#hope you guys enjoy this chapter

[mimiwrites2000]

Legends | Chapter 26

Green, blue and white.

Those were the three colors Armin saw as his eyes cracked open. They were dots, blurred, overlapped dots; he couldn’t make anything out of them.

He closed his eyes and tried to compensate sight with hearing. Water gurgling and birds chirping was all he could hear. He tried to move his arms; one arm stirred, while the other shot pain through his shoulders. Armin didn’t even have enough energy to hiss.

He moved his fingers, and he felt the harsh particles of dirt, or was it the texture of mud?

Armin waited patiently, focusing on his breathing, taking deep breaths in, and letting them out, then he opened his eyes again. After several blinks, he saw leaves rustling above his head, the blue sky creeping between them, and the clouds sheltering him from the sun.

A groan left Armin’s mouth, nausea suddenly swathed over him, the sky, the leaves and the clouds blending into the previous blurry dots.

He heard footsteps before someone called, “Armin? Armin?”

Annie…

[lilybug-02]

Pain is a great motivator…

Part 26 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

Meanwhile Toriel:

(Loud noises don't wake her up usually.)

Artist note: I’m so proud of this :))) I know it’s a lot of dialogue and reading, but dialogue is grueling work for me. I’m glad with the art and for the amount of pages I made in such a relatively short time span -w- page 5 was super fun to work on. A lot of blood, sweat, and hours here... :) The backgrounds were a big bore tbh, but I finished them! Yippie!

[alish-artie]

S-M-I-L-E every day !

I’ve been playing Poppy Playtime chapter 3 and I love the Smiling Critters, so I had to draw them !~

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 4 - Runaway

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized reader, female reader, Poorly thought out action sequences, Guns, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though I might even tell y'all her name.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

You wake in the morning with your nose buried in a thick patch of chest hair, and strong arms around you. Your legs are hooked around one of his thick thighs, and something hard digs into your stomach. You start to inch away, but his arms tighten, and his hips cant against you, a thick, sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. It would be a nice way to wake up, if not for the circumstances. It’s been ages since you slept beside another person, let alone someone that feels as comfortable as John does.

“John,” you say softly. You don’t want to fully wake him up, just get him to let you go. “John, please let me go.”

He hums, one hand sliding to your waist, and then down to your hip, pulling you closer, grinding you against his thigh. You squeak in protest, becoming aware that you’re already wet, like you’ve been unconsciously humping his leg in your sleep for some time. You push your slightly freer top half away a little, so you can look at him. He’s still sleeping, a little frown on his face as he’s pulled unwillingly toward consciousness. He really is handsome, especially like this, all his defences down, grumbling like a hibernating bear.

“Don’t wake up,” you tell him, as if it’ll make any difference. “I just have to pee.”

One of his blue eyes cracks open, a little unfocused. “You comin’ back?” His voice is rough from sleep, rasping like sandpaper.

“Sure,” you say, even though you have no intention of doing so. Your body seems as eager as his is for something you’re sure is dangerous. Maybe he smells good, like tobacco, warm, boozy spices and something undeniably male, and maybe he feels warm and solid against you, but you don’t want to encourage this. You just want to enough space to clear your head. His admissions last night still have you spooked, John’s words not tempered by a night of surprisingly good sleep. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He loosens his hold on you enough that you can wiggle free, his eyes opening a little more so he can watch you slip out of bed. He rolls over onto his back, and starts snoring gently before you’ve even made it to the bedroom door. You take the opportunity to snag one of the bags stacked in front of the closet and your purse off the dresser and bring both to the bathroom with you. You’re not sure what’s in the bag, but you know the larger suitcase has things from your closet in it, so you’re hoping this one has more from your dresser.

You get dressed, glad that most of your underthings and a comfortable pair of jeans and a thick sweater are inside and pack your toothbrush and makeup bag into the larger one, and creep downstairs carefully. One of them is snoring gently on the couch, but otherwise, the house is silent. You carefully fish a set of keys off the hooks by the door and sneak outside. You don’t know where any of your shoes are except the red heels, so you just leave in your sock feet, and pile your things into the pick-up truck. You’ll drive it into town and leave it there, buy a ticket on a train or a bus, and get the hell back home.

It sucks to have to leave everything you own, beyond the clothes in the one bag and the contents of your purse, but maybe you can call the cops— Well. Probably not. Better to just start over anywhere else. You have digital copies of a few pictures of your parents, and that’s better than nothing, even if their wedding album is sitting on a shelf in John’s living room, along with all the family photos that your parents took of you and them while you were growing up. Your mother’s sketchbooks too, and her camera, and your dad’s guitar.

You bite your lip, holding back tears, and start the truck.

No sense mourning things. The memories are in your head and your heart, not trapped in the pages of books or twisted into the strings of the guitar. You don’t need them.

You haven’t driven in a long time, and the truck, unfortunately, is a manual, which you haven’t driven in even longer, but you manage to pull away from the house without revving the engine too hard, and pick up speed once you get to the road, only just remembering to hit the clutch with your left foot before you change gears. You’d feel pretty pathetic if you only made it to the road before stalling out the pickup.

You’re not sure which way town is, but you figure the road has to lead somewhere no matter which way you choose, so you navigate blindly, turning onto a bigger road a little ways down the gravel one that leads to John’s house. Bigger road means more people, although the hour is still so early that there’s no one around yet. The sun is barely up, and it’s still shadowy in the woods on either side of the road. The woods give way to fields suddenly, the sun making a too-bright debut, shining right into your eyes. You flip down the visor and adjust the rear-view mirror, wincing when you see a blue car a ways behind you, approaching fast.

You didn’t notice the car when you were leaving— It must have been parked behind the bigger van that they’d used to move all your things— but it looks sporty and fast, and judging by the way it closes the gap, there’s no question that it’s them. You push the truck harder, squinting against the light, heart hammering. The car’s engine roars, loud enough that you can hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, and pulls into the lane beside you. Gaz motions for you to pull over from the passenger seat.

You slow up enough that they pull ahead a little, and you yank your steering wheel to the side and stomp down on the gas and the clutch, shifting into third gear and nailing the side of the car, shattering a tail light and making it spin, stopping just shy of the ditch.

For a moment, you’re still close enough to see the shock on their faces, but you’re moving fast and leave them in the dust, at least momentarily. It won’t take them long to recover and catch up again, and if they hit you with the same maneuver, there’s no way you’ll be able to get the truck under control. There’s not enough weight in the bed of the truck to compensate, and you’ll wind up in the ditch for certain.

Funny, how it comes back to you. Learning to drive along mountain roads way outside Aberdeen, either in your dad’s little car or your mom’s old truck (usually the car, which was the easier one to drive. Your dad was the safer driver too, the better parent to learn from), and you can almost imagine your mother in the passenger seat, laughing her head off at the insane circumstances, encouraging you to throw caution to the wind, to get a feel for the road under the wheels and the way the old truck handled. She always laughed when she was under stress, but it’s comforting to think of. Your mum would never let a couple of thick-headed military assholes get the better of her.

The car is catching up again, so you floor it and smash through a fence gate into a muddy field, where the car won’t handle as well, and speed your way across the stubbly remains of wheat, already harvested. The car follows, and, predictably, struggles, the low frame too close to the muck, bumping unhappily over the soft, uneven ground.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest, relieving some of the built-up anxiety. You smash through a segment of the fence on the other side and yank the truck back onto the road, giggling when the truck fishtails a bit, mud slicking the tires on the pavement. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through your system that you feel like you might be sick the moment you let any of this catch up with you. So you keep driving, and pray that it doesn’t.

The car gets close again when you reach another wooded section of road. Through the rearview mirror you can see Gaz pop out of the window, gun drawn, but you don’t hear the crack when it fires, you only feel the impact when the bullet strikes one of the rear tires. You shriek, slamming on the breaks as the truck spins out of your control and off the road, slamming into a tree head on.

The lurch forward as the airbags deploy, your body hitting them hard, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you’re slapped back into he seat. The seat belt bites into your shoulder painfully. You unbuckle yourself quickly, ears ringing too loudly for you to hear the screeching tires of the pursuit car. You fall to the ground when you try to get out, head spinning.

You stumble into the trees, still blinking away double vision. If you can find a good spot to hide— Maybe you can double back and take the car while they chase you blindly through the trees. You cast about, feeling every rapidly forming bruise, wishing desperately that you had shoes, and dive into the underbrush, scooting forward on your belly, brambles catching in your hair as you curl up, out of sight.

“Please come out, doll,” you hear Gaz call out, boots crunching through the woods, closer than you would like. “It’s okay, we’re not mad. Just come out and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

Johnny is yelling further off, his voice incomprehensible but sing-song, mocking. Gaz moves further into the woods. You wait until his voice grows a little more distant before you drag yourself back out, sweater streaked with mud, leaves in your hair, and quickly sneak back to the road. The car is still running, the driver door left open. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you are, bird.”

You scream. A gloved hand drops over your mouth, cutting off the sound, and an arm loops around your waist, picking you right up off your feet.

Fuck.

"Look what you did, bird. Wrecked up Price's truck. 'E's not goin' to be 'appy about that." He turns so you can see the slightly smoking truck, the front half of it crumpled beyond repair.

You shake your head until he pulls his hand away from your mouth. "Its not my fault I crashed. Gaz shot the tire out. I wasn't even going to steal it, just leave it in town once I'd gotten to a bus stop."

He hums. You hear the slight crackle of a radio. "Got 'er, lads. Come back to the car."

"Rog."

"Aye."

Ghost shoves you into the back seat. "Stay put," he says sternly. "You're already banged up, don't want to 'ave to tackle you."

You sigh, all the fight leaving you. You feel awful, bruised and shaken up and trembling, and you do nothing but watch as Ghost gathers your things from the truck and puts them in the boot of the car. You slump back in the seat, inspecting the scratches on your hands idly. Your head hurts, and your shoulder aches, and you feel a bit like you've been stepped on, but nothing feels broken, just bruised and tender. You got lucky.

Well, not lucky. There's very little about any of this that counts as luck. Especially considering the look on Johnny's face when he jogs out of the trees. At first he looks stormy, but he grins when he sees you and opens the back door to crawl onto the seat and on top of you.

"Steamin Jesus, where'd ye learn ta drive like tha'?" He asks. "Didnae ken ye were a racer."

"Outside Aberdeen," you reply. Your ribs hurt. Soap’s weight makes every little ache more acute.

"Price isn't gonna be happy about his truck," Gaz says, tossing himself into the driver's seat. "What were you thinking, doll? You could've been hurt."

"You didn't have to shoot the tire." You try to push Soap off, but he wraps himself around you, a bit tight, but bearably so. You’re trembling, and he’s trying to help, in a thoroughly unhelpful way. "I was just trying to get home."

"That's the wrong way. Your home's with Price now." Ghost gets into the other front seat, and Gaz reverses back out onto the road.

You sigh, leaning your head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get back to John's house. You didn't get as far as you would have liked, hardly got anywhere at all. Your eyes prickle with tears, but you don't want to cry in front of them. You want to go back to bed, maybe back in time to the morning. You would have been wiser just to curl up next to John again.

Soap drags you from the car, hands a bit rough on your bruises, and pulls you back to the house. John rushes out, worry creasing his face, blue eyes sweeping over you and turning furious. "What happened?" he barks, not at you, but at his men.

"Bird was makin' a run for it," Ghost says.

"Wrecked your truck," Gaz adds.

"That's not my fault!" you protest. "You shot at me!" You glare at him, frustrated tears overflowing down your cheeks. It’s like they have no idea what kind of stress they’ve put you through.

"Woah, woah, c'mere, doll." John pulls you against his chest, wrapping strong arms around you, stilling some of the tremble in your limbs. "You broken?"

You shake your head, leaning into him, gripping his t-shirt tightly. You breathe in raggedly, trying to steady yourself.

"Lads. Why did you shoot at her?"

"Trying to stop the truck."

"She's a civilian you muppets. I take it that the truck's in no shape to drive, or you would've brought it back. You could have killed her." He pets a hand over your head, plucking out a few leaves. "You should’ve let her go."

"She stole your truck!" Soap protests.

"So what? It's wrecked now anyway, innit?" The silence behind you speaks volumes. "Alright, doll, why don't you go get cleaned up? " he murmurs against the top of your head. "I need to talk to the lads, and what I have to say is not fit for a lady's ears."

He gently ushers you into the house and closes the door firmly behind you. You trudge upstairs, feeling utterly pathetic, and lock yourself into the bathroom. Still sniffling, you comb sticks and leaves out of your hair with your fingers and put yourself into a hot shower, where you give yourself the freedom to cry your eyes out, hoping that the sound of water drowns your stifled sobs.

The house is quiet when you shut off the shower and dry yourself off. You wrap the shirt you'd slept in around you and poke your head out into the hallway. John is right there, holding out a bundle of clothes. "Here, sweetheart," he says softly, like he's worried a sharp word will set you off again. He must have heard everything. "I sent the boys to deal with the truck and that tail light, so it's just us. Just come on downstairs when you're ready."

You open the door wide enough to accept the clothes, and he turns to leave again, content to leave anything else to be said when you make it downstairs.

He'd obviously taken his cue from what you'd been wearing already, because he gives you a sweater and jeans again, comfortable worn in things. You go downstairs carefully, every joint and muscle in your body aching, even after the shower.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asks. "Or do you prefer tea?"

"Coffee, please. I can make it. I'd feel better if I did, honestly." You skirt around him to the cupboard where you'd seen Gaz take mugs out, recognizing your own nestled among John's mismatched ones. You put milk and sugar in your favourite mug, and pour in coffee, stirring it throroughly. The clink of the spoon is loud, and so is the pan he sets on the stove top.

"Eggs and toast okay?" He asks.

"Um, yeah. That would be nice. Over easy?"

"Yes ma'am." He looks at you over his shoulder while butter melts in the pan, blue eyes all worry. "Did I say something to you last night? Maybe the sort of thing that made you feel like you needed to steal a truck and run as fast as you could away from here?"

