#he burned things in fear that anyone making sequels would fuck it up. and then he let you make a sequel. and you fucked it up.

[grimbeak]

going to eat peter hyams alive just watched 2010

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Between Love and Lust

Summary: The sequel to Irreverence for the Holy, Adoration for the Carnal. Zhongli attempts to start a relationship between you and Childe, all the while the forgetting what being a Hydro and Cryo vision holder meant. 

The final banquet of the Geo Archon sets the stage for the most scandalous affair in Teyvat’s history.

Rated E: for Explicit descriptions of sex. 

A/N: Also available on AO3. This multichapter fic would have a plot that leads to porn, porn, and more porn. This would have heavy themes later on so read at your own risk. Happy Ending guaranteed.  Happy Ending guaranteed. Happy Ending guaranteed. Important things are repeated thrice.

Chapter 1: Before the Storm

The singular touch of your lover, Ajax, was enough to have your skin burn up with heat. A mere touch of his gloved hand on your exposed skin was enough to make you burn with the desire to be underneath him. And tonight was no exception, the orange glow of his bedside lamp served to make the sensual air in the room even more enticing as you laid on top of his bed, clothes in disarray.

Your top was unbuttoned, tits exposed to the cold air of the room and covered with his cum. Ajax sat in front of you, right hand on his cock and the other rubbing your clit. It was a testament to his skill that he could make you cum while not losing focus on stroking his thick and long dick.

“Ajax…” You called out for him, with tears at the corner of your eyes and not hiding the desperate plea in your voice, “I want it inside me already…”

You begged as you did your best to make his hand rub your clit harder, presenting to him your pussy that was glistening with your juices, had it been any other night Ajax would have done as you asked. He would have accepted the beautiful offer of your wet pussy that was waiting to be filled with his cum. But tonight, he couldn’t and wouldn’t reel in his darker thoughts.

He hadn’t been pleased with how Zhongli and you had interacted earlier in the morning. You knew that he had no qualms getting rid of anyone that could be a threat to your relationship with him, Ajax had never worried about your disapproval. The harsh winter of Snezhnaya had driven the two of you together, forging a bond covered in blood. But life had a way of making exceptions and he was not pleased about it.

“Ajax?”

He observed you as his hands ever so gently spread your legs wider, observing the quickening of your breath and the dilation of your pupils. You were such a slut for him that for a moment he considered being Ajax but it was just a moment. There was no room for Ajax tonight, not when Tartaglia had to remind you who you belonged to.

Whose cock had you begging like a slut, opening your legs without a single shred of shame as you had your entire body used like a breathing cum dump.

The darkness of his pupils and lackluster of it was enough for you to realize that right now you were beneath Tartaglia. Perhaps, in another world, this would have scared you but you were Snezhnaya’s finest adventurer and you were, most importantly, also Tartaglia’s hidden weapon.

You were his and there was nothing else that could make you happy save being fucked by Foul Legacy in public.

“Tartaglia~” You called out for him happily, raising your arms to pull him closer for a kiss.

It was this sweet and willing surrender that gives Tartaglia enough reason to be merciful to you tonight. It was what made his nips and sucking on your tits, gentle. The scraping of his teeth against your erect nipples brought out a moan from you, loud and utterly lewd as you felt his hard cock pressing against the wet folds of your pussy.

Your movement was enough to have the tip of his cock slip in before slipping out as Tartaglia adjusted your positions. You were now sitting straddling his thigh, your hands on his shoulders as you moaned loudly from his hands spreading the wet folds of your pussy, fingering you while he suck and nipped at your tits.

The taste of his cum present in his mouth from the remnants of the facials he had given you earlier. He felt your pussy tightened as his fingers alternated from thrusting into you quickly and then slowly, his dick growing harder at the thought of you about to come soon.

He removes his mouth from your well-developed and sensitive tits,

“Use your hands.”

His order has you reaching for his thick and long cock, your two hands barely covering it as you shakily and single-mindedly stroked him. Mouth salivating at the sight of his gorgeous cock that was hot in your hands.

“If you put that in your mouth, I won’t bother using your slutty and loose pussy tonight.” He threatened you, as he manipulated his hydro vision to thrust a water cock inside your pussy.

You cried out in pleasure and in dismay as you began to use your tits as well to make him come. Tartaglia moaned at the softness of your tits, your cleavage was just as wet as your pussy, the lewd sounds from his cock and your tits was enough to make him cum loads on your face.

You opened your mouth wide to catch some of his cum, tongue hanging out as you moaned from the powerful thrusts of Tartaglia’s water cock. The two of you collapse on the bed after cumming, him on his back and you straddling his cock between your tits and licking it lazily with your tongue. He had already hardened once more and you were so close to disobeying tonight for the momentary pleasure of having his cock inside you again.

“Mhm...that felt good, as expected of my slutty childhood sweetheart.” Tartaglia praised you.

The haze from the lust combined with your love for him brought back the first time the two of you had sex. The precious memory was a secret both of you shared and enjoyed reminiscing about.

You giggled at the memory, “Isn’t it your fault that I’m this way?”

“Is that so?” Tartaglia asked as he got up and pulled you towards him. He hugged you tight as you laid on his chest, back facing towards him. This was his favorite position, it was the easiest way to see if you were hiding something from him, and also the easiest way to get you horny.

His hands cupped your breasts, its fat spilling through the gaps of his fingers. He squeezes it, fondling it with tenderness as you sat on his dick.

“Did I really turn you into such a slut?” He whispered into your ear as he sensually moved one hand towards your stomach, slow and barely there and as it reached your clit, Tartaglia bit the tip of your ears.

“Was I the one who made the first move?” He continued, hands circling your clit.

“Nn! No-I-it” You moaned, even so you continued speaking “it was me! I-i seduced you that day!” You moaned loudly when his finger slipped in and you spread your legs wider.

“That’s right, it was just like this wasn’t it?” Tartaglia agreed as he fondly remembered that winter day that began everything between you and him.

He remembered being 14 and a few months freshly out of the Abyss. He remembered the day he had decided to spend time together with you again before he went off to join the Fatui. He wanted a semblance of his past before the abyss.

But how could he have known what would greet him was you, on your bed, legs spread wide as you masturbated with your fingers. Quietly moaning out his name with so much lust and love that Ajax knew he would regret it if he didn’t give you what you want.

He wouldn’t deny the thrill of seeing your shock and fear, the elation as you scrambled out of the bed, trying to get out of your room to escape. There was a certain joy that bubbled deep within him from your absent minded fear of escape, heedless of the fact that you were naked from the waist below.

“If I knew you love me this much, I would have visited you every night and day since I returned” He whispered as you struggled to break free, only to be stopped by being pushed against the door, your face planted against it as you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and the soft thud of his pants on your bedroom floor.

Fear turned into lust and expectation as you peeked at him and then found yourself being kissed by him. It was sloppy and inexperienced, full of teeth and too much spit but 14 year old you didn’t care.

His cock easily went inside of you as his hands grabbed your fat tits and began fondling them. It felt too much and too few for you. The frantic thrusts of his dick inside your loose and wet pussy wasn't enough, you wanted his mouth on your neck as he fucked you over and over again.

You wanted Ajax to never leave you again. You wanted his sweet promises and love.

"Ajax…" You moaned after he found your g-spot.

His hold became gentle and you tighten your pussy in an effort to keep connected with him. He moans and you felt something warm and wet inside you.

“Tartaglia?” Your soft inquiring voice brought him back to the present. His eyes turned gentle as he met your confused eyes.

“Mmmm...just remembering our first time” He answered as he held you closer, burying his face to the crook of your neck and imprinting your scent into his mind.

He felt, more than saw, your face reddening. The heat palpable to him as he knew that you were remembering the first time the two of you had sex at such a young age. Learning each other’s body with hormone induced lust and something deeper. The bond forged in the harsh winter of snezhnaya had brought the two of you together.

Had he not been the amalgamation of himself before the abyss, the aftermath of it, and the culmination of his training in the Fatui...he would have believed that you and him were fated. Soul mates. But he knew that he had chosen you, once before the abyss, and then again and again after that.

He knew the reason behind your cryo vision. The Tsaritsa had only ever given her vision towards those who love ardently, those who love deeply and with everything that they have. Going against the tide for the sake of what they love. And Ajax, Tartaglia, Childe had felt joy, honor, and humility at being the reason for your vision.

This was the reason why he couldn’t let anyone take you away from him. You had loved him at his weakest and loved him still at his strongest, he would be a fool to let you go, to not hold you tightly within his grasp and return your love that gained the recognition of the Tsaritsa.

“Mmm...We were so sloppy back then…” You mumbled as your hand played with his, the ardent desire in the room had faded into a gentle aura of loving without any sexual desire.

“I...I really didn’t expect you to do what you did…” You added as your ears turned red but even so your voice didn’t hide the soft wonder and love you held in regard to that moment.

And Tartaglia knew then that he had nothing to worry about. You weren’t interested in Zhongli, you weren’t looking for someone else.

“Was I too rough to you today?” He asked, voice sad and worried that he might have gone too far with his jealousy, no matter how many times you had said you liked the feeling when he fucked you out of jealousy.

You shook your head, snuggling to him even more, as if you wanted to meld your body with his so as to never be separated. You clung to him, humming a soft tune as you mulled over your words.

“About Zhongli...you...you aren’t in love with him or anything right?” You faltered as you reached the end of your question.

Tartaglia observed you, your eyes were furrowed and you were biting your lip. Looking away from him to hide your insecurity but he was well versed in your body language and knew that you were wounded up and feeling insecure.

“I’m not” He replied, kissing you on your nape, the tip of your ears before making his way towards your mouth. He took his time observing you as his mind quickly went through every single interaction he had with the esteemed funeral parlor consultant that would have led to your question.

Beyond his money spending, there was none.

“Is it because I keep footing his bill?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“...It’s...I guess women’s intuition...that bastard looks like he wants to take you away from me…” You mumbled curling up and hiding your face away from him.

“I...I get it if you like him but...I don’t really want to share you” You admitted to him, heart clenching at the thought that one day he might just stop loving you, “but if you really want to...you can date him too…”

There were a lot of things you didn’t say, and Tartaglia knew this as well. He had grown up with you and over the years learned to speak your own language, he had learned to parse over the unspoken words you kept close to your heart, the hidden meanings behind your actions when your words fail you. And knowing that you were so ready to make concessions for him even if you didn’t really want to, made his heart ready to burst with love. He loves you so much that sometimes it made his insides hurt, his overflowing love had nowhere else to go but to you and you had always accepted him,

“I like xiansheng but it’s a different sort of like...I just think his unending knowledge on liyue is interesting.”

You nod in agreement, “I believe you...but the way Zhongli sometimes looks at you feels different, well even if you two slept with each other you’d still top though.”

Your last sentence caught him off-guard causing your lover to cough and look at you with wide eyed confusion and shock, “Darling! Why-who- what made you say that?!”

His scandalized tone was enough to send you into a fit of giggles, tears gathering at the edges of your eyes as you looked at him and kissed him sweetly on his lips with your eyes closed.

“Babeeeee” Ajax whined as you got up to clean yourself, the wet sound of his dick slipping out of your pussy was loud in the room.

“Well...you’re too much of a top but…” You trailed off, a teasing smile on your face as your eyes twinkled with mirth, “Zhongli seems like the type to top you if you push his buttons right.”

“Stop! Are you sure you’re not the one who likes xiansheng?!” He complained as he followed you into the bathroom, arms embracing you from behind. “Nope! You’re the only one I love besides just as you find him interesting for his knowledge, I think it’s fascinating how he pretends to be a human.” You answered as you led him to the tub, filling it with water and began preparing to take a shower.

The perks of having a harbinger lover was that you never had to worry about water pressure or running out of water. You hummed a happy tune, ignorant of the fast whirring cogs in Tartaglia’s brain as he processed what you just said.

“Pretending?”

“Yeah! Zhongli sucks at acting like one, he’s probably an adepti doing some recon here in Liyue Harbor” You replied absentmindedly as you detach yourself from him to begin washing off his cum.

You noticed the lack of extra hands groping you, feeling slightly neglected. You turned around with a frown only to be greeted by the calculative look in your boyfriend’s eyes.

“Tartaglia?” You tested out which of his persona was standing before you, the gleam in his eyes as he looked straight at you with a growing smirk had your pussy being wet again.

You took a step back, hitting the tiled wall of the shower as he stepped into the shower, crowding you with his arms placed on your sides. His cock was standing at attention, hard and leaking precum as it slid in between your thighs. You couldn’t look away from his eyes, filled with the look of a predator that you could only ever feel when he was in his Foul Legacy Form.

You doubt that he would transform in the bath but you knew that right now even without his transformation, this was the boy forged in the Abyss. That he was Foul Legacy right now and you couldn’t help but grow horny at the thought of another round.

“Aren’t you my observant slutty adventurer?” He crooned, voice deep with lust as you let your body be pulled towards his naked chest, his dick rubbing off your clit that makes you clench your legs tighter. The water had thoroughly wet your bodies at this point, his cum dripping down your body as he spread your ass cheeks.

“I-what did-” your sentence was interrupted by your moan, he had inserted his incredibly hard cock inside your pussy “I shay?”

You slurred your words as he began thrusting into you, the sound of your wet pussy being pounded echoing loudly against the tiled walls of the bathroom. Your erect nipples rubbing off his muscular and wet chest giving you an extra sensation that made you easily lose any coherent thought you had.

But Foul Legacy made no move to answer you, instead he had you cling to him as he held your legs up, encircling it on his waist as he began pounding you at the right angle to make you cum. Your moans were lewd and loud as it echoed in the bathroom.

You could feel your orgasm building up and knew that you were close and he knew this as well, the tightening of your pussy as he fucked you senselessly was a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. And he had no intention to stop fucking you even as you came, instead his thrust grew faster and harder as soon as you came with a strangled shout of his name.

You were crying at the feeling of your overly sensitive pussy and the feel of his hot cock that kept on going in and out.

Fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!

The sound of his dick sliding in and out of your wet pussy rang loudly in your ears, mixing with the sounds of your pants and groans while your lover left numerous bite marks on your neck.

Schlick schlick schlick

“Nnn--haaa---!” schlop! “Noo---more! Aaaan!” schlop!schlop!schlop!schlop! “I’m close…”

Splurt splurt splurt

With one last hard thrust to your sensitive cunt, Foul Legacy came inside your pussy, the plop plop plop sound of his cum dripping out of your cunt made you clench your pussy.

“...tub…”

With a single word, you felt his limp dick come back to life, faster than a whopper flower’s ability to spit 5 consecutive flame balls. You were placed into the tub on all fours, the feel of his fingers spreading your cunt was all the notice you received before you felt his dick enter you.

Schwap!schwap!schwap!schwap!schwap!schwap!schwap!schwap!schwap!

The water splashed around as you held on for dear life as he rapidly thrusted his cock inside your pussy that was still filled with his cum.

“Hahn! Aaahn~!”

Your moans were cut short repeatedly as the schwip!schwip!schiwp!schiwp!schiwp!schiwp!schiwp!schiwp!schiwp! Sound of his hips hitting your ass echoed in the bathroom.

“I’m coming~” you told him as you felt your orgasm burst, his grip was now on your waist, leading you to slam back as he thrusted forward headless of your sensitive pussy.

You moaned loudly, no longer bothering to keep your voice down as you lost your reason and began your slutty talk,

“More!more!more! Fuwaaa~!” You begged him, “haaa~haaa~! Haar-der!”

You mewled when his hand grabbed you by your throat and expertly began fucking you like you were nothing more than a cock sleeve.

Fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!fwap!

“Yes~!Aaahn~!Nnnn! I want more of your cum~”

“Dump all of your thick cum inside me!”

“Fwaaa! Tartaglia~!”

“I’m your only slut,” Schlip schlip schlip “breed me like the whore that I am!”

You lost your sense of time, the only thing on your mind was the feeling of his cock fucking you over and over again, cumming inside you again and again until you felt full. By the time you regained your senses, Tartaglia was using your mouth and you greedily lapped up his cum as his cock hit the back of your throat and came.

The wet sound of his cock sliding out of your mouth pussy echoed softly in the room, you opened your mouth and then swallowed his remaining cum on your tongue.

“Fuck!” He cursed softly as he watched you swallow and then open your mouth to show him that you had drunk everything.

“Mmmm...do you think I’ll get pregnant this time?” You asked as you recounted all the times he had came inside you today, not even knowing how many times he came inside you while you were out of it.

“If you are then we’ll have a new family” He replied as he kissed you tenderly, tasting his cum on your mouth.

You smiled, laughing softly as you reached for him, “Does this mean you’re no longer jealous of Zhongli?”

“Not anymore...but if he tries something…” Tartaglia trailed off and you felt the spark of amusement at the thought of Foul Legacy fighting off an adepti.

You kissed him with glee, letting him know your approval for Foul Legacy mounting you once he won against the adepti.

The two of you cleaned up once more, changing the soiled sheets and deciding to take the day off. There was still enough time to scope out Rex Lapis’ whereabouts, and dealing with your dear consultant friend about his romantic endeavors.

For now, the two of you decided to sleep in each other's arms, savoring this rare moment of peace. Both of you knew that once the Tsaritsa had her hands on the Geo Archon’s gnosis her plans would speed up and whether or not both of you would make it out alive was up for debate.

Somewhere in Liyue, Zhongli was spending a rare moment of peace, free from his own form of erosion, drafting a contract. His mind occasionally wandered to the thoughts of you and Childe.

This morning’s event was fresh in his mind as he remembered the soft dip of your cleavage, visible from the gap of your corset tube top that you wore for the outing. The enticing glimpses of Childe’s toned stomach also added to his desire. The two of you were such a picturesque couple, an enticing mix of danger and seduction that had half of Liyue’s upper class in a hidden uproar whenever either of you flirted or made a show of public affection.

If he hadn’t known any better, he would have believed that both of you were fox spirits wearing human skin, only to wreak havoc in Liyue Harbor through enticing looks and amorous playful glances. Zhongli felt his cock strain against his pants as he remembered the pointed words and looks he had shared with you this morning.

A clear declaration of your sole ownership of Childe, of course he was not blind to the growing suspicion Childe had with each soft smile he gave you, just a hint of teasing mixed with a tiniest bit of desire as you displayed your sharp wit.

Even so he willed himself to calm down, now was not a time to imagine your wet pussy being mounted by his and Childe’s dick. Now was a time to draft a perfect contract to have you and Childe in his bed, and perhaps in his life on a permanent basis. He was no longer blind to the desire he felt towards the two of you.

Childe who was as unpredictable as Liyue’s ocean and you who was just as harsh and gentle as Snezhnaya’s winter. He smiled as he reread the contract he had written, he was quite sure neither you nor Childe would disagree.

You were after all such a slut that had your lover fucking you in one of Liyue Harbor’s numerous backalley and Childe was such a doting lover that had no qualms spreading his seed in public.

Zhongli hummed in pleasure, as he stored the contract away, and began his nightly and methodical routine of sleeping. His mind was already straying to one of his favorite imaginations of his coupling between you and Childe.

He couldn’t wait to mount both you and Childe one day.

|| Next

[the-ravening]

For the WIP meme: "Vampire AU sequel notes" because I love itttttt and "Winterbaron titty fuck" because why not

WIP list here

The Vampire AU Sequel Notes is mostly a copy/pasted convo between me and @shadowslament hashing out ideas, and also has a few ideas from you, Eve 😘

For anyone who hasn’t read it, it would be a sequel to this Vampire Bucky/Vampire Hunter Zemo fic of mine: To Its Feast For Precious Hearts

Some excerpts from that convo under the cut, as well as me checking out that ‘Winterbaron Tittyfuck’ doc because I also have no idea what that is.

Vampire AU Sequel Notes

Ravening: When Eve was working on a little vampire fic a while back, she told me that one of the major arteries is in the groin, but she didn't end up using this tidbit in her fic. Now the question is: will I be able to rest if I don't get them to a place where Zemo orgasms from Bucky drinking blood from his groin? So I'm thinking after that first encounter, Zemo starts to look into Hydra more to try to figure out why Bucky is so intent on killing them, and he discovers that Hydra is creating vampires, which leads him to work together with Bucky to take them down, in an enemy of my enemy is my friend kind of way, but with yearning. Eve suggested that Hydra has some of Bucky's powerful blood that they're using to create more vampires, which I love. Maybe they created the vampire that killed Zemo's family. And if, like you said, Bucky was able to access Zemo's memories while drinking from him, then he now knows Zemo's motivations and begins (continues?) to tolerate him inviting himself along for the Hydra hunting. Maybe Zemo can do some useful things that Bucky can't? Like operate during the day, or be human enough to infiltrate the organization. And the ultimate goal is to retrieve the sample of Bucky's blood that they have, and then they can just burn the building to the ground. And they fall in love along the way. The end. Maybe. shadowslament: What if Bucky has only been killing HYDRA agents/scientists so far, not the vampires they've been making? Perhaps he hasn't been able to locate them, or he hasn't had success drawing them out, but Zemo finds or already knows where they are and he can either get the other vamps away from that place(s) or get himself and Bucky in. He could act as bait (something Bucky would not be able to do, as the vamps would be drawn to Zemo's blood/humanity), he could take down the first one he tempts, and that would of course heighten his appeal in Bucky's eyes. Ravening: If Zemo uses himself as bait (especially without letting Bucky know about his plan in advance), that could also give us an opportunity to have Bucky go fucking feral in anger and jealousy over the thought of another vampire hurting his Zemo. Feeding on his Zemo. Maybe immediately after they kill those other vampires is when we can do the femoral artery groin drinking in a fit of heated passion. Bucky needs to make Zemo understand that Zemo and his blood belong to him now. Bucky, in his anger (and fear of losing Zemo), goes a little harder than necessary throwing Zemo around, holding him down, bruising him, biting into him and leaving his mark all over so no other vampire can be mistaken when they see Zemo after this.

I 100% still intend to write this one. I love this AU.

Winterbaron Tittyfuck

I’m pasting the entirety of this doc here and I’m laughing while reading it. I have no recollection of writing this.

