#i have blacked out and punched doctors and hid under tables and ran out of doctors offices screaming. and repressed almost all those memori

[nordidia]

do you think the turtles have any phobias or anything like that maybe stuff that grosses them out

well as a projector enjoyer i think ur fav turtle has ur phobias u wanna give them by law

as for me, i project my trypanophobia and fear of clowns onto raph LMAO

as for like... stuff beyond projection and like for waht i maybe think about from the show/movie,, i think they each have their own specific fear/things that freak them out, many things, as is normal. but nothing thats like severe enough to name specifically?

just like... normal discomfort around alot of specific things, each their own... i cant reallty think of any specific things

as for severe phobias, other than mikey being scared of paranormal stuff, donnie and beach balls, and raph and rabbits/puppets, im unsure if i headcanon anything specific like that outside of any like.. self-indulgence

[lovehatemysme]

[Warning: Miscarriage]

[Yoosung x MC]

Ding dong

At the sound of the doorbell, Yoosung looked at the door and touched your hand. You looked at him blankly. 

"Honey, I'll just get the door okay?" He said with a weak smile. You turned your head again on the TV in front of you.

Yoosung got up and opened the door, it was Zen holding some Chinese take out.

"Hey, hungry?" He said as he lift the food. He wore his usual clothing, along with a black cap. 

"Hey hyung," Yoosung greeted as he let the tall white haired man in.

"How are you holding up?" Zen asked as he removed his shoes, Yoosung took the food from his hands.

"Fine.. I guess," Yoosung responded almost hesitantly. 

" And MC?" Zen inquired further, Yoosung gave him a weak smile. "Still the same," he said weakly. Zen sighed and gave Yoosung a pat on the shoulder.

You stared blankly at the plasma tv in front of you, pictures were moving but nothing was registering. A muffled cry caught your attention, without much thought you stood up and followed the noise. In the kitchen, you saw Yoosung crying in front of Zen, who offered silence and pats on shoulders.

"I.. i don't know what to do hyung, i... i still cant get her back," Yoosung sobbed between words. Yoosung, who was almost always embarrassed to show any sign of weakness, now crying in front of his friend.

Then something clicked in you.

"Im sorry, we tried everything we could.." the man in the white coat said.

No.

Everything happened so fast, blood was streaming down your legs and the next thing you knew you were in a hospital bed.

"You lost the baby."

No.

Confused, lost, overwhelmed, all emotions were rushing into you. You quickly went to bed and closed your eyes so hard, trying to slash the memories flooding back to you.

No!

"We're here for you guys, just call us okay?" Zen said, as he tried to comfort the crying man in front of him. Yoosung sniffed and said a thank you. Zen didn’t stay any further, he just stopped by to bring food and check up on Yoosung. 

It's been two weeks since the incident, when the doctor announced you lost the baby Yoosung channeled his anger through punching a wall. Reality pulled him back when he heard you cry, quickly running to your aid. With bleeding knuckles, he stroked your hair, whispering it's okay, i'm here for you and, we can get through this.

After that breakdown, you just.... shut down. Traumatized and in denial... you shut everything off. You spoke little words to simple sentences. Nodded and gave weak smiles in response. Yoosung closed the clinic to tend to you, he fed and bathed you. And even though you weren’t really paying attention, he would tell you stories in which you would respond in weak smiles. And that was enough for Yoosung, at least he knew you were still there. 

Every now and then a member would drop by just to check up on you both, Jumin even referred a psychiatrist, to which Yoosung kept in mind if you haven’t had any progress. 

Yoosung put on a brave face everyday while he was with you. He thought that when you see him cry, he’d put you on more stress.. So he hid his tears away, crying when you’re asleep. He’d prayed and bargain to a god, if there was one, he thought. 

When you woke in the middle of the night, Yoosung was in front of you, puffy eyes from crying earlier. He looked so serene as he slept, you touched his cheek as your thumb tried to rub the marks of his tears.

It’s Yoosung. Your husband. 

The scene you caught earlier came back to you, Yoosung was crying in front of Zen. And it ached your heart. Yoosung was crying. 

“Yoosung..” you whispered, “I’m sorry... I was selfish..” your eyes started to swelled up, “I’m sorry..”.

Yoosung tried to reach for you side, only for his hand to catch nothing but air. He opened his eyes and saw your bedside empty. He sat up in a panic, “MC?” he started to shout. He quickly got up and ran to the bathroom as he continued to call for you. When the bathroom was empty, he tried for the kitchen but to no avail. He searched every room but you weren’t there. He tried to call your phone but only to hear it ring in the drawer of the bedside table. 

Shit shit shit. Was all he could think, his heart started to race, his thoughts in a wreck. He took his coat and car keys, he gotta start somewhere in the town. You have to be somewhere.. 

You hummed as you stared at the lake in front of you, the full moon being reflected as it illuminated the place. You sat at the bench where you and Yoosung would always sit on when you went on a stroll. This was where your first date was. And so was your 5th.. and maybe 7th? You always went to this place that you just lost count. It was where you would talk about your plans, your future.. When a family with two children pass by Yoosung would tell you how’d he want a child.

And it almost came true.. you started to sniff, tears quickly escaping your eyes. 

Your body shivered as you cried, couldn't contain all the tears and emotions. Two weeks you felt nothing, and now everything seems to be rushing back to you. The lost of your unborn child.. You were only two months pregnant but still.. The pain came back rushing in, you held your abdomen as you cried. You were about to start a family, but in a blink of an eye, it was gone. 

You remember how you told Yoosung, you were only three weeks then. He was so happy, you were making his dreams come true. And you were happy. You were both happy.. 

You rubbed your abdomen, thinking how Yoosung must’ve felt, he needed to grieve but you left him.. went to your own world thinking how hurt you were...

"I'm sorry," you muttered to the emptiness of the park, "I'm sorry," you whispered as you sobbed, as if the lake could hear you. 

"MC? MC!" you turned around and saw Yoosung running to you, his hair in a mess, he was wearing his coat over his pajamas.

"Thank God you're here," he said as he kissed your temple and held you close.  "You scared me, please, please don't do that again," he muttered. You could feel his body tremble, you could feel how scared he was.

"Yoosung.." you sniffed under him, Yoosung placed his coat over you and knelt down in front of you. He took your hands and held it. His eyes were still quite puffy, but his charm was still there. His boyish charm that you loved.

"Yoosung.. I'm sorry," you said again, taking your hand from his clasp to wipe your tears, but they just kept coming and you kept uttering sorry.

Yoosung sat beside you, somehow he felt relieved. This was the first time you cried again after your breakdown in the hospital. And somehow he felt scared too, that you'd just return to blank stares. He held you close and stroked your hair.

"Hey.. it's okay, we can get through this. I'm here for you okay?" He said, his voice was low, reassuring and comforting. You looked up to him and held his cheek.

 "I.. I was selfish.. I let myself slip away.. I didn’t think about you.. I grieved on my own and left you.. but it was your child too," your voice cracking at the end, Yoosung swallowed as he held your hand that was on his cheek. Finally letting himself cry in front of you, tears quickly building up in his eyes.

"But it must have been harder for you MC, it was connected to you," he said as he rested his forehead against yours. "I love you MC, I just.. I just don’t want to lose you," he said between sobs. 

“I’m sorry Yoosung, you must have felt lonely,” you whispered while sniffing. You felt your heart ache imagining how scared he must have been. He pulled you close, fingernails digging in your arms as he clutched onto you. 

“Just promise me.. Promise me you’ll never leave,” he pleaded. The thought of losing you.. Since day one it was his utmost fear. And when he saw it slowly become a reality... He wept thinking he lost you. But still, everyday, whenever you responded, he’d smile and know you’re still there. 

“I’m sorry I let this one-” “Hey,” he said, cutting you off, “It’s not your fault okay?” he whispered, looking down into your eyes. If he could remove all the pain you were feeling, he would.  “Never think of that,” he said as he kissed your temple. 

You’re here. You’re safe. was all Yoosung could think about. Thanking all the gods he know. 

You looked up to his lilac eyes, glistening under the moonlight. “Thank you for not giving up on me Yoosung, I love you,” you said as you smiled. 

Two weeks.

Two weeks since he last saw you smile like that, he felt as if the pain in his heart is being filled out by your love. He was overwhelmed with happiness that he pulled you for a kiss, “I love you too, cutie,” he said.

Yoosung let out a contented sigh when he pulled away. You were back and that was enough. 

You snuggled close to him, he smelled like home. His embrace felt safe. His heartbeat.. you could feel it. You could hear it. A rhythm you knew so well that you fell asleep on whenever you were on his chest. 

I’m home. 

[beckzorz]

Out of Nowhere (9/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Words: 5100 Warnings for part 9: Canon-typical violence A/N: The song for this chapter is “St. James Infirmary (Gambler’s Blues)” by Louis Armstrong from Satchmo Plays King Oliver. There’s a lot going on in this chapter—let me know what you think! xoxo

PART 9: “ST. JAMES INFIRMARY (GAMBLER’S BLUES)”

When Jesse came to, she felt momentarily refreshed. She was on the couch, and Bucky sat beside her with a hand on her forehead. She blinked at him, and he grabbed her hands in one of his, his expression severe. Then the pain settled in.

“Owww,” she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to cradle her head in her hands, but they were still caught in Bucky’s hold. “What happened?”

“You fell,” he stated. “How do you feel?”

“Ugh, I don’t know…” Jesse bent double, her forehead pressed against her wrists. The pain was intense, yet she felt strangely numb beneath the surface. What was going on?

Why was Bucky here?

Her head hurt to much for her to look up, but she furrowed her brow all the same. His grip on her hands was tight. She tried to pull back so she could cover her eyes, but Bucky didn’t let go. Was he holding her hands for her sake, or for his?

Jesse sat up slow enough to feel every vertebrae shift back into its proper, upright place. Bucky’s face was impossible to read. His expression was far from straightforward concern.

“Bucky…”

Bucky’s brows pinched and his lips parted. It felt like a long time since she’d seen him; he seemed different. Less friendly? Jesse studied him intently, but the close inspection put him off, and he drew back. Jesse almost cried at the hardness in his eyes, but she swallowed down her inexplicable grief.

“What’s going on?” she finally asked.

“You fell,” he said again.

“I heard you the first time,” she snapped, and instantly regretted it. She took a steadying breath. “I mean… what are you doing here?”

Bucky sighed and finally let her hands go. Jesse rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the lingering throbbing in her skull.

“I’m just checking on you,” he said. “Sorry to bother you.” He stood up abruptly, but Jesse grabbed his sleeve before he could walk past her.

“Wait, what? You’re not bothering me,” she said. “I’m just—I’m really confused right now, okay? I—I don’t know what’s going on.” Jesse let go and looked away, throat tight. She let out a strangled laugh and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I feel like I have a hangover, except I don’t know what hangovers are actually like.”

The couch dipped to her left. Jesse froze at the feel of Bucky’s prosthetic hand on the base of her neck.

“Are you… you?” he asked quietly.

She dropped her hands from her eyes; a chill settled over her. It wasn’t from his hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He pulled back, shook his head. “I thought you weren’t yourself.”

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I feel like mys—”

A tinny recording rang through the apartment. Jesse frowned, trying to place it. She knew that music… Her eyes slid shut and she began to shudder, the recording triggering her into stillness. Worse, the pounding in her head came back full force.

Bucky slid his hands over her ears, startling her and muting the music. His eyes fixed on hers, tracking her.

“Is that bothering you?” he asked, loud enough for her to hear. She nodded, breathless, and covered his hands with her own to block everything out, but he pulled away as soon as she did.

He pulled a gun out from under his jacket, and Jesse almost fell over.

“What the—! You don’t need to—”

But Bucky left for her bedroom. She tried not to listen to her phone being destroyed—he didn’t actually shoot the gun, at least—but every crack made her wince.

“There goes six hundred bucks,” she muttered, hands still firmly over her ears.

“I’ll cover it,” he said, returning. He plucked one of her hands free and tossed her broken phone on the coffee table. A few pieces of glass bounced onto the floor. Jesse winced and bent to gather them.

“Jesse,” Bucky said. She glanced up at him, a sliver of glass between her fingers. He stood on the other side of the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jesse sighed. The music had been bad, but she had no idea why. “God, I don’t know.”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember anything at all?” he demanded, exasperated.

“What is there to remember?” she shot back. Arguing was less terrifying than not knowing.

“Something took you over,” he growled. “And you’re telling me you don’t remember a single thing?”

Jesse’s mouth hung open in shock. Taken over? What was he on about? Strains of that tinny music still echoed in her head. She tried to pull it to the surface. As she moved her mouth silently along with the melody, memories flashed in her mind.

Blooming pain in her knee.

“I’m a doctor. You need to—”

A middle-aged blond woman in a doctor’s vest, holding a tablet.

Tinny music falling flat in a steely room.

Mike.

The doctor.

White blindness, extraordinary pain—

Mike’s face—

“You’re here for something else.”

Jesse cried out, then slapped a hand over her mouth, silencing herself. Tears leaked from her eyes. Bucky drew in a sharp breath and leaned across the coffee table, holding her gaze.

“You remember,” he said.

“I…”

Jesse couldn’t form a sentence, not with the avalanche of lost time clamoring for attention in her brain. She couldn’t even look Bucky in the eye. But she nodded and tried to breathe slow and even to calm herself. It didn’t quite work, but after another silent minute she felt, maybe, able to speak.

“What happened?” Bucky pressed. He knelt across the table from her, leaning his elbows on the coffee table. His gaze was intense.

“Do whatever you need to do to make that man leave you alone.”

Jesse surged to her feet, tearing her eyes away from Bucky to look wildly around the room.

“They’re listening!” she gasped.

Bucky stood up. “I took care of that,” he said. His tone was soothing, but Jesse’s blood pressure still hit the roof.

“Then why’d they call?” she demanded.

“They started calling after I destroyed their listening devices.” Bucky’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “After you fell. That was the fourth call.”

“So…” Jesse sat back down. She thought of that morning where she’d half-drowned in her own damn toilet and shuddered. “So they’re going to come looking for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty fucking sure.” She ran a hand through her loose hair. “Do you remember when I told you I wasn’t sleeping well?” Bucky nodded, eyes focused on hers. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t want to realize, but they broke in here. They broke in here, and if they think I’m… compromised or whatever, they’ll do it again just to protect themselves.”

“You think?” Bucky perched on the arm of the couch next to her, hands splayed on his thighs. He didn’t look at her; he stared at the half-open door to Fran’s room.

“Even if they don’t know I’m myself again, I’m a liability,” Jesse said. She stared into the matte blackness of his prosthetic hand. If they knew that he knew her, that he visited her, they could never be certain she’d be theirs. “Of course they’re coming.” She shook her head, looked away. “I’m so sorry.”

Bucky swiveled his head to frown down at her. “What the hell are you sorry for?”

“Wha—for getting you caught up in all this,” she said, baffled.

“How is this your fault?” he countered. “Did you ask for any of this?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well then.” Bucky stood up in a flash and set his jaw. “If they’re coming, we need to leave. Pack a bag.”

Jesse scrambled to her feet. She faltered with a hand on her still pounding hand, but when Bucky put a hand on her arm she shook him off. “I’m fine,” she insisted. She made her way to her room clutching the wall.

She blinked in shock. Her bedroom was painfully neat. The bed was fully made, even, and nothing was out of place. Jesse inched inside, disturbed. She kept her room clean, sure, but… hospital corners? On a Wednesday? Really?

Jesse grabbed a backpack from the closet and stuffed a few changes of clothes along with her birth control pills in next to the notebook already inside. Instinct had her grabbing for her phone charger, but no. She didn’t need that anymore. Jesse looked around her bedroom, for what she wasn’t sure.

Then the doorbell buzzed.

Jesse froze. From the other room, she heard Bucky sigh.

“Always a fight,” he muttered.