"Um. Yes." You hold onto the mug with both hands. "Some stuff about wanting to start a family. With me."

His ears turn pink. "I see."

"I suppose this is where you tell me it was just the whiskey talking, right?" you ask hopefully. You like him, even if it’s ill-advised, maybe even dangerous to do so.

"Wish I could."

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

John turns around fully, guilt and sadness written all over his handsome face. He steps closer and touches your arm gently. “I’m so sorry about what my boys have put you through, sweetheart. None of this has been right.” He sighs, brushing a few tendrils of still-wet hair away from your face, studying you, those intense blue eyes focused on you intently. “But there’s something special about you, doll. I really do want to keep you forever. Not if you’re scared, and not if you feel forced— It’s just, the thought of you leavin' and never wanting to speak to me again is— I don’t want that.”

You swallow nervously. “This is just really overwhelming.”

“I know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let this happen. Soap really could have just given you my number.” The smile he gives you is hopeful, and you can’t help but return it, just a little. “Now go sit down, doll. Let me take care of breakfast, hm?”

You nod and move to the table, sitting where you can watch him, and peek out the window too. The car is gone, but the van is still there for the moment, sitting idly to the side. You consider making another run for it, but your aching limbs protest even the thought. There’s not enough fight in you, and you’re not even sure you want to fight John, not the way you do the other three. His only crime has been wanting you to stay, and being a bit overzealous about it. You can’t be mad at him for that, can you? It isn’t really his fault.

Well, it might be his fault, in a roundabout way. He trained them, taught them how to ruthlessly pursue an objective. It’s just not his fault they can’t keep it from coming home with them. That’s a clear failure of whoever does their mental health assessments.

You sip your coffee and watch John crack eggs into a pan. He keeps glancing at you, and his smile flickers on a little longer each time that he catches you looking back, until he doesn’t stop smiling, and just looks happy, glad to have you there, even if you’re just keeping a silent vigil on the other side of the room.

It's not like you have anywhere to go. It'll take days at least to feel like you haven't just been in a car crash, and days more to locate everything to pack it back up. So long as you don't have to share a bed with John again, you think you could live with this, for at least a week. It can't be that terrible, so long as the others leave you alone. You rather hope they just leave. If you asked, would John send them away?

"John," you say as he sets a plate with buttered toast and a couple of eggs on it in front of you, and sets a couple tablets of paracetamol beside your plate. "If I stay… Will they be staying too?"

"I'm going to have them leave this afternoon. That alright with you? We can go for a walk to the neighbours while they pack up, if you're up for it. Maybe dr-- Well, not drive." He sets his own plate down and sits next to you, handing you a knife and a fork. “Have to get that sorted out. But the neighbours-- Rob and Melissa-- Their dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Do you like dogs?”

You nod, breaking the yolks of one of the eggs with a corner of toast. "My parents had a dog when I was growing up. Some kind of German shepherd cross. Best boy. His name was Rob Roy, because he was a wee outlaw. Mam found him digging in the trash and--" you stop and give John a baleful look. "Sorry. That was more than you were asking."

"No, that's the most you've said at once this whole time. I'd listen to you talk all day, doll. Don't ever apologize."

"Sorry I-- Oh, shit, sorry--" you press your fingers to your mouth, cutting yourself off. "Force of habit."

"I'd like to see you lose that one. You have nothin' to apologize for. Not one damn thing, and especially not talking. I think you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help smiling. "You're just saying that."

He touches your arm lightly. "You don't know me too well yet, doll, but I never just say anything."

Yet hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. He wants you to know him, wants you to stay with him, wants you to like him. Even if it makes no sense, the offer is tempting. It's been a long time since you've let someone get close— You've had the occasional fling, and the odd reunion with an ex that you’d stayed friends with, but grief is like a canyon you can't bear to cross. What if you love someone and you lose them, the way you lost your parents? How could you live with that all over again?

Still, there's something that feels like warm sunlight in his smile, and you can't help but incline toward him, slowly but surely reaching for the light. No one can live in the shade forever. There’s no nobility in suffering.

So you let yourself talk, at least a little. And he listens, hanging on to your words like they're precious, gazing at you with something unfurling in his expression that you can't name. You're almost afraid to try.

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 2

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The second time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — in which he thinks he might be losing his sanity.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer

Author’s Note: As the Colt obsession rages on, I hope y'all enjoy part 2, because it certainly was sizzling when I wrote it :D This one is more from Colt's POV, and it includes some of his inner monologue (which I loved in the film). I appreciate everyone's kind words so far and would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! Thank you all! <3

Part 1

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Ever since the little paint-smudging incident, Colt has been, well… off.

This never happens to him. He’s a professional, he’s been working on movie sets for years, he’s known hundreds and hundreds of coworkers. But something is different. You’re different.

As he leans against the hood of his truck after filming, one leg propped on the fender as he takes a deep breath of the midnight air, Colt can’t stop replaying the events of the day before. You painting a prop sign, you laughing at his dumb jokes, you smearing red paint across his face. The steadiness of your hands, the smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. The sunbeams luminescent in your hair. The way your hand felt for the few seconds it lingered on his cheek.

Get it together, man, his inner monologue scolds him.

Colt can’t deny that he has feelings for you. You’ve been on set together for about two months now, and he sees you practically every day. Every time he performs a stunt, you’re always there adjusting the furniture, dabbing color onto the walls, rearranging props with that magnificent touch that brings every setpiece to life. Colt is amazed by your talent in your job as a set decorator, and your skill pushes him to try harder stunts each time, to try to impress you with his own skills.

But there’s one major problem that he can’t get past — he’s just not good enough for you. Sure, Colt has all the confidence in the world when it comes to throwing himself from a moving car or flashing a dazzling smile at you across the set, but he’s destined to be an unknown stuntman for the rest of his career. Your talent and dedication promises great things for your future, and Colt has already made up his mind that he’s not going to stand in your way by coming on too strong.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Even when he’s trying to be noble and keep himself from getting you distracted from your career, he’s replaying the way your eyes fluttered shut for a moment when his thumb brushed your jaw.

I’m so screwed.

Colt has just agreed with his inner monologue that he will keep his distance from you and turn all his unfulfilled feelings into protein powder when you step out of a nearby trailer, one arm over your eyes as if you’ve been crying.

All thoughts of noble detachments shatter instantly, and Colt pushes off his truck to make his way toward you. He’s relieved when you lower your arm from your face and he can tell that you weren’t crying — just so dead tired that you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Van Gogh,” he calls to you, keeping a distance of about six feet as he reverts to his usual habit of artist-nicknames. Too familiar, too familiar, abort, abort. “Too much moonshine?”

Your eyes pop open in surprise to see him standing there, but a wearied smile crosses your face nonetheless. “Too much moonlighting,” you correct him, leaning back against the art trailer with a sigh. “Gordon has been on my back all day about the props for the train station scene. I got wooden benches for a rustic vibe, but he wants metal for a grittier vibe. I painted the graffiti mural in multi-colors, but he wants it red for a sharper contrast. I spent the last week distressing the station floor so it would look lived-in, but now he wants it clean. Clean, cold, and clinical.” You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your red-rimmed eyes. “I just finished making twenty neon signs for the depot, but I don’t know if he’ll even still want them by tomorrow.”

Colt’s heart tugs seeing you so exhausted and discouraged, and he elects to ignore his previous inner monologue and take a few steps in your direction. “Sounds like Gordon is trying to direct a hospital soap opera instead of an action thriller.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting your head loll to the side as you look at him through half-opened eyes. “I never want to see another paint roller again. Or at least not until tomorrow.”

Colt chuckles at that, taking another step closer. “It is tomorrow. It’s past midnight.” His brow furrows in concern as he watches your eyelids drift closed again. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.

“Right. I knew that,” you mumble. “I need some sleep.”

“I’d say you need a hibernation,” Colt says gently, cursing himself for the way he feels the urge to reach out and touch you. “When’s the last time you got any winks?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you try to recall. “Uhhh… Tuesday?”

Colt shakes his head. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

Your eyes open at that, and you automatically shake your head, swaying a little as you do so. “No, you don’t need to do that! I’ll be fine. My hotel is just a few blocks from here.”

“Good,” Colt agrees, reaching out to put his arm around your shoulders. “Then you won’t have to pay me back for gas money.”

You sigh in mock frustration but give in when he starts leading you to his truck. He can feel you leaning on him, drawing from his strength when he knows yours is depleted. Colt has to force himself to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by the intoxicating smell of oil paints and charcoal and wood chips emanating off your skin. He especially tries not to notice the way your head naturally falls against his shoulder while he leads you to the passenger door.

Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you immediately droop forward and rest your forehead on your knees. On an impulse, Colt pulls off his jacket — his most comfortable one: the brown one with the drawstrings — and drapes it across your shoulders. He suppresses a grin when you mumble something that sounds like “hmmk hmum” but probably was supposed to be “thank you.”

The drive to your hotel lasts all of three minutes, and he parks his truck under the portico so you’ll be closer to the door. Against the pitch black of the midnight sky, the hotel looks cozy and welcoming, street lamps bathing the sidewalk in a halo of golden light.

Colt opens the door to the passenger side, a smile crossing his lips when you turn your head from where it’s resting on your knees to peek up at him.

“Are we there yet?” you mumble, eyes fluttering between open and closed.

“Just a rest stop,” he informs you jokingly, holding out a hand to help you out of the truck. You gladly accept it, so exhausted that you can barely stand up straight. Colt feels another shimmer of worry at seeing you so worn out.

With his arm around your shoulder again, Colt walks you to the hotel door, which opens automatically to let you in. His thoughts are a jumble of worry, consternation, and elation at this situation, but he breaks out of his reverie halfway to the elevator, when you start giggling uncontrollably.

“What?” he asks, basking in the way your musical laugh wraps around him like a melody. Colt, get it together. Stop romanticizing this.

You snicker again, pressing the elevator button to your floor. “I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

Colt goes stock-still at that comment, only moving again when the elevator door opens and you enter the compartment together. Your sleep-deprived brain is so addled that you barely even register the implications of your remark, but Colt’s mind instantly starts racing with his own thoughts. Be professional, don’t make a saucy joke, just play it cool, play it cool, change the subject, change the SUBJECT—

“You should call Gordon,” he suggests, so enthralled with the feel of your head resting on his shoulder that he can barely get the sentence out. “Tell him you can’t make it tomorrow. You seriously need to get some sleep.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, one that flutters across his collarbone like an autumn breeze. He swallows and turns his head the other way, using all his willpower not to completely come undone right in front of you. You have no idea the effect you’re having on him, so sleep-deprived that you’re missing any cues that would clue you in normally.

“I have to be there tomorrow,” you insist drowsily. The elevator door dings open, and Colt leads you through the opening, his arm still tight around your shoulders as you point him in the right direction. “We’re filming the train station scene, and it has to be perfect.”

“What, at the cost of your health and sanity?” Colt quips, though he can’t deny that there’s a note of seriousness in his tone.

You shake your head stubbornly. “I’m fine. This is my job. I just have to do it.” You yawn widely, stumbling a little as you get closer to your hotel door. “I just need a few hours and I’ll be good as new.”

Colt lifts his eyebrows skeptically but doesn’t argue with you. You’re pulling your room key out of your pocket, and he’s suddenly torn between the desire to run before he violates his vow of noble detachment, and the need to confess every passionate feeling coursing through his veins right now. He knows this isn’t the right time, though, and that there may never be a right time at all.

You unlock your door with a swipe but pause before going inside, leaning your back against the doorframe so you can look at Colt squarely. “Thank you for bringing me back.” Your smile steals his breath, makes him imagine a halo of stars around your face. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

Every muscle in his body is urging him to lean forward, to close the distance between you, to capture your lips against his so he can whisper every unconfessed feeling, every gentle passion, every overwhelming longing in this silent, dimly-lit hallway. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he thinks you must be able to hear it.

“Anytime,” Colt manages, his throat so tight that can barely rasp out the word. He has to clench his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you.

You reach up to shed his brown jacket and hand it back to him, but Colt stops you by holding up his hand. “Keep it,” he tells you. Shut up, shut up, shut UP— “It looks better on you anyway.”

The golden light from the street lamps outside must be playing tricks on his eyes, because he could swear that your eyes brighten at his words. Your fingers tighten around his jacket, and all he can imagine is your fingers entwined with his, your head on his shoulder again. The way it should be.

Your eyes flicker closed for a moment, and you sway against the doorway. Colt instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hand landing on your arm and holding you up for the moment it takes you to regain your balance. His skin feels like it’s on fire from this close proximity. He releases your arm so he doesn’t lose his sanity, but the touch lingers on his palm, making his heart race and his mouth go dry. His eyes flit down to glance at your lips again before he can stop them. Another moment, and he won’t have any self-control left.

You seem to feel the tension, too, lingering in the doorway when you should have said goodnight by now. He knows you’re struggling with it, and he knows it’s his responsibility as the clear-headed one to end this before it starts. His breath is rattling in his throat as he says, “Get some rest. Let me know if you need a ride over tomorrow morning.”

His voice seems to break the spell over you, and you give him a sleepy smile as you nod. “Thanks, Colt.” Your eyes linger on him for a moment more, and then you disappear behind the heavy hotel door.

Once you’re gone, Colt turns and leans heavily against the hallway wall, suddenly feeling breathless and exhausted from the intensity of what he just felt. He can’t believe he even let himself think about kissing you when you’re so dazed, but surely he wasn’t misreading those signals? Surely he felt the heat of your own gaze meeting his?

Colt sighs, trying to clear his head while he catches his breath. He can’t even entertain the idea of starting a fling with you, because his feelings have gone way too deep for a fling. He just needs to keep his distance and stop overanalyzing every moment he shares with you. He needs to get a grip on reality so he doesn’t completely ruin your friendship and burden you with any guilt. This has to stop. I’m going to stop right now, and I’m not going to think about it anymore, and I’m going to get hold of myself before it’s too late.

