPT

ACT TWO SCENE ONE Lights rise on a table and two chairs in an otherwise empty-seeming room. THIEF #1 and THIEF #2 are seated at the table, examining a laptop. They’re both young; even younger than REMINGTON, JAY, and DAISY (think 13 or 14.) They’re unassuming — cute little kids, even — dressed in all black. THIEF #2 (bored) When you said “surprise job for our two-month anniversary”, I thought we’d like, I don’t know, kiss with tongue. THIEF #1 Yeah, but this is just as good. THIEF #2 Do you care about kissing with tongue at all? THIEF #1 Babe, of course I do. I just think -- THIEF #2 It’s just heist after heist all the time. The only thing you don’t seem to care about stealing is my heart. THIEF #1 Babe, it’s what we do. THIEF #2 Besides, it’s a crap job. Robbing a supermarket? A supermarket? That’s the most boring junk I’ve ever heard. THIEF #1 Don’t you trust me? THIEF 2 You’re a bank robber. THIEF 1 You’re a bank robber. THIEF 2 Okay, that’s fair. I just…will this be worth it at all? I know you have trouble grasping the fact that we’re now fricking loaded. We’re not little please-sir orphans snatching heads of lettuce from farmer’s markets anymore. We’ve stepped up our game. What’s so special about this supermarket? THIEF #1 Trust me. This will be an easy, fun night out. What’s not special about it? THIEF #2 Why are we wasting our time? We could be preparing for the Minecraft job. Or kissing with tongue. And…and, and, and…you’re not even taking the proper precautions. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to get caught robbing a stupid supermarket, of all things. Like imagine it! You get cornered in the...I don’t know, produce aisle or something stupid like that and the headlines are all “two kids got caught stealing from the Shoprite off the highway” — who wants that? (THIEF #1 stands up. 11. Super Supermarket Heist.) THIEF #1 (pointing at the laptop screen) LOOK. ALL RIGHT, WE’VE GOT OUR TARGET HERE. THIS LOCAL SUPERMARKET. YOU KNOW YOUR JOB, YOUR INSTRUCTION — THIEF #2 (standing up) I THINK WE NEED SOME MORE DISCUSSION. THIEF #1 IT’S A QUAINT UNPOPULATED SPOT WE KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT, AND THAT’S NOT A LOT! THIEF #2 WHERE’S THE FUN? WHY NOT GO BIGGER AND PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS THIEF #1 AND PULL THE TRIGGER? THIEF #2 Fine. I guess you have a point. I’ll do it. But you better watch a sweet, romantic movie with me later. THIEF #1 Is it — THIEF #2 Cats 2019. I know you hate it. THIEF #1 Fine. THIEF #1 YEAH, WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID GRAB THE CASH, THEN DASH OUT THE BACK AROUND THE TRASH THIEF #2 WILL THAT WORK? THIEF #1 (exasperated) JESUS CHRIST! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! THIEF #2 YOU KEEP ON SAYING THIS’LL BE A CAKEWALK. ALL OF THIS “NOTHING MUCH AT STAKE” TALK! HOW CAN YOU KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT? WE NEED TO PREPARE FOR ANY THREAT THIEF #1 I’VE GOT INSIDER INFO FROM MY SOURCE. I TRUST HER. SECURITY TONIGHT WILL BE LACKLUSTER. RIGHT NOW, WE WILL JUST SIT TIGHT. AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, WE’LL SHOP RITE! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP THIEF #1 AND NOT A SINGLE COP WILL SEE, TRUST ME, THIEF #1/THIEF #2 IT’LL BE EASY! GRAB THE CASH, THEN DASH IN AND OUT IN A FLASH! CATCH THEM BY SURPRISE! A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST. WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! THIEF #2 I just…this is so out of nowhere. We usually plan these together. THIEF #1 I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been so stressed. I didn’t want to add the stress of planning a fun anniversary outing on top of that. THIEF #1 I KNOW