Bucky is pissed off at Zemo for something and grabs him by the front of the shirt with the intention of slamming him against the wall, for some physical intimidation (it’s what Bucky resorts to whenever he feels like Zemo’s gotten the best of him intellectually). He’s surprised when the front of Zemo’s shirt rips open easily, as the snaps holding it shut are instantly undone. Bucky is bewildered. “What the fuck is this shirt?” Zemo is nonplussed and a little mischievous. He explains that the shirt opens easily as a tactical advantage, to avoid being strangled by the polo neck in a physical struggle. Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from Zemo’s exposed chest, his chest hair, the delicate little gold necklace gleaming above it. Zemo asks if he’d like to engage in a physical struggle, and Bucky totally does. Bucky nuzzles his face into Zemo’s chest, grabbing handfuls of his soft pecs and sucking on his nipples. He pushes Zemo down onto a couch and half-straddles him. Taking his cock out of his pants, Bucky rubs it along Zemo’s face, his lips, down his neck, along his collarbones, and finally all over his chest. He pushes Zemo’s tits together against his cock as he fucks between them. He comes all over Zemo’s chest hair and necklace, then licks it all up.

[qqueenofhades]

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[whump-town]

Books & Bonding

(There is no point to this, it’s just a drabble I wrote after finishing my Art History paper) Enjoy some bittersweet father son bonding 

Jack is laying upside on the couch, the way Hotch has probably told him a thousand times before not to. So that his ass is propped up where a back would normally go and his back is where a butt should be. He’s letting the blood rush to his head because it, direct quote, “help him think better”. At this current time and place, Hotch is too distracted trying not to burn cookies in the oven and keeping pasta stirred. So he doesn’t waste his breathe telling his son, again, not to sit like that. 

“You just don’t understand,” Jack sighs wistfully. 

Hotch has managed to raise one strange kid. He’s seventeen-years-old and spends more time ranting and raving about books than girls (or, hell, boys). Hotch doesn’t even know where they stand on that. They’ve discussed gender and sex, in more of a book sort of way. Jack had gone on about chosen expression differing from biological traits and Hotch can’t even remember why that was. He just knows what followed it was The Hunger Games sequels because that had prompted a discussion on riots and Hotch’s personal beliefs on the government.

There’s never a dull moment.

Pausing in his pasta stirring, Hotch takes a moment to correctly process the rant he’s just been on the receiving end of. Rubbing his palm into his eye, he wonders if it would be simpler to talk about gender expression again. At least then he knew what to say. 

Now they’re… debating, what? Identities? 

Raising his son around the team might have been a bit of a mistake. Jack seems to consume the parts of the team that Hotch has always struggled with the most. Reid’s quickly devolving, circling rants about anything and nothing at all. Emily’s obsession with books that require a strange and open mind to the natural progression of the world. Fucking woodwork from Morgan. Where does that even come from?

Humming to himself, he collects what he thinks is a good response. “The point,” he asks, glancing towards the living room. Waiting for Jack to pop up and he does, resting his chin on the cushion as he watches his father. “The point is that there is a danger in being anyone but yourself, yes?” 

Jack nods, “essentially.”

Hotch hums, nodding his head. He might be able to remember the title of the book, Jack probably mentioned at some point, he does understand Vonnegut. Emily got Jack a collection of his work for Christmas last year after the two made an entire day of picking apart Margret Atwood’s “Handmaid’s Tale”. Of course, he’d also read the book but it was far more interesting to sit back and observe the two of them. 

“What does that mean for you?” Hotch asks. He means it. 

It seems to do the trick. To scratch whatever itch Jack wasn’t finding on his own. He deflates, sinking as he thinks about it. 

Seventeen-years. That’s how long it’s taken for Hotch to realize he’s a better father than he’d thought. Better than he could have ever imagined. He’d been terrified when he’d first been handed Jack. Shaking, the nurses had taunted him for that. He’s a federal agent who was in a national news making explosion, Boston, and he’s afraid of a newborn baby that weighs six pounds and some change. 

But he wasn’t afraid of Jack. He was afraid of those eyes looking back at him. The same eyes as his and the same eyes as his father. 

He and Jack don’t have a complicated relationship, not the one that plays out so tauntingly on the television in seemingly every movie. Not once, has he ever raised his voice or, God-forbid, even his hand. And Jack is pretty normal considering. Just a standard kid making his weigh through the world and the best part is-- 

he tears up a little just standing here thinking about it-- Jack always comes home. 

Hotch never had a home. 

A dad. 

“I don’t know who I am.”

Hotch blinks quickly, shaking his head. He’s not expecting that. 

Jack has moved from the couch, now aimlessly walking circles in the kitchen. He’s barefoot and in a sweatshirt, Hotch knows he stole from his closet. He’s worn the knees out of his jeans and the bottoms are rolled up. They’re thrifted and his favorite. 

The melancholy hits Hotch right in the chest. That stupid sweatshirt. He’d hid it in his closet because he can’t bear to part with it but he can’t stand to look at it. Haley used to wear it far more than he ever did. 

For every part of Haley left in their son-- the sandy blond hair, love for complicated books, and pacing that has always driven Hotch mad-- there are pieces of Hotch as well. The lanky body and hair that can only be contained with an unGodly amount of gel and a skilled hand. 

Where does Hotch even begin to explain the in and outs of identity? That this half-way through puberty child of his is built out of ancient love. The kind not meant to last but hurt. That it’s never as simple as  “I am”, it is everything. It’s not the sum of a whole. There is nothing set in place and Jack will change and change again before he even realizes it. He’ll hate parts and cling to others desperately but there will never be an answer. Yet, every guess he’ll come up with will be right. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Hotch assures him softly. This will make one hell of a conversation to have with Dave some time but for right now, it’s… complicated and he doesn’t have an answer. “You’ll figure it out,” Hotch affirms with enough confidence that they both buy it. Hotch doesn’t doubt for a second that his off the walls bookworm of a child will come to understand who he is. Today’s just not the day and that’s understandable. “For now, go pick a movie and I’ll bring you some macaroni, alright?”

Jack looks like he wants to push that. He doesn’t. A part of can rationalizes that his father doesn’t know the answer either and… A pang of sadness and a bit of fear hits his chest, his dad is tired. Too tired for the kind of long-winded conversation that Jack’s brought into play. 

It’s a strange fear that he’s carried his entire life. Mortality is a hell of a thing to become aware of. 

Jack curls up on the couch, he’s going to milk the hell out of movie night. Eating dinner on the couch is a rare gift and he’s excited by the thought of breaking a rule… sort of. 

“This the book,” Hotch asks two bowls in hand but stopped to bend and scowl at the book cover on the coffee table. 

Jack nods his head, taking his bowl and freeing one of Hotch’s hand so that he can pick the book up and examine it. “You can read it,” he offers, scoping too hot macaroni straight into his mouth. As one does, he proceeds to sit with his mouth open and look obscene as his mouth burns. He then follows it by another mouthful, as if that one will have magically cooled down. 

Hotch puts it back down and takes note of the title. He’ll read it and then he’ll ask Emily about it. He settles down on the couch like he’s got any intent on watching this movie. In reality, he’s going to eat maybe half of his dinner and fall asleep before the rising action of the movie can even be established. 

“What’re we watching?”

Jack smirks and hits play, “gonna be honest, no idea. It has Keira Knightley in it so that was the appeal.” He glances over at Hotch, knowing that his father has no idea who the actress in mind is but he won’t ask. Not for reasons guided by ego but because it won’t matter.

By the time she comes on screen, Hotch is asleep.

Without comment, Jack pulls the throw blanket behind them down. He takes the bowl out of Hotch’s hands, setting on the coffee table, and covers Hotch up. With a sigh, he lays his head down on his father’s thigh. 

Hotch wakes just enough to realize what’s happening and wraps his arm around Jack’s chest, keeping him close. 

Knees pulled to his chest, Jack finds himself falling asleep too. For a moment, tears sting his eyes as he realizes that his dad is never going to carry him to bed again. He’ll never fall asleep on the couch and wake up half-wrangled up in his dad’s arms like a ragdoll too tired to protest but content beyond means. 

He just wishes he could go back and appreciate that one last time.

(the book in question is Kurt Vonnegut’s Mother Night and it’s my favorite book of his)

[starfanatic]

Luke Skywalker vs Rey... Nobody

I hate the argument that a lot of sequel trilogy stans use whenever anyone criticized Rey or labels her a Mary Sue. It’s probably the weakest argument a sequel stan can ever possibly say to me. (Besides the people hate Rey because she’s a women argument).

Lets compare them shall we?

Luke Skywalker in A New Hope is whiny, inexperienced, and very naive. There is multiple moments in a new hope that proves this. When he was whining about not wanting to stay on the moisture farm and wanting to join the Academy like his friend, Biggs. He constantly was slightly annoying throughout the film, especially to Han. When Han named his price and Luke was like “We can buy our own ship with that!” or when Han was flying the Milennium Falcon and Luke was practically yelling in his ear to go into hyperspace. Han and Luke did not get along at first because of Luke’s behavior. Luke went against Obi-Wan’s orders and saved Princess Leia, not thinking of the consequences. How he could possibly be killed or put in a cell with the Princess. He doesn’t think of a plan to get out AFTERWARDS only the spur of the moment. He was constantly shown to be inexperienced and needed his friends help or HE WOULD HAVE DIED THE FIRST MOVIE. While on the millennium falcon, Obi-Wan taught him things about the force. Maybe not a lot but he knew how to use the simple basics of it. Like sensing the force and letting it guide your actions (as Obi-Wan was trying to teach him before). For once Luke listened and trusted Obi-Wan and destroyed the death star.

Lets do Rey now WHOOP. So far the only personality flaw she seems to have is that she’s also naive? She had the same wide-eyed innocence as Luke had but it’s different and here’s why. Rey never suffers for any of her so-called almost non-existent flaws. Rey is experienced enough to hold her own in a fight against men WAY stronger then her (that’s realistic though but that’s one tool in her belt). She’s bilingual. She can fly the millennium falcon better then Han Solo even though she never flew one before. She is constantly saving people by herself, never the one being saved. (Before y’all bust my balls, Rey escaped that damn starkiller base by her damn self. Luke didn’t and couldn’t). She uses powers that takes years to learn and the excuse is the force dyad. So she downloads Kylo’s skills and training. Great. Magnificent. Rey is on a amazing start. And this is the first movie! She can only get stronger from here.

Luke is more mature and responsible in ESB. He’s a respected hero of the rebellion. Luke still struggles using the force. Even with the training Luke goes through with Obi-Wan he had to truly focus to pull the lightsaber to him. Plus as a common occurrence, he still needed help from his friends. He’s not invincible. He actually gets severely hurt (makes sense). He goes to Dagobah to get trained (because unlike Rey he doesn’t have the “learn force jedi shit that takes years to learn” cheatcode). And then he’s impatient. He wants to learn how to use the force so he can help his friends. Luke is again reckless, impatient, and he’s also insecure in his own belief. Him not believing he can lift the X-wing was why he couldn’t. Against his master’s and Obi-Wan’s orders he decides to save his friends. It’s a noble reason to but it still got him fucked up. He got his hand cut off, he was beaten and humiliated, and then he was told a horrifying revalation that twisted around everything he knew and believed. He was scared of Vader, you can see it on his face, but he did not succumb to fear.

Rey goes to the island to convince Luke to go help them fight the war. Why doesn’t Leia go instead? Who knows. Why does Luke act the way he does? Who knows. Luke dismissed her and was quite rude to her. Rey was having cute little talks with Kylie Renner in their little force dyad BS. She called him a monster and a murderous snake. I like the insults. It fills me with joy! But then she finds out the truth. Rey did do something reckless and stupid but as usual she doesn’t suffer the consequences to her actions. Technically she’s morally superior to Luke because she saw the good in him and felt like she could turn him to the light (after slicing his face open. Ok). Rey decides to give herself up to the First Order thinking Kylo would save her. And he does. So she wasn’t even wrong... Rey fight the very elite guards of the (bootleg emperor palpatine) Supreme Leader Snoke. Reminder, TFA and TLJ are like 3-4 days apart. She had zero training within these days. Luke refused to train her so don’t start that bullshit. Luke trained her for like 5 minutes and none of that training had anything to do with lightsaber dueling. Rey is then told she was a nobody. Now why did Rey cry about this? I truly don’t know. How the hell would Kylo accurately know that Rey’s parents were nobody? Didnt Rey been know this from the force awakens? Eh whatever. She tries to force pull the lightsaber from Kylo Ren and do a dumbass tug a war instead of walking up and grabbing it. It reminds me of JJ and Rian fighting over where the star wars sequels). Anakin must be screaming and yelling from above... or below... idk. The lightsaber then breaks. Rey then saves her friends by showing her once again superior piloting skills that rival or is possibly better then Anakin Skywalker himself. Hitting 3 in one shot? You go girl! She then uses the force to effortlessly move the big ass boulders out of the entrance to save the resistance. Last I remember... Luke struggled to do that with a few way smaller rocks and was also focusing hard to do.

Luke is finally at jedi status! Woohoo! Now Luke first saves Han from Jabba. It shows his very dark side tendencies by choking the guards (like father like son). Luke thinks of a actual plan before going in (CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT). Luke “Chanel Boots” Skywalker goes to Yoda on his death bed. All he wants is answers but Yoda wants to be cryptic as fuck. Luke has been lied to for years by his mentors and his family. Luke’s father isn’t hero Anakin Skywalker but actually a big, asthmatic, merciless, murderous asshole who has a choking kink. Luke then says he cannot kill his own father and Obi-Wan, who believes Vader isn’t a human but a machine, has no faith in Luke. He believes that Luke will fail and the Empire would win. Luke feels the conflict and good in him that nobody else does. He knows that Vader is unloyal to the emperor and he actually cares about his own son. When he is with Han and Leia he realizes he made a mistake and has a bad feeling about it. (*gasp* Luke is not being super reckless). He’s not arrogant (not in anyway) but he’s completely confident that Vader would turn. (He isn’t flawless there is still obvious problem with this plan he has. He fails, the empire wins. He dies, the emperor wins. Vader doesn’t turn, Luke fails. Luke almost succumbs to the dark side and it’s actually plausible he might fully turn. He wants to desperately save his friends and his father has done horrible things to Luke. Luke had every reason to kill Vader. But he doesn’t. He throws the lightsaber away and foolishly puts his life in Vader’s hand. Luke doesn’t save the galaxy because he can make things levitate with the force. He wins because he had the strength to resist the dark side and has so much love and pure good in his heart he saw the good in his father.

Rey starts off with a training session (no idc it’s too fucking late now. 3 movies in? Is she doing reverse character development?) and basically Poe gets mad at Rey for not accompanying them on missions. I still don’t know why she needs training, when she is at a decent strength to fight elite guards, fight kylo ren, and a variety of other things that typically takes a long time to learn. After finding out Palpatine returned, Rey goes on a mission to find the way finder almost like a shitty videogame. I don’t even want to talk about the force dyad anymore because it’s fucking dumb. Rey gets chased by the force order and hear this out, FORCE HEALS (i forgot what the animal was but idrc). Which means Rey had the power to stop the painful truth of death themself. Why am I not surprised? Rey did something that no other jedi nor sith or jedi have ever done this. Anakin went to the dark side to save the ones he love. This movie was just a slap in the face to Anakin. Rey then fights Kylo Ren and lost??? again it seems a little too late and it also didn’t make sense. Rey defeated those guards all by herself with Kylo needed help from her. She’s obviously the better lightsaber duelist but hey, at least JJ was trying to mellow her out a bit. Rey stabs him while our beloved Princess died. She then regrets her decision and as always, doesn’t have any consequence to her actions. By the force I forgot, the whole scene where she is revealed as a Palpatine? Completely invalidates the first two movies but eh whatever. She uses a power that only the elite sith does... something Kylo Ren himself could not do (and he’s on the dark side). Rey “killed” Chewie but actually no she didn’t because Chewie is perfectly fine. Rey is supposed to be all dark and edgy now, “you don’t know me” BS. Yeah I’m sorry I won’t tolerate this because my only allergy is the fish smelling coochie bullshit called the sequel trilogy. Rey got scared of her dark self. Well at least JJ tried? Rey then almost gives up but Luke was like “nah fam you cant”. Rey dies trying to fight Palpatine but then as usual, she gets zero consequence cuz Benny Simp saved her using the force. Then she kissed him... no. No. No. This made my eyes burn like they just threw bleach in my eyes. It made no sense. “A Kiss of Gratitude”? What the shit was that? GIRLS DO NOT INSPIRE TO BE REY.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

(Give Me A) Reason to Live

A/N: By popular demand, here is a sequel to Keeping Me Alive.

Summary: After fleeing Hydra, James and Tony found a fragile peace, living together and striking at Hydra from the shadows. Until the news that Captain America has been found forces them out of hiding to face their fears head-on. 

by @dracusfyre

Also on AO3

Tony winced as he straightened, suddenly feeling every hour he’d been sitting at his computer. His back ached, his neck was stiff, and his eyes burned; when he stood, his back popped like bubble wrap.  He reached for his coffee cup only to find it empty, and so was his bottle of water, so he reluctantly climbed the stairs towards the kitchen.

Only to pause when he saw James asleep on the couch. He’d have to go around him to get to the kitchen but startling the Winter Soldier from sleep was always a bad idea, considering the number of weapons that were stashed around the house. He knew some people look relaxed and peaceful while sleeping, but not James; he didn’t look like he ever relaxed, not even while unconscious, mouth set in a stern line.

“Why are you watching me?” James said suddenly without opening his eyes, making Tony jump.

“I thought you were asleep,” Tony said, scowling as he went around the couch to get to the kitchen for food and something to drink.

“Heard you coming up the stairs. Find us a new target yet?”

“Some. There’s a cluster pretty close together near Kansas City, I think we could hit them all in one night,” Tony said as he studied the contents of the refrigerator, wondering if any of the sandwich meat was still good. He sniffed it and decided not.

“You know where there’s a big cluster?”

“Where?”

“DC.”

Tony growled and slammed the fridge door shut. They needed more food, but the closest real grocery store was an hour away, and if he didn’t think he could handle gas station convenience store food one more time. “We’re not going to DC.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.” Tony grabbed a pack of crackers and a can of tuna from the pantry instead; he was so goddamn sick of eating from cans and jars and boxes, he wanted to go to a restaurant so badly he could almost cry.

“So instead we are going to keep hiding out in the woods and nibbling around the edges of Hydra? That’s your grand plan?”

“My plan is erode Hydra’s power base and critical infrastructure until it collapses under its own weight,” Tony snapped back. “It’s not like we’re the only people working on this.”

“Right. Your inside man.” James said sarcastically. “Let me know when there’s real work to do, I’m tired of this petty bullshit.”

Tony’s hand tightened on the bottle of water and the cheap plastic crinkled in his hand but he didn’t say anything. He knew they were both tired of being stuck in this house with only each other for company for months now, almost a year, with the only breaks in the boredom being the periodic excursions to break into and occasionally destroy Hydra front companies and bases. He pressed a knuckle to the spot between his eyes, trying to forestall the headache he could feel building. “I found another chair,” he said into the tense silence as he opened the bottle of water and chugged it. “And a bioweapons lab. These targets aren’t petty.” He knew he’d won that round when James was silent for a moment.

“Have you noticed that each target we hit is harder than the last?” James said eventually. “I get what you’re doing, but it’s just making them more prepared for us.”

“If we kill Pierce and the others and don’t destroy the organization, new scum will just rise to the top. We’ve-“ Tony bit off his words and sighed. He put some tuna on a cracker and shoved it in his mouth, chewing tiredly. “We’ve talked about this before,” he said when he finally swallowed. “We’re not ready to take on the entire organization yet.”

He heard a deep sigh from the direction of the couch. “Yeah. You’re right. I just…”

“I know. I want it to be over, too.” Tony steadily ate the tuna and crackers with the dutiful determination of a man doing an unpleasant task, then swept the crackers off the table and looked out the window. The sky was starting to deepen to a beautiful deep blue twilight, promising a clear night, and the weather was brisk and pleasant. “Want to go for a walk?” he offered. “We haven’t checked your traps in while.”

“Sure,” James said after a beat, recognizing the offer for the olive branch that it was. Tony set JARVIS on sentinel mode and picked up his phone, night vision glasses, and a red-light flashlight for the walk. Over the past year, while Tony had been obsessively improving his suit and putting together a high value target list, James had taken up landscaping; he’d been steadily redesigning the forest around the cabin to funnel anyone approaching onto a handful of paths, then booby-trapping the hell out of these paths with cameras and tripwires attached to landmines and sentry guns.

“Nice night,” Tony commented as James cleared out some brush and limbs that had obscured one of the traps.

“Yep,” James grunted as he checked the magazine and barrel of one of the sentry guns. Tony pulled out his phone and tested the control mechanisms for the gun, moving it left and right and up and down to make sure everything was working.

“You know, as much as I obviously don’t want us to be found, I kind of would like to see these traps in action. You’ve put so much work into them,” Tony said. He followed James through the woods, careful to only walk where he was walking. “What else do you want to do?”

Tony could feel the irritable mood lightening for both of them as James answered Tony’s question, pointing out places where he planned to dig out and deepen ravines, move fallen trees, and replant bushes to make sure the unwary would walk right into the traps. It was full night when they reached the far edge of their property line to make sure that the NO TRESPASSING signs were frequently posted and fully visible so no hikers or hunters accidentally got blown to hell. They cut through the woods to the dirt road that led to the cabin and were admiring the stars when Tony got an alert from JARVIS on his phone.

“Something big just came across the comms,” Tony said, showing the screen to James. James nodded and the stroll became a fast walk back to the cabin. The walk had been a good idea; just getting out of the house and getting fresh air had done a lot for Tony’s headache and James sounded like he was in a much better mood as they went back inside. He claimed the shower while Tony polished off the bottle of water and went downstairs to see what the alert was all about. When he pulled up the message, he read it once, then again, then stared at the wall for a moment before reading it a third time, which was when it really sank in. “James!” He shouted, then cursed when he remembered he was in the shower. He almost tripped as he ran up the stairs, then pounded on the bathroom door before barreling in.

“What the fu-”

“They found Captain America,” Tony said. “Up near Greenland or something. They found the Valkyrie and he was still inside and they think he’s still alive.”

For a long moment there was only the sound of water running, then James finally said, “Who found him?”

“Hydra. I mean SHIELD,” Tony corrected. “But you know. Hydra knows.”

“Fuck.” James turned off the water and slid the shower curtain back as he reached for the towel on the back of the toilet. Tony felt the back of his neck get hot and kept his eyes firmly on James’ face, trying and failing to not feel like a creeper for how hard it was to not appreciate the view. Finally James put the towel around his waist, which helped only a little bit because now James was raking his wet hair back and water was running down his chest and had Tony mentioned that they’d been stuck alone in this cabin for almost a year? “Wait, what do you mean they think he’s still alive?”