Jesse’s heart dropped. She’d let him down. She’d let him down so badly she wanted to weep. She’d wanted to be safe for him, normal, a comfort. All that hope was ashes now.

But she didn’t have time to indulge in silent grieving. She hurried out towards the door buzzer as it rang again. “Should I—”

“No,” Bucky snapped. He shook his head sharply. “Don’t. Go hide. In there. Go!”

Jesse ran into the bathroom, turning back once to look at Bucky. He was stationed next to the door by its hinges, lying in wait for when it inevitably burst open. His jaw ticked as he stood there, gun in hand. He glanced over and pressed his lips together in frustration. Go, he mouthed.

Jesse hid.

She locked the bathroom door and crouched between the toilet and the tub, heart racing. Had they come yet? Beyond the rush of her blood in her ears, she could barely hear a thing. She tried to steady her breathing, her hands, her heart. God, what if it had just been Fran, stuck without a key? Were they freaking out for nothing?

Someone grunted—oh god, they were inside! Jesse clapped her hands over her mouth, trembling. Her eyes stung as the sound of punches and more grunts filtered into the bathroom. What was going on out there?

A harsh electrical buzz echoed through the apartment, and Jesse heard the sound of breaking glass and a metal screech. Metal? Was that Bucky? She surged to her feet and stared around for something, anything she could use. A razor? No, hers were all safety and Fran’s were all electric. The plunger was gross, but it had a good-length handle. And Fran’s aftershave was in a glass bottle. She grabbed them both, but she knocked over the toilet bowl cleaner. It clattered against the porcelain toilet.

Jesse sucked in a horrified breath. The fight outside had quieted, but was that before or after she’d fucked up?

The doorknob jiggled. Jesse clambered into the tub behind the closed curtain. Her breath came fast, faster than after dancing ten songs in a row. Could they hear her heart pounding outside the door? She would’ve believed it.

The knob jiggled again, and this time the door swung open. Jesse clutched her makeshift weapons tightly. She was right next to the shower knob…

The curtain yanked open. Jesse yelped in shock and tried to throw the aftershave, but the stocky man before her knocked it aside. Jesse’s heart stopped as she recognized him—he was the one who’d taken her! He’d kicked her! He’d strapped her down—

The glass bottle shattered over the bathroom floor; the scent spread through the room like poison. Stocky grinned triumphantly.

Jesse thrust the plunger in his face.

Stocky yelled unintelligibly and backed away. Jesse kept pace with him from in the tub until he backed into a wall. She pushed the plunger forward with all her might. Stocky’s head banged against the wall with a satisfying thump, but he didn’t collapse. He grunted. His muscles bulged as he kicked out right at her.

His foot connected with her pelvis. Jesse groaned and fell to her knees. By the time she lifted her head, Stocky was already swinging a fist at her face, plunger discarded. The force of his strike sent her careening to the left, and her temple banged hard against the faucet. White light blinded her and she curled up instinctively, but Stocky didn’t come after her again.

When she next looked up, vision blurred and fogging, Stocky was flying out of the bathroom. Bucky stood in front of the tub, his jacket singed and his left glove discarded. Sparks danced along his clenched metal fist. Jesse’s lips parted as she stared. Had Stocky brought a shocker like the one she’d been tortured with?

Bucky stalked back out and the sounds of fighting recommenced. Jesse tried to push herself up, but the hammering in her head was too much. She collapsed against the side of the tub. There was a wetness on the side of her face, dripping down along her jawline. She reached up and looked at her wet fingertip. Blood? Jesse quickly pressed the palm of her hand against the most painful part of her face and gasped from the sting, but the pressure lent her some relief against the searing pain spreading through her head. She peered out to the bathroom floor to look for the shards of glass—so much broken glass in her apartment, and the sound of yet more glass breaking made her wince—and then she remembered she was still wearing her shoes.

Jesse climbed out of the tub and grabbed the discarded plunger. The top half of the glass bottle was relatively intact with its metal topper; Jesse picked up the metal top and inched towards the open door.

A totally different man hurtled past the open door and collapsed against the next wall, groaning. Jesse’s eyes widened. She waited another moment, then she peeked quickly out. Bucky had Stocky in a chokehold by the burst-open front door, and though Stocky was burlier, he was no match for a supersoldier. Within a minute, Stocky was unconscious on the floor.

Bucky was left standing over him, nostrils flared, eyes wide and fierce. His dark hair hung loose around his face. Jesse’s lips parted at the sight of him. He looked so different than any time before; she’d seen him disapproving, reluctant, even amused—never fierce. Yet for all his ferocity, he was still himself. Still the same strong jaw, the same cheekbones, the same cleft in his chin… the same face, same body.

A few lingering sparks jumped between his metal fingers. Jesse opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but a noise came from behind. She tossed the broken glass bottle back into the bathroom and took the plunger handle in both hands as she turned; the strange man had leaned forward, and the wooden handle connected solidly with his skull. He collapsed back against the wall, this time truly unconscious.

Jesse breathed heavily as she stared down at him. She’d never seen this one before. His thin ashen face was in sharp focus; everything else was a blur. Her grip on the plunger loosened, and as her breathing slowed she felt the blood running down her neck.

“Shi’,” she muttered. She dropped the plunger so she could stop the flow of blood, but the moment she did a wave of dizziness overtook her. Jesse stumbled and put her free hand against the wall. Ringing echoed in her ears. “Wha… whaddya say?”

If anyone answered, she couldn’t hear it.

She took two shaky breaths, then Bucky—she couldn’t see him, but she assumed it was Bucky—slipped under her outstretched arm and led her back to the couch. She could barely make out faint sparkles on the kitchen floor. Shards of glass? The coffee table was on its side, one leg broken off.

Jesse’s legs buckled when she tried to sit down, and she landed heavily. Her head pounded in time with her heart. Eventually she realized that Bucky was talking. She turned her head carefully and focused on his mouth.

“—you okay?”

“Mm.” Jesse jerked her chin once in a facsimile nod.

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky said flatly. “Are you okay to walk?”

“N—no.” That much she was sure of. She flicked her eyes up to meet his; his blue eyes were steely, the pupils blown wide with adrenaline. “Not tha’ okay.”

“We need to leave,” Bucky said. “It’s not safe here.”

His words rang in her ears. Jesse shook her head with a groan. “You—you go. Call p’lice. Get ’way. They get taken. I go t’emergency room. Or they go after you.”

“You can’t just wait here for the police,” Bucky told her. He went and retrieved her backpack from the bedroom. The zipping noise was like an avalanche. “What if someone else comes along?”

At that Jesse sat up. If only she could explain herself, but her brain was like jello. She clenched her teeth and tried to focus. “They don’t know if I’m fixed,” she said slowly. “You get away. Bad for you if police…” She gestured around. He must know what she meant. She moved on. “You c’n keep watch. But leave before 911 comes. I might be concussed, but I can still lie.”

Bucky was silent. Jesse tilted her head to look at his face. All she could tell from the blurry shape of him was that he was frowning.

“Where would they take you to?” he asked.

“Um. Brooklyn Methodist. By Foster Ave.” Jesse sighed and leaned back against the couch, eyes sliding shut against the light. “Call p’lice. Get out. Be safe.” She reached out blindly; Bucky took hold of her hand quickly. She could barely tell which hand it was, apart from the scratch of a fingernail on the back of her palm. She squeezed his hand, assured in the knowledge that he’d feel it. “Don’ worry. Jus’ be safe.”

Bucky held her hand a moment longer. She blinked her eyes open to look at him one last time; he was staring into space, his face beautiful despite her unfocused vision.

“It’ll be ’kay,” she murmured. “Will be.”

He set his jaw and dropped her hand. Jesse closed her eyes. She didn’t want to watch him go. When the door closed behind him, tears ran down her cheeks, down her neck. On the left side, the tears mingled with her blood.

—

Jesse woke when crisp evening air hit her face. She stirred on the stretcher; her head was still pounding, but her arms were secured down. It felt as though she’d been bandaged, at least. When she opened her eyes, she saw an EMT at her feet and one over her head. They carried her joltingly down the five stairs to street level and began to load her into an ambulance. As they lifted her stretcher to strap it in, she looked to her side. The stranger was on the cot next to her!

“No!” she cried. Tears pooled in her eyes. She struggled against her bonds until the EMT knelt by her. “No! He tried t’ hurt me!”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the EMT said. She gently patted Jesse’s shoulder, then called to her partner. “Get a policeman in here. Witness is up.”

Jesse stared at the man beside her with horror until a middle-aged policeman climbed up and stood between them.

“Hey now, take a deep breath,” the policeman said. He had a pen and notebook in hand. “What’s your name?”

Jesse hiccoughed as she tried to breathe deep. “Jesse. Jesse Kaplan. They—they broke in! They hurt me!”

“What happened?” The policeman finished writing her name and looked back at her.

“I hid in the shower,” she said. “When they came…” Jesse trailed off and began to cry. Her left hand twitched as she tried to reach up to her cut.

“She’s concussed, officer,” the EMT muttered. “I need to get her to the hospital. Another ambulance will have to come anyway. The two guys can go together.”

“Fine, fine,” the policeman said. “Make sure her room number is sent to the station if they’re keeping her.” He turned back to Jesse and rapped on the handle by her elbow. “Get well soon.”

He climbed out, and another EMT came back to take away the man beside Jesse. She sagged in relief, still sniveling. Sounds began to trickle in.

“—t’s going on?”

Jesse blanched. That was Fran! Oh god—did he just get home? She sat up as best she could in the stretcher. There he was, dark hair tousled and brown eyes wide in shock as a policeman spoke to him a few meters away. Jesse couldn’t make out what the policeman was saying, but Fran glanced around wildly. After a breathless moment, he made her out in the dark ambulance.

“Jesse?” Fran gasped.

Someone closed the ambulance door, cutting off Fran’s view. Jesse’s head fell back as the EMT at her side finished strapping her in.

“Good to go,” the EMT said. The siren went on, and Jesse curled up her fists and tried not to cry.

—

The hour and a half Jesse spent in the emergency room passed in a blur of invasive questions and lights in her eyes and a fresh bandage over her stitched-up cut. She hadn’t realized it, but a shard of glass had lodged its way into her calf as well. Tweezers were far less friendly when someone else was digging around. But she had a cot in a private stall now, a little removed from the major bustle. She could do little more than twiddle her thumbs; she had no phone, and the nurse had told her to just rest.

Jesse had tried, but rest was out of reach after all that had happened. She’d thought she’d had bad days before, but this… this one took the cake. She heaved a sigh and twisted her fingers together.

So. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, and brainwashed. Yes, that about summed it up. Did it though? No, not quite. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, brainwashed, and she’d dragged Bucky into a huge mess that had nothing to do with him. Sure, it wasn’t technically her fault, but still. He would have been off, living a peaceful life or whatever, but no. Once again, the Winter Soldier was fighting battles not his own.

Jesse squeezed her eyes shut. Logically, she knew Bucky had made it out. He’d been a myth for decades until the truth came out those few years back. She knew he was good at getting away scot free. But she couldn’t help the nagging worry taking hold in her chest. If she’d put him in danger, would she ever be able to forgive herself?

God willing, she’d never have to answer that question.

“Hi, Jesse.”

Jesse sat up quickly—too quickly. Her head began to pound again, and it took a minute for her vision to clear.

A pale woman with dark hair somewhere around Jesse’s age was perched on the edge of her bed in a blue dress and black leggings similar to her own, with a scarf around her neck and a large pair of red glasses on her face. Jesse stared; this woman was a stranger. Another stranger? Jesse gripped the bedrails and pushed herself back.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman said. Her voice was low and quiet. Her large eyes were fixed on Jesse’s. “I’m here to get you out of here.”

“Who—who are you?” Jesse sputtered.

“I’m James’s friend.” The woman held out her phone and pulled off her glasses. Jesse squinted until the screen came into focus, and then her face screwed up in confusion. She glanced up, then back at the phone. The photo showed Bucky, just as he’d been as he’d left, standing next to this woman, except the woman in the picture had red straight hair, not black curly hair. Jesse blinked. Red hair? Friends with Bucky?

“Na…tasha?” Jesse tried.

Natasha Romanoff’s smile was a hard line on her pretty face. “Exactly.”

“Well,” Jesse said, her heart rate going back to its usual rhythm, “hi?”

Natasha chuckled. “Hey.” She pulled her bag up and placed it on the bed. A brick red backpack. Jesse’s brick red backpack.

“That’s—”

“Yes,” Natasha interrupted. “Now be quiet.” She reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like a thick pen. Jesse began to ask what it was, but Natasha grabbed her shoulder with an iron grip and jabbed the tool into the base of her neck. It felt like the prick of a dozen needles at once.

“What the hell!” Jesse hissed.

Natasha ignored her. She stuffed whatever it was back into Jesse’s bag and pulled out some… plastic wrap?

A coolness began to spread through Jesse’s veins. When it reached her head, she gasped from the relief. Her vision cleared, and for the first time Jesse saw Natasha clearly.

“Whoa.” Jesse blinked and stared around. The lights weren’t too bright anymore, and the throbbing in her head had dulled to little more than an annoyance. “What was that?”

“Stimulant,” Natasha told her. “Now keep still.” She reached at Jesse’s face with the plastic wrap—but it was too sturdy for just that, and holographic hexagons shimmered in it. Natasha pressed it to Jesse’s face. Jesse held still, shocked, until a little beep came from Natasha’s phone. Natasha pulled the material away and pressed it to her own face. Jesse watched, fascinated, and then Natasha’s face morphed into her own, bandage and all. Jesse nearly jumped off the bed.

“What the hell?” she whispered again, but Natasha was already pushing her scarf and glasses at Jesse.

“Put these on and leave. He’s waiting at the visitor’s entrance.”

“Wha—why are you doing this?” Jesse asked, the accessories sitting on her lap.

Natasha smiled grimly. “To see what happens,” she said. “Now get out of here. And if they ask, your name is Susan, and you’re here to visit—”

“I get it, I get it,” Jesse said quickly. She wrapped the scarf around her neck, adjusting it to hide the bloodstain on her shoulder, and put on the big red glasses. She stood hesitantly, testing her legs, but they were right as rain. Natasha shifted to Jesse’s abandoned spot and lay there looking quite innocent.

“Don’t forget your bag,” Natasha said. She nodded at the red backpack.

Jesse picked it up slowly, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Think about it and tell me later,” Natasha said. “Now scram.”

—

Jesse fled through the hospital, afraid of everyone she passed, terrified of footsteps behind her. Thankfully the visitor’s entrance wasn’t far, and she stepped outside with no small amount of relief. A light rain was falling, and Jesse shuddered as she stepped out into it.

A motorcycle was parked right across from the entrance. Though the driver’s face was obscured by a tinted helmet, Jesse recognized the singed jacket and combat boots at once. She hurried across the street, glancing around nervously.

When Bucky held out another helmet to her, she ignored his outstretched arm and hugged him around the shoulders. His helmet was in the way. He patted her on the back awkwardly, and Jesse pulled away after one deep breath.

“You’re okay?” she asked.

He nodded and stood, still straddling the bike, to pull the spare helmet over her head. He fastened it tightly and sat back down. “Get on.”

Jesse climbed on behind him, grateful she was wearing leggings. Bucky started the bike up. Jesse swallowed and reached around him to link her hands around his waist.

“Hold on tight,” he told her. He revved the engine, and like a shot they were off.

As their speed increased, Jesse tightened her grip until her chest was pressed against Bucky’s back and her head was turned sideways. If she hadn’t been wearing a helmet, she might have felt his heartbeat through her cheek. The wind whipped at her scarf, and the air and rain sliced cold across her bare arms. Jesse clasped her wrists hard as she shivered. Between the scarf and the helmet, she could hear very little of the noise of the city. When she shut her eyes, it was almost like meditating.

She didn’t know how long they were on the road. At some point, she knew they got on the highway, but within the silent bulk of the helmet, she was finally able to close her eyes and clear her mind of all the hellish thoughts of the last hours. Or try to, at least.