THINGS HAVE BEEN ROUGH — THIEF #2 YOU’RE NOT AN OPEN BOOK. THIEF #1 BUT THAT’S EXACTLY WHY WE CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE AND — THIEF #2 LOOK. WE’VE GONE DOWNHILL. ADMIT IT. IT SURE SHOWS! BANKS WERE OUR TRADE, NOT TRADER JOE’S! THIEF #1 SURE, WE’VE DONE MUCH COOLER JOBS WITHOUT MUCH CONSEQUENCE BUT A SMALL VICTORY WILL BOOST OUR CONFIDENCE! THIEF #2 DOING IT TOGETHER IS WHAT MATTERS MOST TO ME ART MUSEUM OR BANK OR MALL OR…I GUESS GROCERY THIEF #1 Yeah? THIEF #2 Yeah! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPERMARKET HEIST! YEAH, YOU’LL STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPERMARKET WE’RE ARMED AND DISGUISED IT’S A SUPERMARKET GROSSLY OVERPRICED IT’S A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! (THIEF #1 and THIEF #2 exit.)

ACT TWO

SCENE TWO

The lights rise on REMINGTON and HP. REMINGTON is sitting next to a Dumpster in the back alley behind a restaurant. HP is squatting beside her, picking at a piece of crumpled paper and tossing its remnants into a small trash can that he hugs with one arm. REMINGTON is wearing floral shorts and a tattered, half-tucked in Domino’s employee shirt. HP is still in his original outfit, although he’s ditched the rainbow scarf and his jacket. Those can be seen laying on the other side of the Dumpster, next to the wall in a pile of other fabrics that seem to comprise a makeshift bed. The two kids have a half-empty and surprisingly fresh-looking Domino’s pizza box in front of them. REMINGTON is snacking on one of the last pieces. REMINGTON Okay. I’ve been doin’ some big brain thinking. Superhero names. HP (turning his head sharply from the paper) Hm? REMINGTON Let’s do a little word association, okay? Test the power, the wow-factor that these names hold. Ready? HP Mmkay. I like to word associate. REMINGTON What comes to mind when you hear the word...Flambé? (HP pauses, looking up contemplatively, before turning his head back to REMINGTON.) HP Shrimp? REMINGTON Nooo, like…I don’t know. (takes a bite of the pizza) Doesn’t it sound fancy? Like ain’t it French or something? (receives no reaction from HP) Okay. Okay. How about...the Remedy? HP (squints a little in confusion) What? Like medicines? Medicines and pills and little maggots in bowls? REMINGTON Like, my name is Remington, but there’s not much you can do with Remy or Remington that isn’t Ratatouille — (sees HP’s blank face, gives up) I’ll think of more names. (takes another bite of her pizza) Mm. Domino’s could beat up Papa John in a fight. (HP finishes tearing up the piece of paper and jumps to his feet.) HP Your break is almost over. You need to get back to work. REMINGTON No. The voices hurt. I’m lazy! HP One fire by the end of the day. That is our rule. REMINGTON (reluctantly dropping his half-finished slice in the pizza box) One spark. HP No, one fire. You’ve passed the spark level. (HP offers REMINGTON his hands, which REMINGTON takes. HP effortlessly pulls REMINGTON to her feet.) HP C’mon! It’s easy! (REMINGTON reluctantly unclasps her bracelet and tosses it aside. 12. Perfect Times Eleven.) HP NOW DEEP DOWN, THERE’S A FIRE GROWING STRONG JUST LET THEM HELP YOU SET IT FREE, REMINGTON LONG! IMMERSE YOURSELF IN VOICES, AIM THEIR ENERGY AT ONE SPOT! CAN YOU FEEL YOUR INSIDES SORTA GETTING HOT? REMINGTON Yeah, but it doesn’t feel healthy... HP ONCE YOUR BRAIN WIDENS, GIVE IN TO PRIMAL DRIVES, YOU’LL GAIN ENERGY FROM ALL YOUR PAST LIVES NOT JUST THE ONES YOU HEAR SINGING! REMINGTON What do you mean? HP WHETHER ANIMAL OR HUMAN, THEY WILL BE BRINGING YOU ENERGY! AND THAT’S THE KEY! IT SWELLS UP IN YOUR BRAIN! LET IT PLUMMET DOWN LIKE RAIN ONTO YOUR GOAL HP/REMINGTON THIS ENERGY IN YOU AND ME, ALL OF IT COMES FROM THE MOMENT WE BECOME ONE WITH THE SOUL AND OUR SOULS HAVE BEEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN REMINGTON WHICH MAKES US NOW GODS AMONG MEN HP WE COULD BURN AWAY ALL LIFE AND CREATE THE WORLD AGAIN REMINGTON THAT’S A LITTLE EXTREME, BUT SURE, I SUPPOSE. AT LEAST ONCE I'M TRAINED, WE CAN LEAVE THIS TENT BEHIND A DOMINO’S! HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! HP STARTING LITTLE FIRES IS THE EASIEST TO MASTER! AFTERWARDS, YOU’LL LEARN TELEKINESIS FASTER TO SET A FIRE, GIVE YOUR SOUL’S ENERGY A TOSS! SCOOP UP A BIT OF THAT TIME AND SPACEY SAUCE THROW IT OUT OF YOURSELF AND JUST LET IT ALL GO THE HUGE AMOUNT OF ENERGY WILL SET SHIT AGLOW AND AFTER YOU CAN GET FUN LITTLE FIRES TO START, MASTERING THE REST OF IT’S THE EASIER PART HP/REMINGTON ‘CAUSE ENERGY IS THE KEY! IT SWELLS UP IN YOUR BRAIN! LET IT PLUMMET DOWN LIKE RAIN ONTO YOUR GOAL THIS ENERGY IN YOU AND ME, ALL OF IT COMES FROM THE MOMENT WE