“Apparently he’s been frozen all this time, but they found a heartbeat. They are trying to extract him so they can thaw him out in a medical facility.” Tony met James and saw something in the man’s eyes that he’d never seen before; it was the kind of hope that made you afraid, because you wanted it so badly to be true that it might destroy you if it wasn’t. The look made Tony’s heart twist and his stomach drop but he refused to think about that because there was more important things to think about.

“So what do you think we should do?” Tony asked. He finally backed out of the bathroom which, he just now realized, he probably should have done as soon as James started to get out of the shower.

“Isn’t it obvious?” James said. “We gotta steal Steve.”

[batarella]

The Bullet: A Sequel to the Commander - Part 6 (Jason Todd x Reader)

FUUUUCK THIS TOOK SO LONG AM SORRY BUT MAAAAN AM I PROUD OF THIS. YES THE FLOYD LAWTON I’M BASING ON IS WILL FUCKING SMITH

WORDS: 10333 WARNINGS: IMPRISONMENT, STARVATION, DEHYDRATION, TORTURE, FIREARMS

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

-----

“How do you plead?”

Soulless.

Mindless.

Lifeless.

She finally became that cold, callous machine. It took her this far just to get there.

It was just about as painless as your skin and nerve endings being burned off.

A soulless, mindless, lifeless muster of steel and hard parts.

To every pair of eyes that looked her way, she was no human being. She was no woman. She wasn’t someone who loved or was loved. She wasn’t someone’s cousin, or someone’s lover. And especially not someone who could have been a mother. Taking care of a child would be nothing short of abuse.

She wasn’t Y/N. She was Deadshot. An eerie mimic to her infamous uncle.

With the cuffs on her wrists, three guards on her side, unarmed in case she could possibly reach out for them, she heard the distant flickering of camera shots and murmurs. Her silence was already something to note, with the reporters eating up this story like worms on a cold carcass. But not once did she look up from her feet, at the steel clinging to her skin. Her attention didn’t leave the coarseness of the bright orange suit, sticking to her skin like sandpaper.

“Guilty.”

Her own trial. And she barely paid attention. She didn’t listen to just about anyone who went up to speak, at the lawyers, the judge, the jury with their whispers. She didn’t listen to their stories about her, whether or not they were true. And even if it were a lie, it wouldn’t matter much. It would only add up to the countless life sentences she’d expect to have in the end. It wouldn’t change anything about her situation. Waller was going to win, whatever happens.

For the murders of fifteen different people. Fifteen different cases. It was barely a fraction of what she’d done just by the past few months alone, not including the last one since she swore off killing. But they were the ones she chose to admit to. By herself. Her part of the deal with Waller.

A trial that was supposed to last the whole of the day, ended up being adjourned after barely an hour. Barely any witnesses, barely any proof to go against her. If she hadn’t admitted to anything, she wouldn’t have gotten more than one or two life sentences.

Now, she ended up with eight.

And after her eyelids shielded her away from more visions of the reality in front of her, she still managed to watch herself being taken away. With even more unarmed guards around her in a circle and two standing from a fair distance away, holding AKs and pistols strapped to their hips.

She saw herself being cuffed on her ankles, lead to an armored car like a circus animal. Reporters all around her, snapping pictures and holding out their microphones trying to get something out of her. And despite everything Waller had said, about her histories, her crimes, and all the horrible things she’s done, not everyone immediately went back to looking at her scornfully. At the far off crowd outside the courthouse, there were a group of girls, holding up a sign with hearts around her name. Her real name this time.

And they all cheered for her to be let go. They cried out to her, calling her a hero, calling her things she clearly wasn’t.

A cop pulled her head back to look in front of her, back crouched over, face covered with her hair. When she got to the car, she could no longer hear screams of neither hate nor support. She never felt so alone. So dead. Dead beneath her skin despite her heart still up in a beat. But it was clearly barely there. She was barely alive.

They took her to a plane. Then on another car. Then she arrived in Belle Reve.

Guards gave her looks. And she didn’t care to think about what went on in their clearly corrupted minds. She was taken to a brightly lit room, and despite it being so lit up, everything around her felt cold and dark. Her eyes, dropped down, she let the guard take her hand and press her inked fingers onto a piece of paper. Then they scanned her eyes, took her blood, took a piece of her hair.  

She was given a sign to hold, with her name on it and alias.

She stood in front of the wall with the height meter and faced the camera.

And on her face, she finally gave off a taste of the emotions running through the labyrinth in her mind. Her eyebrows arched down, her shoulders crouched over, her hair coming down to frame her face and her mouth arching down the most terrifying frown.

And her eyes. They looked black from the hooded darkness.

Anger. So much anger. For everything around her. For everything that had to happen.

They took the shot.

Just hours later, her mug shot had circulated all over Gotham, all over billboards and television screens, and almost everywhere on social media. Mixed criticisms. People wanting her to be let out. People praising her to be so brave. People saying she deserved what she got. People saying she should be put on death penalty.

Deadshot. Even when her name was everywhere. Even when the world had claimed her real name for their use. It wasn’t hers anymore.

She will, and always will be, Deadshot.

-----

Cops weren’t supposed to shove him into the back of a car like a dog being tied down and taken to the pound.

Cops weren’t supposed to throw his rights out the window out of fear over the woman who was supposedly above the law.

Cops weren’t supposed put their fear of losing their jobs in front of treating other people with basic human decency and have some sort of humanity left in them.

Cops weren’t supposed to use their job as an excuse to hurt other people. An excuse to let out their personal angers out on people who don’t deserve it.

But Jason Todd, a vigilante who had just been relieved out of god knows how many murder charges over the course of just two years, he shouldn’t expect the cops to be nice to him. As much as they were kind to Batman, as much as Commissioner Gordon was considered saint, there will always be a number of them that are just as bad as the criminals they detain.

They took him almost a hundred miles away from the city. Out into an unknown country side he had no idea where to go to. Not a motel, a gasoline station, or a diner in sight. He must have been in that car for four hours. He didn’t exactly know. Just that it was almost day time when they threw him out, his face meeting the dewy grass and the youthful orange sky. And the air around him felt nothing like the cold Gotham winds. It was fresh, light, healthy to take in. That’s when he realized just how far off he really was from home.

Jason was hungry, throat starting to feel a little dry. And his clothes will barely be enough to hold him up. He had two days. Maybe three days tops. By then he’ll have to make sure he’ll at least find a motel to stay in. He searched his pockets. His phone had fallen off. But he had his wallet.

He started walking to where the car came from. If they ran in circles to throw him off, he’ll probably die before he gets anywhere near the city by now. When the sun had fully risen, his skin now starting to feel the prickling of his sweat and the burn of the hot rays of light, he kept going. He kept pushing his legs forward, one in front of the other.

By sundown, he felt something in his stomach churn and eat him away from the inside. He shivered, despite the warmth. Then he decided to rest for just a few minutes to press back the tingling pain in his horribly dried up throat. He sat on the grass, weight on his hands, then he looked up at the sky, at the lack of clouds and immense brightness.

And he wasn’t upset about any of it. He wasn’t so worried about his life as he should be, dying of hunger, dying of thirst, feeling the heat burn his skin, or that he might never get home soon enough to actually live. He wasn’t so worried about what could happen to him in the cold dark or if he ever actually does find shelter, or help, or a single car that hadn’t passed by him so far.

He was sure he’d survive. He’d gone through worse. So much worse. And it was no different from being a child at crime alley not knowing if he was getting some food on his plate that day or not.

But it wasn’t even because of that why he wasn’t crying out in desperation and scavenging for any sort of help he could find.

He didn’t worry, because all he could ever think about was what could possibly be happening to Y/N in Belle Reve right that moment.

Jason never liked being in the unknown when it came to her, when she wasn’t by his side. When they were apart, as often as he could, he made sure to follow her around when she wasn’t expecting it, keep tabs on her almost every minute of the day, know where she was going and what she wanted to do. It had always been something in him to make sure the one person he loved more than anything else in the world was okay. Watch her from afar. Make sure she wasn’t hurt. That she wasn’t hurting herself. When she came back to him he swore he’d never lose her again. He swore to himself, and to her.

And now it was that all over again. And this time, he might never get to hold her for the rest of his life. This time, he might actually lose her for good. There was no way for him to follow her, to know what she was doing.

And it scared him to death. Scared him so much that it tore away every rational thinking in his head. That was most probably going to kill him. His lack of instinct. His lack of the will to keep going. When all he could think about was whether she was actually still alive and not have the bomb in her neck explo-

Jason pulled on his hair.

He already missed her so much…

He was in the middle of nowhere and he didn’t have so much as a picture of her to look at.

Wait.

His wallet.

He pulled it out.

An old photo of her. From her identification all the way back from the militia. From when she was recruited. He got her files and looked through them. Found her picture. Thought she was pretty. Had the files on his desk for months and after a while he ended up bringing it with him. Kept it in his wallet for two years and completely forgot about it. He thought he was a creep then, especially since they weren’t even so much as friends, but he remembered.

He got out his wallet and took it out from an enclosed pocket.

Hair kept back, cropped up to her collarbone and her face staring at him blankly. But her eyes still had that remnant of brightness and her mouth was so subtly curving up on one side.

Jason had his eyes on that little picture until he realized he had to keep going.

-----

Floyd’s old cell.

Waller and her sick little game.

She wasn’t placed with the other women in the prison with shared cells and barred gates. She was forced into the old cell of Floyd Lawton. Instead its walls of iron were three inches thick, solid, indestructible. There was but a little opening at eye’s length and another by the handle to bring in her food. It wasn’t as small as she thought it would be. But it smelled like five rats had died there this morning.

Deadshot took too long to get in and a baton swung against her back.

She fell to the floor and swore she heard her spine crack. For a moment her nerves stopped working, a buzzing numbness in slow surges, all except for the sharp pain at the base of her back.

“Get in there!” the guard screamed at her then kicked her further down. Crawling into the cell, she heard the gate slam shut and the whole room grow dim, save for a single orange light at the corner.

She didn’t do so much as stand up for a few hours. Her head was stuck to the ground, curled up to her stomach just to cling into some parts of her body that wasn’t already in pain. Everything in her hurt so much. There was a small cot at the corner and a punching bag at the other side. That had to be for Floyd. She didn’t want it. She hated that she wasn’t so much as given her own cell and had to settle for yet another of whatever scraps her uncle left behind. She got his guns. His suit. His fucking name. and now, she fucking laughed, she got his kills, his debt, his life sentences, his squad, his boss, his cell.

Everything she had. Everything she’s ever stood to live for. It had all been a remnant of who Floyd Lawton was. Never hers. She had no identity. Nothing good ever came out of anything he’s given her. Only a lifetime of running and money and taking lives. There had only ever been one good thing that came out of it.

And she had to lose him, too.

Deadshot had no idea if Jason was ever going to be okay. That he wasn’t going to eventually get himself killed without anyone holding him back. She couldn’t check on him anymore. She’ll have no idea if he even dies.

So she was just going to have to tell herself that he’ll be okay.

When the late afternoon came, she finally took to standing from the ground, on her knees, then she held herself up with the wall and hissed at how her bones cracked at the lack of movement. Everything hurt so much. She went to the cot, sat on its edge, and waited until the sun fell and rose again.

In the morning, the guards threw in a single burnt toast through the hole on the door. She didn’t touch it.

When the sun fell once more, she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes. She didn’t even get to sleep. No matter how much her eyelids started to hurt.

On the next day, they threw an apple into her cell. Deadshot took a bite, spat it out, then threw it out of the single window through the bars.

That night, she couldn’t bare not being able to sleep anymore. She tossed around in the cot, turning off all her other senses even when it only ended up amplifying the dead, yet raging thoughts.

She wanted a life. A good one. And finally it was within her grasps and it went away as quickly as it came. This wasn’t living. This was merely taking up space. This wasn’t a life anymore and it sucked when she knew there was nothing to look forward to.

Everything hurt to think about. Everything. Except when it often trailed off to Jason. Then her heart would swell, her wonderous thoughts halted. Thoughts of him. Thoughts of how he was. It was as calming as it was painful. And even if it stung, it brought back her humanity.

So she resorted to him. When the pain became too much. When her cell got too cold, or when the guards started to taunt her. When the cot got too uncomfortable or when her most silent screams haunted her at night.

She thought of him.

Is Jason okay? Is he eating? Is he even alive? Is he back in their apartment or out of Gotham or…

No. He wasn’t going to be okay.

Even if he was alive. Even if he was eating three times a day or if he was out of the state.

She knew. Because the moment she walked out of the apartment all those months ago, when she regrettably left the love of her life, she never stopped looking after him. He had no idea. He thought he was the one following her around. But out on patrols when Red Hood thought he was working alone, Deadshot was a few hundred yards away, looking out on her scope, watching and waiting for anything that might come out to take him down or anything he might not get to handle.

She never loved anyone like she loved him, and she often smiled at how they came to be, how it wasn’t supposed to be. No one would have thought it would work, but when it actually happened, it always made sense. To everyone.

Her Jason. Her sweet Jason.

She clutched at her chest.

She’ll have her thoughts of him to keep going. That somehow if she stayed alive, it was a step closer to getting to be with him again. A step closer than if she were dead.

And subjecting him to that kind of pain, when she knew he loved her, too, when he’s always made it clear, always made sure she knew he loved her.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t too calming to think about him.

If anything, it only made the pain even worse.

------

Was that a house?

It looked like one.

It had a windmill, too.

And probably a barn.

Twenty-six hours of walking on the side of the road. Twenty-six hours of no food. No water. No shelter. Twenty-six hours, and only two cars have passed by him. Not one of them stopped.

Jason’s hair was sticking to his forehead now from the immense amount of sweat that had seeped out of his hairline, which was only going to lessen his days to live from three to just two or one. His throat. It was practically as course as the cement road.

But when he saw the house. A triangular roof. A windmill. A field right in front and what looked like a small barn by its side.

He only hoped it wasn’t a mirage.

Jason kept going, and his feet felt so much heavier to lug around like they were sacks of rice strapped to his knees. But he kept walking, further down until he started seeing the house’s porch that had a rocking chair inside it. He might have even seen a dog, running out of the house with its tail wagging and going back in through the doggy door.

Once he reached the front yard, he almost fell to his knees. The sun was scorching and he was probably going to come out of this with his skin almost burnt off of his flesh. If he ever does get out of this alive. But he could see from the screen door that there was someone inside. Human beings that might actually have the heart to help him. Jason swallowed what little fluids there was left in his desert of a mouth.

When he stepped into the porch, the dog came out once again, barking at him. It kept its stance outside the door and snarled whenever Jason tried to go anywhere near the front entrance.

“Who’s out there?!”

It was the voice of an old man. Not so old to be rickety and harsh, barely enough to be audible with his mouth probably struggling to keep up. He seemed to be up to his sixties. When he went up to the door, he stared at Jason through the screen.

“You need anything, boy?”

Jason tried to speak, but even that hurt to do. He tried to cough it out but it was like running his throat through a wrought iron bar.

“I’m… I need help…”

The old man stepped closer, peering in through the tiny holes of the netting. “You look like shit.”

“Can I… have some water?”

The dog stopped his barking, it started to take interest in his smell, on his shoes in particular. Its tail was up especially when his nose started smelling up his leg.

“How long have you been out here? The next city’s hours away by car.”

“A day. Probably. I’m not too sure.”

The old man unlocked the screen door and leaned against the archway. “You look like a dangerous man. You ain’t here to rob me, are ya?”

“No sir. Please. I just need some water.”

Jason saw his throat hitch, looking away out into the field for a short while before he eventually nodded. “Take a seat. Right there. I’ll get you a glass.”

The rocking chair. To him, it looked like the softest bed. He slumped down, tried so hard to keep his eyes open when all of him weighed a ton. He heaved his chest up in a slow, steady pace and made sure not to go into whatever light there might be that greets him.

Jason actually did take a bit of a nap when the door pushed open and he jolted in his seat. The man handed him a glass of cold water.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The dog was beside him once again. This time, it started to pant, like it was smiling at him with his tail wagging. He placed the glass between his lips and savored every single drop of water like it was liquified gold running down his throat. It hurt. All the way down his stomach. But he’s never had anything so refreshing.

“Can't walk back out there. You’ll die.”

“I have to. I can't stay here.”

“Plenty of bodies found at the side of the road with their stomachs inside out. I’m telling you, kid. You won't survive out there.”

With the glass empty, he pressed it onto his head just to cool himself off.

“Here. I’ll get you another glass.”

Jason didn’t want to ask for another but the man had already grabbed the glass away from him and went back inside. When he came out, he brought a sandwich with him as well.

“You’re very kind. Thank you.”

“I said don’t mention it. Folks out here getting lost. Some I offer to help and they end up taking an old family heirloom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But when they aren’t pieces of shit, it’s nice to know I’ve saved a few lives.”

“Yeah,” Jason bit into the sandwich. “I know the feel.”

“I don’t have a spare bed. But you can stay over at the barn.”

“I really can't stay. Someone needs me.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. No car’s about to pass by and give you a ride and you’ll die before you’ll even get to Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?! Where am I?!”

The old man burst out a hearty laugh.

“Where you from, kid?”

“Gotham City.”

He whistled a hiss. “You're a long way from home, young man.” Jason took his time to drink up the water. Just so the man wouldn’t feel the need to get him another one.

“You're at the interstate going to Tennessee. From the looks of it, whoever dropped you off took you somewhere between here and Birmingham.”

Fuck. So the cops, if they were even cops at this point, didn’t drive for four hours. They were driving for twelve.

Fuck Waller and her men.

“I should be going.”

“Stay over at the barn. Every three days two buses pass along this road. One for each way. It’s either that, or the vultures will have you for breakfast. That’s more time than you probably have surviving out there by yourself.”

Jason stared at his half-eaten sandwich and his glass of water.

Yeah. Think rationally. He could at least do that for himself. The heat definitely was getting to him.

When he finished his food, he stayed on that chair until the sky went dark.

-----

The food was so disgusting, it was inhumane.

Two days. And all Deadshot had eaten was a stale piece of bread, two bites out of a rotten apple, half a bowl of chili, and a greasy patty. Her stomach was going to give out any second now. And the hot porridge of something they just threw in was definitely going to make her puke if she even had anything in her stomach right then.

Every part of her body numb, she went up to the punching bag.

One.

Two.

Three.

Her fists didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. Even when her bones were basically made of jelly by now. She hit the bag, balled up her tight fists.

Six.

Seven.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Floyd. Floyd. Floyd.

It had been a while since he spoke to her.

But every second in this cell, she’s heard Floyd’s name being whispered amongst the guards more than anything else there was. Referring to her. To what she was. Floyd’s second. Floyd’s niece. Floyd’s protégé. Floyd’s heir.

Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

She wasn’t Y/N. None of them cared enough about her real identity. Not even the news stations cared enough to flash her real name on the screen for more than a few seconds before calling her Deadshot for the rest of their report. She can't call herself Y/N in a place where all people would look at her for was to compare her to her uncle.

She heard voices. Outside. Guards.

Lots of them.

“OPEN THE GATES!”

“EVERYBODY, LINE UP FOR EXTRACTION.”

“LET’S GO. MOVE. MOVE.”

Huh.

So that was today.

They all had to be armed. And ready to take her down.

She can put up a bit of a fight. For the fun of it.

She turned away from the bag, fists secured up to her head. She saw their faces incoming. A large shield held by the front liner and about ten viciously armed guards trailing behind.

“Come on, motherfuckers!” Deadshot said.

“GO. GO.”

The door slid open.

The shield pushed her to the ground before she could even do so much as move out of the way. She jumped up, twisted the arm that grabbed onto her and kneed him to the pelvis, stomped on his thighs.

Guns started aiming at her.

“Don’t you dare shoot that gun!” Their leader screamed at them.

Not long after, her arms were being held back, another one grabbing her legs. She flailed and kicked about.

“I can walk, you assholes!”

“Can't take the chance.”

A chair. A wheelchair that looked more like a torture machine than anything else. She thrashed about and screamed just as they placed her to sit on it, strapping her arms and head in place so she could barely move at all.

She calmed. She didn’t struggle. She didn’t even ask where she was going. She knew exactly where she was headed.

When they took her to an impossibly dark hallway where at the end, she saw soldiers without armor waiting for her with a suitcase, she swallowed.

“This gonna hurt?” she asked.

“You won't feel a thing…”

She breathed. Breathed. Breathed. Slowly as the chair went closer to the station, she tried so much to hide her neck, but couldn’t with the straps.

And when she saw the size of the needle gun, she jumped up in her seat.

“It’s been six fuckin’ years since Floyd, you didn’t think to have a little upgrade in your equipment?”

“Shut up.”

They pressed the gun to her neck and shot the nanite explosive right past her flesh and muscle.

It was like surviving a bullet and staying awake the whole time it went into her skin. She screamed out in so much pain. It was a bullet. It was a bullet. It was a fucking bullet. She was shot. No. She was dying. Bleeding. She pulled on all the straps.

“Let me go!”

“Take her back to the cell.”

Every hair on her body was sticking up. She swore she felt it bleed. There was something running down her neck. Onto her orange suit. The whole time she was taken to her place, she wouldn’t stop screaming and crying out for the help that was never to come.

They took her back in, undid the straps.

Then she fell to the ground.

“Calm down,” the guard said. “Everybody move out!”

Once again, she was alone. In an old, dusty prison cell that wasn’t even hers to begin with.

At least she thought she was.

“You shouldn’t be so scared of bullets…”

No.

The nerve of this man.

He just had to show up now.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You have no one else to talk to.”

“That doesn’t mean I need you.”

Floyd was sitting on the edge of her little bed, crouched over to his knees. “Get up,” he said.

Something within her, so used to doing exactly as he told her to, it wouldn’t let her say no. She shut her eyes closed and crawled over to a wall so she can pull herself up. Her hand went over to her neck, at the same mark Floyd had on his.

“Don’t touch it.”

She leaned against the wall, arms over her chest.

“Even when you were scared of bullets coming right at you, you were never afraid of guns.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You love guns. You love what you do. Don’t pretend I put you up to a life you never wanted.”

“This?!” she pointed up around the cell. “This wasn’t what I wanted. Not by a long shot.”