He hopes his inner monologue is right this time, because he knows he’s only falling harder for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 3

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter one

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

status: ongoing

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two]

word count: 2.9k

The darkness lurched and a sensation of falling brought you back to your senses. There was a momentary confusion–as was the case after leaving the half-conscious state–but it didn’t take you long to piece the world back together. A shudder disturbed the panel beneath your feet and you felt the running tremor that followed accompanied by a low rumble you could barely hear through the stressing pressure in your ears. You blinked your eyes open and there was a rawness to them that made you squint, taking in a familiar scene that greeted you past the window as you did. 

A deep purple tint veiled the brilliance of the sun, casting the world into the cool calm of dusk, as the remainder of the day streaked the horizon with its fading light. You recognised the sloping silhouettes of the mountains that stood tall in the distance, seeming all the more greater against the early evening sky, comfortingly familiar and inviting in their grand stillness.

The intercom played a three-tone melody followed by a voice that filtered through the static.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Barcelona. The local time is six hours ahead of the Newark area, and it is currently approaching six in the evening. Please remain seated with your seatbelts on until the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ sign has been switched off. It has been our pleasure to serve you on this flight. Thank you, and a very good evening.”

In the moments that followed, chatter erupted all around you. Tearing your gaze away from the window, finally, you unbuckled your seatbelt but made no move to get up, opting instead to rest your cheek on your hand. 

The thing that made window seats great–apart from the view, of course–was the fact that people who were in no rush to get off the plane wouldn’t feel compelled to move to avoid obstructing other passengers. And you, who was normally eager to stretch your legs after a particularly long flight such as this one, very much needed another moment to gather yourself. So you watched on as the other passengers stood and shuffled about, opening and closing the overhead bins to retrieve their luggage.

A restlessness crept over you. It erupted from somewhere deep down your gut to your limbs, and the feeling had you longing to jump out of your seat–to run–but you stayed put. There you waited, drumming a rhythm with your fingers against your thigh as your other leg bounced to the same chaotic pace. And without any bidding, the scenes you’d thought of before you sank into the nap you’d just woken up from flashed through your mind, relentless in their effort to tear you apart again.

You craned your neck to the side to see through the window. Somewhere at the far side of the airport, a yellow light flashed from a parked plane. It reminded you of fireflies and–

No.

You halted the memory and instead resorted to counting the number of times it blinked to keep your mind occupied.

“Excuse me, is everything okay?”

You blinked.

Turning away from the window to the direction of the voice, you saw an attendant looking at you with a curious expression. 

“Yes,” you stuttered out. 

Behind her you noticed that all of the seats were empty, and probably for quite some time now, so you gave her a quick apology when you stood to gather your belongings. You began for the exit after closing the overhead cabin but the stewardess stopped you again with another question. 

“You’re a professional footballer?”

You looked at her over your shoulder. Your surprise at her question must have been clear on your face because she looked down at your duffel bag and then back at you with just a hint of amusement by the way her brow was lifted.

Oh. You forgot about that.

You hefted your Barça bag over your shoulder as you replied, “Uh, yeah. Are you much of a fan?” 

“I love it. Love watching and playing it whenever I can. I’m more of a Madridista, though.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.” 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at your dry humor but without any hint of offense.

The both of you continued to the exit. 

“What position do you play?”

“Keeper.”

“Very cute. How long have you been playing for Barça?”

“I’m just newly transferred, actually.”

By this point, the both of you had arrived at the plane’s open door.

“Oh, really? Well, I wish you all the best for your season. And I hope this doesn’t come across as unprofessional but is it okay if I asked you for a picture?” 

“Thank you. And no, not at all.”

After you posed for the photo, she thanked you. You felt her fingers brush over yours as she took back her phone before she sent you a playful wink. Her beauty attracted you, yes, and years ago such blatant advances from a fine woman would’ve been received warmly by you but not anymore–especially not today. So instead, you gave her a polite, almost apologetic, nod and parted ways with a small smile as you shuffled out of the plane.

It was a haze, your journey through the gates, the baggage reclaim zone, and the checkpoints. The lights and images melted together in one big blur, the noises coalesced to a low drone, before the world focused again when your phone screen lit up. 

‘I’m in the arrival hall,’ it said.

Despite yourself, your heartbeat picked up upon seeing it and a familiar restlessness made you shiver. You shook your head, rolling your luggage towards the arrival hall, tapping your thumb against the handle of your roller, the strap of your duffel bag clutched tightly in your other hand. 

With every step, your heart jumped in anticipation. 

You turned the corner and your chest stilled. 

And at the sight you beheld, you were gone. It was like you were seventeen all over again.

To you, it was as if the world became brighter, the colors and shapes now sharper, and she was the light that made everything that much clearer. 

A thought rang clear in your mind, Oh, god, she’s right there.  And she’s so beautiful.

She was leaning back against one of the columns that lined the terminal, the darkness of her outfit a stark contrast against the white paint which made her all the more easier to spot. Her eyes were trained on her phone as she tapped away at it with a small, soft smile adorning her face; that, for some reason, made your heart ache. A few locks of her hair escaped the hold of her ear and they framed her face in such a way that made her look inviting and at the same time accentuated that air of untouchability that seemed to be always present around her. Some people recognised her as they walked past, their heads turning and fingers pointing, but none of them seemed to be inclined to disturb her, which you were grateful for.

Just one more minute, one more moment. You wanted to take her in as she was for just that bit longer. 

It was as if she sensed you because, not a second later, she looked up to scan the crowd briefly, and then you were locked in her gaze. There was still quite a distance left between the two of you but even from where you stood, you saw her face lit up to a beaming grin as she met your eyes. She tucked her phone into her back pocket and gingerly pushed off from the column to approach you, sidestepping the people in her way with ease. 

The next thing you knew, the familiar scent of wintergreen and mint, mixed with the faint sweetness of cinnamon and vanilla, washed over your senses. And the warm weight of her arms and body was all you could think about–could feel. Then a peck branded your cheek that left them feeling heated despite the dampness of her hair against your skin there.

Squinting through the sudden rawness of your eyes, you wrapped your arms around the strength of her, looping them around her waist as your hands found purchase on the small of her back. You hid your face in the safety of her neck, just like you’d done many times over the years. Like this, it was as if the two of you were still best of friends. Like you still knew each other like you used to. 

“Hello, pretty girl,” she breathed against your ear. “Welcome back.”

As she said this, you knew in your mind–believed–that you were finally home. And the thought was enough to steal and return your breath to you.

You whispered.

“It’s good to be home, Alexia.”

———

The car ride was silent. It had started to drizzle not long ago and it had grown heavy enough that Alexia needed to turn the windshield wipers on. The wipers made a steady rhythm when they met the hood of the car and made a slight squeaking noise as they moved up and down the windshield–two of the few sounds that made the air in the car bearable.

The world outside the passenger side’s window had devolved to blobs and blurs from the droplets that clung to the glass. Still, you kept your gaze there as guilt gnawed at your gut the same way you worked your lower lip between your teeth. 

The thing was, the walk to the car wasn’t bad at all. The both of you had chatted while Alexia led you to where she parked her car, your duffel bag hoisted casually over her shoulder despite your protests. But the moment the doors of her car slammed shut, so did you–it was as if all the weight of the past few months–exacerbated by the restless plane ride, finally hit you. 

And to Alexia’s credit, she’d done everything she could to remove the silence. She asked you about your flight (again) and when that didn’t work, she began to talk football. She asked you about your last season, about how you won your league and wondered about how that must’ve felt like for you. Alexia briefly turned the topic to Barça and sprinkled in some funny stories she hadn’t told you over the sparse messages you’d exchanged that you reacted to. You were just about to settle into the conversation when she inquired about your negotiations with the club and how you felt about returning to Barça; she solicited the reason that made you inclined to come back. At that, you clammed up again. Alexia didn’t seem to notice because she began to mention things you used to do or like–things she didn’t know you didn’t do nor like now–in the quest to get you talking.

For each question she asked, you’d given her back the same kind of nothing: a yes, a no, a hum. The simple drizzle had turned to steady rain pattering against the roof, and the calming sound did nothing to ease the growing tension in the car. Despite the desire to engage in a conversation with Alexia, it was as if all of your thoughts–or at least the capacity to string them together–were hiding behind the dark curtain of your mind, the heavy veil tailored from the same fabric that weighed in your chest. Weariness pervaded your bones and your soul, and it exhausted you past the point of exchanging pleasantries and niceness, a task now seemingly impossible.

So you excused yourself from the conversation. You told her it was jet lag. Alexia nodded in understanding, but the light in her eyes had dimmed, and she trained them on the road with deliberate focus, her lips tightening to a line fit for silence. 

Despite not having spent time with her like you used to the last two years you’d been away, the language of her face and body was still familiar to you–and how could they not when they’d carve themselves into the tissues of your mind?–enough to know that she wasn’t convinced at all with what you said. Because maybe, just maybe, you were to her as she was to you: familiar.

The thought provided little comfort, and the guilt felt heavier, another stone dropped into the pitcher.

And the feeling gave way to another thought, unpleasant in the way it told you what you already knew. Alexia took time to drive you to your apartment instead of resting for tomorrow’s practice, and this was how you treat her? How nice.

Then another.

Just like how you treated Olivia, right?

Your eyes closed from the sting that followed, a stitch torn from a newly-sewn wound. And you tried to prevent yourself from crying, but the darkness only served to rub salt to the cut as it made the fleeting images clearer and the words ever louder.

“I’m so stupid! So stupid…”

“Go. Please, just go. You won’t find happiness here.”

A touch to your arm startled you back to the present. The jostle from the gasp you let out was enough to make a tear fall, and you turned to Alexia who already had her eyes on you; her face graced with concern and a question. 

The car had stopped, and now parked outside of your apartment complex.

“What’s wrong?” Came the gentle question. 

Your heart lurched at the look she laid upon you, followed by an ache, a longing for the old times–back when you used to tell each other everything. But how could you tell her about this? About what led to this? When the fire from that night remained, glowing patiently as an ember in the dark, waiting for the wind to call her name again–to set her aflame again?

Another tear escaped your eye before you could turn away, which you brushed off with the back of your hand before you met Alexia’s gaze again.

“Nothing. I’m just–I’m sorry for being a bitch.” You said with a small, apologetic smile. 

Alexia traced some invisible path along your face, regarding you with a pensive look. The moment took long enough that you considered she’d press you for information. Instead, she teased softly with a half-smile, “Don’t worry about it. What else is new?”

Your shoulders eased down a bit.

“Still a smart-mouth, I see,” you laughed with more than a bit of air, “Indeed, what else is new?”

At that, Alexia chuckled with you but the pressing silence returned. 

Then Alexia sighed.

“How long has it been since we’ve played together?” 

Her brows knitted together at her own question as she leaned back against her seat, putting her hands behind her head which pulled the sleeves of her shirt up just enough to reveal the tattoo on the underside of her arm.

You casted your eyes aside, your gaze fleeting to the unlit window of your apartment.

A memory intruded your mind again.

“I’m not sure,” you half-whispered. 

“Two years.” Something in her tone told that she knew that you knew, but she didn’t call you out on it. But it seemed she was more inclined to call you out on something you said a long time ago. “I hope you’ve made peace with whatever made you leave all the way to the States of all places.”

You looked at her. Alexia’s brow was raised in silent expectation. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on.”

“‘Come on’, what?”

“You were offered a place in Lyon–in Bayern. Bayern! When I heard you were leaving, I went, ‘That’s it. Bayern has her’. Imagine my surprise when you said you were going to America.” Alexia scoffed as she gestured in the air with her hands for emphasis. A pause before she continued, “Now, tell me why you really went away.”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah. What was it you said? ‘I’ve always wanted to see what the competition is like there’? For someone who talked about Neuer and Bayern all the time second to Barça, it always made me think how and when the NWSL crossed your mind.” 

Guess you don’t know me that well then.

You bit your tongue before you could say it. Instead, you shrugged and sighed, hunching forward so you could rest your elbows on your knees, fingers clasping together as you twiddled your thumbs. “If you don’t want to believe what I said, that’s up to you. I stand by it.”

Alexia regarded you with that same deciphering look she’d been giving you the whole night. And as if she finally understood that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with you, she shook her head and sank back down in her seat.

“Indulge me, then. Tell me, what’s the verdict?” Alexia drawled, dripping with thinly-veiled sarcasm. 

It wasn’t like home.

“Really appreciate the judgment all over your tone, Alexia.” You replied drily then added, “And it was great, thank you very much.”

Alexia tilted her chin up to release a laugh. A strand of her hair fell out of place and she brushed it back with a finger.

“Well, you should tell me more about how you enjoyed yourself, then. I’m sure you have a lot of stories to tell.” You heard the unspoken words, ‘Stories you never bothered to tell me through the phone or during the instances we’d met during the time you were away.’

I would’ve enjoyed it better if you were there.

“Where do you want me to begin?” If Alexia heard the weary sigh in your tone, she made no indication she did. 

“I don’t know. Where do you want to start?”

I went away because of you.

“At this point, we’ll be here all night.” You laughed.

Alexia chuckled, and then softly she said, “Just tell me anything then.”

Distance didn’t work. My heart is still yours.

You hummed, thinking of a story, as you finally eased back on your seat and then you began. 

“Well…”

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 01. skip tracer to millionaire pipeline

profiles (2) | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[bleaksqueak]

Today is the day, regardless of how Maia feels. Chapter 3 begins! Special two page update for the cover and continuation of events.

Read today's pages starting here.

Read from the start

Support artists and the production of this comic

[chaosduckies]

Surprise Sketches of some OC’s I was working on for a fic I was writing. Again, not an artist but I think they turned out okay! :D (I think the tiny is going to be smaller but I’m physically incapable of drawing that small on my current canvas size)

Don’t worry, the big guy is gentle… even if sometimes he doesn’t realize things until after he’s done them. But aghhh. Tiny with a broken wing, forced to stay with someone hundreds of times bigger than himself until he’s healed up which could take months? Amazing. Chef’s kiss

I won’t reveal the names yet, but this one is an extreme size difference because I love it so much 🫶

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 34

Kid, Killer, Wire, Heat x Reader (Sexual)

Pure smut; No plot; 18+ only (could be read as a standalone I suppose?)