By the time Bucky pulled into an underground garage, Jesse was rested enough to perk up and take note of her surroundings. The other vehicles looked fancy—a BMW, a Tesla plugged into the wall. Bucky parked next to a sparkling SUV and heaved a sigh.

Jesse unclasped her wrists. Her limbs were stiff from the rain and wind, but she managed to climb off the bike on her own. She unbuckled the helmet with fumbling fingers as Bucky hopped off. He took both helmets and led the way, stone-faced, to an elevator. He passed a keycard over a scanner and typed in a code. A green light flashed, and in a minute the doors opened. Bucky ushered Jesse in first. She pulled off the giant glasses and unwound the wet scarf from around her neck.

It was like their first elevator ride together in that way. He’d let her go first then, too. But this time, they were both silent. No banter, no laughter. Bucky only looked at her once, though he forced a tiny smile. Jesse returned it. She wanted to speak, but she had no idea what to say, nor even if it was safe to speak where they were. He’d certainly kept his mouth shut.

When the elevator came to a stop, Bucky checked the hallway before leading the way ahead to the door at the end of the hall. Jesse leaned against the wall and kept watch behind them as he went through the strictest door security regimen she’d ever seen. No one appeared, and Bucky pulled her inside. An automatic light turned on further past them.

“You’re safe here,” Bucky said.

Jesse glanced around. It was an apartment, that much was obvious. “Where are we?” she asked.

“My place,” he said. He dropped the spare helmet by the door and began to pull his own back on. “I’m going out. I’ll be back.”

“Wait—Bucky,” Jesse protested. He paused, and she floundered for words. He frowned as she stared up at him. She scrambled for something, anything to say. “I—thank you.”

His face softened. He didn’t quite smile, but he did squeeze her arm. “I’ll be back,” he promised. He slipped out the door.

The locks clicked shut, and Jesse was left alone.

[rnufharose]

Beauty [Thor x OC]

Chapter 1

(Midnight City ~M83~ - Midtown Manhattan Theme)

Cat was seated at a table, her phone in her hand as she stared at the lock screen for the past ten minutes. She didn't know what she was doing, but being out under the lights kept her calm. She closed her hazel eyes, leaning back against the chair, and tucking her phone into the pocket of her jeans.

"What the hell...?" She wondered to herself, staring at the sky above before someone had approached her.

"I knew I'd find you here," the voice spoke, and Cat looked to her right, where a young woman around her age with short brown hair and dark eyes was standing. She sat down across from her. "Hey, Cat."

"Good to see you, Ai," Cat nodded. "I thought you had business to attend to for the next few days."

"I did," she replied, crossing her legs as she sat. "and it turned out I was able to take care of everything quickly. What about you? Are you out here because of those nightmares again?"

The images began to flash through Cat's mind once again, and she flinched slightly, trying to keep her breathing steady. She pressed a few fingers to her forehead and nodded, "Y-Yeah... they just... won't stop..." 

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Ai wondered, tilting her head and frowning. "I know some great doctors and they can help you out."

"It's alright," she waved a hand and smiled thankfully. "there's only so much a shrink can do for me... meds and such aren't going to help..."

"Well, if you need any help, I'm always willing to offer," her friend crossed her arms and smirked before a loud grunt and a thud snapped them out of their conversation, and the two came across a tall, angsty woman with jet black hair and green eyes, clad in a leather jacket and ripped jeans.

The woman's pale face was contorted in anger, and she continued to punch the men that surrounded her.

"Hey!" Cat didn't know what she was doing. It was probably her past instincts kicking in. She ran toward the group and pulled the woman away, who struggled against Cat's short stature.

"Let go of me!" The woman exclaimed. "I have to teach these guys a lesson!"

"Stop it!" Ai was next to stand up, and the woman, with all her brute strength, pushed Cat toward the ground, where the rest of the muggers had landed as well.

"Why should I? I'm conducting an investigation!" The raven-haired woman shot back.

Cat grunted softly, the side of her hand bleeding and the skin split from the fall, and she hissed with pain. She stood up and asked the woman, "This isn't how you conduct any sort of investigation! Beating people isn't the way."

"Trust me, I don't have any other choice," she said in a low voice. "Besides, what would someone like you know? Stay out of my way." She crouched and grabbed a photo from one of the unconscious men before facing Cat and Ai. "The next time I run into you, I'll be putting a bruise on that face." She walked away brusquely, leaving the two women behind.

"That woman," Ai growled. "Just what the hell is her problem?!"

"I wish I knew," Cat sighed, and she couldn't seem to understand why someone like her had such strength. She was like some powerhouse. She brought her hand up and the cut was gone, the skin having been repaired.

"Wasn't your hand bleeding a minute ago?" Ai grabbed her hand gently, observing the soft skin. 

That was Cat's power--regeneration. Her skin was made up of stem cells, constantly dividing and regenerating, and could heal any sort of imperfection or injury in a matter of minutes. It had been a year since she became an Inhuman, and she had never felt so abnormal. "Yeah... it was," she said with a trembling voice. She didn't want anyone to know about this ability. She had been "cursed" with beauty, only for it to stay with her for the longest time due to that year in hell.

"Leave it to Jessica Jones to start a fight with a bunch of thugs," Ai sighed before pulling her phone out of her jeans and calling the police.

Once Cat saw her dialing 911, her mind started to swirl with those images, and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her head splitting due to the memories. She breathed through her nose, smelling blood and chemicals, breaking into a sprint and ignoring Ai's exclamations as she left the lights of Times Square. She needed to be far away--away from it all.

Unlike some of the most lively streets of Manhattan at night, the dark alleyways seemed to be as silent as the grave. Cat stumbled into the darkness, clutching her chest in an attempt to try and get the palpitations to stop. 

"Book... Candlestick," she began to chant. "Clock. Teapot. Teacup. Feather duster. Mirror. Red rose," her heart rate was beginning to steady, and she exhaled, continuing to repeat those words, and she sunk to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, the images ceasing their rushed journey through her thoughts. 

A couple of men carrying suspiciously looking black bags were quickly running through the alleys and past for people. The fact that they were practically completely covered made them easily missed by the eyes of unaware citizens. Cat's hazel eyes darted toward the suspicious men donning garbs as black as the night around her. She knew something was off, and her brain was telling her not to get involved... but her instincts didn't seem to listen, pleading with her that she needed to put a stop to it before others were caught in the crossfire. 

Finding her way back onto her feet, she ventured through the alleyway, the stench of garbage in her nostrils. She covered her nose, holding her breath as she trailed behind the men. The group of three masked men was unaware that they were being followed. Eventually, they reached a small crossing between two alleyways, instantly revealing that there were not alone on whatever they were scheming. There were around fifteen men and a couple of women gathering, and they dropped the bags on the ground, which produced a loud clanking sound as they hit the dirty concrete floor.

"Right. That's all of 'em. Arm yourselves and let's get this over with." The person who seemed to be in charge announced. It appeared to be one of the women.

Cat hid behind a metal pillar as she watched the men and women arm themselves with electric batons and guns. She narrowed her eyes as she took in their uniforms, which held an insignia of a skull with several legs.

That splitting headache returned as an image identical to the one on their uniforms crossed her mind. She hissed and shook her head vigorously. "Book. Candlestick. Clock. Teapot. Teacup. Feather duster. Mirror. Red rose." She chanted to herself.

While the woman and the mercenaries walked, they prepared their weapons. "Everyone knows their positions, right? Break in, kill every officer silently and steal as much as we can," she spoke in a thick accent, opening up an advanced laptop with the same insignia they had on their uniforms.

It made sense to Cat now. The images, the symbols, the chemicals that flooded her body when she woke up from a year of sleep. These were the people responsible for making her into an Inhuman. 

"Hail HYDRA," the woman said to the mercenaries and they raised their fists in the air, parroting after her.

"Hail HYDRA!"

------

Thank you for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, and share!

[writing-yj]

Robin x Reader: The Bird Tattoo~Part Thirteen {END} (Soulmate AU)

 A/n: Pardon my language but fUcKiNg FiNaLLy; the end of this series is long past due. I loved writing it, but I really need to move on to different characters and different story lines! Thank you guys so much for all the notes, reblogs, cute tags, and praise throughout the series! So, without further delay, enjoy the final chapter of The Bird Tattoo! I hope you guys like it because I kind of botched the end of it!

Robin felt so defeated when he found out about your breakdown. He found out the next morning when Black Canary sat beside you, just after she replaced the bandages on you throat. The scratches weren’t very deep, but they still needed to be cleaned and bandaged.

“Why did this happen? I don’t understand,she was doing so well...” Robin was already on the verge of tears. He thought you were getting better, and you still were, but some of the progress was lost.

“She lost her powers, Robin.”

     Hearing that almost tore him to the ground, too. Your mocking abilities made you, you. You very rarely loathed them, but you otherwise greatly embraced them. The ability gave you life, gave you skill, and pure joy through and through. Now he understood why you were hurting so. On top of that, because of your powers, he got to meet you. If you ended up with no mocking abilities, The Doctor surely would have killed you.

     Just like mourning your death, the team mourned the loss of your powers. Mockingbird wasn’t Mockingbird without them, so they made it their top priority to find out how to get them back between missions. This meant research, consulting other heroes, all sorts of different things to heave in as much information as possible. 

     Batman ran another blood test and he got all sorts of useful results. He discovered that all of your mockingbird DNA was still there, but the elongated agitation was caused by stress, mental strain from PTSD, and obviously injuries from the explosion. In turn, the DNA agitation caused a negative spike in your behavior, which was why you had random outbursts of anger and disobedience. But he had no idea as to why you couldn’t mock anymore, despite the DNA still being there. 

     Batman didn’t find a solid explanation, but he had a hunch that your trances were becoming your body’s way of preventing physically unhealthy effects, caused by PTSD, from agitating the mockingbird DNA. Why it never happened during missions, Batman didn’t know. But, he was beyond thankful for it.

     Speaking of your trances, they occurred once or twice every day. Each one was longer than the last, and your team stood by you for all of it. They took turns every once in a while and brought you books, watched movies one your tablets (they were shocked by how many top-quality devices you built), ate with you, and all sorts of friendly activities you could participate in while laying in your hospital bed.

     Conner and M’gann gave you a couple home-made stress balls they learned how to make by watching a video on the internet. They were a surprising gift, but they were very cute and served their purpose quite well. Conner felt a little guilty for the times you two butted heads; it rarely happened, but he still felt bad. So, in light of that, he brought you some colored pencils, markers, and a coloring book. It was such a cute gesture and he was startled when you hugged him, but he very awkwardly and briefly returned the embrace. 

     Using the cameras, Green Arrow and Aquaman found out that Kaldur occasionally snuck into the med bay at night and put you in a wheelchair to go around the Cave. He knew how much you valued freedom, so he did the best he could to give you some without letting you leave Mount Justice. You talked about anything that came to mind throughout the small journey, and you even made him laugh with a complex and well-thought-out joke. He wasn’t scolded for it, and the two adults didn’t tell Batman. It was a very kind and thoughtful thing for Kaldur to do.

    Wally brought games to play, such as darts, Monopoly, Clue, checkers, and you taught everyone how to play poker. However, Clue led to bickering between Robin and Kaldur, you almost took Artemis out with a dart, checkers always ended within a few minutes, a few of them regularly forgot the rules of poker, and Monopoly always brought yelling and throwing game pieces. But you had plenty of laughs and fun all the same.

After school, Robin came to see you with Artemis, who carried a small stack of books and a packet of paper. Robin sat next you and held your hand as usual and Artemis sat on the other side of the bed. Robin dramatically kissed the back of your hand, making you giggle and Artemis rolled her eyes, but she had a small smile on her face.

     “I brought you some books in Spanish, French, Italian, and English,” Artemis held up the books and set them on the small table next to your bed. “And I got you a Romanian packet to work on.”

     You grinned “I actually finished it when I was ‘grounded’. I had nothing else to do, so I worked on it for hours at a time.” It was great that you learned a new language, but the circumstances? Not so much. “But I can do it anyway; you brought a pencil, right?” You couldn’t help being excited.

     “Duh,” Artemis held up a pencil. “I didn’t expect you to write the answers in your blood.”

     Robin chuckled and let go of your hand so you could grab the packet and the pencil. You grabbed a book and placed it under the paper and went to work. On instinct, you wrote your name and the date on the top and you read the first question.

     You had to translate ‘I went to buy a new set of curtains, but they were out of stock at the store’ into Romanian, and it usually wouldn’t be a problem, especially since you became fluent. For some reason, you could barely do half of the first sentence and you started to panic.

     Robin noticed your distressed face and asked, “(Y/n)? You alright?”

     You rubbed at your eyes to prevent tears. You quickly shook your head and whimpered, “I can’t understand any of it. I can’t remember.” Sobs threatened to escaped, but you used your abdominal muscles to restrict upper body movement and you breathed very slowly. “I don’t understand any of it-!”

     Artemis registered it after a few moments, and she felt like throwing up. The loss of your powers took away all of the foreign languages with it, affecting your intelligence. This was going to dramatically change you more than anyone thought it would. 

     Your bottom lip quivered slightly before you bit it. Your life was crashing down right in front of you and you weren’t strong enough to hold it up. Was there any point in going back to school? This new development would put you too far behind, you’d lose your position as captain, and your 4.5 GPA would plummet. You refused to break down again, but it was hard to not cry hysterically. You had a right to, but you weren’t letting it happen again.

     Robin’s hands started to shake a little, but he hid it from you. “Do you think you can do Spanish?” He asked. When you responded in perfect Spanish, he and Artemis were relieved. It was the first foreign language you learned, so at least you had that. 

     But everything else? All of the other languages you knew? Gone. Erased from your memory, save for a few vocab words and insults here and there. You wanted to punch things until your knuckles bled. You yearned to break things and reduce them to dust, just like you were reduced from a highly intelligent individual to an average-minded teenage girl. 

     “I... I want to be alone right now.” Your voice wavered, and you didn’t look them in the eye. “Please leave...”

     Robin moved to put a hand on your arm. “I don’t think you should be alone right n-”

     “Get. Out.” You growled and jerked away from him. This was too much for you to handle in front of them, so you were going to handle it alone. You were already becoming more angry, and you didn’t want to take it out on them.

     Artemis slowly nodded and cautiously rose from her seat. “Okay. We’ll see you later, (Y/n).” She walked out the door, briefly stopping to urgently gesture for Robin to follow. He got up as well, sending you a worried glance before exiting the med bay.

     You firmly put the pencil on top of the other stack of books and you crumpled the packet up in your hands. You threw the ball of paper across the room, but you greatly missed the trash can, and you punched the mattress angrily. It looks like you lost your accuracy, too. 

     The soft pillow caught your head as you violently sat back. You clenched your jaw as you felt more tears falling, and you held a dangerous mix of fury and sorrow. What were you becoming? Why was this happening to you? 

     A long time ago, all you wanted to be was normal. Now you wanted to be anything but normal. You wanted to be Mockingbird. You wanted to stay Mockingbird!

     First your tattoo, then your powers, but now your enhanced intelligence?

This isn’t fair.

The Justice League was holding a meeting, specifically about you. The night before, Artemis told Green Arrow about what happened when you tried doing a Romanian worksheet. It was as if every step forward came with two steps back. They weren’t considering getting rid of you, not at all, but they didn’t know how to help you. Every idea was shot down by a high price (not money) they couldn’t afford to pay.

     “What else can we do!?” Black Canary almost shouted, slamming her hand down on the table. “At this point, Mockingbird has lost everything that makes her Mockingbird! This has to be fixed!” Dinah was ready to pull out her hair. If this change was going to be permanent, you would be an almost entirely different person.

     “We’ve gone through almost every option,” Wonder Woman said calmly. “I’m not sure if this can be fixed by force. If there’s nothing we can do, the only option we have left is to give it time.”