“But you knew there was a risk. You took it anyway. You put yourself in more danger than you can handle because you wanted to.”

No. He fucking wasn’t going to use that against her.

“I cleared your debts. I’m here because Waller wanted another Deadshot on the team. It’s because of you, I have a bomb in my neck. I always wanted to be a fucking great markswoman, but it doesn’t mean I wanted to be you.”

It would have probably stung him if he was here at all. But frankly, a figment of her imagination wouldn’t have its feelings hurt if she didn’t want it to.

Floyd let out a sigh and patted the side of the cot to let her sit beside him.

“Y/N…”

Only in her head. She finally hears her name after two days.

She rolled her eyes and took the damn seat.

“You know why you have that fear?”

Her attention never left the ground.

“You know how much you hurt people. All the way back from when you shot your first target. The more you killed, the more you realized how painful it was going to be when the world bites you back and gives you what you think you deserve…”

“It is what I deserve.”

“You think irony is what’s going to kill you.”

“Stop it.”

“But this is who you are. You have never been me. You have always been a different Deadshot. And I knew that. Always. Zoe could see it. Jason could see it-“

“Don’t. Say. His name.”

“This is you. And you're forgetting what you used to call yourself when you were little. When you weren’t so afraid of it taking your life. I never gave you a name because you’ve already named yourself-“

“FLOYD-“

“You are The Bullet. If you think irony wants you dead, bit it back in the ass. Become your fear.”

“AGH!”

She swung at her side, but Floyd was gone.

-----

A pile of hay was actually nice to lay down on.

The cow that was staring at him the whole time, though, was quite unnerving. The chickens as well. And they woke him up just as the sun began to rise, and Jason never would have thought he’d have to wake up to ten chickens and roosters screaming at his ear, as a well a dog with so much salivation licking up his face.

He relieved himself, scratched his head, splashed his face with a bucket of water. Already, he felt so much better.

When he walked out of the barn, Jason saw the old farmer stretching his arms at the porch. He turned over to him and waved. Jason waved back. then he saw him gesture for him to come over and reluctantly, he did.

“Got a good night’s rest?”

“I certainly did. I can't thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”

“I really should-“

“Oh, young man, you shouldn’t feel like this is of any trouble. ‘Cuz you are going to get your breakfast yourself.”

He wasn’t so sure what that meant. “What?”

“Here’s a basket. Stay away from the chicken at the far back. She likes to peck out of your fingers.”

Oh. Well, shit.

“Okay,” Jason swallowed.

He went back into the barn and walked on over to the chicken coop. There were a few of the females in their cages laying eggs. And the roosters were just strutting about like they owned the place.

A certain one with a smooth head and red and yellow feathers started pecking at his feet. “You know, you remind me of a certain replacement back at home.”

The rooster clucked, then walked away into the hay piles.

“Okay, don’t kill me,” Jason kept his head away when he reached in and felt for eggs in the nest. It was still warm to touch. He took two and placed them on the basket. He did the same over the other ones until he reached the last one. The largest one.

But she had her own eggs inside and there wasn’t really much for both of them to eat. He closed one eye as he reached over…

“BUUUUUCK!” The chicken bit his hand and rapidly flapped her wings at Jason, then he instantly shut the cage door.

“Shit.”

He went back over to the house and knocked on the door. The farmer smiled at him as he took the basket.

“Come on. You can wait over at the table and I’ll fry these babies up.”

“I don’t mean to impos-“

“Eh, come on over.”

The old man had already turned around and went into the kitchen. His house was so small. There was only one couch. No TV. A lot of books. A dinner table that sat two.

He went over to the shelf.

It wasn’t so much the kind of books he read. Not the classics. They were all dime romance novels you’d find at a gas station store. And there were a lot of them.

“My wife left them behind,” the farmer said to him. “I read one everyday. Just to keep some kind of memory of her.”

He smiled. Because he didn’t say it like he was someone to pity over. He said it like it was something to be proud of. And it was.

“You read the paper, boy? It’s over there.”

He pointed at the newspaper on the table. “We got a delivery boy from the next house. I pay him a hefty price just to come all the way up here everyday.”

“They still have newspapers?”

The old man narrowed his boys. “Youngsters.”

He took the paper and sat on the table. Nothing much interested him. Mostly just news on a town in Tennessee.

But there was one, tiny section at the corner that caught his eye.

‘Dead Billionaire Falcone Found Penniless’

‘Gotham City’s billionaire philanthropist Carmine Falcone, after being murdered in his office underneath the Gotham Museum of Art, was discovered to have left nothing to his apparent heirs, as the title of all his assets, the museum included, had been secretly sold out and transferred ownership to various other enterprises from all across the world. This includes all the recently bought out conglomerates and properties from other businessmen of Gotham, such as Salvatore Maroni and ten others. These assets have since been liquidated just days prior to his death. But as they checked all of Mr. Falcone’s accounts, the numbers were as good as zeroes. It is unknown where the money had gone to and why the billionaire chose to do so. The Falcone Family insists on investigating the matter and getting the inheritance that their patriarch had left behind.’

 The old farmer then placed his plate of eggs on the table, as well as a few strips of bacon.

“Killed that boar just a few days ago. Pig’s been feeding me everyday since then,” he chuckled, then he took the seat beside Jason and ate up his food.

When Jason was washing the plates, the old farmer had fallen asleep on his couch. It was refreshing, seeing folks like this so trusting. It will kill him, one of these days. If he ever lets in the wrong kind of people. And looking around, he didn’t even look like he had a gun. If Jason had one with him, he’d give it to the old man just so he’d have some chance against the evils out there.

Jason sat out the porch, on the rocking chair. He watched as the field of wheat danced along the wind, as the grass fluttered with that beautiful, calming sound brushing against each other. Every so often, the wind strengthens, and it was with the bells hung on the door and the windvane that sounded so well with the leaves being blown away. It was so different from Gotham.

He pulled out the picture of Y/N and instantly, everything felt even lighter. And heavier. At the same time. Lighter because she brightens up everything there was, wherever he was. And heavier because she wasn’t actually here. And while he was this lucky to have found the help he needed, she, on the other hand, wasn’t.

He’s never had anyone sacrifice so much for him more than she did.

She loved him so much…

And the prison was all the way over to Louisiana. The opposite side of where he was going. After a night’s rest, he realized there wasn’t even anything waiting for him at Gotham. She wasn’t there. Everything he hated, on the other hand, was. There was nothing left for him. Nothing he could go back to.

“Pretty thing, she is.”

The old man was leaning against the wall behind him, looking over his shoulder at Y/N’s picture.

“Yeah… the prettiest.”

“Your girl?”

He nodded.

“She who you going back to in Gotham?”

“She… uh… isn’t there.”

“Where is she then?”

This man didn’t know anyone five miles outside his house. It probably wouldn’t matter. “She’s… in Belle Reve.”

“Oh,” He wheezed through the spaces in his gums. “Sorry to hear that.”

“I should have gone there with her.”

“Belle Reve, eh?” the farmer asked.

“Yeah.”

“Take the bus across the street. You’ll end up going back to where you came from but that bus’s going all the way over to Louisiana.

“There’s a bus going to the prison?”

“Aye. I suggest you go after her. You got better things to do back at home?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the fluttering wheat and the tall grass around it.

“I served my time. Four years. My wife visited me all the time. Made me feel appreciated. Like she never gave up on me. Doesn’t matter what I did or what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“What did you do?”

He laughed. “What didn’t I do? I was a bad kid. All the way up to my thirties. Everyone looked at me like I was some sort of rat. Especially my son. He left the minute he could walk and never came back.”

“I’m sorry…” he shook his head. “And I know how it feels. Being a troubled kid.”

“Then that woman of yours better look at you differently than everyone else, ‘cuz they be the only ones we hang on to. Makes us want to do better and prove them right.”

Yeah. Definitely.

That night, he slept on the rocking chair looking up at the stars. When he woke up, the farmer had placed a blanket over him.

-----

“AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”

“Get up from the damn floor, Lawton!”

“My name…” Deadshot spat at the floor. “…isn’t Lawton.”

“I don’t care. Get up.”

The taser was brought right back up against her spine. Daring her. Waiting for her to try to snap another neck. Then with both her arms held back, they started leading her out into the open field.

“Usually, we do this far away from the facility. But with Waller here, she wanted to see what you can do.”

“Ah. Tryouts. Do I get this fucking bomb off my neck if I fail?”

“No. It will detonate.”

“Fuck you.”

Out into the bright, glimmering sunshine, she squinted her eyes and shielded her face with her hair. But she could barely do so much as blink when there were five guards around her, armed this time. She could probably reach out into a man’s hip and grab a gun without them looking if she didn’t already know where she was headed.

Out on the bright, orange field. Clear of grass and littered with human shaped shooting targets. They were, however, laid out side by side, closely to each other. She would have thought they’d be further apart. And they all stood on top of a black, outstretched tire that went in a large circle.

Amanda Waller. One of her men held out an umbrella for her despite her being a few inches taller. There were even more armed men littered around. One more so than the rest. A pale-skinned man with a large AK over his chest, a bullet proof vest, military gear. Sunglasses that shielded his eyes.

Rick Flag.

“So you’re the new Deadshot,” Rick greeted her as they dragged her toward the range. “I see the resemblance.”

“She’s even more daring than Floyd,” Waller said to her. “I’d be careful.”

“Well, we might as well know now if she’s any better than her uncle.”

“I am.”

“Are you now?”

“That’s what she says,” Waller raised a brow at her.

“Unlock her.”

She waited for the guards to take out the cuffs. Smoothing out her wrists, she stretched out her arms.

“How would you know I won't shoot you?”

“I don’t. But I’m here to see if you're just a fraud or if you're at least half as good as your uncle. Now get to work.”

Her neck stretching over to the side, Deadshot went over to the table. A whole arsenal of weapons. AKs. Sniper rifles. Pistols. With all the magazines and ammo she needed. She walked on over and picked the pistol.

The daylight young, the people around her silent, everyone turned their watchful eyes on her, guns out, ready to pounce.

She pointed the AK-47 at the targets and fired.

At the ten targets. One shot on each of their heads. She shot it all within a second, just as she told Waller she could do. And at the next round, she shot those exact same bullet holes in the same length of time. And all over again five times over.

There was only just one hole on each target. A hole she’s shot at several times from a hundred yards away.

She placed the AK back onto the table.

“Done. Can I go now?”

“No. We decided to give you more of a challenge.”

The rubber tire, or what looked like one, where the targets were standing on, they all of a sudden started spinning slowly in a circle at a click on Rick Flag’s remote. Turning over the corner, back facing Deadshot, before it turned back to face her again. It was a fucking conveyer belt.

Deadshot bit onto her gums.

She took the pistol this time.

“Go.”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“We didn’t have this in our time,” Floyd said to her ear.

“Shut up.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The targets had turned. She had to shoot their backs. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Almost missed that one. She placed another magazine.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Eighteen.

Twenty-two.

The target looked like it was about to break. Even with it made of metal.

Thirty. Forty.

Then the target got faster.

She took an M-16 Carbine.

The recoil was sharp on her shoulder, painful when it pushed her back. She kept firing. Firing. She was slower, took her time just a bit more. She reloaded it not long after until finally, one of the target’s heads actually blew off.

Sixty. Seventy. Eighty

Finally, the Barret MRad Sniper rifle.

The targets started spinning even faster. But she didn’t flinch. She kept her focus.

She breathed.

She slowed her heartbeat.

She cleared her thoughts.

Ninety-seven.

‘Come on.’

Ninety-eight.

‘You’re almost there.’

Ninety-nine.

‘Become the bullet.’

One fucking hundred.

Breaths out, she put the gun back on the table.

Then Flag turned off the conveyer belt.

One hundred shots. Which meant each target should have had around ten bullets pierce through it’s head.

But there was only one bullet hole on all of them. Right at the center of their heads. The same ones she had already made.

“Sorry about the other one,” she shrugged. “Didn’t realize your equipment wasn’t up to par.”

Flag didn’t move his head, but let his eyes follow her until she walked over to the guards, put her hands behind her and smirked.

“I’m surprised you're not asking for a million dollars like your uncle.”

“He asked for Zoe to live a good life. And you couldn’t even give that. And trust me, I’ve already made my deal with your boss. Am I right, Waller?”

Waller’s frown was something no one would be able to draw. Her nostrils were flared up, and the way Deadshot just smiled at her, it was braver than anyone else in the whole building had done.

The guards kept their silence now. Didn’t stick a taser up her back. Didn’t beat her with a baton on the way to her cell. But when they locked her up, they added just one more lock on its hinges. She placed her elbows against the door and looked out through the opening, watching the guards avoid the look on her eye.

-----

Six eggs. The last chicken finally let him hand over her lays and he walked happily out of the barn and walked back into the house.

“Here,” he gave it to the old man.

“Thank you, son. You’re a real good man.”

“No. I don’t… I don’t know how to thank you enough. You saved my life.”

“Ah. Don’t mention it. The company you’ve given me? More than what I could ask for. You remind me so much of my son. Except, you're a lot nicer.”

Jason watched him crack the eggs into the pan.

“I should get going.”

“You won't stay for breakfast?”

“I can't. But thank you.”

“Here,” he went over to his fridge and took out a sandwich. “Prepared it for you. For the trip back.”

He didn’t even know how much he’s thanked this man so far. Who was he? Did he know Jason somehow? Was he someone he forgot?

Probably not. He was just a lonely old man in need of company. His wife would have died three, maybe four years ago, and he only ever goes out into the city once a month. He wasn’t sure if he even talks to people in between them.

“I guess I can have a bite,” Jason said.

The old man’s smile was incomparable.

They ate and laughed the whole time on that table. Jason ate the eggs, drank the freshest glass of milk he’s had in a long time. He had bathed in the barn that morning and he’s never felt better since he got dropped off in the middle of nowhere. It was humbling, where he was.

He could only wish he got to share this with Y/N. He and the farmer would have hit it off.

The old man went out with him on the porch. The bus to Gotham arrives in five minutes.

“Here.” Jason took out his wallet and took out a few bills. “For your troubles.”

“Son, I have no use for money. I grow my own food. I buy only the absolute necessities. You would end up needing it more than I do.”

“Please…”

The old man held out his hand, shook his head. Every time, he surprises him.

“I can't believe I never caught your name…” Jason said.

He grinned from ear to ear, tipped down his hat, then laughed. “Name’s Bruce.”

It caught him off guard. Just for a second. “What?”

“Bruce Larkin. Lived in Tennessee my whole life.”

He stretched out his hand for him to take. Eyes not leaving his face, Jason took it. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Jason. Jason Todd.”

“Young Jason. Pleasure to have met you.”

“You're a good man, Bruce.”

“I may have done my deeds, but I lived a good life. Now go. Bus should be here in a few seconds.”

It almost hurt having to leave the old man behind. One of these days, he’ll come back. Pay a visit. Still, it made him wonder who this man truly was, what his intentions actually were.

He’s only met so many good people, truly good people, ones who never think of anything in return and take happiness out of helping strangers they didn’t know. It was hard to believe that no matter the cruelties he’s dealt with his whole life, there were the pure angels out there to lift him back up.

And, the one thing he couldn’t believe he noticed, Farmer Bruce never once mentioned the mark on his face. Didn’t think it tainted him or looked at it long enough to make him squirm.

He looked back out at the house. Bruce was still there, hands in his pockets.

The bus stopped in front of him and the door split open.

If he gets on, he’ll be off to Gotham.

If he stays behind and crosses the street, he’ll wait another five minutes for the bus to Louisiana. He’ll risk his life and do anything to see Y/N again.

It wasn’t even a hard decision to make.

Jason watched the bus doors closed. Then when it left, he crossed the street. Minutes later the next bus stopped and he got in. Waving at Bruce through the window, he settled down and closed his eyes.

He watched the miles of grass, wide open fields, swamps, forests, and lakes pass through him in the window. He let the calmness help him mellow down. And although it helped, it only guilted him into remembering the tortures his one love had to be going through right now. While he was so lucky, she was suffering. Fuck.

He had no idea what to expect. The day turned to night, then turned back to morning. He was in the bus for hours. Absolutely nothing went on in his mind. And he was scared. He didn’t even have a plan. He was probably going to have to break into Belle Reve. And that was if they hadn’t already taken her away to some god awful mission and possibly lose her life.

He couldn’t sleep on the bus. But he was ready. He was going to stop at nothing to see her.

The gates of Belle Reve. He hopped off the cab and stared at it from the outside.

Then he saw a few guards doing their rounds around the perimeter.

If he was fast enough, he might catch one of them alone. It’ll be all he needed. So he watched the cameras. Found a blind spot. And it was a risk without his visor on.

But for Y/N, it didn’t seem like much of a risk at all.

-----

This cot was going to blow out anytime soon.

It wasn’t even that she was heavy. It was rickety and old, probably the same exact one Floyd used. And Floyd was a large man. The seams started to rip and the place where her ass lays against was as worn out as a dirty rag. She didn’t like to think about why that was.

But god help her if she even cares much about the stupid cot. She laid against the wall, knees up to her chest. The wall was staring back at her like and she wasn’t about to let it win. Was she going crazy? Probably. She didn’t care much about that either. She’ll be working with Harley. She’ll have to be crazy to deal with her.

She heard guards from outside. So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

Only one guard, it seems. There weren’t any talking. And there was only one set of footsteps coming her way. She hated that even more. Then the taunting and catcalling and harassing won't be in any way hindered.

“Y/FN Y/LN?”

That was a first. No one’s said her real name in… ever.

“What do you want?”

She heard the small opening at her door slide open. The guard’s voice was less muffled now. “It’s me.”

Who-

That voice.

She looked up.

“Oh my god…” she leapt up the cot and ran all the way over to the door. Hands on the iron, eyes watery and gleaming against the dim, orange light.

Jason was the most beautiful man in the whole world and he looked no less than an angel disguised as a guard, half his face covered with a mask. But it was, without a doubt, his bright blue eyes that was staring right at her.

“I’m here, baby…”

“Jason…” The endless tears. All of it. She hadn’t even cried her whole time in Belle Reve. She’s screamed. She’s yelled out in the most horrible pain. But she never cried. And all those days of torture, it came out of her now. Even more so when Jason pulled down his mask and pressed his forehead against the door to get as close to her as she could.

At the bottom opening, he had his hand out. Y/N took it and held it so tightly that her fingers started going numb. He took off his gloves so he could feel her warmth. Or rather, let her feel his warmth.

“You are a complete dumbass for breaking in here,” she cried.

“I know. I am. But I’ve always been one for you.”

“God,” she reached out with her other hand, holding both of his. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Are you alright? What did they do to you?”

She wanted to lie. Tell him she was okay. Even though she was barely even holding up on her own two feet. “Just about how every prisoner gets treated here…”

“Fuck… Y/N…”

His thumb over her skin, she never felt so happy over something that was never going to last.

“I swear I’ll do anything to get you out.”

“Jay…” she cried. “You’ll die…”

“And if I don’t, you’ll die.”

“I’ll be alright. They’ll let you visit. After a while. I think. I’m not too sure.”

“I’m not taking that chance.”

“Jay-“

“No. I mean it. I’m not going to let this go. You can't possibly expect me to move on…”

No. She didn’t. Not without the worst kinds of pain that’ll possibly drive him mad.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Look at me.”

She did. He was so beautiful…

“I’ll get you out. You won't have to suffer for long. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another, I’m getting you out.”

He’s never held his hand so tight.

“Okay…”

Footsteps. They were coming.

“Shit…”

“I love you.”

“I love you so much. I promise you. I’m getting you out of here, Y/N.”

Y/N. She was Y/N again. Always had been.

Jason stuffed something small into her palm.

Then he left before the other guard could turn to the corner and see them together. He looked at Y/N, who was staring out the opening.

The guard squinted at her, walked closer, then shut the hole closed.

She looked at her palm.

The brightest blue engagement ring stared right back at her.

-----

Jason had to get out.

But he had to do this fast. He was at the guard’s lounge, where plenty were taking their lunch breaks. They didn’t give him so much as a glance when their eyes were focused onto the TV watching a football game. There was a telephone at a wall nearby. One he didn’t have to pay for.

He walked to it.

When he said he’ll do everything, he meant everything.

His pride could fucking suck it. His ego can die. He didn’t care if those assholes will have to think he’d grown soft. This was about Y/N. He didn’t care if he had to strut naked out at the Gotham Plaza. Though, this was so much worse.

Farmer Bruce would have done the same.

And he was going to get all the help he needed.

“Hello?”

“Dick,” his mouth trembled against the phone. “It’s me. Jason.”

“Jason?! This is a fucking collect call-“

“Then you better listen. Y/N’s in prison.”

“What?!”

He told him everything. About the deal with Waller. Her place in the Squad. The bomb in her neck. He tried with all he can to sound as desperate as he actually was. Dick, as much as it pained him to hear, wasn’t so convinced in what he asked of him.

“Jason, if you're asking me to help you get her out-“

“Please. Please. She’ll die. We need Oracle. And Robin.”

“Jason...” He heard Dick sigh.

The cops roared at the TV. Someone scored a goal.

“What Waller’s doing is wrong. You know that.”

“I know, but she made a deal with Bruce that he wasn’t to interfere with her task force.”

“We’re not Bruce. This is Y/N. Please, Dick, she’s the only thing I’ve got… You say you want me back in the family. Well, she’s my family. And I swear, if you help me with this, I owe you my life.”

“Okay. Okay,” he let out a sigh. “Okay. She’s… I understand.”

Jason’s breath was shaking against the phone. “I should be back in Gotham in a day’s time.”

“We need to do this as legally as possible. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m- I’m not so sure. It’s impossible to break her out of this place. They’ve upped the security since Harley broke out.”

“So we wait?”

“On her first mission out with the squad. We can go with them and sneak her out when no one’s looking. And I’ll need Oracle to come up with something that can disable the bomb in her neck.”

“Jason, that could be months from now.”

“Or days. Waller seemed persistent to get her here. I thought she might have been preparing for something. You heard about the news on Falcone?“

“Yeah. Real shady stuff. All his money went out to so many ghost accounts under different names of people that don’t even exist. And they’ve all been withdrawn. That’s billions of dollars.”

“Exactly. What if it’s just one guy? Waller knew about Falcone. She’s been warning Y/N not to work for him for a while. What if she knows exactly who’s behind it the whole time? Falcone’s puppet master to get him the money he needed?”