Warnings: Sex, group sex, blood play, knife play, rough sex, no holes barred, dp

(Was inspired to write this by Bestrafe Mich (Punish Me) by Mike's Dead)

Audience Participation

Kid's hands weren't long for wandering around your body before the flesh hand was shoved under your waistband, and the metal one was tearing your shirt over your head. If you minded being watched, there were no protests for Heat, Wire, or Killer to leave. You had seemed sheepish when you were telling him about this dream of yours, though there was no hint of that shyness now, while he sank two fingers into you. 

The only reason you had reservations about being shared was that you were friends with Heat and you thought Wire hated you. You didn't want your friendship to be tainted, since you had so little of them to begin with. As for Wire, you didn't know if he would be into it. You didn't have much of a chance to give a shit about that as Kid tore moans from your mouth with his fingers. You did, however, notice that Killer excused Minerva and sent her out of the room. Always so thoughtful. 

Your own hands were occupied fighting Kid's belts. Why did he have to lock his dick away like this? You were struggling to focus on them as Kid pushed you closer to the edge. You felt other hands push yours away, both flesh hands, which caused you some confusion. You looked over Kid's shoulder to see Killer, who had reached his hands around Kid from behind. 

"Let me help, darlin." Killer spoke in a low tone that sent electricity straight to your groin. "You seem distracted." He undid Kid's pants in record time, himself an expert at getting to Kid's dick.

Kid tsked. "What a slutty lass you are. Already reaching for my cock." He spit into his hand and gave himself a few pumps. 

You were unaware that Kid had been walking you back towards the wall until your back was flush against it. You couldn't take your eyes off Kid, his heavy member in his hand. Only vaguely do you recall shedding your pants along the way. He tugged your panties to the side and pressed his weeping tip to your entrance, pushing the head in before suddenly removing it again. You whined, desperate to have something filling that space.

"How bad do ya want it?" 

"Badly. Give it to me."

"What will ya do for it?" 

You swallowed thickly. "Whatever you want, Captain." You knew he loved when you called him by the proper title, an instance where you let him have dominance over you.

Kid hummed. "And what if I want to be rough?"

"I'm not fragile." You looked at his bandolier. "Will you... use this?" Your hand tugged at the hilt of his blade. 

Kid's brow quirked up. "Ya sure about that?" 

You nodded. A chill of excitement running up your spine.

Kid pushed his tip in again and then pulled it out, with a devious look in his eyes. "I change my mind." Kid turned you around so your chest was against the wall. "I think I want this hole instead." His hands ran down your sides and paused at your hips, pulling them against him to rub his cock between your cheeks. 

From this angle, you had a hard time seeing what Kid was doing, though you heard him slide his knife out of the sheath. Killer had been on the side you could see and moved to be behind you, Heat taking his place. You couldn't tell where Wire was. There was pressure, followed by stinging pain on your lower back. You sucked in a hiss.

Killer spoke from behind you. "You can say stop if you need a break, ok?" You felt his broad hand cup the back of your neck. 

You nodded. Finding it difficult to look Heat in the eyes, yours drifted down to his feet. They came towards you until the scent of burnt wood filled your nostrils. That's not how you thought he would smell but you weren't mad about it. You felt his fingers lift your chin, causing your gaze to pass over the bulge in his pants. He paused for a moment, either to look at you or give you a chance to pull away, or both, then brought his lips to yours. He tasted like fire, too. You don't know whose hand it was, but it found your clit and immediately went to work rubbing circles into it. The sting on your lower back turned into a blissful burning sensation, growing as Kid slowly continued to drag his blade over your skin. Warm liquid that you almost couldn't feel since it was your own body temperature starting dripping down your back and into the valley Kid was rutting against.

You moaned against Heat, allowing your tongues to slide past each other. You were able to move the hand on that side from being against the wall to press against his erection through his pants. Caught up in your own haze of pleasure, your hand stuttered, and Heat took it upon himself to grab your wrist and move it for you. Something about that mad you shudder. The pressure building in your abdomen made your legs twitch. The hand that played with you dipped its fingers inside, pressing its palm against your clit. You whined again as you felt the absence of Kid pushing against you. 

Kid looked down at his artwork, licking your blood from his knife. His dick throbbed at the act of marking you. In sanguine letters, "KID" was carved into your skin. He pressed his fingers against the lines, tracing his name again, coating his fingers with your blood. With every touch, you cried out with a mix of pleasure or pain. It was hard to say which, especially since Heat was greedily keeping your mouth occupied with his own. 

"Heat, I can't fuckin hear her." 

"Switch with me then," Heat teased.

"Not a fuckin chance." Kid took the fingers with your blood and introduced one to your back entrance. "Her ass is mine. Isn't that right?" Kid smacked your ass with his metal hand and slid another finger in simultaneously.

It was too much. You couldn't answer him. Or maybe this was your answer. The coil had been building and you knew you would cum soon, but the smack and the feeling of fingers shoved up both holes made it happen without warning. "FUCK!" You shrieked, almost losing your balance as your knees buckled and your eyes rolled back. Your body clenched down on Heat and Kid's fingers from both sides. You realized they were Heat's fingers because he shoved them in your mouth while you were coming down from your high. 

"If you're good for them, maybe I'll let you have a taste," Killer mused, touching the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips instinctively tried to grind against his touch, but he pulled his hand back. "Uh uh. I said if you were good." 

All touches were removed from you while you caught your breath. You leaned with your back against the wall.

"Please, Killer." 

His hands briefly skirted across your belly before hooking his fingers on either side of your panties, shredding them with one pull. His finger slid under the bra you still had on. "Take this off too unless you want me to ruin it."

You tossed it away. "I want you to ruin me." You were only mildly aware that you were completely bare in front of all of them, two for the first time. 

Killer motioned for you to get off the wall and come to him, which you did gladly. He pulled you to his chest so you were slightly bent forward. You looked so cute with those eyes pleading up at him. He would love nothing more than to fuck your sassy mouth, but this was still his game and he still wanted to torment you. "You have to relax or it will hurt." He watched as your eyes widened when Kid spread your cheeks apart. 

"I want it to hurt." This wasn't your first time. You were aware of the risks, but you were also aware of your own body. It was going to hurt regardless since Kid was bigger than anything you had before. Unlike before, you could heal yourself if anything went wrong. 

Kid still worked you open a little more with a third finger and then a fourth. The blood dripping down from your future scar made it plenty wet still. He couldn't wait to feel that tight ass wrapped around him. Though he tried not to think about it so much or else he would cum. 

Killer still held you, praising you for taking Kid in. It stung, as you knew it would. In the beginning it always felt a little sore and weird, but after he started moving, it would be better. Just the idea of being 'violated' in this way had you dripping wet. The twinges of pain sending shivers up your spine. Killer released you when Kid was all the way in. You expected someone to come fill your mouth. Instead, you felt Kid's arms reach under your thighs to hook under your knees, picking you up while still on his cock, and spreading you wide open in the front. That was the first time you were acutely aware of Wire. He was rubbing himself through his clothes, enjoying the show. 

Kid groaned into your ear. "Fuck. Ya really clenched down when ya saw Wire. Ya thinking about him hate-fucking ya?" Kid slowly moved you up and down his cock, using you like his personal sex doll. Kid snickered. "In fact, I want ya to tell them about yer dream."

You slowly shook your head. "I d-don't want to." It was hard to get the words out when Kid was fucking your ass. "Embarrassing."

"Ya got a dick in your ass and your pussy spread wide for everyone to enjoy, and that's embarrassing?" 

Killer appeared in front of you. "Being good includes doing whatever the Captain says." He put his thumb against your clit, moving it very slowly.

"Please fill me up. I'm begging you." You writhed in Kid's grip, desperate to feel full. The slow pace that he and Killer set was agonizing. 

"Heat will be glad to oblige, but first ya have to satisfy my request." 

"I-"

"Louder. Wire can't hear ya from all the way over here."

"I-I had a dream that Kid was f-fucking me and that you were all g-gonna take turns."

"And what was that bit about Heat and Wire? They need details if ya want it to happen." 

"They tossed me back and forth, l-like a rag-doll."

"That's still not everything. Go on, tell Wire what you were interested in."

"K-kid please."

"Tell him," Killer pressured, pausing his ministration. 

"I want to get hate-fucked by Wire." You felt your face heat up.

"Good girl," Killer gave another firm press against your bud before turning it over to Heat.

Heat quickly blocked your line of sight, but not before you saw Wire with a sneer on his face. That look went straight to your cunt. 

Kid held still for a moment while Heat bullied his way in. "So tight." The pressure around his cock was made more intense by the feeling of Kid's cock filling up the space next-door. 

Heat's hands found their way to your breasts, kneading them and twisting your nipples as he bit at the smooth, warm tops of them. His mouth moved up the side of your neck, adding to the marks Kid had left earlier. Kid was moving you only slightly up and down the tips of both of their cocks, so Heat could kiss you. The height difference made it hard in this position to kiss and fuck at the same time. Heat released you, moving his rough hands to your sides, aiding Kid in moving you, though he didn't need it. They met over your shoulder to make-out with each other. The feeling of being ignored and used as a toy was dizzying. It's not exactly something you would have thought you liked. They used you to jerk themselves off while they moaned into each other's mouths. You gripped harder as the thought wound the knot in your stomach tighter. The overwhelming feeling of being filled and stretched by two, exceptionally large cocks was sending you to the moon. You were pretty sure there was a steady stream of moans from you mixing in with their own, tongue panting. You didn't know for sure, so focused on how good you were feeling. It could be your imagination, but Heat's dick had a warm sensation to it.

"Look at you. Taking two huge dicks at the same time." 

Killers words were going to make you crash back to earth. 

"After this, no one will be able to fuck you as good. Your cunt will never be full like this again."

"Shit. Killer." You didn't have words to warn him. 

"Tell me. Are you close?"

"Yeah," you moaned.

"Do you want to cum?" 

"I want to cum. Please." 

"I want you to hold it until they cum. Can you do that?" 

You shook your head.

"Yes you can." 

You felt both Heat and Kid's grips dig into your skin, slamming you down on themselves. You strained to keep your orgasm at bay. They were definitely close, their breaths ragged, their cocks twitching. Your arms were around Heat's neck for support. "Cum in me! Please cum in me! I want to be dripping from both holes," you repeated various iterations of this mantra until, nearly at the same time they grunted, filling you with hot semen. As they did, they held you tighter to their bases, pushing them into your sweet spot. Finally you were allowed to release. Your cry of pleasure was so earth-shatteringly loud, the dead guys in the room could hear it. There was a rush of fluid down your legs as your own juice and the force of your cunt clamping down caused cum to leak out. 

Before you had a chance to recover. You felt Kid remove himself, but Heat held you up. And suddenly you were on Wire's lap, facing him. He had been sitting on the table. "If you wanna be tossed back and forth you better get to work on Wire before I go soft," Heat said. You barely processed what he said before Wire impaled you on his cock, shoving it so deep, you felt it in your stomach. It was a good thing you were thoroughly prepared, because Wire was proportionate in every way. He bullied your cervix and just as you were about to cum, he lifted you off himself and gave you back to Heat who opted to take Kid's position, lifting you with your legs spread open, his hand barely reaching your clit. He already came, this was purely for you. Right as you were on the precipice of your climax, Heat passed you back to Wire. They did this several more time before Heat had to tap out. 

The last time Heat gave you to Wire, Wire got off the table and set you on it instead, on your knees, facing away from him. "Spread your legs until your stomach is flat against the table." 

It was slightly uncomfortable with your legs splayed completely out, bent at the knee. Your ass hung off the edge of the table and your arms were above your head. Wire's palm pressed firmly into your back, crushing you against the table. You felt him lean over you, the blades of his necklace touching your skin, so if you bucked, they would cut you. You wondered if that was their purpose. He didn't talk, simply shoved his cock back inside and railed you from behind. After edging so many times, you came fast and hard, gripping him so tightly, you earned a grunt from the otherwise silent man. 

Killer thought you had been good enough. And he was feeling a little left out if he was honest with himself. Watching you cum over and over again, dripping with sweat, blood, and tears. He wanted to take some responsibility for your impending fuck coma. You were beyond the point of fucked-out. Your pretty pink pussy was puffy around Wire's cock from the repeated battering. And your ass was still gaping for now. But your poor mouth had no use. He positioned himself on the table in front of you, legs splayed almost as wide as yours, as wide as his jeans would allow, to get his cock as close to you as he could. You were practically drooling as you looked up at him, making his dick twitch within its confines. He freed his cock from his jeans and it sprung forth, bobbing in front of your face.

Wire released the hand from your back so you could lift your front half enough to reach Killer. "Choke on his cock you filthy fucking marine bitch." 

You eagerly opened your mouth. Finally Killer was going to reward you. You gagged as Killer unexpectedly pulled your head down on him. Your ponytail was wrapped around his hand.

"Fuck the little slut tightens up when you do that. Do it again." 

Killer did it again, bringing tears to your eyes. You were being bounced back and forth by the thrusts of their hips. "You're so cute when you're crying on my cock, breadcrumb." 

"You like getting used, don't you? I bet you'd like to be chained down here, free use for all the Kid Pirates, huh? I can feel you getting close. You want me to come visit every day and fuck you until you cry?"

"That's it, darlin. Relax your throat. You feel so good."

"Marine whore. Cum on this pirate cock."

The opposition between degradation and praise was strangely working. Wire slapped his hand down on the freshly carved "KID". The vibrations from your yelp going straight to Killer. He felt his balls empty. He meant to last longer, but he had held out for so long he was straining from the start. The salty taste hit the back of your throat. You swallowed most of it, though some leaked from the corner of your mouth. Partially because you weren't ready and partially because that sensation forced you over the edge. 