BECOME ONE WITH THE SOUL AND OUR SOULS HAVE BEEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, THE LUCK OF THE DRAW REMINGTON IS BEING A REALLY GREAT TEACHER ONE OF YOUR POWERS? ‘CAUSE I AM IN AWE. HP WELL, TEACHING YOU’S AS FUN AS MAKING ANIMALS COMBUST! REMINGTON THANK YOU…THAT’S A COMPLIMENT, I TRUST? HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! HP Now, concentrate! Feel it build up inside you until every cell of your body feels like it’s screaming! REMINGTON Ahhhh! This shit hurts! HP And let it go! (REMINGTON propels her hands forward in one strenuous motion. There’s a whooshing noise and the inside of the trash can is now impressively aflame.) HP That’s it! REMINGTON That was my best one so far! HP/REMINGTON WE’RE PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN! A ONCE-IN-A-BLUE-MOON CHANCE, WE'RE EXISTENT AND ALIVE AGAINST ALL CIRCUMSTANCE! HP IT’S GREAT TO BE BETTER THAN HUMAN! REMINGTON EH. IT’S OKAY. IT’S GREAT TO LIVE WITH YOU IN THIS ABANDONED ALLEYWAY! HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! (REMINGTON, perhaps spurred by the vigor of the musical number, is ready to go apeshit with the fire. She concentrates on the pizza box.) REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (She manages to set the pizza box on fire.) HP Yes! Nice! REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (REMINGTON manages to start a fire from somewhere inside the Domino’s — we can see a faint flicker through the window.) HP You’re doing so good! REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (REMINGTON sets all of the nearby Dumpster’s contents on fire. Spectacular!) HP Fantastic! (REMINGTON victoriously embraces HP, who attempts to spin her around. REMINGTON then takes HP’s hand. They skip around a little/dance giddily amid the blaze.) HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH THE WORLD AT MY COMMAND! (pausing in a triumphant pose center stage) PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN! (REMINGTON and HP freeze in their triumphant pose. Somewhere behind them, a burning piece of cardboard unceremoniously falls out of the Dumpster. Blackout.)

#transcript #episode 7

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peachyteabuck · 5 years ago

Text

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough.

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. “You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

#chris evans x reader #lukis writes stuff #senator evans #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine

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