“That’s a long list of suspects, Jay.”

“We can narrow it dow-“

Loud groans from the guards screaming boos at the TV. When he looked up, he saw the game had been interrupted by breaking news.

Jason stopped talking to Dick when he saw the picture on the screen.

“Jason? You there?”

“Dick… Turn on the news…”

“Reports from Gotham City where it seems to have had history repeat itself from the night before the Arkham Knight Militia occupation. The National Bank of Gotham had just been exposed to a familiar cloud of fear toxin. One-hundred twenty-six people were inside the building as the smoke dispersed, and almost all of them had fallen victim from the bank’s armed guard, who had used his gun to massacre more than twenty people in the building. The victims were shown to have displayed severe cases of mania and hallucinations, causing them to act almost inhumane and do countless of harmful acts.”

“Fuck…” Dick said to the phone. “Not again…”

“The man behind this infamous toxin is no other than Dr. Jonathan Crane, also known by his alias as the Scarecrow-“

Vicki Vale stopped talking to the camera and pressed on her earpiece.

“Hold on. I’m getting reports on Scarecrow releasing a broadcast over at Times’ Square. Air it now!”

The camera switched over to one at the square. It faced the billboard.

Nothing changed. Not even his face. And if he weren’t paying attention, if Jason hadn’t been behind the camera the first time Scarecrow released his city wide warning, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

“This city… cannot so easily escape my reign of fear… If you thought the last time was the worst I can do, I am telling you now… Citizens of Gotham. This is no longer just about you. You can no longer escape. There is no use in evacuating… I have amassed a new Cloudburst weapon powerful enough to engulf the whole of the country in my latest toxin… This is not a warning to Gotham.

“This… is my only warning… to America…”

“Dick…” Jason said over to the phone. “Wanna bet on where he got the funding for that weapon?”

-----

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

------

everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc@multifandoms916@icequeen208@offendedfishnoises@egdolan@xemiefx@arkhamtoddler@elsenthal@mythicbitchx@supremehaunter burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf @ loxbbg  reclusive-chicken-nuggethttp-cherriesshadowsndaisiesriver9noblezphilophobiazannoylinglyaries@knightfall05flowersgirl02 @l-inkage​ @hyp-oh-critical​

[holylulusworld]

Mixed Worlds

9000 followers celebration - sequels

Summary: What happens when you wake up in the right world?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x ???Reader, Jensen Ackles x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jared Padalecki, Jack Kline

Warnings: angst, mixed-up worlds, bad use of Latin, reader has powers, mentions of possession, comforting, fluff, love-confessions

A/N: Sequel to Changed Worlds

Two months later…

“I remember that scar…” Gently sliding your fingers over Dean’s right biceps you can feel his body go stiff. “Is he still out there?”

“We didn’t find Michael so far. After he left, we…” Clearing his throat Dean sits onto his bed. “We were busy getting over the fact he killed the people from the apocalypse world. Sammy couldn’t stay here for a while and…”

“Did you get possessed by him again? How far did you get in your story?” Worriedly looking at Dean you slide your fingers over the scar. “Dean?”

“Again? What do you mean with again?” Gasps leave Dean’s lips and you can feel his body tremble. “I can’t…I won’t say yes again.”

“That’s not necessary, Dean. According to the script, Michael left the door a crack open.” 

Pressing your fingers to Dean’s temple you sigh. “You were fighting him, squirming in his grasp so he let you go to get you back when it’s time to strike.”

“No���no! NOOO!” Dean screams and you need to wrap your arms around his waist to calm him. “Never again, Y/N. I can’t let him in again.”

“I know amor (love). Your lips press against Deans and he feels warmth float his body. He’s slumping into your arms; let you just hold him for a while. “I remember more now, Dean.”

“There you are! Cas, he called and was kinda…I don’t know if I would call it excited or close to losing his mind. 

Anyways, he’s on his way with Jack and he said he knows more about Y/N and the reason why she doesn’t have a twin in our world.” Sam stammers watching you run your fingers through Dean’s hair.

“We will be there in a minute, Sam. Thank you.” Smiling you press your lips to Dean’s temple, and he forgets about the pain Michael caused.

“I’ll be at the library waiting for Cas and Jack. Take your time.” When Sam is gone you hum a melody Dean never heard before. All the pain and anger fall off his shoulders and you smile when he whispers your name.

“I remember more things now, Dean. I think it’s time to find out why I ended up here, in your arms.”

“I talked to a few angels, at least to the ones not wanting to kill me.” Castiel glances at you stand behind the chair Dean sits on. He can feel your strength and you nod silently. “Y/N, she’s not from that other world…”

“I am from this world…right, Castiel?” Jack eyes you warily, not out of fear but out of curiosity. “Not human nor monster. I am like Jack.”

“Michael’s child, the one from this world, not the apocalypse world. According to one of the eldest someone opened a portal to hide you in the world were Dean is Jensen Ackles.” Castiel explains and Dean grasps for your hand.

“What does this mean? She’s back and that’s good – right? Right?” Looking at his angelic friend Dean feels his throat tightening. He doesn’t like the look Castiel gives him.

“A part of me is still in the other world, I can feel it. The part with my powers is hidden in my twin…” Whispering the words you look at Castiel. “We need to get back to that world to get my grace.”

“I am afraid Y/N is right. Without her grace, she will…” Dean jumps up, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t you dare to say she’ll burn out!”

“I am Nephilim like Jack but, different. I can survive a short amount of time without my grace but the other me, she will die without my help.

She was hiding me, carried my life in her body, and…” Sniffling you look at Dean, begging him to understand you have to go. 

“I need to fix the things I destroyed. I remembered now what happened. She, the other Y/N stumbled and fell after the fight but my powers without her body kinda “woke” the sigils at the window. One moment we were on the set of the show and the next, I fell out of a window, a real one.”

“Awesome, Cas. How do we get there without anyone noticing? Is there a portal opening for us to mess another world up? Maybe we can bring some more people to the bunker to get them killed too.” Dean throws his hands up, cursing under his breath.

“I will not stay in the other world, Dean. I belong with you, amor (love). I am devoted to you and we are meant to be. With me by your side, Michael will not dare to possess you again.”

Smirking you step closer to press your lips to Dean’s. “…or he will find all the memories of you making love to his…daughter…”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean’s eyes round at the new information. “He…he fucked a girl? I mean the other Michael but, damn! He punished any angel for not following orders and was the big bad perv among saints.”

“Let’s find a way to open the portal.” Nodding you point toward the nearby wall. “We can use the sigils; I remember them now. Jack, I am afraid I’ll need your help this time. On our way back I can open the door for us.”

“I got a freaking half-archangel as my girlfriend.” Dean grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Will you show me your wings, sweetheart?”

“That’s not the time for dirty jokes, baby. Let us get back to the other world first. We can talk about my wings later…”

“Nothing happens?” Glancing at the sigils written on the wall Dean sighs. “What now team?”

“Wait…let me recall what happened…” Walking toward the wall you tap your forehead.

“I ran, stumbled and hit my knee at a table. Jensen was calling my name, but I kept on running.

I ran toward the window, looking at the sigils. Blood was soaking my pants and I pressed my hand to it. When I heard Jensen get closer, I ran, stumbled again, and touched the sigil.”

“That’s it, Y/N.” Castiel nods when you get a knife out. Cutting your palm, you look at Castiel who does the same, just like Jack.

Blinding light illuminates the bunker before a portal opens for you and the angels. “We made it!” Jack excitedly looks at the portal. “What now?”

“I will go through the portal, find the other me, and get my grace. I just hope I am not too late. Our bodies and souls were one for so long.

I don’t know if she can survive without me for much longer.” Dean grasps for your hand before he walks toward the portal, a grim look on his face.

“You coming?” Looking at Sam his brother smirks. “Time to see Padaleski with your own eyes, Sammy. Maybe he’ll give you tips for the perfect hairstyle.”

“Not funny, Dean. Maybe Ackles will show you how to drive without killing your passengers.” Sam sasses back.

“Guys, can we just go and find the other me? I don’t want her to die as you had to bicker about hair and cars!”

“What did the doctor say?” Jared places one hand onto Jensen’s shoulder. “Jensen?”

“Said there is not much hope left. Y/N gets weaker and it seems like she fades away. I can’t do anything, Jared. I will never be able to tell her how sorry I am.” Jensen sniffles. “They want me to let her go but how could I do so?”

“How about we go for a walk. Just a few minutes. Let’s see if we find a drinkable coffee. I promise everything is going to be alright, Jensen.”

Blinking a few times Jensen wonders why his friend wears flannel outside of the set but he’s too busy to worry about you to recognize it’s not Jared leading him away from your ‘twins’ hospital room…

“Okay. Castiel tries to distract that Padaleski guy while Sammy takes care of that Ackles guy. Let’s get your grace, save the other you’s life and get the fuck out of here before anyone…” A girl squeals excitedly before she runs toward Dean, Jack, and you.

“Oh my god! You are Dean Winchester…” Dean clenches his jaw, already grasping for his gun. “I love your character, Jensen! How is it to play Dean? Is he always grumpy? Did he ever love a girl? Will we have more sex scenes soon?” 

The girl won’t stop throwing questions at Dean, so Jack does the only thing coming to his mind – he presses two fingers to her forehand to knock her out.

“Jack!” Smirking you look at the Nephilim. “Good job! I am afraid Dean would’ve shot the poor girl sooner or later.” 

“I would not, sweetheart.” Dean talks back.

“Let’s go, Dean before anyone else wants a piece of you…”

Silently entering the hospital room, you swallow thickly. “She doesn’t look good. I think we came just in time. Dean, guard the door, let no one in.”

Placing your hand onto her chest you close your eyes. “I can feel my grace, Jack. The moment I get it out, you need to heal the girl, okay. She cannot die! We were like twins. Our souls and bodies were one not long ago.”

“I still don’t know how your bodies and souls could coexist.” Dean peeks out of the room, making sure Jensen doesn’t get close to the room.

“Spell, Dean. Castiel said three of the elder angels and a powerful witch let Y/N’s and the other Y/N’s body and soul unite. I can’t remember the spell, sorry.” Jack explains. 

“Okay…there it is, Jack. I’ll count to three and then you need to heal her.” Nodding the Nephilim smiles at you when you press your fingertips to your ‘twins’ heart.

“One…” You can feel your grace break through the skin. “Two…” Warmth fills your body and you look at Jack, nodding. “Three…now…”

Your grace floats your body and your eyes flash blue when Jack lets his grace float the other you’s body. Her blood pressure rises and you smile when her eyes start to flutter. “We gotta go…the other me, Ackles is on his way with Sammy.”

“Go, get out of the room before he can see you or Jack. I’ll make sure my twin will survive and we meet outside the hospital. Give me twenty minutes.” Not liking your plan Dean hesitates. “Dean, go. I’ll be there, promised.”

“I love you, sweetheart.” Dean’s words let your heart flutter and you nod, returning his smile. “I love you too, Dean. Now go!”

“I…Y/N?” Gasping Jensen enters your room only to find you stand next to your twin’s hospital bed. “How? I don’t…”

Stepping closer to Jensen you look at your twin who is still unconscious. “She’ll wake in a few minutes but before you will get the chance to talk to her, I want you to hear me out.”

Jensen nods, not knowing why there suddenly are two of you. “O…kay…”

“That girl, she loves you with all her heart. I know that as I am her and she is me. I can still feel my heart flutter close to you but now, it belongs to Dean. 

I want you to love this girl, make her happy, and put a fucking ring on her finger.” Tapping Jensen’s forehead, you smirk. “Don’t you dare to hurt her, or I’ll come back and rip you apart…”

You are gone moments later, and Jensen only remembers he wants to make you, or rather your other self, happy if she ever wakes up. 

“Oh…Y/N…” He sighs, stepping closer to the bed Jensen gasps as your twin blinks her eyes open. “Oh-god, baby girl.” Jensen sniffles. “I love you, only you. I am so fucking sorry for lying.”

“Jensen? What happened?”

“I fucked up but…wait…I will make it up to you for the rest of my life…” Sam silently closes the door, a soft smile on his lips when he follows you out of the hospital.

“That was…good…”

“I owe her one for hiding me for so long, Sam. She’s stronger than she looks and…” Smiling you wink at Dean. “I left a tiny piece of my grace inside her to keep an eye on my girl…”

“Sweetheart! How is the girl or the other you? Can we go home? Will you stay?”

Before Dean can ask more questions, you wrap your arms around his neck, press your lips to his and let your wings wrap around your bodies.

“We have a lot of work to do, Dean. Let’s start with killing Michael…”

More tags in reblog.

Changed worlds tag

@hellsenthero​

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

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A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

[whump-tr0pes]

HB4-26/Whumptober day 4

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Masterlist

~

Content warning: past branding, self-image issues with scars, discussion of captivity and human trafficking, mild self-harm themes throughout

~

Finn reached over to the table beside the couch and took another sip of their tea. It had a strong, spicy, almost bitter flavor, swirling through the warmth of the cinnamon and cloves mixed in. Chicory, Gray called it, although Finn had never had it before. Apparently it grew pretty well up where it was colder, and with it so difficult to get coffee…

It was getting easier every day, though. Shipments of coffee, flour, and vegetables were arriving north every day, pulled off of syndicate supply lines with almost no resistance.

Shipments of people, too. People were coming north, lone people and families and groups. Gray had asked the family yesterday if they’d be willing to drive south to Crayton sometimes and help Daniel Schiester process the refugees as they came through. Finn was happy to do it. They’d be happy to.

As soon as I take a fucking break.

The mug sat forgotten in Finn’s hand until they took another distracted sip. Their eyes focused as they turned to set it down on the side table—

The nearly jumped as they realized Edrissa was standing, perfectly silent, beside the table. Ellis was looking at her with a smile.

“Do you— Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Edrissa said, and Finn distractedly waved the apology away. Edrissa’s eyes flicked from the cup on tea on the table to Finn’s face. “Do you like it?”

Finn glanced at the tea, then stared, slightly bewildered, at Edrissa. “Um… yeah?”

Edrissa grinned and flushed. “Good. I got it from this store in Crayton that sells teas and herbs and things, and I love how chicory smells, and they’ve been using it kind of like coffee up here when it’s scarce, but I think it’s so nice as a tea because it works so well with cinnamon and cloves, you know, and sometimes just a tiny bit of pepper if you want to heat it up for a winter drink, and I just thought the family might like it since it’s just such a different flavor. And it grows on the side of the road up here! There’s a lot of it that grows on the road south of Crayton, we just didn’t see it because of the snow last time. It has these really nice blue flowers and that’s how you know it. But I was just hoping you’d like the tea, because it’s not… really…” Edrissa trailed off, her lips twisting in a conspiratory grin. “…it’s not everyone’s, um, cup of tea, I’m sorry, that was a terrible joke, but…” She waved at the tea and smiled shyly. “Yeah. I’m just glad you like it.”

Finn blinked and stared for a moment longer. They swallowed. The thoughts that moved through their head edged through slowly, as if through a fog. They’d been foggy in the past few days since reaching north. Probably the sleep deprivation. They shook their head and glanced at the tea.

“It’s great, Edrissa,” Ellis said beside Finn. “The tea is fucking awesome.” Finn glanced at them, and they glared softly at Finn, tilting their head towards Edrissa.

“Yeah,” Finn said flatly, and reached out to take the mug again. “It’s pretty nice. Tastes like… like cinnamon on steroids, I guess.”

Edrissa grinned. “Yeah! And like a little hint of—” She went white and cut herself off with a gasp. She was staring at Finn’s forearm.

Finn flushed deeply with shame and jerked their hand back. They dragged the long sleeve of their shirt down to cover the mostly-healed brand that marred the inside of their forearm.

They’d rolled up their sleeves for a moment, while they were thinking, looking over their and Ellis’s puzzle on the table. Looking for pieces of the horses that galloped through the field of the puzzle, now that the sky was already done. They always started with the sky, always, back when—

And now, Edrissa was looking at them with a mix of horror and pity that made their skin fucking crawl.

“Oh,” Edrissa breathed. “They, um… they—”

“Branded me, yeah,” Finn ground out through their teeth. There was no need to fucking worry, they’d taken off the bandage for the last time a few days before they’d escaped. It was healing. It wasn’t going to get infected. They’d find a way to cover it up. It was fine. It was fine.

Edrissa covered her hands with her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, the words muffled behind her hands.

“’s fine,” Finn grumbled, huddling back against the couch, wishing for the world that they could disappear into the cushions. With Edrissa on one side, Ellis on the other, and the coffee table holding the puzzle in front of them, they couldn’t easily leave. Couldn’t easily go hide in their room or in the laundry room or leave the damned house entirely, just run and run until their feet ached and their lungs burned and they could leave this fucking moment behind.

Edrissa dropped her hands and reached for the sleeve of her own shirt. She pulled her right sleeve up past her forearm to her elbow, revealing the scar there: a flat burn over the tattoo that had marked her as a plaything for two years. Her hand shook and she let her sleeve go.

“I… I kn-know—”

“Edrissa, don’t,” Finn said heavily, and let their face fall into their hands. Edrissa went silent beside them.

“Finn…” Ellis said as they put a soft hand on their shoulder. “It’s not her f—”

“I’m not saying it is,” Finn said. “I never said that. I’m just saying I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’d be good if you got that off,” Edrissa said softly.

Finn raised their head to look at her. “What?”

“I mean…” Edrissa’s lips trembled and she bit down on them. “Um… If you’re ever seen, I mean, if anyone ever sees that, the… the wrong people…” She trailed off into a whisper. She looked at Finn with heavy implication. “You could be, um, taken. Taken back, and, I mean—”

“What, to the Stormbecks?” Finn said bitterly. They dragged a hand through their hair. “The Stormbecks are fucking dead, Edrissa.” Edrissa flinched weakly beside them. Finn hung their head. “S-sorry. I’m sorry. I just mean… The Stormbecks won’t be looking for me because they’re gone. There’s no one to sell me to.”

“There is,” Edrissa said, and Finn lifted their gaze to her. “Um… I heard you t-talk about, um… G-Gavin’s cousin once. He has a cousin. And if he wanted you…”

“Mark doesn’t know about us,” Finn said, feeling exhaustion dragging them down.

How long have I been this tired?

Have I been making mistakes this entire time?

“But what if he does?” Edrissa said, her small frame trembling. “He’s still alive. What if he heard about you while you were, um, south? What if he… he wants you back? What if he and Gavin—” Edrissa’s mouth shut with a snap.

Finn peered up at her. “What if he and… and Gavin, what?”

She slowly shook her head. “N-nothing. Um. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Finn held her gaze for a moment longer before they slumped forward again.

“Finn…” Ellis said weakly beside them. “Maybe… maybe it’s not a bad idea.”

Finn’s head snapped up. “What?”

Ellis swallowed hard and glanced at Edrissa, then back to Finn. “I mean… if the brand marks you…”

“It doesn’t mark me,” Finn said, a bubble of fragile rage rising inside them. “It… it reminds me. Of what Coll— of what the syndicates did.” Their left hand went to wrap around their arm over the brand. “It shows what I went through. It shows I survived. It shows that there are people out there who are evil and that we beat them.”

“It also shows that you can be sold back to them if you’re found,” Ellis said, a hardness in their eyes.

“I won’t be found,” Finn spat back, the rage quickly giving way to fear. “I won’t. We’re… we’re safe up here. We’re going to stay safe. I can’t be… c-can’t be sold back…” When did their hands start shaking? Their fingers dug harder into the brand. The pain stabbed through their fear.

“Finn,” Ellis said gently. “Babe.” They reached out and pulled Finn’s hand away from the brand. It stung in the open air. “I’m just saying… I’m sorry. We’re just saying that having something on you that marks you as Stormbeck-owned can bring… nothing but good.”

“But…” Finn’s eyes burned with tears. Why were they reacting this way? It was a brand that was burned into their skin, showing them as property. As a slave. They should want it off. They should want to gnaw their own arm off to get it off them. They should want to cover it like Isaac covered his scars, cowering away from the world as if their eyes burned him. They should feel shame. They should feel terror.

“But… it’s the only scar from her that I ha-have.”

Ellis froze, their eyes darting between Finn’s. Then, they leaned back, and something blazed in their eyes that made Finn shiver.

“We can make it so there’s still a scar,” Ellis whispered.

Edrissa took in a sharp breath next to them. Finn couldn’t look at her. “But… you should… you should want it gone. You should— Why would you want… something from, from them, on—”

“Should nothing, Edrissa,” Ellis said tightly, their blue-green-grey eyes still locked on Finn’s, and Finn could have melted, could have kissed them, for understanding. For knowing. “Sometimes you need scars.”

“N-no you, you don’t,” Edrissa murmured, and the floor creaked as she took a step back. “You don’t want—”

“Everyone heals differently,” Ellis said, finally breaking eye contact and glancing over Finn’s shoulder to look at Edrissa. “Some people wish their bodies were healed again. Like Isaac. And some…” Ellis’s hand wrapped around Finn’s and squeezed. “…some need the scar. As a distraction. As a reminder.”

Finn squeezed back. They knew about Ellis’s scars all too well.

“Um…” Finn glanced up at Edrissa. Her eyes were wide, angry, her hand clutching her forearm over her own scar. “I still think you should, um, have it off. For our… to keep us safe.”

Finn’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I… I can… I’ll think about it.”

“That is actually a good idea, babe,” Ellis said, and Finn softened a little. “I know we’re north, but… if you’ll be helping with the refugees, and you’ll be in Crayton… Shit-ster said the syndicates send agents through and… all it takes is one… one of them to see… just for a second…”

Finn rolled their eyes. “I’m not exactly basing any of my actions on the word of that piece of shi—”

“It’s our family, Finn,” Ellis said, sharpness finding its way into their voice for the first time. “It puts our family at… at risk.” Ellis licked their lips and looked at Finn, their eyes pleading, angry. “It’s our… our family.”

Tears prickled Finn’s eyes and they stared at the table, their eyes moving sightlessly over the puzzle. Swirls of color, it’s all it was, all anything ever was. They swallowed the lump in their throat.

“Fine,” they said heavily. “I’ll start researching, um, safe ways to remove brands.”