"Fuck. I'm- I'm-" The words were lost as Wire felt you start to pulse around him. He pulled out and slammed back in, not into your cunt, into your ass. He shoved his fingers in your pussy at the same time. It was the most intense orgasm yet. Your feet cramped from your toes curling so hard. Your whole body shook and twitched. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you would have screamed even louder had your voice not been hoarse already from being so vocal. The vice grip you had on Wire pushed him over the edge too, he chose to pull out, showering the letters on your back with cum. 

You couldn't move. Arms and legs too weak to push yourself up. Eyes completely glazed over. Still twitching with aftershocks. You didn't even want to heal yourself at then moment. The dull throb and the burn felt good. 

"Don't worry, darlin. I've got ya." 

Next Chapter

[ssreeder]

Chapters: 23/32 Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar), others to be tagged later - Relationship Characters: Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Aang (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Jet (Avatar), Suki (Avatar), Kyoshi Warriors (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Jee (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar), Bato (Avatar), A bunch of OCs, Long Feng, Joo Dee (Avatar), Azula (Avatar), Mai (Avatar), Ty Lee (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar), General Fong (Avatar) Additional Tags: Violence, Blood and Injury, War, Minor Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Major Character Injury, Amputation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, possible major character death, themes similar to the first two books, Sexism, Racism (like has already been written in first two books), dark themes, Human Trafficking, Slavery, Just a lot of dark war-like themes, there will be a battle, Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Injury Recovery, Healing, Underage Sex - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Animal Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Warnings each chapter, Hopefully some healing for Zuko finally, no promises, but that’s the goal, Reunions, hopefully a happy ending, Sokka gets some healing too, Non-Consensual Drug Use Series: Part 3 of Leaving It All Behind Summary:

-This is the last book of the series LIAB, please go read the other two books before this, or you will be very confused-

Zuko has been taken by the Earth Kingdom army to who-knows-where, and Sokka is determined to get him back.

But he can’t do it alone.

With Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors by his side, Sokka is headed to Ba Sing Se to find Katara and Aang so they can go rescue his fire bender.

Things aren’t as easy as he had hoped. Corruption, lies, and unknown horrors await them inside the city’s walls. None of this is helping Sokka’s mental well-being.

Hakoda and his men face a problem of their own as Azula approaches with the intentions of making it rain fire.

Sokka and Zuko will both find themselves having to reintegrate back into a life they thought they left behind, with people they hardly remember. It isn’t easy for anyone, especially when they don’t recognize the person standing in front of them.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fic banner in the style of the game's achievement icons--specifically, the "Full Spectrum Warrior" achievement. On the left of the banner, Spy and Pyro, shown in orange silhouettes with dark gray outlines, stand together beneath a grayscale rainbow (in yellow-white, gray, and dark gray shades) on a dark gray background. Both characters have their backs to the viewer. Spy, on the left, is holding up a cigarette as he looks up, while Pyro, on the right, is holding up both his fists, shoulders hunched in an excited gesture. On the bottom right of the banner is a transparent gray rectangle with yellow-white text reading: "CHAPTER ELEVEN: FULL SPECTRUM WARRIOR" /end ID]

Flickering

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: K+ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Spy, Pyro, Scout, Sniper, and all the other mercs. Warnings: General references to trauma and PTSD Fic Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it’s never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason.

Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve

---~~~---

Chapter 11: Full Spectrum Warrior Summary: In which Pyro is more perceptive than Spy is prepared for.

---~~~---

The shock of respawn was made all the more jarring by a cascade of cold water crashing over him.

Spy shuddered, staggering out from under the hole in the ceiling and rubbing his right wrist. His hand was intact once again, though the ribbons of blood in the rainwater still streaming out of spawn was evidence enough for what had happened. He stared down at it, frowning, before his head shot up again, whipping around the room.

No one else was there.

Before he could question this, an angry "You failed!" rang out through the base's speakers.

Well, there went their winning streak.

Reaching into his inner pocket, he pulled out his disguise kit, pleased to see his cigarettes had dried in respawn. He lit one, and strode into the doorway, waiting to meet the others on their return. Sure enough, Soldier and Sniper quickly dropped into respawn, followed by Demo and Heavy, all of them having been picked off during the humiliation round. Meanwhile, Engineer trudged up the stairs, followed by Scout and Medic.

There was no sign of the Pyro.

As those in spawn hurried out from under the cascade of rainwater, Soldier crossed his arms. "We may have tasted bitter defeat, men, but that will only make our next victory that much sweeter!"

"Aye, not a bad thought," Demo said, smiling at Soldier. However, his face fell as he turned to the Sniper, who looked a shade paler than normal as he stared down at the water at his feet. When Demo placed a hand on Sniper's shoulder, Spy looked away.

Medic and Scout looked every which way after mounting the stairs, both of them wide-eyed and shaken. "I-is it still...?" Scout stammered, looking up at Spy, who shook his head. Breathing out a sigh, Scout relaxed a fraction before swinging his arm out to gesture at spawn. "What was up with that?! I get my brains blasted by the BLU sniper and wake up to that thing—"

"Enough." Spy exhaled a stream of smoke. "It's been taken care of."

"Well, where is it?" Engineer asked, heaving up his toolbox into his arms. "We'd best be gettin' outta here before this storm gets any worse."

"I will take care of it," Spy replied, flicking his cigarette butt into the water. "You all focus on retreating for now."

Though clearly unhappy with his word choice, the others nodded, and began getting their things together as they prepared to leave. Spy avoided the gazes of Engie, Medic, and Scout as they passed him, and initially paid little attention to the others. But he couldn't help noticing Demo's practically guiding Sniper around like some kind of half-blind seeing-eye dog. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, but looked away when Demo glanced in his direction.

Slowly but surely the spawn room emptied, leaving Spy standing by himself, watching the rain that continued to pour from the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, the patter of the rain intermingling with the radio static in his mind, before he began to realize the rain was slowing.

Grunting, he pulled himself away from the wall, retrieved his belongings from his locker, and stepped down the stairs. He did not make a show of looking around, only lighting another cigarette. "The storm is calming, if you want to take your chance to leave now."

He waited a few moments, and, sure enough, heard a shuffling noise beneath the stairs. Turning, he watched as Pyro crawled out from under the stairs and tilted its head at him.

"It was the only place you could hide that would be dry," Spy said, and Pyro lowered its head. "Now would be the time to gather your things."

Pyro glanced at him briefly before trudging up the stairs. It returned shortly with its purse slung over its shoulder, its flare gun and axe on its belt, and its flamethrower under its arm.

Though he grimaced at the weapons, Spy nodded. "Very well. Let us be off."

Once again Pyro glanced at Spy before turning to face the doorway leading out. Rain still fell, albeit in a gentler way that often seemed to happen when they had to fight over the sawmill. In spite of the downgrade from the previous torrential downpour, Pyro hung back.

Spy stepped closer to the door and looked back. "Would you rather wait to see if the weather worsens, or until BLU kills us for technically still being on their territory?"

Sighing, Pyro crept closer to the doorway, but hesitated once again.

Even Spy felt anxiety prickling under his skin as he looked between the rain and the Pyro, his mind still seeing its face split open, yellowed fangs gleaming. He swallowed back his fear. "Your suit protects you, no?"

It nodded.

"Then this is our best chance to leave. Come." With that, he stepped out into the rain. It was not near so terrible as it had been, but it was still cold, and it felt no better on his already-soaked clothing. He glanced back at Pyro, who looked between him and the sky a few times before ducking its head and stepping out.

Immediately its filter hissed with a sharp intake of breath, and it began to shudder.

"You are protected, and your assailant is dead," Spy said firmly, trying to force down his own anxiety. "The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we escape this rainstorm. Move." He hurried down the muddy path toward the open gates, and with a quiet grunt, Pyro followed him. Spy barely resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to make sure Pyro's head wasn't opening again. But nothing happened, and soon they were past the gates and heading down the hilly forest trail. Some of the trees gave them reprieves from the rain, but for the most part, they were walking back to their hidden parking spot without much in the way of cover. The path was dotted with the footprints of the other mercs who had already left, which might have been charming had it not meant they had to constantly watch their feet to avoid tripping in the upturned mud, especially when it came to Heavy's deep footprints.

Finally the red of Spy's sports car caught their eyes, and Spy heaved a sigh of relief as he fished his keys out of his pocket. Before entering, however, he began knocking his foot against a tree trunk. "Get your boots clean," he said, not looking up. "You will not track mud into my car."

When he looked up, he gave a start at seeing that Pyro had not followed him. "Where are you going?" he called out. "Get over here!"

Pyro looked back, surprised, but did not approach Spy until he waved it over. Once it got closer, it looked from Spy's car and back to Spy before tipping its head.

"Yes, you are riding with me. Did you suppose I would make you walk home?"

Pyro lowered its head.

"Please. I would not make you do that... unless you dirtied up my car. Move." With that, he stepped into the driver's seat. After a moment of thought, he hopped back out and popped the trunk open. "Weapons in here, please." After that, he slid back into the car and listened as Pyro reluctantly deposited its weapons into the trunk. It must have stared down at them for a long moment before it slammed the trunk shut and slipped into the passenger's seat.

Nodding, Spy pulled the car out and began the drive back to the base. With a few flips of switches, the windshield wipers started up, and the car slowly began to heat. Normally he would be bemoaning the fact that he'd need to visit the car wash, or have his shoes cleaned, but with Pyro sitting beside him, his mind was on other things.

Pyro remained silent, staring down at its feet. Spy returned the silence, keeping his eyes on the road.

The swishing of the windshield wipers, the patter of rain on the top of the car, the rush of heated air, and the grumbling of the engine filled their ears with their soothing song. But beneath that lay a silent tension that even that chorus could not touch.

It was broken by a quiet, questioning hum.

Spy gave a start, nearly slamming on the breaks, and glanced over to see Pyro facing him. He frowned. "You're wondering why," he said, and noted the nod out of the corner of his eye. "I needed to..." He grimaced. "You needed catharsis. Your attacker was killed before you could take revenge. I know the feeling." His mind wandered briefly to the sniper that had shot him in the leg, but he pulled himself away and glanced back at Pyro again.

It was quiet, contemplative. It drew a finger across its neck, then tapped the back of its head.

Spy thought for a moment, then hummed. "In our defense, you were attacking us during your episode. Though I suppose I had meant for you to attack me when I took on that disguise." He paused, shifting in his seat and feeling a phantom pain flare up in his right wrist. Even so, he tried to push past it, thinking instead about the Pyro, and how it must have felt, finally attacking the woman who had surely been plaguing its nightmares. "It must have helped, non?"

For a while, Pyro sat in silence, staring down at its feet, and Spy almost wondered if it hadn't heard his question. The rain was finally slowing, so it wasn't as though his words were being drowned out by the noise. But then it lifted its head and slowly tilted it to one side, then to the other.

Brow furrowing, Spy frowned. "You don't know?"

Pyro shrugged its shoulders, then hung its head.

For a long moment, Spy sat, the pain in his wrist slowly returning, along with the pain in his back, and his shoulder, and his throat—no part of him was damaged physically anymore after the respawn, but the pain was still there, the pain he'd endured with the thought that it would solve their problems, put an end to this—this—

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?!"

He hadn't realized that he'd slammed on the breaks or that he'd shouted until Pyro jumped back, leaning away from him with a shudder. The sight did nothing to quell the fire that had abruptly sprung up within him, the heat escaping through his mouth, through his words:

"I have spent the past month watching you, seeing your pain, spending my free time trying to help you! I lost sleep, lost our match—I let you put me through hell! And you are telling me all of that amounted to nothing?!" He found himself glaring into the Pyro's lenses, even as it leaned farther into the door behind it. "Was killing that woman not enough? Was killing me? Was killing Jeremy not—"

At once it was gone, his rage turned to cold horror as the smell of Jeremy's blood filled his nostrils, the gaping wound in Jeremy's stomach glaring in his vision, the weight of Jeremy's body growing heavier in his arms.

He faced the road ahead of him, hands in a death grip on the steering wheel. His throat and chest ached, and not from the memory of old wounds.

It doesn't matter, Spy told himself distantly. He's alive.

He could not speak.

There is no reason to feel like this.

His hands shook.

It doesn't matter.

Slowly, a soft noise reached him—Pyro was shifting in its seat. Spy did not look at it, not even when it made a soft hum.

Nor when it reached for him, gently pulling his hand away from the steering wheel and giving it a squeeze.

Something within Spy crumbled.

Frantically he pulled away from Pyro, and pulled his car off the road. After putting the car in park, he threw the door open, jumped out, and stared at nothing, his vision blurring. He felt like his body had gone invisible and had left him behind, somehow, standing frozen and lost. He could hardly think, his mind still in a distant whirl of memories, both recent and not, and a horrible tide of emotions welling up within him, emotions he didn't know the source of, and yet knew exactly the source of, filling his chest until it was painfully tight, ready to burst—

Pyro was suddenly beside him, grabbing his hands, prying them away from his arms—he hadn't even realized he'd been holding them, the muscles aching from the grip—and moving them away, holding his hands tightly in its own. It said nothing, and as the sensation began to ground him, he realized it was staring intently into his eyes. Gradually it released one of his hands, and placed a hand firmly on his back.

The tightness in Spy's chest uncoiled, and tears spilled down his face, soaking into his mask. His legs felt weak, and he crumpled forward, allowing himself to be caught by the Pyro, burying his face into its chest. His shoulders shook as sobs bubbled up through his chest and throat—physical representations of the emotions that had been lying festering within him over the past several days—no, over the past month or more.

Since his son had died in his arms.

It was nonsense, stupid, pointless, but he couldn't stop himself. The fact that Jeremy was alive and well did nothing to calm him, to rid him of this agony, to dry his tears.

Much like the death of Beatrice did not cause Pyro's episodes to end, nor its colors to return.

He didn't know how long the two of them stood there, off the side of the road, halfway to the base, on that strange, rainy day. But eventually the tears within Spy ran dry, and the ugly emotions abated, at least for the time being, leaving him feeling drained, exhausted. Slowly he pulled away from Pyro, and did not look up. "Get back into the car," he croaked.