     Flash was darting around the room every two seconds, going over every idea they had and hadn’t suggested. Your powers were from a former professional scientist, who wasn’t always at the top of the scientific ladder. Cassius Henze had to learn how to be a scientist somewhere, right?

     The loud arguing dulled to hardly any sound as the Justice League watched Flash work on one of the computers, pulling up files in a literal blur. He absorbed the information as quick as it came up, and he was slowly nearing the solution they were dying to find.

     “Cassius Henze... Star City... Seattle University... S.T.A.R. Labs... Central City High School...” Barry’s head shot up after a few moments of mumbling. “S.T.A.R. Labs! He was an intern at S.T.A.R. Labs!” He dove right back in and went through the S.T.A.R. Labs files from at least a decade ago.

     The heroes of the room were either intrigued or very concerned. “Who was an intern at-” Green Arrow started to ask.

     “Cassius Henze! He is, well, was The Doctor, right?” Flash turned his head to look at him as his arms still moved around the keyboard. “He started his scientist career with an internship, which was where he started his research on animal experimentation.”

     “Do you think he-”

     “From what I remember, S.T.A.R. Labs keeps a digital and paper records of submitted research and experiments. But, since he was there decades ago, I would assume that all of the things he tried out are hidden away in dusty and forgotten filing cabinets.”

     Green Arrow was struck with an idea. “So if we get our hands on the files, then -interrupt me one more time and you’ll get an arrow between your eyes!- we can go through his research and find a way to restore Mockingbird’s powers!” Oliver was filled with fresh motivation and he started forming a plan.

     The Flash was literally buzzing with excitement as he ran over to Batman. “Okay, so, we need to get Cassius Henze’s research and lab reports from S.T.A.R. Labs, are we supposed to go in normally and get them or-”

     It was Barry’s turn to be interrupted, but by Batman. “I’ll handle that. However, we need alternatives if this doesn’t work.” The brooding bat said and he turned to leave. “I’ll be back.” You weren’t you without your powers. You were the soulmate of his son. He was compelled to help you in any way possible and in the easiest, most efficient way available.

The world never knew if Batman broke in, played the civilian card, or bought the files that night.

You didn’t have an actual conversation with anyone for almost two days. If you played any games or read any books, you were silent. When Kaldur took you out on the wheelchair, it was a wordless journey. Neither of you really minded; the silence was rather peaceful in that situation.

     Robin wasn’t used to the lack of conversing with you, but actions speak louder than words. So you eventually let him lay in the hospital bed with you, and you were found curled up in his arms in the most delicate way possible, lest he hurt you. It was a very cute sight, but he had to leave eventually.

     It was earth-shattering to find out that even your reflexes and accuracy were deteriorating. This time, you didn’t just feel worthless. You knew you were useless. It wasn’t a feeling anymore; it was a fact. You went from a rising hero to a powerless and defenseless civilian, who can only be a bystander instead of a protagonist in the battle. 

     Once again, you were staring at the ceiling you were starting to hate. You were due to be moved out of the med bay and back to your comfortable (probably dusty as hell) room in a day or so, but time was going in slow motion for you. You didn’t want to be a normal, dime-a-dozen civilian. You didn’t want an average intelligence level or an average amount of strength. You hated the thought of being scarred and weak, but there you were. Literally scarred for life and back to existing as a standard human being. 

     Batman wasn’t too far away from you while going over some files you didn’t know he had. He seemed to be gathering materials for some sort of experiment, but you didn’t see the point in asking. There was nothing you could do to help. There was barely anything you could do at all. 

     “You guys aren’t going to get rid of me, are you?” You asked hazily with a blank look in your (e/c) eyes. 

     He somewhat sounded appalled at your inquiry. “No. Why would we ever do that?”

     “My powers are gone. I don’t remember any of the languages I learned aside from English and Spanish. I don’t have good reflexes anymore. Hell, my soulmate tattoo is burned; you can’t even tell what it is. Maybe dying in the explosion is what should have happened.” Your voice was a mix of bitterness and a loss of hope. You were giving up. “I’m useless.”

     Batman’s sharp response made you flinch. “But you didn’t die in the explosion and we’re all very thankful for that. You’re injured. You aren’t going to be in perfect shape for a while, but not useless.” He explained, his voice was nearly harsh. “You still have a purpose, Mockingbird.”

     “What’s the point in calling me that?! I’m just a standardized kid in hospital bed! I’m never going to be Mockingbird again!” You snapped at the big-bad-bat himself.

     “Because you’re getting your powers back, one way or another.” Batman’s voice was dark and would be scary to anyone else. “You are valuable to this team and you are Robin’s soulmate. And those are only two reasons.” This was out of character for him, but you tended to do that to people. “Now hold still.”

     “What? Why?” You gave him a cautious look and leaned back.

     You didn’t have your usual reaction time, so you didn’t anticipate Batman to rush at you with a needle and plunge it into your arm. You thrashed in his hold as he held you down against the bed, freaking out as he injected you with whatever was in the syringe at the proper pace. Injecting too fast never ended well.

     You were prepared to chew him out when Batman pulled away, but your vision went a little blurry, and you felt like you were floating. Your arms and legs felt numb and everything felt odd. “What... did you do...?” You slurred and you let your head fall back on your pillow. This was like the time you got high when you walked in on about half a dozen girls smoking weed in the bathroom.

     “Injected you with something that should work. Be thankful.” To you, Batman sounded like he was joyful and joking, but he was just his normal self with his stone-cold voice and stature. 

     Suddenly, a searing pain went through your body and you felt like your body was shriveling up, constricting everything. You let out a tear-jerking cry of agony before passing out, your arm flopping down onto the mattress and your hand hung off the bed.

     Batman was teeny bit worried at this. “I really hope that’s supposed to happen...” A few drops of regret got into his system, accompanied by a dash of self-doubt and a pinch of ‘holy shit, did I just kill a teenager?’

It was nearly twelve hours later and you still hadn’t stirred. Batman hooked you up to a heart monitor to make sure you were still alive and even gave you an IV. It didn’t look like you were waking up any time soon (you were unable to eat or drink) and Batman was freaking out. It almost started to show. He injected you with something he barely tested, and he didn’t consult the Justice League about it. He made an impulsive, rash decision without planning... just like you and everyone else on the team!

     ‘Damn it, I put Mockingbird into a coma.’ Batman thought, and some colorful language followed. He contemplated sneaking Alfred to the med bay again, but that idea went out the window when the med bay doors opened. 

     The team walked in as a small cluster and were chatting amongst themselves about another recent mission. It was successful once again, and they were barely bruised. The easiest mission yet.

     “Hey Batman, how’s (Y/n)?” Wally asked. They all knew your first name now, much to your chagrin, but it was the least of your problems. 

   Batman just stayed quiet and felt very uncomfortable. “Well-”

     Robin bounced on past him, excited to see you, without waiting for a response, then promptly shouted, “What the hell happened?!”

     The rest of them barged past Batman and were shocked to see you connected to a heart monitor with an IV, and the still-healing burns made it a more grisly sight.

     “Did she get out of bed?!”

     “Is she okay?!”

     “Why does she need these?!”

     As if the situation couldn’t get any worse for Batman, Red Arrow and Black Canary came in to the med bay as well. Roy was only able to visit a couple times; this one was his third. The last thing he expected to see was you laying in a hospital bed looking like a corpse. 

     Black Canary looked at Batman with death in her eyes. “Batman... What did you do?” Her voice was dangerously calm, and it scared your comrades.

     “...I got Cassius Henze’s files from S.T.A.R. Labs, and the solution for agitated DNA was included. I made the solution, and injected it into Mockingbird’s arm. This must be one of the side-affects that I was unfortunately unaware of.”

     “Well did you read through the entire thing?!”

     “Yes. Several times.”

     “Did you test it?” Black Canary growled through gritted teeth.

     “I don’t recall ever having anything to test on whatsoever, so no.”

     Dinah was trying very hard to not use her Canary Cry. “And to think the Batman went in blind without knowing if this ‘solution’ was going to work or kill her!”

     “It’s going to work. Look at the files-”

     Roy stepped up with his jaw clenched. “How can you be so sure? You thought locking her up was going to work,” He gestured to your injured body. “But that didn’t work out so well, did it?” Roy was furious when he heard you were locked in your room, and absolutely distraught when he was told you died. Then he was relieved that you were alive, but seeing you wrapped in bandages made him hurt. “I swear to God, Batman, if she dies...”

While the adults argued, M’gann put two fingers to your forehead and gently dove into your mind. She got a weak connection to you, and it wasn’t going to last long.

“My, my, fancy seeing you here! M’gann, can you please tell me why am I trapped inside my own pounding skull?” You said sarcastically and you saw flickers of her as she appeared in your mind.

“From what I heard, Batman injected you with some sort of ‘cure’ that will get your powers back, but I don’t think any of us are very happy about it. Roy and Black Canary are yelling at him.”

“I’d like to yell at him, too! All that damn bat said was ‘Now hold still’ and he’s stabbing my arm with a needle a second later! And now look, I’m-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt her unwillingly disconnect.

     M’gann didn’t say a word for about half a minute, and the team asked her if you both were alright. Not long after, she started to giggle, and that giggle turned into boisterous laughter.

     “What’s so funny?” Robin cocked his head.

     Through her laughs, M’gann answered, “She’s so angry-” For some reason, she found the way you worded your anger was hysterical. “When she wakes up, Batman is going to get quite an earful from her!”

     The group broke into laughs and giggles and chuckles, but Robin was fretting. If Batman never tested it, what if something really bad happened to you? Granted, it was Batman; he always seemed to know everything, but anyone can be wrong. When it came to your safety, Robin would doubt anyone. 

Once again, Robin was staying the night by your side. He still spent some time at home, but he used the rest of the time he had available with you. It was expected; you were his soulmate. He got into the bed with you, avoiding the IV when he gently wrapping his arms around your frail form and prayed to any god listening for you to be alright. Whether if you wake up with your powers or not (preferably with your powers), he was still going to love you with all his heart until the end of his days.

     Your chest slowly rose and fell, and the heart monitor emitted a dim but irritating glow down upon you two. The beeping was also annoying, but it gave him comfort all the same. Your heart was beating and healthy and you were alive, and that’s all the mattered. 

     “Remember when we hated each other?” He asked you, even though he knew you couldn’t listen. “What am I saying, of course you do. God, I would rant about you to Wally all the time. I never told him or anyone else- I think I accidentally said something to Alfred, I’m not sure -but I thought you were really pretty when you first joined the team.” Robin confessed.

     His heart cracked a little when you didn’t react. Little did he know, you could actually hear him. You just couldn’t do anything to communicate.

     “When you broke into the Batcave, I was angry because I was jealous. You got past all of the security we had without setting anything off. That and you  broke into the Batcave. I think that gave all of us a right to be irritated.”  Robin took off his sunglasses and chuckled. “I’ll always hold that against you... But only in the most loving way possible, of course.” 

     Dick went on and on about almost every interaction from his point of you, as if you were actually there to have the conversation. However, you heard every word he spoke. It almost sounded like a whisper but you heard his voice. Although trapped inside your mind, you were smiling.

Unbeknownst to you, it had been nearly two weeks since you first fell into a coma. Hopes barely dimmed, but they were continuously discouraged. Dick ended up not-so-secretly holding it all against Batman for your lack of consciousness, and Batman didn’t blame anyone for doing so. He himself was starting to doubt a positive outcome, but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

     Robin walked into the med bay with a quiet sigh. ‘She’s going to wake up any day now...!’

     Artemis was quietly talking to you as she did her homework. “The robotics team is really starting to worry about you,” She held up a small stack of ‘Get Well’ cards and put them in your hand. “The entire team got you some cards, and I think some flowers, but I have no idea where those went. I had to come up with another excuse; it’s getting harder and harder to hide this from them. Even more of a reason for you to wake up...” Her voice faded out on a sad note.

     Robin cleared his throat and Artemis jumped. “How is she?”

     Artemis visibly relaxed and gave him a sad look. “There’s been no change. Aside from her weight loss, nothing else is different.” Her fist briefly clenched, but un-clenched a couple seconds later. “We need you to wake up, M.” She told you.

     The chair screeched on the floor as Robin pulled it up next to Artemis, taking a seat on it just like he had done almost every single day since you survived the explosion. “Yeah, that’d be perfect right now.” He said. “You need to wake up, get back on your feet, and train some more so you can go out an missions with us again.”

     “Yelling at Batman seems like a good option, as well. M’gann said you wanted to do that.” Artemis said and laughed. She lost count of how many times she wanted to do that. “We’ve all been a little upset with him for that.”

Robin and Artemis talked about it and got into a heated discussion over the events that happened in the past couple weeks. A discussion so heated that they didn’t notice your fingers moving, or when your hand tightened around the small cluster of cards. Your eyes fluttered open, and you almost shouted with joy when you could hear their voices clearly, and you could see the med bay with your temporary muddled

     You rolled your eyes when they didn’t even glance at you. They were on the verge of arguing about things you had no idea had happened, but you weren’t surprised. They were both throwing out good points and bad points, and you would have some information to shoot them down with, had you never been in a coma. You still felt quite groggy. 

‘Thanks, Batman.’

     You took the time to examine Artemis and Robin, to the best of your ability. Artemis looked a little more tired than usual, but she didn’t lose any of her fire. It was still burning bright inside her, but you were something that kept that fire flaming. She needed you to keep it ablaze.

     Robin looked a little unwell. His skin was a little paler than usual, and he yawned quite often. To you, he sounded a little more sad. But all of your senses were out of sorts, so take that with a grain of salt. Nonetheless, you were still thrilled to be awake and aware.

     Their bickering got louder and louder, and it started to hurt your currently sensitive ears. It was annoying the hell out of you and the fact that they hadn’t seen you was mind-boggling. You rubbed your eyes to try and clear your vision, but it only helped a little bit. 

     You sighed and growled/croaked into your hands, “You know, I love you guys, but you need to shut the fuck up, alright?” You made your presence known, and you were very grumpy. You had a right to be, after all. Obviously, you would feel bad about saying that later, but you didn’t want to wake up from a coma to yelling

     The two of them stopped arguing instantly and nearly choked. You were awake! No longer in a coma! Able to talk back! They didn’t know how to react for a good moment, but you weren’t even concerned. You were more hungry than anything. “If you’re not going to say anything, can I have food?”

     You didn’t get food, but your face was peppered with kisses from Robin and Artemis instantly called Black Canary and your teammates shortly after. They were happy that you weren’t going to stay in a coma that would last years, and especially happy that you still had your memories. Your mood went from grumpy to exhilarated in the blink of an eye, but was sure to soon turn sour. 

     Robin hugged you tightly, and kissed your cheek for about the twentieth time. “You’re finally up, I’m so happy you’re-”

     It was your turn to kiss his cheek, and you put your hand on his other cheek and turned his head to see his eyes- well, his sunglasses. “I missed you.” You said with a loving smile and you kissed him right on the lips.

     He almost melted in your embrace and he kissed back with no hesitation. It had been too long since your last kiss, in his and your opinion. You kissed for a few moments longer, before pulling away when other heroes entered the room. You weren’t too keen on PDA at this age. “I love you...” Robin secretly whispered in your ear.

     “I love you, too.”

     Hugs and some more cheek-kisses were sent your way, as were happy tears. You didn’t tell them that you could hear them talking throughout your coma, not yet. But you were going to give Robin so much crap about the things he said while you were under.

     “Try mocking, (Y/n).” Black Canary urged you to mock. “Let’s see if Batman did the right thing.” She grumbled bitterly.

     You opened your mouth, but closed it again. “What if it didn’t work?” You asked quietly, and your fingers fidgeted. Robin grabbed them, his eyes pleading for you to just try.