Ways to reduce pain didn’t enter their mind. They were so far beyond caring.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts​​, @womping-grounds​, @free-2bmee​, @quirkykayleetam​, @walkingchemicalfire​, @inpainandsuffering​, @redwingedwhump​, @burtlederp​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​, @whatwhumpcomments​, @cursedscribbles​, @whumpywhumper​, @stxck-fxck​, @omega-em-z-02​, @whumps-the-word​, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood​, @justplainwhump​, @moose-teeth​, @slaintetowhump​, @finder-of-rings​, @inky-whump​, @thatsthewhump​, @orchidscript​, @insanitywishes​, @this-mightaswell-happen​, @newandfiguringitout​, @whumpkitty​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @cinnamonflavoredhugs​, @inaridriscoll​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump​​, @endless-whump

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 15: A Home

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold puts herself to bed

Read on AO3

Mrs. Gold rested her forehead against the passenger window of the squad car. The cold glass gave her something to focus on. Something real and solid in this swirling haze of booze and impossible facts.

Sheriff Swan was driving her home. Graham had done this, more times than she could remember. Whenever she was out making too much trouble to ignore, Graham would take her back to Mr. Gold. 

Emma Swan was taking her away from him.

Graham had always been quiet, but Emma kept trying to talk. Mrs. Gold kept her face to the window and let the words wash over her. 

“I know it’s hard to get out of a bad relationship. I can’t imagine what it’s like to get out of a bad marriage. But it’s really important that you learn to put yourself first. Put your own safety first. And if that means walking away--then you just gotta do the brave thing.”

Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. 

The words felt weird in her head, foreign and familiar at the same time. Like something she had known once, but forgotten. What was she remembering it from? A movie? Some hokey book she’d read as a kid?

Mrs. Gold had never cared much about being brave. It didn’t take courage to do what Mr. Gold ordered her to. If she was being honest with herself, she did tend to obey him out of fear--fear of disappointing him, fear of his disdain. Fear of losing everything he gave her, especially those scant, precious fragments of himself.

“And I will help you! I just need you to tell me you need help.” Emma Swan was still talking. “Just give me a reason. I’m not afraid to use excessive force.”

She looked up. “On Mr. Gold?”

Emma pulled into the driveway of Mr. Gold’s house and parked the car. “Why not give a wife beater a taste of his own medicine?”

“He’s is not--”

“Yeah, but he’s not a responsible dominant either,” Emma cut her off. “The kinky stuff is based around trust, so you gotta find someone who’s trustworthy. Good for you if you like pain play, but for the love of God, don’t give that kind of power to someone who isn’t going to care about you.”

“I told you in the station, the problem isn’t how Mr. Gold uses me. The problem is that he hasn’t done anything with me in months!” Fighting off tears, Mrs. Gold unbuckled her seat belt and tried to bolt out of the car.

She got two steps toward the house before everything got all spinny again and she had to slow down. Before she knew it, Sheriff Swan was beside her, holding her up by the elbow.

“Okay, lightweight, whatever you say.”

Mrs. Gold jerked her arm away. “I’m alright on my own.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She was still walking beside her. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tuck you into bed. Unless you invite me in or I have reason to believe a crime in progress, my jurisdiction ends at the front door.”   

“Whatever,” Mrs. Gold muttered. She had Mr. Gold’s keys in her coat pocket. The weight of them was like ballast on a sailboat. They steadied her. 

Emma followed behind her as she went up the porch steps. She waited by the door while Mrs. Gold fumbled with the keys. There were so many of them. Months ago, Mr. Gold had sent her out to have copies of the house and shop keys made for herself. That was one of the first strange things he’d done. Those keys were in her purse in the front hall. She still wasn’t used to letting herself come and go. Mr. Gold’s key was original to the house, a brass skeleton key from the 1890s. It wasn’t any trouble to open the door and walk in. 

“You gonna get the lights?” Emma asked.

“No,” Mrs. Gold held her head high. “I like the dark.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Guess that’s your choice. But before I go, I gotta say it again: Call me, if you need help. Or if you have questions about how other people do BDSM. Or if you just wanna talk. Okay?”

Safe in the darkness, Mrs. Gold gave a condescending smile and a nod. “Sounds great.” 

“Take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” she said. And shut the door. 

****

She didn’t turn the lights on as she made her way to the kitchen. Mr. Gold’s house was big enough and clean enough that she never worried about bumping into things or stumbling over a pile of clutter. Nothing like the place where she’d grown up--cramped and filthy, piled high with junk. They never wanted to throw anything away. You never knew when you might need something that you hadn’t used in ten years, but you knew it was wrong to waste money on getting a new one when there was a perfectly good one around here somewhere. 

Mr. Gold’s house was a better home than her father’s house had ever been.

She didn’t stop moving until she got the refrigerator. Wincing against the blinding light, she searched for a bottle of sparkling water. She put the cool glass against her swollen eyes and sighed. She kicked away her heels and leaned against the refrigerator door. When she drank, the bubbles popped sharply against the inside of her mouth. It was a needle-sharp pain, soothing in its way.

She’d never drunk sparkling water before she met Mr. Gold. They always used the tap, and if it tasted like dirt or sand, well that was just extra minerals. Not like they could do anything about it. If it tasted like chlorine or carcinogenic runoff from some factory upstream, they couldn’t do anything about that either. People like them just had to keep drinking what life gave them because they couldn’t afford anything better.

She’d have to go back to that--if anything happened between her and Mr. Gold. If he decided he didn’t want to be married to her anymore. Their pre-nuptial contract was very clear: If the marriage ended for any reason, Mr. Gold kept everything. Even her clothes and jewelry. Even her wedding ring.

And her father would have to start paying rent again. She’d never hear the end of that. Of course, she never heard the end of it when Mr. Gold told him he didn’t have to pay rent anymore. Or, more specifically, that whether or not he had to pay rent was entirely up to Mrs. Gold.

The idiot florist had hated hearing that. Mr. Gold had given his daughter financial control of his shop and his house. She could waive the rent or charge him double or kick him on the curb and burn the buildings to the ground as she saw fit. Her father had sputtered and raged and sworn a blue streak when he’d found out. But marrying Mr. Gold meant she didn’t have to listen to his tantrums anymore.

Would he take her back? If Mr. Gold kicked her out, would she even have the option of living with her father again? 

He’d told her she could, on the day that she left. Her father had said that she could always come back. But she knew that he meant she could leave Mr. Gold and apologize for the unforgivable crime of liking sex. She could live with her father if she was willing to put herself on his idea of good behavior. If she never told him what she really thought about anything. If she was willing to cook and clean and slave away in the flower shop just so the two of them could have enough money to scrape by. Like she was a fucking teenager again.

Shitty as it would be to be back in that house, it was probably better than being homeless.

She finished the bottle and threw it in the trash. She still hadn’t turned on any of the lights. She could walk around Mr. Gold’s house blindfolded. In fact she had, many times. And on her hands and knees. And on a leash. And with a ten-inch dildo in every hole she had. That was how Mrs. Gold paid rent. 

Do you have somebody you can stay with tonight?   

Emma Swan’s words had been ringing through her head since she’d first heard them outside of Granny’s. She’d told the Sheriff that she didn’t have anyone. That was probably true. No one who would pick her up at the police station, at least. No one who would want to deal with her while she was drunk and emotional. No one wanted Mrs. Gold when she was at her worst.

Not even Mr. Gold. 

****

The door to the bedroom was open. The bedroom, where all this trouble had begun. She’d had a dream that her husband loved her, and when she’d woken up, she’d tried to make it real.

But he had been dreaming about Belle. 

Belle.

The name had a weird echo in her mind. The other woman. Her husband’s lover. The only other person she could blame for her unhappiness. Was Mr. Gold thinking about Belle now? Would he tell Belle that he had spent a night in jail?

Would he tell her he had done it so Mrs. Gold wouldn’t have to?

In the bathroom, she ran a washcloth under hot water and pressed it against her face. Most of her makeup had been cried off earlier, so the wash was more for warmth. When Mrs. Gold looked at herself in the mirror, all she saw was her own exhaustion. Red eyes, flushed cheeks, quivering lips. Even cleaned up, she was still a mess.

But Mr. Gold had put himself in jail for her.

She looked closer at her reflection, so close that she pressed her forehead to the glass. So close that she couldn’t see the whole of her face. She was just an abstraction, broken apart into pieces. What about her was worth that kind of sacrifice? What about her was worth anything? In the mirror, she was nothing but pink skin, dark lashes, sky blue eyes.

Mama’s eyes.

Mrs. Gold jerked away from the mirror like it had electrocuted her. Maybe it had. Something had to happen to make her hear a voice in her head.

It was her own voice. Only sadder, more gentle. That was how her thoughts had been in the squad car too. And she’d heard it before then. Off and on, in little flashes just like this. She’d been hearing it for weeks. 

If there was anything creepier than hearing a voice in your head, it had to be agreeing with that voice. It was right, she did have Mom’s eyes. Sky-blue, just like Uncle Peter and  Andrew used to have. Just like Janine and Chloe still did.

But she had never thought of her mother as mama. That sounded like something from some historical drama where everyone wore ball gowns and corsets. Maybe she was being possessed by the spirit of a Regency aristocrat. Maybe one of her past lives was trying to communicate with her from beyond the grave.

Or maybe she was very, very drunk.

She turned the light off in the bathroom and peeled off her dress, then looked around her armoire for something she could sleep in. Mr. Gold had never bought her any comfortable pajamas, only negligees and skimpy short sets. In the past--which Mrs. Gold was about two weeks away from thinking of as “the good old days”--she’d rarely worn anything to bed. Once they got home, the only reason she wore clothes was so Mr. Gold could take them off. Especially her lingerie. Mr. Gold liked nothing more than to rip her underwear off her body and leave her in tattered rags before he fucked her 

Mara Trudine probably couldn’t have kept Sugar ‘n’ Spice in business if Mrs. Gold hadn’t needed to restock on panties every week. Well, that was one way to help out an old friend. 

There was one long sleeved tee-shirt in her wardrobe. It was mostly see-through, with a pattern of red velvet roses dotting the thin red mesh. In the magazine, the model had worn this shirt with a camisole underneath. Mrs. Gold was lucky if Mr. Gold let her wear a bra when she went out in this shirt. 

But it was the closest thing to comfortable that she had. A pair of leggings would keep her legs warm. Mrs. Gold didn’t own any sweatpants or yoga pants--or any pants at all for that matter. Mr. Gold had always treasured the ability to grab her whenever he wanted her. Skirts and dresses provided the best access, so that was all he let her buy. 

She sighed. Of course, that was in the past. The way Mr. Gold was acting now, he might as well have bought her a space suit to wear around town, helmet and all.

This was the first night she’d ever spent alone in this house. This was the first time she’d ever gotten into this bed and not expected Mr. Gold to join her. As she pulled back the quilt, Mrs. Gold was struck with a memory from last night: Her husband, trembling with rage, throwing this same blanket over her body before he left. She had tried to make love to him. She had tried to pretend to be Belle, just to get him to touch her. And he had seen it as a betrayal, a violation.

He was right.                    

Mrs. Gold knew that she had done wrong. Her actions were not just immoral, but incorrect. In trying to force her husband to be near her, she had only made him want to be further away. He had run away from her to the guest bedroom. Run and hid, like she was a monster.

Emma Swan kept trying to protect Mrs. Gold, but she didn’t understand. Mrs. Gold hadn’t just done wrong, she was wrong. She was the wrong person. It felt like she always had been. Wrong as a daughter, wrong as a friend, wrong as a student, wrong as a girlfriend. 

Wrong as a wife. 

For as long as she’d been married, she had told herself that the feeling of wrongness didn’t matter. No one’s opinion of her mattered except for Mr. Gold’s. She didn’t have to be good at anything else, as long as she was the slutwife he wanted. But over the past several months, he had made it clear how little he wanted anything to do with her. Maybe he hated her as much as everyone else in Storybrooke did. 

She couldn’t sleep in this bed. This was their marriage bed. If their marriage was broken she’d be better off sleeping on the floor. At the very least, she would follow in Mr. Gold’s footsteps and run away to the guest room. There, she knew, she wouldn’t have the memory of Mr. Gold hating her. If he thought of Belle while he had waited for sleep last night, she didn’t know it for certain. She wouldn’t have to think about it. 

With the lights still out, Mrs. Gold went across the hall to the other bedroom. Mr. Gold’s dressing gown hung from a hook behind the door. She buried her face in the silk and breathed in his scent. Before she could think about what she was doing, Mrs. Gold had wrapped the dressing gown around her body. She pulled it tightly over her shoulders, hugging herself, pretending Mr. Gold was holding her. Pretending that Mr. Gold would ever hold her again.

This bed was smaller than the one in their room. It felt less empty with only one person in it. The pillow smelled like Mr. Gold’s hair.

I love you.

The voice in her head again, saying what she wanted to say. She had never told Mr. Gold that she loved him. Until recently, she didn’t know that she had. Now the knowledge was a burden. It was an ache in her heart, a hole that would never be filled. 

Everything was over.

****

He leaves her in a swirl of wine-red smoke, at exactly the stroke of midnight. He goes, to walk into a trap the two of them have all but set themselves. He goes, to keep her safe from his enemies. He goes, to lay down the final pieces of the plan that will--someday--lead to their complete happiness. 

As he leaves, he keeps his face turned away from her. She understands. When he gets to where he is going, he will have to wear the mask of a devious trickster. Tears would spoil the effect.  

Her eyes are moist as she watches him disappear. 

Candlelight reflects the golden sparkles in the skin of his hands, the glinting crinkles of his hair. His leather-clad back has a dark gleam to it. He keeps his shoulders straight, his arms poised--ready to put on a show.

She cannot look away from him. She would say that she is memorizing him, but she already knows him by heart.

They will be together again.

She must believe that, even when he is gone from their home. She trusts her husband. She trusts the plan they have made together. She trusts herself. She will ensure that they are together again. She can do the brave thing and know that bravery will follow. Though the power she has is small and meager, there is enough determination in her to move the world if she needs to.

If Rumple needs her to. 

She cannot stay staring at the place where he was. There is work to be done. Her husband is doing his part of the plan, now she must do hers. 

Since she is already in the dining room of their castle, her first task is to fetch the chipped cup. It sits in a place of honor on top of the magical cupboard that creates their meals. 

The sight of this cup never fails to make her smile. She had dropped it, on the first of many times one of her master’s orders had shocked her. For a time, it was a shameful thing for her, a sign of failure. Over time, she had decided that she liked his orders, and that she wanted him to give her more. She had offered him the imperfect cup, and he had understood what she had wanted--and he had given it to her.  

When she had left, her lover had destroyed this room. He had smashed all the plates and cups, except for this. Later, he told her that he had wanted to throw it against the wall, but instead he had broken down in tears. He had it clutched to his chest when she found him in the dungeons.

Since the wedding, the meaning of the cup changed again. Now they serve each other, whenever they wish to play. The cup is imperfect, but it is beautiful because of what it means to them. It was the first object they shared together, even before their wedding rings.

She holds it delicately, as she walks to the next room. The night is dark, but torches light at her approach. Even if they didn’t, she knows the way. The castle is her home, and she walks without fear through every hallway. 

The small room at the end of the corridor holds everything Rumple has of his son. There are clothes and toys and even a few battered schoolbooks. This is the boy that he lost a lifetime ago. This is the boy that he will destroy the world to get back. She has never met Baelfire, but she loves him. She will do anything she can to reunite her husband with his son.

If she could, she would take everything in this room. The memories are so precious. She would give them to the boy, once they find him. But her husband has given her specific instructions, and she trusts him enough to follow them. Magic can be fickle, especially when there are too many variables. If they ask it for too much, there is a greater chance that something might go wrong, and an even higher price to pay. They will only need one object of Bae’s to be able to find him in the new world. She can only take the shawl.

It is yellow wool, a little ragged and dirty from belonging to a young boy. Her husband knitted it himself. She feels the love that was woven into every fiber of it. 

She cushions the chipped cup against the shawl and holds both objects in one hand. With her other hand, she draws out a single glove from the pocket of her gown. It is a magic glove, made of black velvet and her husband’s golden thread. As soon as it is on her hand, she is transported to the next room.

This is a room with no door. It can only be entered by using her husband’s magic. This is where he keeps things safe, including his secrets. This is where he stores the remains of his life before he had magic. 

There is a wide bed, stuffed with straw. A rough-hewn farm table with a bench and pair of stools at either end. A spinning wheel wound with simple yarn instead of the gold her husband is famous for spinning. She looks over these furnishings with familiarity and with fondness. She has been in this room many times before.

Often enough to know where to find what she seeks. 

A small table serves the function of a desk. It is piled high with papers, mostly drawings. Rumple’s first wife drew pictures of their son when he was a baby. And when the boy had grown older, he had developed the same talent. 

Her mental image of Baelfire comes from a sketch he made of himself: Wavy dark hair and steady dark eyes, a boy who has already suffered and struggled more than he ought to have, a boy who smiles rarely, but is rarely afraid. She would rather take that drawing than handle what lies on top of it.

The dagger that controls her husband is an evil thing, but he has made her the mistress of it. When he proposed, he gave her the dagger, and submitted to her all the power of the Dark One. Together, they have studied its magic, tested its limits. While she does enjoy having some authority over her beloved, the thought of anyone else using the dagger on him--or hurting him with it--is enough to make her blood boil.

She cannot allow that to happen. She cannot allow the dagger to fall into any hands but her own or Rumple’s. This is the only weapon that can hurt him. She will never allow him to be hurt. She holds the dagger to her chest, just like the shawl and the cup.

She takes off the magic glove and finds herself in the tower room where her husband does most of his work. He knew that he was leaving, so he has put away most of his potions and equipment. 

He may never see these things again.

Tears burn in her eyes. Stumbling to his work table, she lets their things slip from her arms. Her satchel is up here, Rumple must have placed it in this room. He gave her this satchel, the last time they were separated. The last time she had to leave her home. It is brown leather, with a design of a red rose blooming among the thorns.

She sets the cup and the shawl inside the satchel. Then she takes the dagger and slashes the glove to shreds. Golden sparks and wine-red smoke emanate from the glove as magic destroys magic. Now she will never be able to enter the safest room again. But neither will anyone else.

Everything she needs to carry fits inside the satchel. She could probably fit the entire potions cabinet and her husband’s spinning wheel inside and never feel the weight of it on her shoulders. 

Her mission is done, but she has no will to rest. Their bedroom is at the bottom of the stairs below this tower, but she cannot bring herself to go there now. She has never slept a full night in this castle without her husband, without at least expecting him to join her. Their marriage bed is large and luxurious. It will feel so empty without him. She cannot sleep there.

 She wanders over to the window. A waning moon and hundreds of stars cast a soft glow over her husband’s spinning wheel. When he needs to think, he will spin straw into gold, working continuously from dawn until darkness. A day’s work fills up a bobbin of thread, and he has more bobbins than she could ever count. They mark centuries of pensive isolation. He starts every spinning day with one empty, and the work isn’t over until it’s full. 

 But when she looks at the flyer, a bobbin is already waiting there, half-filled up with gold thread. 

For a moment, she is perplexed. It is unlike Rumple to leave a loose end. But then she smiles. She understands. Her husband has left her with a message. An unfilled bobbin means the day is not done. There is still more work to do.

They are not finished yet. 

[themusicplayedherlife]

apollymophobia

pairings: dick grayson x pyro!reader characters: reader, dick grayson, mentions of the Team word count: 1k+ warnings: angst, mentions of sex trafficking, death, heavy themes, hurt and comfort a/n: sorry this took a while! i had few ideas for this request, one that started a whole tadashi drabble series and even gave me ideas to a sequel for a one shot, but ultimately none of it felt right until i started writing this! (part of fire meets gasoline ‘verse) (posting this again, second time’s a charm) summary: you’re scared of what you’re capable of.

“Just talk to me,” he pleads, airy and completely broken, “please.” And it’s all too consuming if you allow the words to linger in your head for too long. “Don’t shut me out.”

He’s sweet. Too sweet. A good man, all too worthy, while you’re not. You’re not worthy at all. You’re not a good person. “I’m a monster,” is the only thing you can bring yourself to say, the only thing you’re thinking.

You’re a monster set for destruction, ready to break at any moment and lose control.

Tonight proved what you always feared. You’re dangerous.

His hands are cold, a harsh contrast to your hot skin, but even so, it burns you, like dry ice; makes you flinch away from him as he tries to pull you close. He says your name softly, so sweetly. “You’re not. You’re not a monster—“

How can he stand there and say that? Sound like he means it when you killed a man tonight? Burnt him to a crisp without remorse. You killed him and at that moment, you didn’t care—he deserved it, your raging fire whispered. They all deserved it.

You allowed it to consume you, to let it take over all of the self control Dinah had taught and instilled in you over the years.

You didn’t hear the shouts of your teammates trying to pull you back to them. You only felt the hot searing heat as it engulfed your body completely, only felt your anger that simmered deep within your blood as the words the trafficker said repeated in your head: “They were all good money, sugar. Don’t regret a single thing.”

You reveled in his screams of pain, felt wicked satisfaction as he yelled and begged you to stop, enjoyed the blood curdling screams of the other demons that helped him steal young girls from their homes and sold them like they were cattle to the highest bidder. “If you didn’t stop when they begged you to, why should I?” you taunted them, laughed when one of them cried they had children.

You didn’t care. Why should you have? They were monsters! All of them! Monsters!

But the real monster is you, isn’t it?

Conner was right to be angry at you. You deserved his harsh words as he practically toppled you over with his brute force. “You almost killed M’gann!” You almost killed Kaldur, too, almost killed the whole Team. Nearly sucked the oxygen out of the whole room and endangered half of the Justice League who were waiting—watching.

You didn’t deserve Dick trying to take on Conner; Wally speeding to pull you out of another of Conner’s charges; Artemis defending you; or M’gann trying to take the blame.

“It wasn’t real,” Dick reminds you, trying desperately to tether you to him. And just like in the simulation that felt all too real (once more), he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, ignoring the risks (again). “You didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

But you did. The sweat and weakened states of the Team as you were all pulled out of the simulation proves otherwise; the red faced, wincing Dick that immediately sought you out to make sure you were okay even though he willingly risked his life to ground you, proves otherwise; the erratic, greedy panting and gasping as Dinah and Oliver checked you over, proves otherwise

“You don’t understand!” you bellow, pushing him away from you, needing him to keep his distance. “It felt real. It was real to me, Dick… I—“  A heart-wrenching sob escapes your lips and you wrap your arms around you, curling into yourself and refusing to meet his soft gaze. It’s too much. “I almost killed you—almost killed everyone. If it hadn’t been for you—if you hadn’t—“ you can’t even bring yourself to say it, can’t even allow yourself to think about it anymore.