Pyro stared at him for a few uncomfortable seconds before walking around to the side of the car and stepping in.

Once the door was shut, Spy faced away from the vehicle, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. With practiced precision, he lifted his mask away from his face, and cleaned it. The mask was still dirty—there was nothing to be done there—but at least the rain had soaked it through anyway, so no one else would identify that it was soaked by anything else.

With his face now as clean as it would get for the time being, Spy pocketed his handkerchief, pulled the mask back down, and stepped back into the car.

The two sat in awkward silence, broken only by the faint patter of rain against the roof and windshield.

Spy drew in a breath. "You saw nothing."

Slowly Pyro turned to face him, and Spy's skin crawled when the Pyro's face partially split down the middle, revealing its yellow fangs, but not opening its mouth any further.

It took Spy a minute to realize it was grinning at him.

—

Scents of coppery blood, acrid smoke, and reeking mildew mingled with the sensations of throbbing aches and sharp pains, driving Spy to drag himself into consciousness. The feelings and smells lingered even when he crawled out of bed, even as the rain continued to pound against the roof of the building. He peered through the curtains, dreading fighting in this mess.

With a sigh, he changed into his usual outfit, wincing at a pain in his leg that should have been long gone.

In contrast with the musty, cold smell of the rain outside was the warm coffee scent that drew him downstairs. As he headed into the mess hall, Spy pondered asking Engie what made him decide to get up so early like this, only to freeze in the doorway.

Sniper sat in the unlit room, nursing a mug of coffee. For once he did not wear his sunglasses, though the darkness of the room and the steam from his drink hid his expression. He did not look up.

Frowning, Spy dipped into the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee, though he did not drink it just yet, rather, holding the mug and letting its warmth seep into his gloves. Eventually he stepped into the mess hall again, leaning his back against the wall.

"What unearthly hour did you awake?" Spy finally asked.

It was a moment before Sniper answered. "I haven't slept." His voice was hoarse.

"...I see." Spy stared down at his coffee before taking a seat at the table, one chair over from where Sniper sat. He continued to let the warmth from the mug seep into his hands before taking a sip. When Sniper remained silent, Spy cleared his throat. "I take it the storm brought you... unpleasant memories?"

"Not in the way you're thinking."

Spy shrugged. "Beyond the pain, I imagine being thrust into nonexistence for several hours was probably—"

"I saw my parents."

Freezing, Spy slowly turned toward Sniper. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see his companion staring blankly down at his mug. For the briefest of moments, he wondered what Jeremy saw— "I am not getting into a theological discussion at six in the morning."

Sniper looked up, the blunt statement jolting him out of his melancholy.

Before he could question anything, a low tone rang throughout the base. Sniper and Spy both sat up straight, exchanged glances, and scrambled out of their seats, nearly tripping over each other as they made a beeline for the security room.

When they arrived, two buttons on the panel were lit, as was a single screen, which read, "Incoming transmission."

Spy exchanged another glance at Sniper before jabbing the top button, and the screen flickered before displaying a message that read, "Voice only." So, not Miss Pauling. It could be the Administrator, but—

"RED?"

The Texan accent made Sniper jump, and Spy furrow his brow. The voice was deeper than their own Engineer's, and the way they had been addressed made it clear just what they were dealing with.

"Yes, we're here," Spy replied calmly. There was no need for hostility outside of the matches, especially when he had fought alongside this very engineer when dealing with Gray Mann's robots.

"BLU Engie here, speakin' on behalf of my team. We're, uh, dealing with a lot of structural damage to our base on account of the recent storms. We haven't talked to the boss yet, but—dang it, we're calling a temporary ceasefire. Ain't none of us got any sleep last night."

Sniper growled under his breath, looking away. "Are we really gonna trust them?"

With a flick of the mute switch, Spy shook his head. "It's not their spy, at least. He tends to throw in more southern slang when disguised as their engineer. Not to mention, we've seen the same storms. Their base being damaged is not surprising." He flicked the switch again. "Very well, we accept the terms of ceasefire. But this was your idea, and the Administrator's wrath is on you."

A heavy sigh crackled over the speaker. "Don't I know it. Well, we'll be seeing all y'all on the battlefield whenever we get this patched up. And don't worry—we'll take real good care of that winning streak we took from ya."

The screen flickered to a message reading, "Transmission ended."

"'Course he had to get the last word in," Sniper grunted.

"It hardly matters now. They got lucky once. Time will tell if their guns are as swift as their words." Spy shut off the screen and took a swig of his coffee, which had gone from hot to now merely warm. "For now, I suppose we enjoy our day off."

"Never did like those," Sniper muttered. He stepped away from the console and headed out of the room, Spy following. "What do they expect us to do with ourselves anyway?"

As if in response, a peal of thunder rumbled outside.

"Be glad you won't be out fighting in that," Spy remarked.

Rather than heading back to the mess hall, the two of them made their way to a window, watching the sky slowly, slowly lighten behind the angry rainclouds. As they did so, Spy couldn't help but notice the bags under Sniper's eyes. Something struck him, and he grit his teeth, glaring out the window.

It took several moments for him to force himself to speak: "Well, there is one good thing about this weather."

Sniper did not look up. "Yeah?"

"The rainwater loosened the earth, making it easier to... dig up things." Spy paused, briefly, before continuing: “Anyway, I should inform the others of our impromptu day off." With that, he patted Sniper on the shoulder and quickly headed back toward the mess hall. Instinct told him that Sniper had turned to watch him leave, and he did not turn back.

It wasn't long before Engineer was down in the kitchen and whipping up breakfast. He seemed tense until Spy told him about the mercenary's counterpart's message.

"Sure it won't take 'em long to patch that place up," Engineer remarked, and flipped a pancake a few feet into the air before catching it in the pan. His cooking seemed to take on a comfortable rhythm to it, as opposed to the mechanical movements Spy had seen yesterday.

As usual, Soldier's terrible rendition of reveille woke up the rest of the base. Slowly the other mercenaries filed down into the mess hall, including Sniper, whom Spy avoided the gaze of.

"Man," Scout grumbled as he trudged into the doorway, pausing to stretch. "Another day of fightin' in this crap."

"About that," Spy said. "BLU called a temporary ceasefire."

Immediately Scout sprang to attention. "Wait, really?" At Spy's nod, Scout let out a whoop, holding up his arms. "All right! Ya year that, Demo?" He glanced over his shoulder. "We got a day oooaaaAAAAAAAAAGHHH!" His voice leaped up into a shriek as he jumped back from the doorway on one foot, hands held up in a defensive gesture.

Pyro stared at him blankly from the doorway, arms held calmly at its sides.

Sighing, Spy strode past Scout and closer to the doorway. "Calm down. Pyro is not going to be killing anyone today. Isn't that right?"

Pyro nodded.

"Y... yeah," Scout stammered, slowly recovering from his defensive position and wrapping a hand around his stomach. "Yeah, that's real reassuring."

The brief scare was all but forgotten as Engineer called everyone into the kitchen to retrieve their breakfast. As he retrieved his own food, Spy spotted Archimedes on the shoulder of one of the mercs, and did a double-take when he realized it was not Medic's shoulder, but Heavy's. The Heavy was petting the bird gently with one finger, talking to it softly and giving it bits of pancake and sausage... until Medic struck Heavy on the back of the head with an empty plate and shoo'd the bird away.

"Stop it, you're spoiling him," Medic grumbled.

Heavy did not look the least bit ashamed as he piled his own plate with sausages and biscuits. "Da. Is point."

As Spy took some food for himself, he kept an eye on Pyro, who was keeping well behind the others. It did at least come into the kitchen to get its own food, rather than refusing to eat at all, so that was something, at least. Once it had filled its plate, it slunk over to the corner of the mess hall, facing everyone else, and did not immediately make a move to eat its food.

As closely as Spy observed the others, he'd never noticed exactly how Pyro ate. It was something he'd tried to catch in the past, but had failed at every time, even when watching while disguised. After the events of yesterday, he now had a pretty good guess as to how Pyro consumed its food.

He was mildly surprised at how little it disturbed him.

But he also felt a spark of irritation when Medic approached Pyro, who shrank back, a hand to its throat. Spy nearly stood up, but stopped himself when Medic retrieved a pink lollypop from his coat pocket and held it up to Pyro, who relaxed, reaching out to take the candy. Medic pulled it away and said something to Pyro, who looked away, until Medic retrieved three more pieces of candy from his coat pocket. It looked up at the Medic before tilting its head to one side, then the other. This was apparently enough to satisfy the Medic, who pocketed the candy again and stepped away, smiling.

"Attempting to bribe it with more candy, I see," Spy remarked as Medic walked past him.

"If it works, I have no complaints," Medic replied with a shrug. "So long as I can fill out more of its medical forms!"

So long as you're not harassing it, Spy thought, then shook his head. He finished the rest of his meal in silence, idly listening to the talk around him. Sniper and Demo were engaged in a quiet conversation on one end of the table, Heavy was listening in amusement to another rant from Medic about spoiling his birds, while Engineer, Soldier, and Scout discussed a game that would be on later, the latter two with a great deal of animation. His gaze lingered on the last group as he finished his meal.

After depositing his plate in the kitchen, Spy stepped out into the mess hall again, where everyone was still engaged in their own conversations. Pyro had stepped out during the short time he'd been gone, leaving an empty plate with no utensils on the table. Frowning, Spy headed toward the door, only to pause by the end of the table. The sports talk seemed to have devolved from friendly banter about teams to something a bit more... heated.

"I'm tellin' you, you cow-herdin' Canadian, your 'Tex-Mex' food is a contamination of real American dishes!"

"Yeah, well, got some news for you about your so-called 'all-American' dishes, Soldier. You ever heard of a melting pot?"

"Sounds like a French invention! True Americans only deep-fry their food!"

Spy ignored Soldier and Engineer, instead turning his attention to Scout, who was listening to the argument with his brow furrowed and chin resting on the heel of his hand, eyes occasionally rolling. He was all too eager to escape the argument when Spy cleared his throat.

"Yeah, what's up?" Scout asked, swinging around to sit on the side of his chair.

Spy stood beside Scout, his back to the table, and casually lit a cigarette. "So... how are you feeling after yesterday?"

Initially Scout blinked in surprise, then looked away. "Ugh, tryin' to forget that crap. My guts hurt if I think about it too long."

"I see." Spy breathed a smoke ring toward the ceiling, watching it ascend. "I wouldn't worry too much. The phantom pain will ease on its own."

"Uh, yeah, probably." Scout shifted in his seat. Behind him, his companions sounded close to literally butting heads, but he made no move to look back at them, nor forward at Spy.

After an awkward silence, Spy continued: "Your addition to the plan was a good one."

Scout nodded, only to sit upright. "Wait—yeah? I mean, yeah! Of course it was!" Grinning, he leaned back. "Y'know, you and Engie ain't the only thinkers around here. I can do a little strategizin' when I feel like it."

"Yes, and I'm sure you would've been able to follow through with it." It was something he might've said sarcastically at a previous time, but there was no sarcasm in his words.

Scout clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Yeah," he muttered, but paused as Spy's tone registered. "I—wait, you think so?"

"Of course. I'm sure had it not been for... extenuating circumstances, you would have pulled it off." Smiling, Spy began to stride out of the room. "For once."

"Yeah! I totally could've—hey!"

Still smiling, Spy said nothing as he slipped out into the hallway, intent on tracking down the Pyro. He made it halfway down the hall when the rapid squeak of sneakers against hardwood made him pause. His instinct, his naturally mysterious nature urged him to not look back, but something else deeper within him stirred, and he turned.

Scout came to an awkward stop, scratching the back of his head. "Hey, um..." He straightened his baseball cap.

Spy remained quiet, waiting.

Scout's gaze was to the ground, his feet shifting his body left and right. "Just... wanted to say, uh. Thanks for the help... yesterday. With Pyro." Slowly, he raised his head, and Jeremy looked Spy in the eyes. "I... owe you one."

For a short eternity, Spy stared at his son, something stirring in his chest.

Said eternity was broken when Scout suddenly stepped forward, jabbing a finger at him. "Do not make me regret saying that!"

Spy laughed, shaking his head and looking away. But he quieted himself, looking down at the floor. "...If that phantom pain of yours does not ease on its own," he began, and Scout took a step back, lowering his arm, "it... may help to say a few words to someone about it."

"I... uh." Scout rubbed his arm. "Okay, thanks."

Clattering noises and shouts rang from the mess hall behind them.

"You may want to be sure Soldier did not bring his rocket launcher to breakfast."

"Wait—aw, crap." With that, Scout spun around, charging back into the mess hall. "Hey, Soldier—Soldier! Put that thing down, man!"

Once Scout was gone, Spy let out a long sigh, lightly rubbing a knuckle beneath his eye—he'd gotten some of his cigarette smoke into it. He resumed heading down the hall, only to pause again when he spotted a pair of lenses staring at him.

Pyro tilted its head, and walked away.

—

It was toward the afternoon that, upon noticing the lack of rain pounding against the roof, Spy emerged from his smoking room. Unfortunately, a trip to one of the windows informed him that the rain had not stopped—only lessened to a light patter. The sky had brightened somewhat, at least, but no one seemed in any hurry to leave with the ground as muddy as it was.

When Spy headed for the kitchen to make a quick meal, he took note of Pyro sitting at the empty mess hall table, patched-up crayon box at its side and blank dot-matrix paper before it. It gave Spy a quiet hum of acknowledgment, to which Spy gave a silent nod in return.

"I'm preparing a meal, if you would like something," he offered, but Pyro only shook its head, gesturing to an empty plate at its side. Shrugging, Spy took the plate into the kitchen.

When Spy stepped out later with a plate of food, he prepared to sit at the table, only to pause. He stared into the hallway, which was a great deal lighter than before. Curious, he set his plate aside and began heading for the window at the end of the hall.