     You inhaled deeply, and gave it all you got. “The snack that smiles back, Goldfish!” There was pure silence, and a huge, beaming smile appeared on your face. It sounded identical to the real slogan and you shrieked with joy. “I can mock again! I-I can still be Mockingbird!” You wanted to jump from your bed and dance, but plenty of them would pin you back down on the bed, so you decided against it. Robin did didn’t hesitate to briefly kiss you again, much to the disgust of the bystanders

     “You always were Mockingbird.” A familiar voice came from the doorway. Batman stood there, observing the heart-warming scene. Your reaction was something he expected, but not entirely prepared for. Dynamite comes in small packages, but you were like a giant crate of C4.

     Your eye twitched and you clenched your jaw. Yes, you were thankful for getting your powers back, but you were pissed. If you were up and able to train with no setbacks, you would be hurling punches and kicks.

     “Listen here, you overgrown bat!” You cried out furiously and you lit into him.

You yelling at Batman was a memory that was treasured and laughed about for years to come. You even kept the recording from the security camera. After a few more days of healing, you got back to training, and then back to missions not long after. Villains and criminals learned to quake in their shoes at the mere mention of your name, especially when it was paired with Robin, and eventually Nightwing.

     The moment your life got back on track was the moment your life with your soulmate truly began. Neither of you knew what the future held, which pains and pleasures of life were to come, but all you knew was that your future was one you shared with Dick. 

     And you were happy with that.

{THE END}

Damn, that series was one hell of a ride! Once again, thank you guys so much for supporting me and this series which might get a sequel series that would continue into season two and kudos to those to made it this far!

~Ren

[impalaanddemons]

Enterprise Crowd - Part 4

Summary: These are the adventures of Reader, a Lieutenant Commander assigned the Enterprises IT engineering team. Her biggest flaw? Her temper.

Wordcount: 1700ish?

A/N: This week in “Enterprise Crowd”: Regrets and hangovers are had. People get hit in the face. I could also not find a gif that fit, so I skipped it.

Warnings: hangover, general cursing, f bombs

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

There were a few minutes of blissful ignorance until revelation hit you. It was nice, warm and snuggly and your body hadn’t yet started to try and collect last nights debts from you, instead cushioning you in a warm fuzzy feeling of post-intoxication. A stubble brushed over your shoulder, a pair of lips kissing you gently. A rough hand traced the line of your shoulder idly, caressed your back and landed on your ass, gripping it gently. He earned himself a purr from your lips for this - his hand knew exactly what it was doing there. Firm and slightly massaging and just overall nice. The owner of said hand sighed softly, his lips now brushing against your ear.

„Tha’s nice“, mumbled an all too familiar scottish voice right there and with that memory came flooding back. „Woah.“, you exclaimed and froze at once. „Fuck.“, you yelled then and leapt forward, out of the bed, only to get your foot entangled and land face forward on the floor were you then moaned in pain. „Shit, what…“ The scotsman sat up, rubbing first his eyes and then his temples. „Lass…“ he muttered, still half asleep, forcing his eyes open in an expression of equal parts hangover, disbelief and smugness.

In that moment your bodily functions lined up to collect overdue debt - you could practically feel your liver texting Doctor McCoy in agony. Your stomach revolted and dizziness hit you in the face like a hammer. „Ugh.“ you got up on shaky feet, staggered over to his bathroom and emptied the content of your stomach into his toilet at once, your hands clenching the white synthetic material.

„I really hope that’s not because ya woke up next to me“, his voice said somewhere behind you. You tried a clever retort, but the situation being as it was you settled for using one of your hands to flip him off. „Yer a bullhead“, he muttered, at which you managed to gasp a „Fuck you“ in-between gagging. „Ye phrased that sentence differently just a few hours earlier“, the scotsman responded but had the general decency to blush. The retort you had expected - what you had not expected was the sound of his feet shuffling closer and him crouching down next to you then. You had not expected his rough hands on your shoulder, collecting strains of your hair from your face with a stern expression and pulling them gently back as you once more gagged - now exhausted, with tears streaming down your face as it often happened when one was in such a position. „I’ll get a hypo from the Doctor“ he said and you felt his hand gently rubbing your naked back. „I …“ you took a deep breath. „Don’t need a hypo.“ You didn’t dare to get up either, though, since you were pretty sure your situation had not improved one bit. „For once, don’t argue with me, lassie. I’m gonna get ya a hypo.“ „I’m .. not.“ „Ya are.“ He got up, left, and after hearing him shuffle things around for a second he was back again, wrapping a blanket over your shoulder. „Cannae have one of my officers freeze do death while ‘am away. Dinnae run away.“

„You what?“ Bones seemed downright gleeful, while Chapel was shaking her head in open disapprovement of McCoys behavior. „Just gimme the hypo, Doctor McCoy.“ The black haired men got up from his chair, walked over to a cabinet and started filing through a couple of dozen different drugs in there. „I should come over and have a look at her, if it’s that bad. She’s probably got a bad case of intoxication.“ „No. Doctor … „ the scotsman sighed and ran his hand through his hair. A night of too much alcohol and bad choices made him look older then he was. „She’s fine .. just a little .. ah … hung over.“ Bones produced a hypo from the cabinet and turned around, brows furrowed. „I should send a nurse with you, I should also,“ he pointed at Scottys neck now, „have a look at that scratch. It should at least be disinfected.“ The scotsman looked surprisingly uncomfortable and shifted his shoulders in discomfort. „Tha’s really not necessary, Doctor.“ he answered, took the hypo given to him and fled medbay. Christine threw the Doctor a reprimanding look, which he answered with a shrug. „You can’t blame a man for trying, Chris. I had hoped to see his back in all it’s glory. After all we’ve heard from that party …“

To your general  lack of surprise you did not feel better when your commanding officer returned. Instead you sat in an corner next to the toilet, wrapped in the blanket and waiting for the next opportunity your stomach would use to take sweet revenge on you. You had of course considered and even tried fleeing the scene of the crime, but you didn’t make it out of the bathroom before you succumbed to your hangover again. He walked over to you with a determination not easy to disobey. Defeated, at least for the moment, and with your cheeks now burning with fire you were surprised by how skillfully he applied the hypo to your arm. And within a minute your head started to clear enough to not feel like being punched in the face anymore and the nausea retreated to a somewhat tolerable level. Bless the Doctor. „I’ve never seen ya silent for such a long time, lassie.“ „I’ll get back to hating you in a second, just give me a moment.“ you growled, refusing his hand and clawing your way into a standing position again. Once you had pulled yourself up you wrapped the blanket closer around your naked body, which prompted him to turn around. „We…“ the word had left your mouth before you could keep it back, prompting you to grab your trousers and your red shirt hastily. „We…“ he answered and as you glanced over your shoulder, he had still turned his back to you. From what you could see of his profile his jaws were clenched and his expression torn between .. whatever. The next thing he heard was the ‚swoosh‘ of his doors.

It was very much possible to walk the walk of shame on the Enterprise, but you only discovered so the next morning, when you walked down to your office freshly showered, in fresh clothes and with a scarf around your neck to cover the hickeys. You could feel eyes quickly turning away and then turning back to you the moment you passed and sudden realization hit you that you and Mr. Scotts make-out session on the dance floor had attracted a certain attention, as well as did your ‚sudden‘ disappearance together. Your cheeks were burning when you entered your office, still feeling sleep deprived and quickly getting a cup of coffee before you hid behind a PADD. Vance and T’Sai where already there but had the decency to not speak a word. In Vance case you knew this would only last for a very short time. You stared at your PADD, ignoring a message there, when Vance raised his voice gleefully. „Morning, Y/N“ Not in the mood for niceties you just shrugged and muttered something under your breath that could be interpreted as everything. „So…“ So it begins, you thought, shifting deeper into your chair and behind your PADD without answering. „You did the Dada with Mr. Scott, huh?“ Your face could not possibly get more scarlet then it was right now. T’Sai lifted both her eyebrows, as to which Vance gladly expanded:
„The vertical Tango? The old in-and-out?“ As T’Sais expression grew more confused by the second, your cheeks explored deeper notes of red. „You held an amorous congress?“ He was definitely enjoying this, while you started contemplating the quickest way to behead another person. „You buried the weasel? You took the ship to Yorktown?“ „I am going to murder you, Vance.“ T’Sai shook her head as she watched the human display of bickering. „You took it to Warp 9?“ „YES!“ you exclaimed frustrated, lurking over your PADD with crimson cheeks for a second only to see Vance cackle. „Yes,“, you added, after taking a deep breath and watching your Vulcan crew mates expression grow ever more confused. „We had sex. Can we now please let the topic .. die?“ Silence fell between the three of you and you went back to stare at your PADD. Wonderful, non invading, sil- „I am wondering though“, it was of course Vance who broke the silence not more then thirty seconds later. „I am wondering too, Vance.“, you answered and put as much ice into your voice as humanly possible. T’sai carefully moved the more delicate parts of her work inconspicuously off the table. „Like when you were at it…“ Vance continued unfazed. „Is it possible to throw a PADD hard enough to bang someones head in?“ you continued your own line of thought. „How did you call him?“ at that you stared at him in utter disbelief, now openly considering your options for homicide. „You sure didn’t call him Montgomery, that just does not flow“, he continued, lifting his PADD as if carrying a shield. You could actually see T’Sai move her mouth silently from the corner of her eyes. „Monty?“ he eyed you suspiciously, now getting slowly up from his chair while you did the same. He sported a flashing grin that would’ve made Captain Kirk envious. „Scotty?“ he continued, parrying a flying wrench with his PADD and ducking behind his chair. „That’s not it, then.“ he paused for a moment, evaluating his options. „Lieutenant?“ you looked around you, grabbed a pencil and threw it - very easy to evade for him. „Sir?“ he offered, then stopped at the expression that flashed across your face and the deep red that followed it. „Oh - my -„ the crimping tool hit him right in the face, earning you a satisfying ‚Ouch‘ in return. “Fuck you, Vance.”

Only later that night, when you lay awake and stared at the ceiling of your room, did you allow your mind to wander through the events of the night of the party. Gritting your teeth you turned around this way and that, before grabbing your PADD from your nightstand and accessing that message from earlier.

„Let’s talk?             - Scotty“

You sighed one sigh of a thousand this evening, before you typed an answer.

„Okay.             - Y/N“

Maybe half a minute passed, tiptoed away through the room when a new message arrived.

„My place? Now?            - Scotty“

For a moment you hesitated, but then got up and slipped into last days uniform.

„Okay.            - Y/N“

You grabbed your last bottle of Scotch, just in case.

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[styx-n-stone]

The Amalgam

Rating: T

A/N: There is honestly not enough Demencia and Flug Bonding fics, nor is there  many Demencia and Flug being badass fics. I actually almost started crying while writing this so.... 

The angsty villainous fic about Demencia no one asked for: 

  Of all the villains within city limits, none had a more mysterious past than the eccentric Demencia. Even Black hat himself has an assumed legend to back him. No one- hero, villain, or otherwise- could even imagine what possible origin the reptilian lady could have possibly had. That being said, no one had ever bothered to ask her herself, so perhaps this mystery had a simple answer? Not that anyone could get close enough to ask.

Then again....

"Demencia, if you don't stop fooling around with that vile it could-" the vile exploded. Demencia giggled and pulled so of the glass shards out of her hair. The scientist sighed and rubbed the ash off his goggles. There goes another week's work. At least he remembered to write the formula down. He sat back at his desk and looked through the drawers. Demencia promptly lied across the top of the desk. Flug looked up at her. "What are you doing?" "Annoying you" she cooed at him. "Get off." He ordered. "No" she replied, flatly. He sighed and moved his work to a nearby table.

"Flugsy why do you do this?" She asked him. He looked back at her. "Do what?" "Work for him?" She sat up, swinging her legs like a child. "Because it pays well." He responded. The answer was quick and efficient. He didn't really feel like explaining the circumstances. "But you're always here, if you had a lot of money couldnt you just leave?" She pushed. Flug really wasn't gonna get rid of her this time, was he?

"I don't want to. Why are you Always here?" He deflected the question back to her. She shrugged. "I wanna be."  His turned back to his work.

was it a bad sign the chemical exploded just by being shook? Maybe he should  revise the formula to be more stable. Less cesium and more-

Flug felt her breathing down his neck.

"what do you want, Demencia?" He asked her. She leaned up against the table. "But why Black Hat?" "Because I owe him." "What do you owe him?" "What does it matter to you?!" He slammed his palm onto the table. There was immediate regret. He looked up into her mismatched eyes trying to read whatever deranged plan she was working. He repeated himself softer, with better word choice. "Why are so interested in what I'm doing? Shouldn't you be fawning after Black Hat or something?"

"He's busy."

of course he is

"Demencia, I'm busy too." Flug turned back to his work again, hopefully to stay that way. It wasn't meant to be. "But I'm bored." She whined, sliding his notes off the table. "What about 5.0.5?" The doctor suggested, picking up the papers. "No. I want hang with you." She sat down on the floor to level with his face. "You never talk about yourself." These words seemed less teasing more genuine. He placed his papers back on the table and sat down. "What's your point? Neither do you." Demencia picked another glass shard out of her bangs. "That's not important."

Flug slumped back in his seat, giving in to her. It was pointless trying to work while she was still with him anyway. She continued while casually picking more shards from her arm. "You've known Black Hat longer than I have. How did you two meet?" The scientist really didn't want to tell this story. "An accident." He simplified it. "Did he hire you then?" She added to the previous question. "No, there was a some.. events that led to that." He simplified another story. "Do you like working for him?" "Yes." "Why?" ok , that was a question he really didn't feel like answering.

"Why do you like Black Hat?" He asked her. She paused and thought for a moment. "He's dreamy.. strong.. powerful..bad.." she continued to describe a generic supervillian. "Ok, better question: why are you so weird?" She went silent. That was a terrible way of phrasing 'how did you get your powers?' Thankfully she interpreted this as such.

That didn't give him an answer.

"Well, how did you get your powers?" Flug deflected this right back at her. "I don't.. i'm not.. you're not answering my question!" He stood up. "Well you aren't answering mine either!" She mimicked him. "Why are you here?!" He shouted, becoming angrier by the absurdity that was Demencia. "Why are you spending time with a bunch of villains?!?! YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING!!" "BECAUSE I WANT TO BE HERE. I BELONG HERE JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO!" She hissed back at him. Demencia seemed more threatening than normal.

"NO YOU DON'T. YOU'RE JUST SOME OVERZEALOUS FANGIRL WHO ABANDONED YOUR FAMILY AND IS TRYING TO IMPRESS YOUR IDOL BECAUSE YOU HAVE IDENTITY PROBLEMS." Flug snapped at her. Demencia lost whatever cheeriness was in her face. Flug realized his fatal error. Her fists clenching seemed mismatched to the expression on her face. She looked like someone had just shot her after promising to protect her. This didn't last.

She bared her teeth at the scientist "you think I chose to be like this" was more of a statement than a question. She was trembling violently. Flug didn't know whether to go over and help her or evade the room for his own safety. He could see her trying to force back the anger starting to leak from her eyes.

"Y-you think.. I want to... to be.." she tried to breathe out the words. Failure only fueled her rage.

"Demencia, I didn't mean-" Flugs apology was interrupted by a table hitting the wall, leaving a dent and a broken mess of wood.

It was at this moment Flug knew how much he royally fucked up.

Demencia let out a blood curdling scream and kicked a trash can in Flug's general direction. Flug ducked and bolted to the door only to have his coat grabbed. The scientist was flung into the opposite wall.

"WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHO I AM." Demencia cries out. Her voice painfully scratching her throat.

Flug maneuvered to his desk and grabbed a ray gun and a gravity orb.  He fired at a potted plant that hurled towards him, vaporizing it. He hid under his desk.

Demecia threw down a bookcase. It's contents landed into a messy pile and was crushed by its holder.

"I DONT EVEN KNOW WHO I AM!" Demencia screamed before breaking Flug's desk in half with her bare elbows.

The scientist tried to crawl away from her but was snatched from the ground. He had dropped his ray gun, which Demencia crushed with her foot.