Soft words, familiar hands, a soothing presence—far away screams that sound so familiar. All jumbled up, but you somehow hear him. You hear his pained whimpers trying desperately to soothe you, you feel him card through your hair “I’ve got you, Phoe, I’ve got you.”

“If J’onn and Nabu hadn’t done what they did—It felt like something inside of me was taking over, Dick. What if there’s something inside of me? What if it snaps and—and we can’t just be pulled out because the next time it happens, it’s real?”

He takes a step forward, reaching for you. “That’s not going to happen, I promise you—“

“How?” you demand softly, finally lifting your gaze to meet his pained, worried eyes and it makes your heart drop to your stomach, makes your knees buckle under their weight. “How can you promise that?”

“Because I know you!” He rushes forward, hands gripping your shoulders as if to shake you awake. But he doesn’t. He keeps you steady, upright, even when you’re both a mess of sweat and tears. “You’re not some monster or some pressurized balloon ready to burst. You’re not some hot headed pyromaniac—you’re you! Just you. You, who wants to help everyone you meet. Who accepts Roy and Jim for who they were and have become. Who tries desperately to keep the Team together when we have our petty spats and listens to all of our complaints patiently. Who believes in me and my training. Who didn’t judge me for wanting to leave Robin behind.”

He cups your face gingerly and tilts your head up, slowly brushing away the tears that won’t stop rolling down your face. “You. Phoenix. My Phoe. My best friend. My dumb, overthinking best-friend, who I would give my life for, who would the the same for me.”

“In a heartbeat,” you whisper and he smiles crookedly, tears rolling down his red cheeks and over his chapped lips. And god—fuck, you did this. Your face scrunches and you throw yourself at him, nearly knocking him off his feet, but he somehow manages to keep you both upright. “I’m scared, Dick. I’m so scared.”

He kisses your hair, your forehead, anywhere his lips can reach without pulling you away from the crook of his neck. “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

[macbetha]

So very excited to share this! It’s a playlist for my upcoming Free! fic, This Heart of Mine, the rewritten sequel to Eyes Wide Open All the Time. You can listen to the playlist on YouTube; this list simply helps define who or what a song represents to me. This list also includes some lyrics that you may want to pay special attention to. I recommend reading the lyrics by themselves before listening to the playlist. Mind you - some of these lyrics only act as symbolism. Some mean more. Some songs have connections. Some don’t. ;) *go girl give us nothing* List below! 

 THIS HEART OF MINE: PLAYLIST GUIDE 

Theme: Bring Me The Horizon feat. Halsey - In The Dark (MTLT / amo version) Oh so tall, it broke the fourth wall Guess our fairytale had a few plot holes Don’t you know you’ve lost control ↳ Honorable Mentions: ✧ grandson - Bury Me Facedown When I go into the ground I won’t go quietly I’m bringing my crown I won’t get tired Set the town on fire Thinking that they’ve won It’s only just begun  ✧ Lorde - Everybody Wants to Rule the World ✧ Ry X - YaYaYa ✧ Rihanna - Goodnight Gotham

CHARACTERS

✦ Haruka ✧ WDL - Monster vs Angel Got my own monster Nobody but me  Got my own angel  I would never call him enemy He’s the good god I need  But both of the sides Fight for me  ✧ Mumford and Sons - Broken Crown I’ll never be your chosen one In this twilight  How dare you speak of grace But in this twilight Our choices seal our fate I’ll crawl on my belly till the sun goes down I’ll never wear your broken crown  ✧ Lia Marie Johnson - DNA Dark as midnight 6 Pack Coors Light You don’t look the same Past my bedtime Blue and red lights come take you away I won’t be like you Fighting back, I’m fighting back the truth Eyes like yours Can’t look away But you can’t stop DNA 

✧ Cat Power - Sea of Love Come with me, my love To the sea, the sea of love ✧ Al Green - Love and Happiness (side note: this if my favorite song of all time) Love and happiness Something that can make you do wrong And make you do right 

✦ Makoto ✧ The Oh Hellos - Soldier, Poet, King There will come a soldier Who carries a mighty sword He will tear your city down Oh ley, oh lei, oh lord ✧ Labrynth - Still Don’t Know My Name I took your heart I did things to you only lovers would only do in the dark I made you a god Priests, popes and preachers would tell me I did wrong ✧ The Civil Wars - Devil’s Backbone Don’t care if he’s guilty Don’t care if he’s not He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I got Oh lord, I’m begging you, please Don’t take that sinner from me  ✧ Sleeping At Last - Make You Feel My Love (Cover) I could make you happy Make your dreams come true There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do Go to ends of the earth for you To make you feel my love  ✦ Sousuke ✧ Angel Haze - Detox You dance in a cage with some rats in it I’m about chemistry, you just react to me God might turn us to ash, baby I might just taste your last stars tonight  We were gods in a world that did nothing but doubt us But fuck it, I got us, from the dirt with the flowers Put in work in the shower ✧ Kaleo - No Good  You better start runnin’ When you hear the man coming It won’t do you no good Kiss your baby goodbye Come on love, it’s all right Heaven knows they wanna break you apart  ✧ The Oh Hellos - The Lament of Eustice Scrubb Brother, forgive me We both know I’m the one to blame When I touched the water They told me I could be set free ✦ Rin ✧ Halsey - Young God (Lullaby / Music Box Intro, Live from Webster Hall) Running, running, running And we’ll be running, running, running again ✧ SZA - Good Days Tell me I’m not my fears, my limitations I’ll disappear I gotta keep from losing the rest of me Chasing a fountain of youth that’s in the present I’ll await my armored fate with a smile Still wanna try, I still believe in good days ✧ Lola Blanc - Angry Too Does it get your blood boiling? Does it make you see red? Cause it gets my blood boiling It would eat you like poison if you knew what I knew I don’t wanna drink the venom they made me I don’t wanna be controlled by the past But boy, if you were me Could you really blame me?  ✧ Kendrick Lamar - u And if this bottle could talk: I cry myself to sleep, everything is your fault Because you shook as you knew confinement was needed I know your secrets Don’t let me tell them to world  About the shit you thinking  And the time that you - I’m ‘bout to hurl  I’m fucked up But I ain’t as fucked up as you ✧ Halsey - More Wooden floors, little feet Flower bud, concrete A little screen, a photograph Mine to take I still believe it won’t be like before I’ve loved you for all of my life ✦ Nao ✧ Johnny Hollow - Worse Things Anger grew like ecstasy And Leda threw the swan on me There are worse things, perverse things You should answer when the phone rings There are worse things I could do ✧ Young Heretics - Bones of a Rabbit You play with wolves But you sleep with the bones of the rabbit  You have conquered cities And torched the mighty sea You may keep yourself afloat But you cannot outswim me  ✧ Phantogram - Black Out Days (Future Islands Remix) Hide the sun  I will keep your face out of my mind  I’m hearing voices all the time And they’re not mine  Haunting my mind ✦ Natsuya ✧ Gang of Youths - Achilles, Come Down Remember your virtue  Redemption lies plainly in the truth Where you go, I’m going When you jump, I’m jumping There is no me without you  Today of all days See how the most dangerous thing is love ✧ Florence + The Machine - Cosmic Love The stars, the moon They have all been blown out You left me in the dark ✦ Ikuya ✧ Penelope Scott - Cigarette Ahegao So like, I guess I call it the sophomore slump Always crying and always drunk A few dead, more gone, the rest well on their way Thanks! I hate it Everyone that I love is stuck Because this, that, the other, and the state fucked up We covered it in a class that I’m about to fail  ✧ 100 gecs, Laura Les, Dylan Brady - Money Machine Tell me what's the deal, I've been trying to go to bed I've been up for days, I've been trying to get ahead Said it all before, and I'll say it once again I'm better off alone ✧ Halsey - Clementine  Through a breakdown or a blackout Would you make out with me Cause I don’t need anyone I just need everyone and then some ✦ Hiyori ✧ Florence + The Machine - Seven Devils Holy water cannot help you now A thousand armies couldn’t keep me out I don’t want your money I don’t want your crown See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down ✧ Michael Buble - Feeling Good (Cover) It’s a new life for me This old world is a new world And a bold world for me Freedom is mine And I know how I feel I’m feeling good ✦ Asahi ✧ Sam Henshaw - Broke If I wasn’t broke Would you spend more time with me Like you said you’d do Tell me what I’m supposed to do Cause the only thing I need Is to be loved by you  ✧ Mikky Ekko - Smile Smile, the worst is yet to come We’ll be lucky if we ever see the sun ✦ Aki ✧ Aly & AJ - Church I did bad things, can’t you see it on my face? I get caught in every lie I need redemption for sins I can’t mention For all the things I can’t reverse For all the places where it hurts ✧ ZZ Ward - Ghost Here the devil call out my name I’ve broken promises, burning flame God knows, darling God knows I gave Now the truth cuts like a knife ✦ Nii ✧ Of Mice and Men - My Understandings  Keep in mind that I’m a sore eye With blurry vision  ✧ Neoni - Outlaw They say that I’m wanted Hear the whispers in the street You better start running Cause nothing scares me  Faster, faster You’re the one I’m after  You built a fortress But I’ll never kiss the ring I’m my own king

✦ Gou ✧ Melanie Martinez - Lunchbox Friends We can be friends if you wanna be But only till the clock hits three I don’t want no lunchbox friends, no I want someone that binds the ends, no Come to my house, let’s die together Friendship that will last forever ✧ Maroon 5 - Come to the Water Come away little light Come away to the darkness Away from the life that you always knew Come away little lamb Come away to the water To the arms that are waiting only for you ✦ Isuzu ✧ Jessie Reyez - NO ONE’S IN THE ROOM  Spent my whole life being graded, being told I’m not enough Being told go find the one and sit and wait for death to come I don’t want to I need to talk to God There’s things I just don’t understand Like who am I when no one’s in the room EMI - Bad Friends Yeah, I got some bad friends No you cannot have them If you wanna talk to them  You talk to me, yeah We don’t fuck around with just anybody, yeah

✦ Takuya ✧ Imagine Dragons - Ready, Aim, Fire Off in the distance, there is resistance Bubbling up and festering Here in the casing Shaking and pacing This is the tunnel’s light Blood in the writing, stuck in the fighting Look through the rifle’s sight ✧ Billie Eilish - you should see me in a crown (acapella) Bite my tongue Bide my time Wait till the world is mine, ocean eyes Count my cards Watch them fall  Blood on a marble wall You should see me in a crown I’m gonna run this nothing town Watch me make ‘em bow One by one ✦ Kinjou ✧ Urban Country - Knife and Stone Tell me, have you ever seen a mirror Mirror in the middle of the forest Just waiting for the rain or the crown I’ve been up for thirty days Someone point to lost and found Ain’t no blood in the temple Just a knife and stone

✦ Mikhail ✧ Elsie Lovelock - Friends on the Other Side (Cover) The cards, the cards The cards will tell The past, the present, and the future as well I got voodoo, I got hoodoo I got things I ain’t even tried And I got friends on the other side I hope you’re satisfied, but if you ain’t Don’t blame me You can blame my friends on the other side ✦ Ryuuji ✧ elbow - Grounds for Divorce I’ve been working on a cocktail Called Grounds for Divorce Down comes him on sticks but then he kicks like a horse There's a hole in my neighborhood Down which of late I cannot help but fall ✧ Mumford and Sons - The Enemy I am not the enemy It isn’t me, the enemy I came and I was nothing So why did you choose to lean on A man you knew was falling? ✦ Nadia ✧ Halsey - Castle (Orchestral Version) They wanna make me their queen  There’s an old man  Sitting on the throne  Saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut I’m headed straight for the castle

THEMES: GROUPS

✦ FREEBIRD ✧ Kaleo - Way Down We Go Oh father, tell me Do we get what we deserve They will run you down Down till you fall They will run you down Down till you crawl Till you can’t crawl no more And way down we go ✦ ROUGH RABBIT ✧  Imagine Dragons - Who We Are Up on the mountain Down in the king's den  It's who we are Doesn't matter if we've gone too far Doesn't matter if it's not okay Doesn't matter if it's not our day ✦ DIAMONDBACK ✧ Florence + The Machine - Bedroom Hymns This is good a place to fall as any We’ll build our alter here  In the wine, the women, the bedroom hymns Such selfish prayers, I can’t get enough I’m not here looking for absolution Because I’ve found myself an old solution

✦ HONEYBLADE ✧ Megan Thee Stallion and Normani - Diamonds I love me this much My pear-shape all dripped up He want me to be a little more lady-like? Come through with my girls and beat your ass on ladies night ✦ BLOODHOUNDS ✧ Angel Haze - The Wolves Nothing left out there for me  I left my fucking heart out at the sea This shit sounds like the danger zone  I’m the big bad wolf  Gonna take the throne 

THEMES: PAIRINGS 

✦ Makoto + Haruka ✧ Phoebe Bridgers - Smoke Signals One of your eyes is always half shut Something happened when you were a kid I didn’t know you then and I’ll never understand why It feels like I did ✧ Radical Face - Welcome Home Peel the scars from off my back I don’t need them anymore I’ve come home ✧ The Track Team - Heart Chakra ✧ Blackmill - Redemption ✦ Sousuke + Rin ✧ Kaleo - Bang Bang (Cover) Seasons came and changed the times I grew up, I called him mine He would always laugh and say: “Remember how we used to play? Bang, bang.” ✧ Zayn - Good Guy I’m not a good guy But I know you’re mine (bang) I know you’re mine (bang, bang) ✧ L'Orchestra Cinématique - Crazy In Love (Instrumental Cover)

✦ Natsuya + Nao ✧ Cosmo Sheldrake - The Moss But have you heard the story Of the rabbit in the moon? Halsey - Colors Your little brother never tells you But he loves you so I hope you make it to the day you’re 28 years old 

✦ Hiyori + Ikuya ✧ Elvis Drew - Where Are You  I been trying to figure out where you from Is it the moon? Is it earth? Is it this place, where nothing is worse?  Nothing can compare to the life we had My dear just grab my hand and let me take you To my wonderland ✧ Swae Lee - Sunflower Some things you just can’t refuse I’m not tryna lose

✦ Isuzu + Gou ✧ Snow Patrol - The Golden Floor I’m a peasant in your princess arms Penniless with only charm

[winetae]

➯ a saint in her halo (m.) 10:21pm

↳  drabble; 2.7k

:: smut, college!au, sunbae!jin

:: phone sex, humiliation

beneath his immaculate appearance and flowery words, no one would expect such filth to spew from his lips

...

or; kim seokjin is simultaneously the best and worst kind of distraction

a/n : this is a sequel to a saint in her halo 3:49pm :)

Late at night, you finally give Seokjin a call.

.

.

The memory of your last encounter is still fresh on your mind. Even when you’re not consciously thinking about it - about him - your upper thigh burns like it still remembers the sharp dig of the ballpoint pen rubbing across your bare skin. The constant physical reminder of his touch makes it difficult to concentrate on your everyday activities. It feels like he’s branded you, burned his way into you and made you his. Each time you think you forget, your thigh throbs and heat simmers beneath the surface.

The scrawl of numbers has long since been smudged and erased. To the naked eye, your skin has become a blank canvas once more.

“Call me,” he had said. And God, do you want to.

You don’t work up the courage right away. How can you?

At the time, immediately saving his phone number into your contact list had seemed like a brilliant idea. Now you’re not so sure. Imagination and fantasies are one thing - but in the reality you live in, you aren’t half as bold or confident as you aspire to be. A million reasons stop you, not all of them unfounded - rationality, embarrassment, fear of rejection.

That doesn’t stop you from letting your mind wander, however. The possibility that the call might go well, that it might lead to something else... You sigh, stopping your thoughts before they have time to root themselves deep inside of you and grow into something you can no longer control.

Your friends attempt to urge you into action.

“He gave you his number. I doubt he gave it to you just so you could store it away for safe keeping.”

“What if I read the situation wrong?” You bite your nail. In all honesty, you’re not intentionally trying to be obtuse. Even if you’re unsure as to why, you know deep down that Seokjin’s actions, the way his low voice toyed with you and messed with your insides, are impossible to misinterpret.

“I get it. You like him a lot and don’t want to fuck it up. But if you don’t even try, you’ll never know - and isn’t not knowing worse?”

There’s logic behind the argument, you concede. As the rest of the week stretches on and your mind never fully stops revolving around Seokjin, you start to think that the strange limbo you find yourself stranded in can’t possibly be a crueler fate than rejection. At this point, you don’t feel like yourself anymore, constantly stuck in a phase of uncertainty and hazy arousal. Your thoughts are no longer yours; they belong to Seokjin. All of your half-hearted attempts to banish him from your mind prove to be futile. By diligently trying not to think about him, you only exacerbate the problem.

Perhaps it would be wiser to simply give into your desires instead of driving yourself half-delirious with desire.

Your thumb hovers over the call button more than once. Every time something stops you, whether it be the doorbell ringing, your roommate’s dog barking, the smell of burning toast. There’s always something, always an excuse to back out instead of taking the plunge. You don’t know if these interruptions are supposed to be blessings or curses in disguise. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling you that calling Seokjin is a terrible idea, one that should never be acted upon.

Against the universe’s wishes, you press call. The press of your fingerprint against your screen is quick, too quick to process and too quick to take back. You stare at your phone dumbly as it rings on. It’s finally at the third ring that something akin to panic snaps inside of you. What have you done? But before you can hang up and delete the number from your call log, he picks up.

“Hello?”

Your insides clench. Your thigh burns.

“Sunbae. Hi.” You clutch the phone as you press it against your ear.

“Oh?” On the other side of the line, he perks up, sounding pleased. You can hear him move around until the background voices become muted, like he’s secluded himself to talk to you without any distractions. Knowing that he’s focusing his attention solely on you makes your heart stutter pathetically. “I was starting to think you’d never call.”

“You know who I am?” Only then do you realize you had forgotten to introduce yourself.

“I don’t give out my number often. I remember when I do.” He doesn’t even give you any time to process his words, just proceeds to shamelessly continue on, his voice dropping an octave, “I’ve never - I kept thinking about last time. I thought you would call that night.”

“Oh.” There’s a lump in your throat you struggle to swallow down. “I was - busy. Had an assignment due. Sorry.”

“Don’t. I’d expect nothing less from a good girl like you,” he chuckles. “I’m happy to talk to you now.”

Your gulp is audible. There it is again - the praise. Except this time you can’t help but feel like you don’t deserve it. If he knew what sort of salacious thoughts ran through your head all day, maybe he’d change his mind.

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“I mean.” You backtrack, voice small. “I’m not as good as you think.”

“Oh?”

You shut your eyes tight. You’re so embarrassed you might die on the spot. Never in your life have you attempted to say something so brazen. While it’s definitely not as risqué as the pick-up lines you’ve heard your peers employ, it’s so out of character that your friends would probably all freak out if they discovered that you were flirting with Seokjin - one of the most confident and self-assured people on campus, who had a good half of its population chasing after him. In other words, not only is he not in your league, but you’re way out of your depth.

Seokjin gently coaxes you out your inner ramblings by saying your name once or twice.

“Are you alone right now?” he says, his voice smoother than the fanciest silk dress.

“Yes, I’m, um... My roommate won’t be home for another hour.”

You bite your nail, wondering why you would offer that last bit of information up unprompted. In hindsight, it seems awfully forward, almost like you’re hoping for something to happen. Are you? What do you want to happen?

He hums in response. Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down. You can feel it knock against your ribs, shaking your core.

“An hour is—” you stop yourself before you can finish. Can you really say this?

“Is?” Seokjin encourages.

Idly, you wonder how he’s able to do that - coax you out of your shell and get you to say things you’d normally never dare utter. Maybe hiding behind a phone call makes you reckless and brave. There’s no one present to witness you make a fool of yourself. No one except for Seokjin - but he’s been nothing but kind and patient.

You let out a shaky breath and steady your heart. Somehow, you know that even if you still lack the skills to pull this off, Seokjin will refrain from poking fun at you. That piece of knowledge is enough to steel your nerves and give you the final push you need.

“Is an hour enough to play with me?”

A more experienced girl would’ve made the phrase sound seductive and enticing. Your clumsy attempt is evidently less alluring than what you’d been aiming for but Seokjin, surprisingly, seems affected all the same.

He exhales sharply before chuckling, the rumbling sound doing strange things to your insides. “Cute.”

Cute? You’d been hoping for ‘sexy’.

“What are you wearing right now?”

The question catches you off-guard. You glance down and frown at the sight. You’d thrown on an old pair of shorts and a tank top as soon as you’d gotten home. Should you lie and say you’d worn a sheer negligee instead? You don’t want to ruin Seokjin’s fantasy but you have a feeling that even if you fibbed, you’d be found out in an instant.

“It’s really nothing special...” You squirm, limbs twisting in the sheets as you try to find a more comfortable position. Talking with Seokjin makes you restless. “Just a tank top and shorts. Ah, but—”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Maybe it won’t make a difference but you have nothing to lose at this point, right?

“I’m not - I don’t have a bra on.” In the back of your mind, you’re grateful Seokjin can’t see how flustered you are right now. You’re certain his presence would have made it worse.

There’s a brief silence, too long for your liking, before Seokjin finally speaks up.

“You said you wanted to play a game with me?”

“Yes.” Your throat feels dry. Although you suspect he already knows, you do your best not to gulp too loudly, unwilling to make your nervousness apparent.

Not even a week ago, you’d been just another girl he knew who admired him from afar. Too shy to strike up an actual conversation with him, you’d been content with attending the same class together. Who would’ve known you’d be here on the phone with him now? The idea is so surreal that you’re tempted to pinch yourself awake.

“Good. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me why you’ve been a bad girl?”

Coming from anyone else, the words would have made you cringe. You suppose that’s the main difference between you and him - he actually has the suaveness to pull such acts off.

“Well—” You can do this. You wet your bottom lip, aware of how chapped your lips are - nothing like Seokjin’s plump mouth, pink and lush. “I’ve been - I’ve thought about you a lot.”

“I’m flattered.” He sounds smug and not all that surprised. “What were you thinking of?”

“I -” A shiver runs down your back. “Just. You know.”

“If you want to play, you have to follow my rules,” he says gravely. “Tell me what you were thinking of unless you want to see how I deal with bad girls.”