Sunlight streamed into the hallway, but rain still fell. Frowning, Spy stepped closer to the window, peering outside. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a sunshower—

Something caught his eye, and he immediately spun around, bolting back into the mess hall. "Pyro!" he called, stopping in the doorway. Pyro looked up from its coloring, tilting its head. "Get out here, quickly."

Sensing the urgency in Spy's tone, Pyro pushed away from the table and followed him out to the window. When Spy stopped, it stood by his side, staring, and made a quiet noise of surprise.

A smile crept across Spy's features. "You see it, then?"

At that, Pyro slumped slightly, tilting its head one way, then the other. But it leaned forward again, placing its hands against the window and staring intently.

Outside, as mild rain pattered down through the relentless sunshine, a rainbow stretched out just beyond the fort, disappearing somewhere deep into the sky.

Spy stood beside the Pyro, staring at the rainbow with it and wondering just how much it could see. It wasn't perfect vision, but evidently, it was enough to keep its attention. After a moment, he patted it on the shoulder before turning back toward the mess hall. As he did so, his smile faded.

It wasn't what he'd hoped for, although part of him had to wonder how he could've been naive enough to hope for it at all. Nothing was going to make the colors magically return, but... apparently something was happening.

When Spy entered the mess hall, he noticed Pyro's papers still sitting on the table, and they were no longer blank. Curious, he took a step closer, only to give a start.

It was a drawing of himself and Pyro, still in shades of gray... and patches of red.

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Auction

Word Count: 3119

Trigger Warnings/tags : Auction sale, mentions of abuse, mild blood, whumpees kept as pets, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, carewhumper, og characters, supernatural/nonhuman whumpees, supernatural/nonhuman whumpers, mind reading whumpee, guard dog whumpee, muzzled whumpee, dehumanization (from whumpers), burns from silver, drugged whumpee, mentions of needles

Hudson observed everything with interest as they stepped out of the carriage. He stepped to the side and offered his hand to Zenith. He took it, using it to aid him down the steps. Hudson let go as soon as Zenith touched the ground. Zenith gave a small nod to the carriage driver and they shut the door before getting in the front to find a parking spot. Hudson assumed his position slightly behind Zenith as they walked into the building before them. 

Zenith was graciously invited to one of the biggest pet buying events. Every month he would scout out a few to be bought and retrained so that he could sell them at a much higher price. Hudson didn’t always go with him, but whenever he did he never enjoyed it much. It was hard to block out the thoughts of products. They were always in a lot of pain, at least the ones that were sold on the main floor. If Zenith wanted any of the pretty ones, they were at the wrong auction.

Zenith stopped in front of the door, looking over his shoulder at Hudson. “I want you to pay close attention to the products on display. Find something you like.” Hudson nodded curtly, no verbal response necessary. Zenith looked in front of him again and opened the doors wide. 

Immediately, Hudson was hit with a wall of fear from the products and pure smugness from the sellers. There were stands set up as closely to each other as possible to fit as many as they could. To the left of the main floor was a maze of stands selling creatures and objects alike. On the right was the auction stage with rows of seats set up in front of it. The auction wasn’t going to begin for another half hour, plenty of time to glance over a few stands. 

Zenith led the way pausing a few times to look at creatures or blades that caught his interest. Anytime Zenith inspected a creature in a cage, Hudson would pretend he couldn’t hear their thoughts. Couldn’t hear them hoping to be bought or the opposite, hoping that they wouldn’t. But then Zenith would move on and Hudson could truly push it out of his mind. 

As Zenith was talking to a stand worker selling different types of poisons, Hudson let his gaze wander. His eye caught on a small stand behind them with a small creature working furiously. They were molding molten metal with their bare hands, not a burn showing up on their skin. Hudson was fascinated, watching as they shaped it as they liked, then dropped it in a bucket of water. The hot metal instantly sizzled, cooling down before the creature pulled it out again. They examined it for imperfections before placing it on a table near them with nearly identical blades made. 

As Hudson continued to watch, he observed the creature more closely then he did its work. They were small and frail, their bones barely covered by a layer of skin and muscle. Bruises and unhealed cuts littered their body, making it evident that either they disobeyed often or their owner was unnecessarily cruel. They were muzzled with a silver cage that left red marks on their skin from how tight it was. Its ears were flat against their head, tail tucked between their legs, showing every sign of fear except in their hands. A silver collar was strapped around its throat that chained them to the stand, leaving no room for escape. 

“Do you want to look at that one?” Zenith asked. Hudson looked at Zenith and followed his gaze to the same stand he was previously looking at. Hudson gave a simple nod, so Zenith led the way over. 

Being closer to the creature, he expected to pick up on thoughts of fear, but he didn’t. Instead its mind was quiet with the thought of working. He couldn't even tell if the creature knew that they had walked up. Moving his attention away from the creature, he noticed all the finished blades laid out on the table. They were beautiful. All handcrafted and fused with some kind of pretty rock or gem. 

“Like what you see?” 

Even though Hudson knew the man wasn’t addressing him, he looked up anyways. He was rugged and mean looking, a stark comparison to the skittish creature off to his side. Zenith continued to admire the blades before responding. 

“Are all of these your handiwork?” Zenith asked. 

“Yes sir. Everyone of them,” the man said, clearly taking ownership of the creature's labor. 

Zenith picked one off of the table and examined it closely. It was made of iron and infused with amethyst. It was certainly a blade made for display and not meant to be used in combat. Nonetheless it was still impressive. Zenith handed it to the man's outstretched hands, intending to buy it. The man grabbed the creature, making them drop the metal they were modeling onto the ground, and dragged them in front of himself. The creature cowered in his grip but didn’t struggle. The man straightened their arm and brought the blade down from their elbow to its wrist. The creature hissed in pain and sank to their knees when the man let go of it, holding their arm close. The blade slightly glowed from the blood dripping from it, before it evaporated like it never had been there. 

Hudson was barely able to contain his astonishment while Zenith acted indifferent. Zenith took the blade with grace then walked away with Hudson at his tail. Hudson glanced over his shoulder and saw the man yelling at the creature to get back to work. Hudson turned his attention to what was in front of him. It wouldn’t do him any good to get attached. That was the mantra that he repeated over and over in his head. 

…

Kori was relieved when the blade-maker took off his collar and threw him into his cage underneath the table. He shrank away from the silver bars that lined the cage, careful not to burn himself. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked for his only possession. A measly blanket, dark blue with a yellow star pattern overlapping it. It was stiff and soiled with blood and god knows what else. But no matter how much it needed a wash, it was his. He had stolen it the first time the blade-maker brought him to the medics, and too tired from wrangling him there, the blade-maker let him keep it. 

The blanket was almost three times his size, though he was a small creature compared to most. Nonetheless, it made it easy to hide underneath. His shield against the world, against his makeshift darkness. Kori curled up underneath his blanket, making sure to not leave any limbs sticking out. 

A table cloth covered the table and most of his cage, blocking most of Kori’s view of the passerbys. He watched their feet walk past, never pausing to come close enough. It was cold, a lot colder than Kori was used to. It didn’t help that the blade-maker often isolated him away from any kind of fire or sunlight, giving him no opportunity to build up his magma. Kori knew better than to steal heat from the hot metal so he could heal his wounds. He had done it once and when the blade-maker found out, he beat Kori till he could hardly make sense of the world. He was immediately sent to the medics afterwards, but it was a lesson well learned. 

Kori wanted to go home, wherever that was. He was never allowed out except to the marketplace or to the medics. Otherwise, he was underground shaping and fusing blades. It was better than anticipating when a buyer would walk up and he would have to spill blood to seal the blade. The cut down his arm stung painfully, making him aware of it again. 

Focusing on one part of his pain only made the rest seem so much worse. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the cool steel plating of his cage. Despite himself, he felt himself getting tired. His eyes heavy and breathing evenly, he hoped that when he woke up that he would be back in his basement bedroom. 

…

Zenith found a spot in the front row of chairs, giving him an excellent view of the stage. His guard dog sat in the seat next to him, though he figured Hudson wouldn’t be paying attention to the show. Zenith didn’t really care if he did. He eyed the stage, watching as workers of the event raced back and forth to get last minute preparations in place. Shortly after, a finely dressed man came on stage. The man picked up a microphone and began speaking to his audience. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to our monthly creature auction. We have over 30 creatures to display and auction off today, so be ready to bid. After all creatures have been displayed, speak to one of the staff and they will help sort out transactions. If any assistance is needed to transport your new pets, please speak to a courier outside. We will begin the show shortly.”

There was a small round of applause as the man left the stage. Zenith had already scouted out the creatures he wanted, most of them being breeds he had already worked with. A few of his clients were already looking for more pets when his stock was low. As soon as he could get ownership of a few creatures, he was going to send them to all his available personal trainers. By the next auction, he should have all these ones sold and waiting to buy the next batch. 

Though there was one creature that would be displayed that he had an extra keen eye on. He had been observing Hudson’s behavior for the past few months, and deduced that he was experiencing loneliness. Zenith already had another pet for Hudson to mingle with, though Hudson wasn’t one to be very social with others. He had tried spending more time with Hudson beyond his working hours, but it made little to no difference. So he decided he was going to get Hudson a companion, one he could truly bond with. Zenith was already wanting a third pet anyways, so it was practically hitting two birds with one stone. 

Zenith had allowed Hudson to examine the creatures on sale at the market before the auction to get an idea of what he wanted. Thankfully, Hudson found something. A small creature, one that looked like a fox. Its blade making skills and fire wielding abilities were definitely something that intrigued the both of them. Zenith figured he would have to retrain the fox given the conditioning it must have gone through. He thought about retraining the fox with Hudson, it could bring them closer together. It was certainly an idea to think about. 

Zenith brought his attention back to the stage when two workers pulled a cage into view. The announcer from before took his place on the stage. He took hold of the corner of the cloth that covered the cage before swiftly pulling it off. Inside was a standard Tursian, most likely already trained as a guard dog. It was tied down in a stress position to best display it while keeping it still. Zenith vaguely remembered Hudson being displayed the same way when he had bought him. 

The auction passed by as fast as it could for any bored onlookers. After buying a few creatures, Zenith reserved his attention for keeping a look out for the fox. Otherwise, he was thinking of who to contact for its first medical checkup. Zenith always benchmarked where his pets' health was when he first got them, if only so he could get an idea of what he was working with. Finally, as if watching a prized possession being passed around, Zenith eyed the last cage to be rolled on stage. The announcer picked up his mic and began to speak to the audience.

“This is the last creature on display for tonight's auction, I repeat, last creature on display.”

The announcer then quickly pulled off the cloth, revealing the little fox inside. It was on its knees with a collar tightly wrapped around its throat, a chain attached to it, tying it to the floor of the cage. Its hands were cuffed to its ankles, keeping the fox in place. Its tail was tucked underneath it, keeping it close to its body like its ears flat against its head. Zenith watched as its chest heaved with fear, barely able to voice a whimper with the muzzle clamped around its jaw. 

After a couple minutes of letting the audience observe what it was buying, the bidding began. Zenith quickly jumped in, not wanting anyone else to get a lead on him. Little by little he bought out his competitors, until no one else dared name a price higher than his. The auctioneer called it at forty-two thousand, naming Zenith the buyer. He grinned with glee, a rare sight to most.

The workers of the event cleared the stage and Zenith stood to leave. Hudson followed him as he made his way to a nearby staff member. They scanned his buyer’s ID and brought him to the back to let him have a closer look at what he bought. One by one, he was brought to each of their cages. He would sign all the necessary paperwork, write a check, then tell a moving staff where his trucks would be parked. When they reached the cage the fox was in, the staff member handed him a booklet. 

“What is this?” He asked. 

“It’s an infographic of this particular species. It is not one we commonly auction off, so health, safety, and training guidelines are different then what you might be used to,” the staff member informed. 

Zenith briefly flipped through the booklet. “A lynx?” he asked aloud, reading the title of the booklet. 

“Yes sir. They’re from the saturnine desert. They seem to act similar to foxes, if that gives you an idea of what to expect.” Zenith chuckled to himself at the thought that he wasn’t that far off for assuming the lynx was a fox. 

Zenith held out his hand for the clipboard to sign the paperwork needed. The staff member handed it over and he signed the pages quickly. He quickly wrote out a check for forty-two thousand dollars and handed both over to the staff member. 

“Would you like it to be placed with your other purchases?” The staff member asked, taking the items from Zenith. 

“Actually I have a kennel in my carriage I would like it placed in. Easier for transporting into the house,” Zenith mused. 

“Of course,” the staff member mimicked Zenith's tone. “Would sedating the creature be of help to you?” 

“What kinds of sedatives do you have?” 

“We have a wide range, from muscle relaxers to serums that’ll keep your pet out for days.” Zenith imagined he could hear the fox whimpering. 

“I think something that’ll keep it out till tomorrow morning will do.”

“Of course. We’ll have a courier bring your pet to your carriage, and a technician will meet you out there to administer the sedative. Sounds good?”

Zenith nodded and the staff member snapped at a courier nearby to get their attention. The courier came near and listened to the instructions the staff member gave them. They then followed Zenith out to his carriage, bringing the lynx with them. The technician met them there as the courier was unlatching the top off of the cage. The lynx struggled away from the technician as much as it could in the chains. In the end it was futile, as the technician stuck them in the neck with a needle. 

The technician capped the used needle and gave the lynx a small pet. “See? Wasn’t so bad,” they chirped. “Now you’ll get to sleep easy on your ride home.” The technician turned to Zenith, speaking to him in a normal voice. “Have a good evening sir, safe travels.” 

The technician left, and the courier followed shortly after once they had unchained the lynx. The lynx shrank into the corners of the cage, trying to fight against the sedatives. Zenith knelt down by the cage and offered his hand for it to sniff. The lynx tried to focus its eyes on him, daring not to move closer. Zenith gently pet the spot behind its ears, gently guiding the lynx to close its eyes. Once he was sure that the lynx was under, Zenith stood up and bent over the cage to pick it up. He noticed there was a blanket scrunched up underneath it, something hidden from his earlier view. He picked both of them up, realizing how disgusting the blanket was. He put it on his to-do list to wash it. 