"Shit." He muttered. He managed to reach into his pocket and activate the gravity orb. Everything began to float. Demencias grip loosened. Flug looked at her, "sorry." He kicked her away and pressed himself into the wall. She hit the ceiling with a heavy thud.

If he could just angle himself correctly he could propel himself to the door he'd be safe.

Demencia had already bounded back to him. She slammed his shoulders into the wall.  The orb had glitches and the two fell back on the floor along with everything else.

Flug was pinned down, weak from his injuries, and at the mercy of an livid super villain. (Ironically, this wasn't the one he had expected to do it)

Demencia threw a punch near his face and broke the ground instead. Her knuckles were red and blue. Her breathing was heavy, she was trying to speak but it all came out as sobbing.  "I.." she threw a weak punch on his arm. "I didn't.." she choked on her own breathing. Frustrated with herself she growled and slammed her fists near his face repeatedly. Flug used what little strength he had to grab her arms. "Demencia, calm down."

She ripped her arms away from him. Flug clinched and covered his face to block another strike... but nothing came.

In fact, she had gotten off of him and curled up in the corner.

Flug sat sat up and looked over to Demencia. He noticed how hard she was clutching herself. She was almost clawing her own arms. There were so many bruises and cuts, probably worse than the ones she gave him. And there were so many scars.

Everything hurt so much.

For a moment, the only noise was the sobs of a broken person.

...

"Demencia.." he finally asked.

There was no response.

"¿Demencia, Estás bien?"

"I never asked for this." She spoke quietly to no one in particular.

Flug crawled over to her, keeping a safe distance in case she lost it again.

"I never asked to have my life taken from m-me... I never asked to be ripped apart." The villain's voice cracked.

"What happened?" Flug asked her. He gingerly reached out to comfort her. She flinched away slightly. He could see a long scar riding up her back through a slight gash in her shirt.

"I.. I can't remember.. anything before..." Demencia struggled to keep her words steady. She could barely breathe. Everything was just building up.

She broke down.

Snot and tears trailed down her face. It was like a dam being burst open. Her body convulsing with all the bitterness and tragedy running through it. She didn't look like herself. She wasn't even the same person as Flug had known a few minutes before.

He watched her like this, unsure of how to approach. Eventually he got up and brought her some tissues. They spent time venting to each other about the past and making up for nearly killing each other.

"We should probably clean this place up. Black hat would literally kill us if he walked in and saw this." Said flug.  Demencia grinned mischievously "Yeah well, it's your lab sooo.." she bolted.

"Wait, what?! DEMENCIA!!" He limp-ran after her. ~~~~~~~~~

Leaning against an adjacent wall Black hat rubbed his chin in thought. He looked over to 5.0.5, who was playing with the sunlight beaming through the window. Black Hat chuckled, perhaps he had underestimated his employees' abilities.

Ain't 5.0.5 so cute? So cute you forgive me for making you feel?...no? Whatever, I don't care. I warned you this would hurt.

[thatsadorbsyo]

far above nexus, six weeks ago

(blood/violence cw)

The silence was almost too much for Kala to bear as she paced back and forth, her clodding footsteps winding in a circle around the single table at the center of a round metal room with bunks set into the wall. Cards, half-crushed beer cans, poker chips, and other leisure time detritus littered the table and floor of the small room where Kala and nearly half a dozen other navy Legionnaires had been forced to cohabitate. For almost nine months they'd been packed in here like sardines for the duration their current tour of duty, and about a hundred more of these pod-like rooms lined the hallways of the ship, all more or less identical. There were many like it, but this one was hers. For now.

The clock above the door was set to Illium Standard Time, registering 15:32. Her bunkmates, all infantry like her, would normally be snoozing behind their bunk curtains or gambling on the floor when they weren't busy with PT or working or needed for a boarding party. Kala had been pulled out of file an hour ago, stopped from boarding a Marauder vessel and sent back to her bunk with no reason given aside from orders to wait for more orders.

The silence made the room feel strange--lifeless and just a little bit wrong. Why was she here all alone? She should be out there with the rest of them, infiltrating pirate ships and cracking pirate skulls. They needed her!

Kala snarled and kicked a mostly empty can with the toe of her boot, watching it ricochet off the baseboard and spin out across the metal floor, foam dribbling from the pop top and beading up in the harsh fluorescent light. She reached up instinctively to flatten her bangs and shield her eyes from the long, bare bulbs at the top of the room, but her hands ran over nothing but the bristly stubble of recently buzzed hair, claws dragging through the tiny mohawk that ran down the center of her head between her neatly severed horns. It was still an unfamiliar sensation, to reach up and feel so much nothing. Her head had never felt this bare.

She was still scratching the base of her horn stumps when the door creaked open to show a familiar red face. Emberhorn, bunk 2 across the room. A good soldier, arguably her best friend on the ship, but a bit of a dick. He owed Kala twenty gold, a fact that she wouldn't let him forget no matter how many times he'd saved her ass from getting split down the middle by Grund. He walked inside and shut the door behind him, tossing an envelope on top of the junk on the table instead of crossing the room to hand it to her. "Mail for Specialist Bladeward." His boots creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed behind his back with an odd formality.

Paper mail could only mean one thing--confidential. Kala picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands, sliding a finger under the sealed edge to pry it open. She knew what was probably inside, and the barely audible suck of air through Emberhorn's teeth when he saw her pull out the periwinkle blue slip said just about everything that needed to be said.

CL Form 8 stood out in bold block lettering at the top, followed by a series of boxes filled in with tiny print. Kala skimmed through for the relevant bits.

...atypical primal instability...

...unresponsive to nanite treatment...

...multiple augmentation requests...

...recommendation: separation from active duty...

...re-enlistment eligibility: none...

"Huh... well, I guess that's fuckin' that," she said, slumping down into one of the chairs around the table while he continued to stand awkwardly across from her. "Bad news, Emberhorn. You've only got, like, three days to pony up, by my count. I know you've got it under your mattress."

He relaxed his stance, crossing his arms in front of him this time and looking down at her. "Hell yeah I do, but you're not gettin' it." Kala raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't need my money, not even for discharge pity."

"I don't want your pity." Kala leaned back, splaying her legs casually out in front of her and crossing her arms to mimic him. "I beat you fair and square, and I've come to collect."

Emberhorn cracked a grin full of jagged teeth and walked behind her to sit down on his bunk, clearly protecting his hoard of loose gold pieces and pornography and whatever other pogey bait he hid under there. "Don't you have bigger things to worry about now?"

"Gods, let me live." She spun around in the chair to face him, their knees almost knocking together. The blue paper still crinkled in her hand as she folded it over, once, twice, and one more time before jamming it into her back pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. "They're gonna have to drag me out of here, you know that."

He leveled a look at her. "I don't know what could possibly be that bad to go back to. You know there are people who would kill to be able to go home, right? Eat real food. Hug their clanmates. Fuck their partners." His yellow eyes watched her from behind tangled black braids, not quite glaring but definitely wondering what the fuck was wrong with her.

Kala winced. "Stop it. Don't look at me like that."

"Like I'm looking at an idiot who would rather re-enlist than talk to her boyfriend? Sure, fine. How would you like to be looked at?"

"Like you're gonna give me my fucking money!"

Emberhorn just stared flatly at her through those frizzing braids--he probably slept on them without re-braiding them this morning, and her fingers itched to fix them--making Kala wish for the second time in the past five minutes that she still had hair to hide behind. His expression was blank and patient, like he was trying to reason with a pup throwing a tantrum. This just made her more angry and less willing to be looked at.

Defeated by the mounting pressure of continued, pointed silence, Kala let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know what to say to him. Okay?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell him you missed him? Tell him you're sorry for just fucking leaving?"

"I can't just--" She frowned, unable to figure out what exactly she couldn't do. "I don't know how to say--"

"That you liked it?" Emberhorn interrupted.

"Excuse me?" A spark of fear and dread trickled up Kala's spine, making her sit up straight.

"That you liked it." He gestured to Kala's horns, or the lack thereof, as if it was painfully simple. "Getting brutalized by that doctor."

CRACK. She didn't even realize she was going to punch him until her knuckles were already singing with pain and blood was dripping slowly from his freshly smashed nose. Good, maybe this time the coats in sick bay could fix it so that his face didn't heal crooked.

"Yeah... yep. Thought so," Emberhorn moaned through a grimace that turned into a rough smile as he wiped blood off of his upper lip with the back of his hand. He nodded through a cough, seemingly to himself. "Bladeward's always been the type who likes to fight."

The second punch was on purpose, and Kala's fist glanced off the side of his mouth, splitting his lip over his teeth. He was ready for her this time, however, and managed to catch her wrist in his hand as she tried to pull away. A quick jerk pulled Kala out of the chair and yanked her over to the curtain that separated Emberhorn's bunk from the rest of the room. She locked her legs and barely avoided tumbling through the curtain, holding herself steady inches away from him, counterweight against the force of his tug.

They held the pose together in silence for a hot moment, balanced together half-in and half-out of the bed. It felt wrong to stay this way but unbearable to break it. "How about you mind your own fucking business, Nazar."

"I'd love to, Kala." He loosened his grip on her arm, making her catch herself before the release of tension threw her backward. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll walk out of here."

"No. Shut up," She sprung forward without thinking, shoving him backward into the bunk and letting her momentum carry her in on top of him, forearms pressing his sternum down to keep his back on the mattress. His breath was loud in the tight space, shallow from the pressure on his diaphragm and slightly wheezy from the blood in his nose. "Stop talking," she whispered this time, her mouth moving quietly inches from his swelling face.

Emberhorn hadn't shown any signs of speaking. The flat stare persisted, giving her a blank canvas, bait for projecting. She wanted to see a challenge, therefore she did.

She wanted to be dared to make a move on him, for that to be what this unspoken push-pull was about, because a predictable narrative about sexual tension between soldiers prone to violent outbursts was way easier than actually having to answer any of his questions of friendly concern. Maybe it was both things at once, because as she stared at him, his eyes stayed hard but his mouth went soft. Emberhorn--Nazar--opened his bruised lips as she bent down for a kiss, letting her taste the blood on his teeth.

The flavor of the kiss was familiar, for terrible reasons and for good reasons that became painful in this fresh context, but she didn't stop doing it.

[barna22]

Plans for a Date

Also on the Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9519767

If the “read more” isn’t working on mobile, then just copy the link to your browser, so far that is the only solution I know of.

Dr. Angela Ziegler looked at the time and frowned. It was 16:23, and she was getting nowhere with her work. There were a few reasons for it, but mostly the problem was that she couldn’t get her mind off Fareeha even if she tried really hard. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but right now it got in the way of her work, which was troubling.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she only heard the knocking on the med bay door when it was accompanied by someone’s voice.

“Angela, can I come in? I’d like to know your opinion on something.” It was Fareeha’s soft voice, and the medic was shaken from her daydreaming.

Angela looked up just as the door slid open and the tall soldier entered, and she immediately froze at the sight before her. Fareeha was… Stunning. She was wearing a black silk dress, which didn’t leave much to the imagination, and as she moved, one could easily make out the toned muscles and fit shape of the soldier. Her cleavage was clearly visible and the dress hid just enough for it to be intriguing, yet still maintaining the elegance that the whole picture painted. Her shiny dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, and the light coming from the corridor made it seem like it was almost glowing with a certain golden radiance- it was truly beautiful.

As she stepped closer to the medic’s desk, Angela noticed how perfectly subtle yet beautiful her make-up was. It wasn’t much, Fareeha didn’t need much, Angela had always thought, but it was enough to emphasise her strong facial features and beautiful dark eyes.

All in all, Angela Ziegler was speechless. She’d never seen Fareeha dress up like this before, and while she has had some rather intimate thoughts about the muscular Egyptian, actually seeing her like this in person was something else entirely. She was elegant and extremely sexy at the same time, and for Angela, it was like one of her wildest dreams had come true.

Fareeha stopped in front of the desk, looking down at the still baffled Angela. She knew she had to stop staring and say something-anything, but somehow, she couldn’t. Fareeha finally spoke, and even her voice sounded better than usual, though that must have been thanks to the complete attention Angela was regarding her with now.

“Hi, Angela. How are you?” She looked across the messy desk of the doctor and raised an eyebrow. “Still buried in work?”

“Ah… I… Yes… Research…” Angela was muttering incoherently as she was still having a hard time tearing her eyes away from the stunning vision before her. She gulped, gathering her strength to finally voice her thoughts, and spoke. “What brings you here?” And why are you looking so amazing? She almost blurted out that last question, too, but luckily she was disciplined enough not to.

“I… Have a date tonight. That’s why I’m dressed this way. I was hoping to get you opinion on how I look, you seem to be at home when it comes to this whole going out thing.”

“A… A date?” She was going on a date? With someone else? Angela’s stomach twisted almost painfully and the room started spinning around her. How could this happen? She thought that Fareeha felt at least similar to her, they had been flirting lightly for the past couple of weeks, this can’t be-

“Are you all right, Angela? You seem  a little pale.” She walked around the desk, her eyes narrowing with concern. Before she could reach Angela, the medic stood up and stepped in front of her.

“Yes. I’m fine, thank you. You look great, I’m sure your date will be charmed.” She couldn’t look Fareeha in the eye. How is this possible? Everything was going so well… “I… I should get back to work now, I have a lot to do. H-have fun tonight.” Suddenly she felt dizzy as she imagined Fareeha in someone else’s bed, touching someone else, smiling at someone else… She was almost going faint.

Had the other woman not caught her, she would have probably fallen and hit her head on the edge of the table as her knees gave out under her. Luckily, Fareeha wrapped her strong arms around her, and held her steadily.

“Are you sure you’re all right? I think you need to lie down…”

It was too much. The closeness of the other, the bitter feeling clenching her stomach, Angela was almost crying at this point. Her voice came out weak and she struggled to hold back the tears as she spoke.

“What happened, Fareeha? I thought that we… That we were… That we could…”

Before she could start crying, through her blurred vision she saw the other lowering her head, and felt an upward push coming from Fareeha’s arms. Before she could say anything, soft, warm lips pressed on hers. The world around her ceased to exist. She could not focus on anything but Fareeha kissing her, and she didn’t care about how this had happened. All that mattered at that moment was that Fareeha’s gentle mouth was tenderly kissing her, and the other woman had her muscular arms tightly wrapped around her fragile body.

When they parted, or more like Fareeha pulled away, Angela was once again brought back to reality. What did just happen? Before she could voice her confused thoughts, the other locked their eyes together and spoke.

“Will you go out on a date with me tonight?”

Oh. Oh. It finally dawned on Angela. She was to be Fareeha’s date. She felt a surge of emotions running through her, and she could only ask: “M-me? You had this in mind all along?”

Now Fareeha seemed to look guilty. She looked away, but was still holding Angela’s waist.

“I… Didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry. I just thought that… If you would say no, then I could just… Pretend I was meeting someone else…” Angela’s heart melted. Fareeha was always so confident and determined, yet here she was, apologising clumsily like a child after they had done something bad.

“How could I ever say no, Fareeha? Though-“ She said, as she punched the taller woman playfully on her shoulder “-You could have just asked me, you know? I almost had a heart attack a few minutes ago. Now you’re going to have to compensate me for that.” She meant that in a not entirely serious way, but Fareeha seemed to not mind obliging at all.

“Oh, I can help with that.” And then their mouths were pressed together again, this time in a much more passionate kiss. Angela moaned in delight, and her hands stated trailing up and down the muscular woman’s arms, neck and then her back, almost reaching…

Fareeha broke the kiss with a grin on her face. “Getting a little impatient, aren’t we, doctor? At least let me take you to dinner first.” Angela blushed, and reluctantly pulled her hands back up to Fareeha’s shoulders. She was impatient after waiting for a moment like this for so long, but if the other wanted to take things slow, then she would happily oblige. They weren’t in a rush, after all, and the most important thing was that they’ve taken the first step.