Your eyes widen. Secretly, the promise of punishment excites you terribly.  

Seokjin catches on and laughs, short and airy. “You that interested in finding out?”

“I’m - no.”

He hums in reply. “Tell you what - if you really want to find out, I can show you. But I think you’ll find that the rewards I give are much sweeter than my punishments.”

You stretch your toes, silently weighing the pro and the cons. A selfish part of you wants it all - the rewards, the praise, the punishment, everything. You’d take whatever he’s willing to give, like a glutton with no notion of moderation.

“I thought of your fingers. And, um, I thought of them touching me. Under my skirt. Like last time, b-but —” Your fingers played with the wrinkles of your loose shorts. “Higher.”

Seokjin makes a pleased noise that vibrates low in his throat. “Good girl. Tell me more. Did you think of me touching your pussy in class, hm? Is the thought of me playing with your pussy in front of all our classmates what gets you wet?”

You moan, the sound surprising yourself. In the privacy of your shared bedroom, you close your eyes and let his crude words wash over you. Your underwear feels sticky already, and you rub your thighs together, hoping that it’ll somewhat alleviate the throbbing ache between your legs.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Seokjin groans, and with the phone pressed up against your ear, it feels like he’s right next to you.

“Yes.” Arousal clouds your mind and makes confessing easier. “I’d let you play with my pussy all you want.”

“Is that so? You’d let me use you? Be my good toy?”

“Yes!” You agree greedily. “Please?”

“Are your nipples hard? Can you see them through your shirt?”

You glance down, and, sure enough, your nipples are visible through the thin tank top. You tell him so, happy to listen to him groan in approval.

“When we end this call, be my good girl and send me a picture. I want to see you with your shirt still on, all horny from the thought of me playing with your pussy in public. God, that’s hot.”

“Sunbae.” One of your hands tentatively reach for the waistband of your shorts. “Can I - can you give me permission to touch myself?”

“Lose the shorts,” he agrees.

You hurriedly comply, wondering if he’s also going to touch himself. Or maybe he’s already getting himself off? The thought makes your cunt clench.

“Bend your legs and spread them wide for me.” He waits until you’ve assured him you’re in the position he wants. “Good kitten. Is your pussy wet? You can touch yourself but only over your panties.”

“Ugh, fuck.” Your legs twitch as you slide your fingers along your clothed slit. “There’s a wet patch. Ah!”

You’d always been sensitive, but never to this degree. You feel like you could cum from the slightest touch to your clit.

“You sound like you’re close. You must really love the idea of my fingers fucking your wet, little pussy. What would your classmates say if they found out such a sweet, shy little kitten was playing slut in the back of the classroom? Hm? They’d turn around and see you spreading your legs wide for me, riding my fingers desperately while wishing it was my cock instead.”

He paints the picture with such ease that you can’t help but wonder if he’s thought about it before - secluded in the back of the classroom, his fingers stuffed deep in your pussy as you struggle to muffle your sounds of pleasure.

“Oh, oh, I—” Your fingers dug into your sodden underwear as you imagined yourself in that scenario. Shit. Your fantasies seem tame in comparison to the filth coming out of his mouth.

“Gonna cum hard for me, kitten?” He asks. “What is it that’s pushed you over the edge? The thought of me using your pussy? The promise of my cock filling you up afterwards? Or is it the idea of everyone finding out that you’re not a good girl, but a desperate little slut who likes to be fucked in public?”

Maybe - maybe it’s all three. You don’t have time to analyze what the answer is. Seokjin barely finishes his sentence before your body seizes up in a long, hard orgasm that leaves the ends of your toes tingling. Your back arches off the bed, your hard nipples straining against the cotton material of your top. Through it all, you think you might’ve heard Seokjin reach completion, but you’re so wracked with pleasure you can’t be sure.

The haze doesn’t lift right away. You hear Seokjin’s heavy breathing in your ear and with your eyes closed it almost feels like he’s laying right here with you. Honestly, you don’t know what tomorrow will bring - if this game can continue or not. If he’d been serious about a next time. You know, however, that for you nothing will be the same as before. You can never go back to silently pinning after the popular upperclassman. Now that you’ve had a taste of him, you fear you’ve become addicted.  

[kairi-chan]

Not Together, Part I - BoruSara

Art by @lovelysheree​ ! 

Rating: T+ for violence (ish) 

Genre: Romance /a lil bit of action/lots of denial 

Beta read by: @ss-tyytyy​

Written for @borusaraweek2020​, D1: Free Day!

A/N: Sequel for [Not A Date]

...

Boruto walked to Hokage tower with a spring in his step. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and he was called to the office for official ANBU business. Everything was right with the world. It had only been a week after his promotion to ANBU captain with his partner, and crush—Woah wait—no, not crush. Friend. Yes, that. Or like, best friend. They have been friends since they were in diapers, after all. Perhaps best friend suited it more. 

Anyway, Sarada Uchiha was one of the best ninjas out there. And it only made sense they were partners because other than being in the same three-man cell back during their genin days, their chemistry was perfect. Chemistry being like, fighting. Totally not like, with romance or anything. Nope. Chemistry with fighting. They were both so in sync and just got each other. 

It was a shame they aren’t together. 

Boruto shook the last thought out of his mind. There was no time for that. The summon he received was urgent, and it was a task only the unstoppable duo could do. He walked up the steps and bumped into a young couple. The woman was hiding her face and weeping. Her husband—Boruto assumed—was tapping her shoulder. His face was crestfallen, but he tried to console her… he was failing at it though. 

The young Jonin didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know what was going on… a quick look at the clock that hung overhead told him he was going to be late but… 

“Excuse me, sir,” Boruto nearly stumbled over his own feet trying to catch up to them down the hall. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude but… what happened? Is there anything… I can... do?” 

The woman ceased her crying and sniffed as she looked at him. She was still young… but the way her eyes puffed and the dark circles under her eyes suggested she had been crying for more than just a few hours. “My… son…” She choked out. “He was… mi-missing and n-now he’s…” 

Boruto gaped. Perhaps it was better he didn’t even ask anymore. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

The man wrapped his arms around his wife and gave Boruto a tight smile. “These things just… happen, right?” 

He blinked and opened his mouth, but closed it right after. Being a shinobi meant being familiar with loss. But it didn’t mean he liked it or ever got used to it. “I’m so sorry…” it came out as a whisper. The couple walked out of Hokage tower and Boruto stood there for a few moments, feeling his heart weigh a ton. The clock tolled. He was late, and will probably get an earful. But that didn’t matter much to him anymore. 

The door opened and he was face to face with his father, Shikamaru, and Sarada. The latter was tapping her foot, but the moment she looked at his eyes, she stopped and her face fell. “Boruto…” 

“Sorry, I’m late!” He pulled a fake smile. “Bumped into someone and thought they might need help, ya know? I thought wrong.” He laced his fingers behind his head and grinned. “What’s up?” 

Naruto and Shikamaru looked at each other before the latter gave their brief. “The AkaKuro, a notorious gang, was seen terrorizing a small farming village a few miles from here. Your mission is to apprehend them. We will send a group to… clean up the mess after.” 

“There have already been reported casualties…” Naruto's voice started wavering, blue eyes burning. “A number of them women and children.” 

The two jonin looked at each other before nodding. Shikamaru handed them a scroll, to which Sarada took and tucked it into her pouch. “Understood.” 

They left the room without another word. Although Boruto was silent and cooperative, it didn’t mean his heart was as calm. His partner knew that. 

As they made their way to the gate, she asked gently, “do you want to talk about it?” 

He shook his head. “I… I don’t even know why I’m so affected.” 

Her dark eyes softened and she fell in step with him and linked their hands together. “I’m sure it was a lot to make you feel this way.” 

Boruto looked at her, and gave her a soft smile and squeezed her hand. “A couple… lost their son. He must have been no older than six, they both looked so young…” 

She bit her lower lip and said nothing. Their walk to the gate was silent, and they never released their hold on each other’s hands. 

Again. It’s a shame they’re not together. Yes, they’re not together. Not even dating. Just friends. 

Best friends, at most. But don’t tell Mitsuki that. 

Once they reached the gate. They exchanged looks, gave their hands one last squeeze before putting their masks on and disappearing in a flash, jumping for the trees. Their steps were fast, light, soundless. A passerby would think they were seeing and hearing things should they chance upon them. 

There was no time to waste. Boruto could feel his heart pounding, adrenaline filling his body. The smell of fresh leaves and the damp ground exhilarated him. But most of all, he couldn’t allow this gang to hurt anyone. The thought that an innocent little boy could be part of the fray stung his heart. As a shinobi, it was his duty to protect people. He was not going to let anything bad happen. 

Sarada zipped by, now she was running a few steps ahead of him. He smiled. It was his duty to protect people, but her most of all. It was his promise and Boruto intended to keep it. 

Yes, they really aren’t together. Despite the promises and support for each other. Totally not together. 

They’re a duo. An unstoppable duo. But not together.

Keep up. 

Sarada jumped off the tree and landed with a soft thud. Boruto landed right next to her and adjusted his cape. Before them was a small village with straw roofs. Screams and cries could be heard in the distance as black smoke rose to the blue sky. Flames licked the roofs and bamboo walls. 

Behind the mask, Sarada frowned and her blood boiled. Boruto looked her way, feeling her killing intent flare. Oh damn. She was angry. And not in a he-did-something-stupid way. But more like, this-isn’t-right-and-she-was-going-to-kill-whoever-is-responsible-for-this-carnage kind of way. His blood ran cold.

Note to self, don’t ever anger Sarada if you wanted to live. 

“There’s fifteen of them,” she muttered. “We take all fifteen of them.” 

He nodded. Not that she was in charge or anything but the way he could feel her anger emanating from her very being, it was best he did exactly as he was told. 

“You got it.” 

Agreeing to what the angry partner is saying without hesitation? Totally not together. 

Boruto counted down. They were going to take action in: 

Three

.

.

.

Two 

.

. 

One 

There was a reason why they’re partners. Not only because they were in sync, but because they were equally ruthless. Moving as fast as lightning, one look in their eyes and their enemies would be frozen with fear. 

Enemy shrieks filled the air. Confusion swam in the civilian’s eyes. A mother holding on to her child, dark irises reflecting the orange flames, flashes of yellow lighting, and merciless red eyes. 

Boruto and Sarada swung and slashed, expertly telling the difference between friend and foe. 

A man came yelling, holding a club up in the air at Sarada. Slash. 

Fourteen. 

Boruto turned around and came face to face with a Goliath. His sword must have been as big as his leg. The Goliath slammed his sword down, Boruto escaping his blade by an inch. That was too close. 

The jonin made two shadow clones to distract the monster. He slashed them away, smoke covering his vision when the clones disappeared. The last thing he saw was a swirling ball of chakra and Boruto’s jogan before he fell to the ground. 

Thirteen. 

He dusted his cape and turned around to find his partner faced with three enemies. Boruto lifted a brow. Huh. Someone was taking their sweet time. Crossing his arms he stuck his foot out, tripping one of the gang members, Boruto then kicked the back of his head, knocking him out. 

Twelve. 

Honestly. These guys had no respect. He was trying to watch his not girlfriend at work here! Totally not his girlfriend. Just a partner.

Sarada balled her fist, and with a shout, slammed her fist down on the ground, making rocks fly and the ground split open, engulfing three of the members. 

Eleven, ten, nine. 

Well, Boruto better hurry the fuck up or else Sarada was going to stay ahead and win the higher score. To be fair, that giant had to got to count as three at the very least. That fucker was huge! 

Sarada - 4 

Boruto - 2 

Six down, nine to go. 

Boruto made a bunch of clones and dispersed. Some of them were herding civilians out of the way, while the others used jutsu after jutsu to get rid of the pesky gang that did nothing but hurt this innocent farming village. With every injured woman, and child Boruto saw, his anger only grew.

Eight. Seven. 

At his peripheral vision, Sarada was also multi-tasking. Holding on to a child that got caught in the field with one hand, and blocking a katana-wielding foe with a kunai on the other. Finally, she found an opening and aimed right for the jugular. 

Six. 

This confirmed it, Boruto never wanted to anger Sarada. For real. 

Sarada - 5 

Boruto - 4 

Blood stained Sarada’s mask, making the child cry out in fear. Sarada removed her mask to show her face, trying to calm the girl down. This did nothing for the little girl, as Sarada’s eyes were blood red. The girl tried to escape Sarada’s grasp, and the Jonin was about to put her down but the little girl grabbed on to Sarada’s neck as soon as two other members of the gang came running towards them. 

One threw shuriken, the other had a whip. Sarada jumped back, holding fast on the little girl, dodging every single whip and star thrown at her. “Boruto!” 

Oh finally. She asked for help. Time to be the savior, now, huh? Boruto smirked and created more clones. Two to jump at the enemy, while his original self came running in from behind, creating a Rasengan. 

The two clones disappeared, badly injured by a whip and a knife. Boruto’s Rasengan missed, and his shoulder was grazed by the knife. He grimaced. Not exactly what he had in mind. 

The two turned to face him. Knife and whip held at the ready to strike. 

This was looking bad. 

And then, the Jonin smirked, before ducking down on the ground. 

A large fireball engulfed the two. Screams filled the air before they both dropped to the ground. Boruto looked up to reveal his partner. Eyes flaming with fury, Sharingan still activated. “No one hurts my partner,” she declares menacingly. 

Boruto removed his mask and gaped at her. Fuck. That was hot. Too hot.

But they’re not together. Don’t forget that. All the heated action, sexual tension, and sincere care they had for each other merits them single. Besides, saving each other and dropping threats like that, doesn't mean a thing. 

It's totally not like, a declaration of undying love or anything.  

He swallowed hard, didn’t even make a move to get off the ground. 

“You need a hand over here?” She asked, walking towards him. 

“N-no!” Boruto shook his head frantically. I’m fine. Just—just ah… Give me a sec.” 

She raised her brow but turned around and started to jog away, heading back to help other civilians and maybe knock another gangster out. 

Lifting himself with his hands, Boruto looked down at his pants and cursed. Apparently, another part of him felt the heat as well. “Now is not the time!” he scolded himself. 

In the distance, another manly scream was heard, and Boruto cursed yet again. 

Sarada - 8

Boruto - 4 

Little Boruto - 1 

Getting these kinds of… reactions are perfectly normal when with… friends, ya know? Totally no crush or anything. Just… pure… admiration at one’s… skills. Yeah, that. 

And Boruto was losing. Like, embarrassingly losing. Dammit.

Gotta up the game! Not little Boruto though... He needed to chill the fuck down. 

After hobbling for a few steps and then getting back in the game, Boruto surveyed the scene before him. The fire engulfed the other side of town, and more and more civilians were running towards the bridge, over the river. In the distance, he could see Sarada’s form, perched on a rooftop, looking for trouble. 

Either those in trouble or made trouble. Boruto initially didn’t want to be the first, but recalling how Sarada barbecued those two guys, he definitely didn’t want to be the latter. 

Boruto scanned again and found two bodies sneaking up behind Sarada. 

Oh no they don’t. Not on his watch. 

Chakra concentration. A series of hand seals. Crackling and light emitted from Boruto’s hands. 

In a flash, lighting darted towards the two, their own screams the last thing they hear before tumbling to the ground. 

Sarada - 8 

Boruto - 6

She looked back at him from the roof, a smirk on her face. Her mask was still off. How he loved seeing her face. 

Smitten by her beauty? Yeah, no crush here. 

Moving along. There was one left. 

Boruto made a circling motion with his index and middle finger. His partner nodded and jumped off the roof, running towards the rest of the civilians herding towards the other side of the river. 

That last fucker was Boruto’s. 

Perhaps in number, Sarada would win. But when they laid down the difficulty level, Boruto always got more points… Most of the time. 

A shrill scream came from behind Boruto, making him turn around, kunai up and ready. The enemy was wearing a black and red mask, holding on to a small sword. With ease, Boruto blocked the slash aimed toward his shin and then used his gale palm to blow him away. 

The mask came flying off, and Boruto’s blood drained. 

It was just a kid. 

What was a kid doing with this gang? 

Scruffy clothes, messy brown hair, and scrapes on his arms and knees… He didn’t look older than eight or nine. Just a kid Boruto could bump into when he was walking near the academy… 

All in all, that made fifteen. 

.

.

.

“Good job, you two.” Lee gave them a thumbs up. “We will take it from here!” 

“Yeah, you two really didn’t hold back, huh?” Kiba snickered. 

Despite his effort to try to lighten things up, it didn’t look like it was working… for Sarada, at least. Killing was part of the occupation but it wasn't something those in the profession liked. 

"What about the kid?" Boruto asked sheepishly. "Is he…" 

"He's fine," Kiba assured. His eyes shifted from side to side, and Lee seemed to have mirrored the gesture. “No parents, or anything like that… Looks like an orphan and,” He sighed loudly. “It’s going to be a pain trying to figure out what to do with him and all.” 

Boruto released a breath of relief. At least he didn’t kill the kid. It all happened so fast that Boruto didn’t even get to assess who he was dealing with. “Good…” 

“Beating a kid up?” Sarada smirked. “That’s low, even for you.” 

“Hey!” He retorted. “I didn’t know, okay? ‘Sides he was pretty fast.” 

Sarada nodded and added teasingly. “Far too much for the great Boruto Uzumaki!” 

He stomped his feet and Sarada giggled, running around as he tried to catch her. 

Kiba and Lee exchanged a smug look. 

Nope. They’re totally not together. 

.

.

.

Despite things looking good, and really, when will they ever learn? Things were never good even when it seemed like it.

The duo was given another task, which was to report to the next village. The damage had been extensive and will require some support in the meantime. It wasn’t all that bad, a very low profile mission like this would be a piece of cake except… it was more than a day’s walk away. Neither of them looked forward to sleeping on the forest floor. Just the two of them. Sharing a blanket. Alone. 

But hey! They’re just friends, and friends share blankets, right? Nothing couple-y or romantic and it’s not like this was one of those oh-my-god-there-was-only-one-blanket scenarios. 

Boruto handed Sarada the scroll containing the full report and they were off. No running this time, just walking. Their chests still felt a little heavy, coming from the cull. Boruto noticed that Sarada was wiping at her hands, despite it being clean. Her thumbs rubbing on her palms were getting harder and harder, her jaw clenching. 

For a moment, Boruto thought against reacting, but as he heard her whimper, he closed his eyes and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. She didn’t say anything. He only squeezed his hand and looked at the floor as they walked. 

It wasn’t uncommon for shinobi to find ways to cope… taking was always a little harder than giving for Sarada but for now, she chose to take the comfort his warm hand offered and Boruto was glad to offer it. 

Still not together, though. Stay with me, fam. 

After a few minutes of walking along the path, he heard rustling behind them and gave Sarada’s hand a squeeze. Her eyes met his and they gave each other a slight nod. They kept walking. Waiting. 

And. 

“AAAAAAAA!” 

They both let go of each other’s hands and turned around. Swords at the ready. As soon as they saw who their opponent was, their eyes widened. 

Boruto put his sword down and groaned. “Oh come ooon!” 

It was the little boy. But despite the lack of enthusiasm from the blond, the little boy kept going. That kunai he held was pointed right at Boruto, running full force. 

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Boruto asked Sarada, boredom dripping from his voice. 

Her brow lifted. “Excuse me? You were the one lagging behind the score.” 

His eyeballs were about to pop out of their sockets. “You kept count?!” Not fair. Only he was supposed to keep count. 

Sarada stepped back, a smirk on her lips. “You need the points more than I do.” 

With his shoulders slumping and lower lip jutting out, Boruto sheathed his sword and tripped the little boy over. The poor thing stumbled and fell on his face. 

Hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, “Did you have to do that?” 

His response? Sticking his tongue out at her. Real mature. 

Boruto walked over to the kid and poked at his cheek. “Hey, kid, what’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be on the way back to Konoha.” 

The little boy got up and tried to bite his finger. Boruto pulled back just in time, and had half a mind to swat this kid away. He only stopped himself because Sarada came behind him to get a good look.

“He looks fine,” Sarada grinned at him and extended her hand to help him up, but instead of accepting her offer, he tried to hit her! “Hey!” She exclaimed and took a step back, a pout on her face. 

Boruto sniggered and asked her smugly, “Still think he doesn’t deserve it?” 

The two argued for a bit and the child watched on, a twisted and confused look on his face. What were these fools doing? 

“Are you, like,” He started, confusion still swimming in his eyes. “Married or something?” 

Woah what? Married? No, way. They weren’t even together! 

“NO!” The two yelled in sync, faces red and flustered. “WE’RE NOT TOGETHER!” 

His boyish features drooped down. “Ya coulda fooled me.” 

After a round of bickering, kick blocking (from the kid) and one throw of rock-paper-scissors, a conclusion was made. 

The two jonin would drag the kid along to bring the report over to the next village, and then bring him with them back to Konoha. Seems easy enough, right? 

Wrong. 

“Ouch!” Sarada pried his hands off her hair. The boy insisted to be carried, and because Boruto did not oblige (only his precious little sister was allowed in his arms… well… and maybe Sarada. If she was like… dying or something… or asked... But, whatever. Beside the point!) “S-stop moving! Boruto!” She exclaimed. “Help out, would you?”

He sighed. “This is so lame. We’re jonin, not babysitters.” Alas, he had lost the rock-paper-scissors match. He wanted to go back and drop the kid off with Kiba. But no, Sarada had to win, and she wanted to be more “efficient.” Now they were stuck with a little kid. “Just drop this kid off somewhere, will ya?” 

“Renji!” The little boy snapped. “I have a name, and it’s Renji!” In a fit, he began hitting Sarada’s head with closed fists. 

This ticked Boruto off. “Hey, knock it off, don’t hurt her!” He plucked the boy off of Sarada’s shoulder and put him back on the ground. But not as gentle as Sarada would have liked. 

Heh. Served the kid right. 

Renji puffed his cheeks. “See!” He cried. “You are together! If not, you wouldn’t care!” 

“NO WE’RE NOT!” the two screamed in unison. 

The little boy only raised his brow and smirked at them. “You so are.” 

...

A/N: That concludes part 1! I don’t write much adventure/action fics, and I think a lot of you know that. It’s always been a challenge for me, but I hope this turned out okay! 

Thank you so much for reading, and yay for BoruSara week! I have a lot more fics coming in the next few days! 

Cheers, darling.