Zenith waited patiently as Hudson opened the door of the carriage. He balanced the lynx carefully in his arms as he climbed up the steps, Hudson following in after him. They sat down on opposite sides, with Hudson sitting next to a kennel that Zenith had brought. He had intended to put whatever his new found pet was in it, but while cradling the lynx close, Zenith almost couldn’t bear letting it go. Then he heard his phone ring. Zenith grumbled and despite him trying to shift the lynx over, he couldn’t hold it and its blanket while trying to manage a phone call.

“Could you hold it for me?” Zenith asked Hudson, offering the lynx to him. Hudson quietly took it into his arms, wrapping the blanket around the lynx and holding it close. Zenith pulled out his annoying phone and answered the call.

As the other person talked, he looked outside the window and watched as the world passed by. In the corner of his eye, he watched as Hudson looked at the lynx with a new found sense of love. It was a look Zenith had never seen on him, and one that looked quite well on his dog. Zenith smiled to himself as he turned to look back at the window, glad of his brilliant idea to get a third pet. 

Thank you!!

(lmk if you want to be added to the tag-list)

[might-be-tiny-gt]

Listen to the Audio Next Chapter

Read The Story Index | First Chapter

Welcome to Chapter 1 of the TAoLaW "dramatic" reading. What can I say, the theatre kid in me needed to record this in audio format. Have I mentioned how much I love this fic? Yes? Well I'm saying it again, I LOVE THE ART OF LOVE AND WAR!!! If you haven't read it please go read it.

The Art of Love and War Is written by @fireflywritesgt and the audio reading is recorded and posted with permision.

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 42 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Fucking hell im sobbing, this is it, the last chapter! Thank you everyone for sticking along with me you are all amazing! I'm so sad this is finished, I feel kinda lost without Em and Don. I'm so sad but also wow I wrote and finished a whole story that's impressive for me. LOVE YOU ALL!!!

For the last time ever, this is based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut, @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92, @lucyfromtheoldhouse, @blueberry-ovaries, @next-autopsy, @saintmalosunsets, @anaso12 anyone else please let me know.

Time stood still for a split second before the clock ticked forward again. I stood exactly where I had left, my items I had dropped when I was struggling to free myself from the shimmer still laid perfectly where they had landed many months ago. 

I whipped around but all that greeted me was the dark street. 

No shimmer. 

No Don. 

It was as if I was on autopilot, I gathered my belongings into my arms and made my way back to my apartment. I fumbled with my keys before slotting them into the lock and twisting open the door. 

I placed my keys down on the bench with the rest of my belongings before trudging to the bathroom. There in the mirror stood a girl I hardly recognised. 

Her hair was windswept and unkempt, her face was blotchy and red, she wore an army uniform from the 40’s. 

She was out of place and lost. 

Shedding my clothes I stepped into the shower. Unlike before I was more aware of the damage on my skin. Cuts and bruises scattered my arms and legs. Scars and faded injuries covered me from head to toe. The last time I was in this shower I had been a different person. 

I washed myself until my skin turned red from the heat of the water and the scrubbing from my hands. 

Walking to my room, I slumped down in my bed and shut my eyes wishing to never wake again. 

—------------------------------------

The months flew by, I did my best to heal what was broken. I had promised myself that when I retired I would live life to the fullest, if not for me, for Don. 

I threw myself back into my studies, working hard towards my degree. It seemed to be the only thing that could distract me. I also went to therapy, I didn’t speak about the war I had lived through, it would’ve been too hard to explain, also maybe slightly crazy. 

We spoke mostly about the attack that had happened the night before I had left, it impacted me in more ways than I thought, it had closed me off to everyone again. 

My therapist encouraged me to form more bonds and have people in my life who I could trust. But it felt wrong trying to find people to fill the void of the ones I had left behind. So I kept to myself. 

I had tried my hardest to forget and move forward, I didn’t want to linger on the what if’s but the urge was too strong. I would spend weeks in the library scouring World War II books and reports, trying to find the names of the men I had lost. 

But the odd thing was that there was always a 101st Airborne, always an Easy company, but never the names of the men I had served with. 

They appeared to take the same course of action, the events that happened to us, had happened to them. But the men pictured and named were not my Easy men. 

It drove me to the point of insanity. I rushed home and dug all of the things I had brought back with me from the back of my closet. Just to ensure that it had happened, that I didn’t just imagine it all. 

Sitting on the floor surrounded by the items I had stowed away. My uniform, medic bag and phone all were proof that it was real. 

The medic bag sat unopened. I hadn’t been through it at all since I had arrived back. I sat gnawing on my lip, did I open it or not? 

“Fuck it.” I muttered, leaning forward and unbuckling the clasps that held it shut. I pulled it closer, sitting the bag on my lap. 

My fingers brushed over an unfamiliar material, I thought I knew exactly what I had brought back but this felt different. I hastily dragged the item from the bag. 

A gasp left my lips and tears almost immediately streaked down my face. My thumb brushed over the metal, Donald G. Malarkey. It was his dog tag. He had somehow snuck it into my bag and didn’t tell me. 

I could feel rough metal on the other side of the smooth metal. I flipped it over to find, ‘My Love, forever’. The words had been scratched into the back of the tag, Don had done it. I knew his hand writing anywhere. 

Clutching the thin piece of metal to my chest I rocked myself back and forward as I sobbed. It was the closest I was ever going to feel to him ever again. The thought that he wore this so close to his heart for all the time we had been together made me cry even harder. 

I upturned the bag letting the contents spill onto the floor, I rummaged through the belongings like a mad woman. 

Was there anything else he had put in?  

A paper I didn’t recognise was hidden under bandages, I hastily pushed everything else aside grabbing the paper as if it was going to disappear.  

I shook as I stroked my fingers along the unopened parchment that had been folded in half. His scrawly handwriting grace the blank paper. 

‘To Em.’

A shaky breath left my lips as I slowly unfolded the letter. My heart smashed against my ribcage but it felt nice to feel again, even if it was just pain. I had been so numb on autopilot. I couldn’t wait anymore, I needed to know what he had written. 

 My beloved Em,

I don’t know when you are reading this, but I hope that you are well. Know that I miss you dearly, and that I think of you always. 

I write this now after you had left to go and say your goodbyes. 

It took me a while to understand, but I do now. I know you inside and out, I know you as kind and gentle. You only want to share your love and happiness. 

You made the brave decision to give up everything so that we might have a chance to live and be free. You have made a sacrifice I never think I could do, and for that I admire you dearly, Em. You’re so courageous, your heart is unshakable. 

That is why I love you. Your soul is pure and good. I love your being and essence and everything that makes you, you. 

I love the way your curls fall into your face when you laugh, and the way your eyes crinkle at the sides when you smile. I will miss the sound of your melodic voice, and soft lips. I’ll miss the way you tell stories and the hugs you give. I miss you even now, when I know you’re only mere metres away. 

There will not be a day that will go by that you won’t be on my mind. Sleeping or awake you will forever be at the forefront of my thoughts. When I am sad, happy, excited, depressed, lonely, or content I wish to only share my thoughts with you. I will never not talk about you, your name will forever be on my lips.   

I hope you have found my small gift, and that you hold it close to your heart and think of me. 

Know that I am well Em. 

I am content with your decision. I will live for you. 

I hope you do the same, I hope you reach all of your dreams. 

There’s a quote I love, “missing someone is your heart’s way of telling you that you love them.” 

I miss you more than life itself, so I’ll love you for infinity. May my love for you reach you in your time now and you feel me wrapping myself around you now. I wish I had a photo of you, it scares me that I might forget your face. 

But the men and I will keep you alive in our memories, I will share every story I have of you. I will go home and tell everyone that I was going to be wed to the most beautiful girl in the land but she made a decision that let us be here today, and in turn she couldn’t stay.  

Please Em, my only wish is for you to be happy. Surround yourself with people who love you like we loved you. I need to know that you are being loved and cared for.

I don’t want to finish this letter, I wish I could write you pages and pages and fill them with the love I have for you, but alas there are not enough words in the universe that could perfectly summarise my feelings for you. But I will leave you with this poem.

I will love you as long as the sun burns in the sky,

As long as the moon shines its light into the dark night, 

Until the raging blue oceans become calm and run dry. 

I will love you until the end of time. 

With all my love, I hope to find you again. I will wait for you in every lifetime. 

Donald Malarkey, your one true love now and forever. 

The sobs that left my mouth were short and sharp as I struggled to intake air. My tears landed on the paper as I clutched it to my chest. I had read the words over and over again, I could hear his voice in the writing. 

After my sobs had subsided I continued to search through the contents of the bag. A flash of metal caught my attention. A dry chuckle left my throat, Speirs’ lighter lay amongst my belongings. His initials were carved into the metal, it didn’t come with a note, but the act alone was heartbreaking. It was Ron’s trusty lighter, one that he didn’t part with easily, but still he had slipped it into my bag for me to have to remember him by. 

I woke up the next morning on the floor of my room surrounded by memories. I slipped Don’s tag around my neck and tucked it into my shirt. Just when I was losing faith they had given me the motivation to live again. 

So I did just that. I opened myself up again, I graduated and started a new job as a full time nurse. I did as they had asked and surrounded myself with people who loved and cared for me. But no one could ever take Don’s place, that part of my heart was tightly locked which he only had the key to. 

A year passed and the hurt lessened. Never did they leave my thoughts, the amount of times I went to share stories only to bite my tongue. But I wrote them all down in my diary to ensure that the memories I had of them were never forgotten. 

—--------------------------------

“Hey Em, patient in room 12 is wanting to speak to you.” Izzy, the nurse I had befriended when I had started, peered her head into the nurses office. 

“Sure.” I smiled brightly at her, getting up from the notes I was finishing. I made my way to the room, assisting the patient to unhook from the fluids they were getting so that they could go to the toilet. 

“Em!” I heard from behind me. I sat the patient back down on their bed as we had made our way back from the bathroom. 

“Yeah?” I turned to see an excitable Izzy. 

“The girls and I were going to go out for dinner tonight. Come!” It was a Friday for the group and  everyone seemed to be very thrilled for the weekend. 

“Um…” I teasingly thought about the offer. The brunette didn’t let me think long, rushing into the room to slap me on the shoulder. 

“You’re coming!” She tugged gently at my arm. 

“Says who?” I wound her up more. I had befriended her as she had reminded me of George. She was bright and funny, always with a big smile on her face. We had both started at the same time and bonded over being ‘new and dumb’, we joked. It was easy to make friends with her, it was as if they had known each other in a past life. 

“Emily Lane!” She full named me, causing me to giggle. 

“Shall I pick you up?” I asked as I sauntered away. 

“AHHHH!” Izzy squealed in delight, running after me to pounce on my back. “We are going to have so much fun!” 

I never picked up Izzy, she had followed me home. Demanding we got ready together. I watched her dance around the room singing into the hairbrush she had found lying around. She looked insane having half of her eye makeup on as she sung poorly into the makeshift microphone. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Izzy bowed to the non-existent crowd taking in her applause. 

We finished our makeup, mucking around wasting time we didn’t have doing a fashion show, which was basically Izzy prancing around like an idiot and me curled over in hysterics. 

“If you keep going not only are we going to be so late, my makeup is going to be ruined!” I chucked a pillow from the couch at her head. 

Finally we made it to dinner only ten minutes late. We shared good food and stories around the table. I smiled, glancing around the table at the people who were in my life. Don would’ve been proud of me. 

Izzy squeezed my hand from under the table as she lent her head on my shoulder. “I have a surprise and you can’t say no.” 

I pretended to be mad at her but the smile stuck to my lips as she fluttered her eyelashes at me. 

“What is it?” I asked, a huge grin broke onto her face. 

“Karaoke!” She cheered as did the rest of the table. “You have to come, I’ve invited some of my friends too.” Izzy elbowed me in the side. 

The older nurses with children and earlier bedtimes left, leaving the younger nurses with more energy to do karaoke. Izzy’s friends slowly trickled in joining us in our fun night out. All of them were lovely and so funny. I wiped the tears that leaked from my eyes as Izzy and Lyla sang a duet together, they were so off pitch but that didn’t stop them. 

They plonked down next to me out of breath. “Your turn!” The girls pushed me from my seat. I looked back into the crowd and they smiled excitedly up at me. I picked a random song.  

Stay by Rihanna played out from the speakers. I sang along as the group cheered and whooped. I didn’t care if I sounded bad. I sang loudly as I waved my hand in the air. 

The room door swung open and I lost my words. There in the doorway was a face that I couldn't forget. 

“SING!!” Lyla cheered. But I couldn’t, nothing worked, my mouth hung open and tears filled my eyes. 

I watched Izzy jump up from her seat and dragged the person into the room. 

“Em!” She ran towards me with the person in tow. “This is my friend, Don.” 

It was him, head to toe, he looked exactly like my Don. 

“Pleased to meet you, Izzy has told me a lot about you.” The man stuck out his hand for me to shake but I was still so frazzled. His voice was exactly the same. I blinked, pinching my leg to make sure I wasn’t in some weird dream. 

“Are you alright, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” The modern Don tilted his head in concern. 

“I’m fine.” I uttered out in shock, I politely shook his hand, almost melting at his touch. It was the same. Had he come back to me? 

“Have we met before? You just seem familiar.” He asked. Izzy stood between us as we stared at with a confused look on her face. 

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” She departed the conversation, leaving us staring at each other with our hands still connected.   

“Do you want to come to the bar with me? It's a bit loud here.” He asked, never taking his hand from mine. I nodded, my mouth still hung open. 

We left the small karaoke room we occupied and made our way back over to the main bar. 

“So do we know each other?” Don asked again. 

“No we don’t.” I shook my head. 

“Well I want to change that.” His smile grew wide as he stepped closer to me. “I don’t know why but you feel important.” 

And at the moment I knew everything was going to be ok. 

Because he had found me again.

Just like he had promised. 

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

THE END!

[seraphimankh]

Quiet talk

Chapter 12!