“Fine�� If you insist. Did you have a place in mind?”

“Of course.” She glanced at her dress. “After all, I’ve come prepared. I found a little Egyptian restaurant in town. The food is really good, and it’s a nice and cosy place. I think you’ll like it.”

“Mmmm… I’ve been wanting to taste some Egyptian for a long time now.” She licked her lips rather suggestively, and thoroughly enjoyed as Fareeha’s composure suddenly crumbled. She seemed to be at a loss for words and looked away as her face was taking up a deep shade of crimson. It was true, though, she’d had the wildest of fantasies about her, and whenever she saw Fareeha working out, sweating, muscles tensing, she couldn’t help but imagine what Fareeha could do to her under the right circumstances. Now though, the other seemed to struggle with exactly the same thoughts, and that amused Angela to a great extent.

After giggling at the misery of Fareeha, Angela finally had a pity on her. “I should get dressed then I guess.” She glanced down at herself with uncertainty. “It could take a while… It’s not like I had time to prepare…”

“Right. Take your time, I have a reservation for 7:30, so no need to rush. How about I meet you at 6:30 here?” Fareeha was still blushing slightly, but managed to give Angela a weak smile. As they parted, Angela felt something similar to deprivation, the spots where the other’s arms touched her now suddenly became uncomfortably cold. She would need consolation for that later, she thought.

“All right, that sounds good. See you at six, then!” She watched as Fareeha turned around with a smile on her face, and walked out of the room while adding a bit of extra sway to her hips. Angela smirked at the sight, then almost flew to her room when the door closed. She had work to do.

When she closed the bedroom door behind her, she needed some time to fully understand her situation. She’d been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time, but admittedly, this was kind of a short notice. Fareeha was right, though, she needed to take her time if she wanted everything to be perfect.

Fareeha was dressed very elegantly, and pretty much everything about her was brilliant. Angela wanted to have a similar effect on her, so she would need to do her best now.

She couldn’t contain her excitement as she ran to her wardrobe. This is going to be wonderful.

[lomaxauthor-blog]

Chapter from the book .House on the Hill.The bogey man

The Bogie Man will get you When I was little my mum used to talk about the Bogie man. She used to frighten me to death. She always said, if I didn’t go to sleep he would come and get me. I always thought of the Bogie man as some kind of demon that creeps about in the night. Little did I know the nightmare would come true and it wouldn’t be the Bogie man who would come to get me, it would be my father. My father was only small and slim with short black hair. He was handsome but he had dark secrets. He loved his drink and gambled and he was always a bad loser and he used to take his losses out on me and my mother. I remember my father being in and out of my life when I was a young child. My mother used to tell me he was working away but it wasn’t till I was older that I found out he was in and out of prison. My nightmare began in 1962. I was just four years old and we lived in Lee Street Farnworth. For whatever reason, I was very scared whenever my dad came near me. I used to shake with fear and for a good reason. Whenever he came home drunk, which was often, he used to scream at my mum to put his tea or supper on. This was when I saw him for what he really was a bully, demonic and a monster in my eyes. On one occasion, I couldn’t sleep. I heard some shouting downstairs. It was about 12 pm. I sneaked downstairs and saw my dad arguing with my mum. He was very angry and was shouting out loud and I was very surprised that the rest of my family hadn’t heard him. I watched in horror as he punched her in the face and grabbed her by the hair to drag her across the kitchen floor. I shouted at him to stop but he carried on kicking her around her body. My mum was screaming for him to stop. I just ran over to my dad and I kicked him in the leg. He turned around and punched me in the face knocking me on the floor. I was screaming and crying out in pain. My mother screamed at him to leave me alone. I just looked at him in pure terror and at that point my dad turned the kitchen table over and walked out of the kitchen and upstairs into his bedroom. My mum was covered in blood and so was I. She wiped us both clean then without a word she took me upstairs and put me back in my bed. This wasn’t the first experience of seeing my dad’s anger and it wouldn’t be the last. I didn’t sleep much that night not because I was in pain but because of the fear of my dad coming in my room. Every time I heard a noise or the stairs creaked I hid under the bed clothes. I was petrified. It was the first time I wet the bed which I would carry on doing well through my early teens. My mum used to put terry nappies on me to stop me wetting the bed and soiling my pants. The second time I saw my dad’s anger was when I was sitting in the kitchen with my mum having a laugh. I heard the front door open and bang shut and my dad staggered into the kitchen. He was obviously drunk and his speech was slurred and it was only 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I remember I was sitting on the kitchen table playing with my mum. For no apparent reason my dad just came over, pushed my mother to one side and punched me hard on my nose. The force was so great that my head hit the back of the wall and blood was pouring out of my nose. I will never forget the look on my father’s face, it was pure hatred. I remember crying furiously and my mother’s look of fear which still haunts me to this day. My mother and I weren’t the only part of the family to suffer. I had seen my dad’s anger at my sisters Diane and my older sister Denise on various occasions. For a while the abuse seemed to stop and there was a bit of normality in the household. My dad wasn’t around and I was told he was working away but I know now he was in prison for a while. When my dad was back on the scene the abuse started again. He carried on knocking my mother around and bullying my sisters. Once my mum was on the top of the stairs and my dad threw her down stairs, he then turned his anger on me and punched me so hard in the stomach I yelped out in pain as I couldn’t breathe. On another occasion, he threw his dinner at my mum’s face and cut her eye open. My dad was now out of control the violence was getting worse and came to head when my dad was choking my mum. The screaming was so loud that Pat, our next-door neighbour, started banging on the door. It was then my dad stopped. I opened the door and Pat came in and shouted “what’s going on?” My dad just walked out and it was then Pat held my mum in her arms and begged my mum to call the police but she just told Pat it would be ok. I carried on wetting the bed at night and on some occasions, I would soil my pants it was obviously affecting me. I was starting to come out in nervous rashes but my mum never took me to the doctors in fear of my dad ever finding out. The violence was intense at times and relentless and there were no holds barred with him. He didn’t care if it was a woman or a young child he hit. Such was the state of his mind!!! My mum seemed to have a permanent black eye as the violence continued. He was a monster and he was the Bogie man who was my nightmare in my dreams but it was all based on reality. The abuse carried on well into my late teens but one day the tables would be turned and the abuse would come to an end but for now the nightmare would continue.

[zeroeffectivemaelstroms]

One Lackey, Two Lackey, Red Lackey, Blue Lackey: Part 4

Summary: A story of young Nico protecting young Will from the bullies. And playing doctor, only to break Nico’s foot. And movie night with unexpected results. A story of their years growing up together. Mortal AU.

Words: 1143

Age: 11

Ever since Bianca died, Nico had taken on a sour tone. Will wasn’t particularly happy about this, but he counted it as a win any time he could make Nico smile, or at least remove any trace of a scowl from his face. Nico was almost always quiet, but Will was used to this. Will would ramble on about the latest medical discovery, and Nico’s eyes would glaze over from all the random terms.

Nico slammed the door on his locker shut, only to see Will standing there, a huge smile on his face. This had become a regular occurrence, but it still gave Nico a heart attack every time, and this was no exception. Nico jumped in fright and slapped Will’s arm.

“How many times have I told you not to creep up on me?” Nico said.

Will began counting on his fingers, his lips moving with the numbers.

“I think that was 34,” Will said completely serious.

“That was rhetorical,” Nico grumbled. “And by the way, I’m supposed to be the creepy one.”

“Well you’re not doing a very good job,” Will complained in a joking manor.

“I’m plenty creepy,” Nico protested.

He gestured to the outfit he was wearing. It consisted of a black Day of the Dead tee, along with an aviator jacket, ripped black jeans with a hanging chain, and worn black sneakers. Not to mention a skull ring and his dark shaggy hair hanging over his eyes. Will leaned back and began stroking his chin, looking as though he was seriously contemplating this idea.

“Nah, not creepy in the slightest bit,” Will said as he began to walk backwards towards the door leading to the buses so he could still face Nico, “And remember- movie night tonight. My house!”

“I know!” Nico yelled, “How many times are you going to remind me before you accept that fact!”

“I think that was the 34th time as well!” Will shouted as he walked backwards out the door, followed by the sound of him tripped.

Nico smiled and giggled a bit at Will’s antics. Will was the only one who could give him that warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Nico always envied Will’s little perfect suburban life, with the little house and the minivan. He was standing in front of said house a few hours after school, ringing the doorbell. The cheery little bell was audible from the inside, as well as a muffled ‘I’ll get it’ from Will and a loud thump.

Will opened the door, one side of his face a bit pink from falling to the floor, with a large smile and the smell of freshly popped popcorn and butter. Friday night was movie night. Something Nico always looked forward to since he could spend alone time with Will, the only person who really made him feel better. Every week they switched houses, and although Nico had a mini movie theater in his house, he found Will’s house to be a lot more fun.

Will dragged Nico inside and straight to the living room and the TV. Covering the little coffee table was the popcorn that Nico smell earlier along with so much candy Nico could already feel the stomach ache he’d have tomorrow. The two boys sat on the couch and immediately started talking. Well, Will did most of the talking, but Nico interjected a few comments here and there.

“You know, for someone who wants to be a doctor you’re quite clumsy,” Nico said.

Will’s face turned red.

“Only when I’m on my feet,” Will said.

“So you’re saying you won’t trip when you’re in the middle of surgery. ‘Oops. I just slipped and cut this red squishy thing that looks like a heart. Is it important?’ Totally nothing wrong with that,” Nico joked.

Will lightly punched Nico’s arm, but both boy were chuckling. Will’s mother walked in putting a coat on, and grabbing her purse and keys.

“So I’ll only be gone for a few hours boys. And remember- the emergency numbers are on the fridge. And if you go through all of this there’s more food in the cabinets. And-” she continued.

“We get the idea mom,” Will interrupted.

“Thank you Mrs.Solace,” Nico said.

“Right, right. I’ll just go,” she said, leaving with a smile.

As soon as she was out the door Will ran over to his cabinet full of movies and tore it open, pulling out dozens of DVDs.

“So,” he turned to Nico, “What do you want to watch?”

Screams blared from both the speakers and Will’s mouth.

“Why did I let you convince me to watch this?!” he yelled at Nico.

Nico, just stared wide-eyed at the screen, frozen in shock and fear. He had dug towards the back of the collection of movies and found some old horror movie. After begging Will to watch it and promising to wear colorful shirts for a week, Will finally agreed and put the disc in. Now they both sat in fear that a woman would walk out of the TV screen in seven days to kill them.

Blood flew in the scene and Will jumped. The popcorn bowl he’d been holding flew everywhere. He buried his head in Nico’s chest as Nico hid his own face in Will’s hair, both boys hugging each other desperately. Will couldn’t help but notice the sharp minty smell that clung to Nico. Being here with his best friend almost made the movie bearable. Almost. But considering the nightmares Will would be having for weeks…

Nico then had the brilliant idea to grab the remote and hit stop, which wasn’t too easy as Will wouldn’t let go and this restricted Nico’s range of movement. Neither of them moved, both still breathing heavily when as the screen went black.

Slowly, they separated, turning on every single light in the house and running into Will’s room. They locked the door and hid under the covers.

“Never again,” Will said, his eyes still wide.

Nico still didn’t say anything. The blood. The blood in the movie. And the shattering glass. The screams. All of it was too sharp. Too real. Bianca. Watching the movie had brought back buried memories from the car crash. He hadn’t shed a tear since her funeral, but they were threatening to spill over now.

Will looked at him, wondering what was happening. The symptoms reminding him of this chapter of a book he had read. It looked as though Nico was going through PTSD. But when would Nico have gone through anything so bad? And then it struck him. Before the entire thought even formed in Will’s head, his arms were already surrounding Nico, and he wouldn’t let go for the rest of the night. Even as they both fell asleep, curled up under the sheets, Will didn’t let go of his best friend.

[ecotone99]

[SF] Matilda and the Golden Calf

When deciding what stories to intertwine and remove from future publications: Matilda were hesitant aboot releasing her life to the public for open scrutiny. She had been nothing more than an odd wide eyed girl that observed her captives as they continued on their miserable ways. She could care not what they said to her as she made them quality sandwiches since she were no longer a slave to the still moving horses that stood East of her now. She now focused on remedying the people that lay below Mt. Diablo with fresh pressed juice and oversized sandwiches. She loved this work and always made sure to sparkle the same way she had when working under the Blue Shield of Hope. She laughed that her new place of employment was named Sirens...after the Greek monsters Matilda had fought in her previous epic poems. This was her decoy: so she decided to gyrate with the irony and work tirelessly to continue to improve herself.

She reflected on her past and enjoyed her melodies that she often hymned to herself as she worked. Matilda has been taught the craft of opera and musical theater in University, and the obvious waste of time was relevant since she ended up with a degree in science and paying forty-five thousand out of pocket. She were always checking in with her Kind Hearted Hunters and smiled thinking of them traveling abroad as non-famous people. They always insisted she try her best, and knew it gave her pride to show them all her awards and recognitions. The couple always wished her wellness and safety, and in their absence they would bring forth their fellow pianist, Mel. Mel were like a mother figure to Matilda: in all her whimsical uniqueness. She had flaming red hair that swirled and twisted, and stood taller than most men whenever she entered a room. Such traits Matilda would ask for assistance in as she developed her peoplehood….things never meant for an orphan to know or learn evidently. Mel would hold Matilda to curb the psychosis brought by eighteen years of abuse and trauma: always reminding her that she were now finally allowed to choose what type of woman to be. She gifted Matilda with the knowledge of her spirit animal: a golden calf named Bessie that stood on her piano. Matilda would always listen to her kind words and acknowledge that they were familiar friends from lifetimes ago. These were the blessing she counted as cried softly as she avoided slumber: scared that someday her life and her ugly story would no longer belong to herself.

Matilda would confide in Mel only of the Viking and her Kness over the span of fifteen years: as she never asked Matilda why she were always single. Such odd demeanor for a decent looking woman working as an actress...yet not worth pressing the issue. Matilda wouldn’t ever waste her family’s time with such matters since they were famous and she were too bored to care. American men were literally the worst in her eyes and so Matilda continued on her task of changing the world instead of frivolously destroying her youth with stressors brought on by two men that had issues keeping their trousers on. Instead of being defined by these two men: she decided to rid her life of both and earned her degree in the process. Mel had always been such a strong female that Matilda held no shame in having feelings, and depended that Mel would always worry aboot her emotional health. Mel taught her the importance of self and womanhood and Matilda looked forward to becoming the woman Mel often believed she were. Unsure of why the songstress believed in her to the ends of the world... for whatever reason. Mel were warm like her papa: always informing her at random times that she were important to the world somehow. Such kind words meant so much coming from another female, and so Matilda trusted Mel with her life. Mel knew that she deserved better but always listened to her bitch aboot these two men: informed enough to believe whatever choice she made...would be more than ok.Matilda knew she were in her prime emotionally, and so she finally turned to fitness and only worried aboot herself.

In an obscure and demented dream: she returned to the hallway lined with doors. As she became lucid to the situation: Matilda demanded to know which door her Kness stood behind. Some enigmatic person reportedly insisted she didn’t want to know: until she interrupted their stammering to inform them of her understanding. She knew why they were being sketchy: stating she didn’t care if Kness was fucking her best friend Krista again. To this ugly heartedness they told her directions and left her to her mission: voiding themselves of whatever she did next as they left. Matilda walked up to the door: feeling his presence on the other side and allowed herself to enter unannounced as she softly turned the handle. Matilda thought it were always funny how people assumed her stupid, and so she simply took a seat and waited for Kness to finish rearing Krista. She made a small clearing in her throat and watched as he turned in rage to see her bemused by the situation. He told her to get out as he thrust his dick harder into Krista who appeared to be putting on an over- the-top spectacle for him, and ignored Matilda all-together. Matilda could care less, as she knew Kness would fuck each of the craters on moon if he could. Such meanness she had always kept to herself.

Dupree would assume she left, and so Matilda finally stood up slowly and elegantly as she fixed her robes...glad she had worn a nice-fitting sundress and heels only to impress herself. She felt her heels click with decisiveness and picked up speed in boredom. She said strictly to the two “you promised to help me find my husband Kness…” as he grunted like a sow and mumbled “not now” to her: she knew what had to be done ...simply from his tone. Matilda had wore this dress only because of its pockets, scrunched sleeves and trickling flowers that fell down the lavender silk....but mostly for the pockets. She gently placed a black metal band beside him on a small table: feeling her heart drop as it clicked in bluntness and captured both of their attention at last. She looked at him as he avoided her gaze: his remarkably handsome features...no longer glowing in her eyes. She only said softly to the couple: “for when you’re done embarrassing yourself”. Placing her own small silver ring next to it and informing the both of them: “This was obviously a mistake, and an error in my personal judgment...I don’t believe I will be needing these anymore Kness.” She watched as he finally stopped thrusting and saw her standing there smiling at the situation. She knew why he always avoided looking at her: in all her feminine splendor, as he often had habit of kissing her whenever she were in fine threads or heels. He now heard what she had said: saw she were indifferent and felt her bored gaze as she stared at him and his flavor of the week: proving she were finally done. Matilda had proudly never doubted Kness and and his many twisted choices in the past, and so it appeared he were finally meeting her for the first time...in this moment. Matilda had inevitably ran out of tears, and knew that at the end of the day... he were only an immature boy, and she alone were accountable for what she allowed him to do to her mentally. She said with one final goodbye: “All I’ve ever done is believe in you unconditionally, and I’m sorry that was never going to be enough for you Kness. You finally got your way and pushed away me and my love once and for all, and that’s ok because I obviously deserve better”. She left the room and ignored him as he finally removed his penis from within Krista and attempted to follow her to the door. Matilda were ready: turning to lock the pair away for eternity: knowing Krista were an Indigenous Warrior until her jealous and unpredictable American side came out whenever she drank or were insecure. The two were both adults and placed in her same shoes for their own actions. Matilda finally gave the key away and ask they hid it from her: knowing the two would no doubt destroy one another emotionally: with their rage directed only at Matilda until they despised one another. She laughed maniacally to herself, as she finally walked away from the nightmare she had endured in and out of her dreams until she questioned reality. Matilda were free at last to laugh and smile with other men, and know that she were doing nothing wrong since she were single and worked so hard every fucking day to be kindhearted. She were finally whole: a woman living and smiling only for herself.

She watched silently during the day, as the white men intentionally began hunting down pregnant women: tackling them down to the ground in packs: marking their foreheads with the word “CUNT” in red as they cried in their unarmed and hormonal rage. The Boar had ordered that women and Doctors be tried as terrorist to the Nation when they refused to bring him new life: only worried aboot the capital the hypothetical persons held. Evidently these idiots had used their citizens to ask for capital and defer the massive debt they owed the world. The Boar were bankrupting the Nation with his sex slaves and their urine drenched depravity, and he had every right to since he were elected. Matilda had nothing to say on the issue: she herself had executed a bundle of cells when her partner began punching her three month pregnant stomach in her sleep, as a fun drink habit. She felt great embarrassment when the Doctor informed her that her growing difficulties breathing were due to outside trauma, and specified that she held bruises on her neck from being choked and large fist size markings on her abdomen. Such shame is only felt by those who live in fear of their captor and so she needn’t trigger her readers with this self-hatred. Matilda were no longer a captive to Vantino Peaches, and so she finally decided it were time to share her story. Matilda had accepted that her soul would never reach “white people heaven” for making that final choice to abort a child: potentially born a monster. Either way: the Doctor had informed her that one or both her and the baby were in fatal danger when she seems delighted by the ultrasound. She would make the choice over and over again if she had to... since there would be no hypothetical baby if there wasn’t a living incubator to carry the monster child to term. She had left this at the end of her rally and war cries... in gift for her readers: lined with her honesty and unending shame. Matilda had been raped, abused, and neglected by Americans as a child, but this Indigenous American man had been the only one to almost destroy her from existence: enraged that he could never break her spirit. A fear she still lived in: since he had informed her the court systems and their restraining orders meant nothing to him.

Matilda now gave the women of her sandwich shop copious amounts of love and affection: often gifting them with free stuff whenever she could and congratulating them for not living in Alabama. To this: women allowed themselves to show their anger, as Matilda made off-handed jokes about how the women were now... the only real men left in the Nation. Asking each other... how the world remained calm while the Boar prepared to execute women and Doctors. Matilda made observation of how the President would suck the dicks of all the men who raped and murdered women personally. Matilda were not a homophobe, so she would just simply use her words to describe the President and his goons as she orally painted pictures of him performing: very deep and soul-sucking fellatio on each and every...shriveled pale penis that stood within his reach. He only begged they vote for him as he allowed them to ejaculate in his thin orange-tinted hair. The white-men lined up around the block: were they waited eagerly to force the President to gently place their erect nub-like penises in his mouth as he had promised. They only sought the thrill of controlling others and now stood masochistic to this elderly President who licked their circumcised tips and gently tinkered with a red button as he sucked better than any Hoover could. He too were only aroused by his abilities to guzzle endless semen as he yelled out loud the codes to nuclear weaponry that held the world hostage as he ejaculated on the red button sitting in an ordinary suitcase. They stood with erect penises in their hands as they touched themselves: waiting and watching the President and his many sexual talents...their prized earning for having painted the word “CUNT” on the foreheads of pregnant women all across the land. Matilda had no way of stopping this madness, and to be honest she began to stop caring to an extent. The Americans had made it illegal for Indigenous Warriors to take up firearm and then they illegally sterilized the women when the men accepted defeat. This had been done up until a kind Catholic President made it illegal, and were executed for his ability to inspire action. He would be executed for attempting to observe the financial distribution of the Federal Reserve and had somehow stumbled across the thousands of illegal sterilizations in the process. The same kind man that had finally halted the Church from US tax dollars to commit Genocide via bounty/kidnapping/forced assimilation. The Americans now lived in their bliss of what their parents had done and now complained that the world owed them ten fold for having spared two out of every ten Indigenous Americans. She had no reason to defend America...YOU did this. Just like Kness: Matilda left these men to view the bed they had made and slowly said goodbye to the women who now called this fucked up situation normal. Matilda knew the US Government had finally gained enough power to impose their very CHRISTIAN laws unto their own citizens, and were left only to speculate how long it’d be until they began sterilizing random American women without consent...just like they had done to her family and those found up North. The Government: now unphased by what colour or religion the pregnant women are: a true face of what built this Nation... now worn proudly as a mask for the entire world to see. Matilda had her hands tied, as she were tired of this argument... tired of Americans telling her to “get over it” as they had done for over twenty years. She were tired of being fetishized and then mocked as a whore by all the women who now dressed up as Matilda... every fucking October: like clockwork. She left this contention at the door whenever she worked as she knew not all women were ugly in heart like Tami Lami Lorral and her endless hate filled rhetoric. The women of the land...now began to smile at Matilda as an equal when she spoke truthfully: despite her current lack of working for the Blue Shield of Hope and olive-hued skin. Matilda would use this time to embrace her inability to fight, and simply enjoy the good company of the intelligent women she gifted with sweet wheats and rye. It were nice, as an Indigenous woman: to have such horrific conversations to find a means to solution, and felt embraced: as the women now elevated themselves to protect each other with their words and knowledge on the topic. It were important to her as a woman “with a lot of passion”: to be eased in spirit, as the women found ways to forgive Matilda with their kindness and ensure her that she were indeed: not crazy. Those two magical words could render the most frantic woman into a confident man. Matilda now only worried aboot the few Indigenous Americans that held serial numbers: that proved they had only mated with “their own kind”. Matilda sighed: wondering how long until the Boar made blood quantum numbers mandatory for all Americans, and not just the Indigenous population. She had finally realized that she had wrote an entire book to set premise for this moment. History would repeat itself, but this time there would be no Indigenous Warriors to come when they called begging for help to defend the land and its citizens from the perverse Boar. Matilda were finally free from men: free to not fight battles that were not her own: free to be her angry self if it meant she didn’t have be uncomfortable anymore. Matilda would use this poem to finally ask the world for forgiveness for having aborted a bundle tissue: void of consciousness and unwanted by both young parents over ten years ago. Knowing it were meaningless as a gesture, but that the context were important for each party to acknowledge. It were now only Matilda taking sole accountability for her own actions: deciding that being called selfish proved that she were still alive. Knowing full and well that Vantino would hunt her down if he ever read this, and that her death to this domestically violent man: were a fate she accepted since she were now classified by the US Government...as a murder. This had been additive poem: to her now finalized book, as she now knew publishing the entirety of her trials would serve in helping her finally forgive herself.

submitted by /u/spacecaptainbrooks03 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/30VnN8P

[bearstarseraphffxi]

The Curse of Music Chapter 2: Respect

“And do you remember what happened next, Vegeta?”

“The White Goddess hid her message as a silver hair of moonlight and tied it to the smallest bird on the full moon to hide it from the Guardian’s eyes. When the smallest bird landed on the window of the prince, it turned back into energy and sang love songs to him. Then he hid his message as a black tread of night to hide in the bird’s shadow as he flew up to heaven before dawn.”

“Yes, that’s right. You know if you keep this up you will be telling me bedtime stories instead.”

“But only the secret ones right, Mama?”

“Yes, always remember these are only between you and me.”

“Mama, I figured out how the Goddess talked with the prince.”

*Giggles* “Oh really? Then tell me.”

“Like this, Mama!”

(Iiiii eeLoeeeVa uOeee)

“How Long Have You Done This?! Has Anyone Else Seen You?! DOES YOUR FATHER KNOW?!!!”

“Mama! You’re hurting my arm! Mama! MAMA!!!”

                                                    ~~***~~

Vegeta gasped awake.

He sat up moaning, his left hand on his temple. He grunts putting it in his lap. “Fucking nightmares. That’s what I get for messing with that instrument. What was I thinking…”

Vegeta then noticed a line of light across his bed. He followed the line to the window were the curtains were cracked open. He got out of bed and headed to the window. He pulled them back and saw the full moon proud in the sky. The skin on his lower back started to crawl.

“Goddess, no wonder I’m hallucinating.” He closes his eyes and sneers, “Hmph... The Goddess…” He looks back at the moon and gripped the curtains, “Leave me alone, you lifeless rock! I’ve destroyed thousands of rocks with more meaning than you!”

Vegeta slammed the curtains shut, but they again cracked open letting in the beam of moonlight. After several cycles of Vegeta cursing and the curtains drifting apart again, he accidently pulled the curtain rod out of the wall.

“Fucking damn it!” Vegeta glared at the broken curtains in his fists then turned it to the moon. “Fine! Be that way! I’ll go sleep in a room where you can’t get to me!”

He grabbed his pillow, blanket and a pair of shorts, then slammed the door as he left.

Vegeta closed his eyes and took a deep breath letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. After several moments, he opened them and looked around the hallway.

“The entertainment room should be my best bet, with that soft furniture and no foreign light sources.” Vegeta kicked himself, “Soft furniture, damn this planet! I’ll sleep on the fucking floor! The kitchen should be bitter cold tile.”

Vegeta dropped his pillow and blanket at the door and walked off.

                                                   ~~***~~

Vegeta passed the sunroom, rounded the corner heading to the kitchen. He suddenly stopped just past the piano after noticing the light was on in the kitchen. Moments later he also noticed the sparkle of broken glass on the floor and a wet stain on the wall.

“Fucking retarded fuckers! No one does this to Fucking Bulma Brief!”

A glass bottle flew into the hallway, smashed into the wall, and added to the pile. Vegeta now smelled the fresh sent of alcohol from the glass shards.

“Shit…” Vegeta thought, “Guess it’s the media room after all…”  

Vegeta turned around but tripped into the piano. His right arm fell on the exposed keys before the fallboard landed on his hand.

“Who’s there?!”

Hearing Bulma loudly knock things over trying to escape the kitchen, Vegeta quickly pulled his hand out and vanished.

                                                   ~~***~~

Vegeta put his left hand over his eyes as he flipped on the light in the media room. He quickly grabbed the adjoining knob and dimmed the lights to almost nothing. He walked down the short ramp to the oversized sectional and stretched out on the black leather covering himself with the throw blanket and quickly zoned out.

For about five minutes.

Vegeta heard the door open and the dimmed lights began blinking on and off several times before someone turned the knock up.

“Who’s in here?” Bulma asked leaning against the curtained walls walking down the ramp.

Vegeta put his hands over either side of his face. “Why won’t the women in my life let me SLEEP?!”

“Vegeta? What you doing here?”

He put his hands across his chest, “I was trying to sleep…” “Oh, Goddess don’t sit — too late…”

Bulma sat down near Vegeta’s head. He sat up and swung his feet on the floor.

“What’s wrong with your bed?” she asked.

“Nothing, it’s the curtains. They’re not blocking out the full moon light.”

Bulma twisted her head diagonally, “But you don’t have a tail?”

“If I still had my tail, you wouldn’t have a house. But that doesn’t mean the moonlight doesn’t have other effects. If I had my choice, I’d be asleep right now instead of talking to you.”

“Hey! Don’t you know who I am?!” Bulma tried to stand but quickly fell forward. Vegeta grabbed her before she smashed through the glass coffee table and sat her back down.

He folded his arms glaring down at her, “You’re Fucking Bulma Brief. I think everyone on the damn planet heard you barking like a rabid hound earlier.”

Bulma’s head wobbled slightly. Then she leaned forward and puked.

Vegeta launched into the air to save his feet. “Did you just try to vomit on me?!” he said hovering over the table.

Bulma answered by puking again.

Vegeta landed on the opposite side of the table. He ran his right hand down his face in disbelief at the situation.

“You’re lucky I need you alive, woman,” Vegeta muttered as he moved the glass table against the wall. He also moved the side tables and anything else he thought could injure her in this state.

“You sit right there until I get back,” he ordered before walking out of the room.

Vegeta shut the door behind him. He growled a sigh before shutting his eyes and concentrating.

“There they are,” he thought opening them, looking up and to the left at the ceiling. “Time to find some bloody stairs.”

                                                      ~~***~~

Vegeta walked through hallways he had never been in before, keeping a bead on the two energies he needed.  

“This better be the right door,” he said under his breath. He tapped the door a few times testing its strength before bagging on it loudly. “Dr. Brief!”

The loud bagging stirred Mrs. Brief first.

*Doctor! Misses! Your daughter requires medical assistance!*

“Doghter… Doghter assistance…” her sleeping brain garbled together. “Doghter assistance… Doghter… Doctor assistance… Doctor…Doghter assistance… Doctor… Dogther assist… Dogther… Doter? Dao-er? Dao-ter? Doctor… Dao-ter assistance… Doctor… daughter assistance… Daughter… Doctor assistance… Daughter… DAUGHTER?!”

Mrs. Brief snapped awake.

*Doctor! Mrs. Brief! Wake up, damn you!*

“Sweetie! Sweetie, wake up!” Mrs. Brief shook her husband.

“Mmmwha…?” he moaned.

“Bulma needs help. Wake up,” she said rolling out of bed. She put her slippers on and grabbed her house robe.

*Doctor! …*

She opened the door.

“It’s about damn time…” Vegeta glared at her.

“What’s wrong with Bulma?”

Vegeta pointed down the hall. “Your daughter is a violent drunk who could have toppled over and bled out on all the shit she’s smashed by now because you took your damn time!”

Mrs. Brief blinked, then put her right hand to her cheek. “Oh! She’s drunk and you don’t know how to handle her. I was worried for a moment.”

Vegeta’s arm and face dropped, “This is a frequent occurrence… ?”

                                                   ~~***~~

“Watch the broken glass,” Vegeta warned sidestepping the pile.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Brief said as the couple looked in the kitchen.

“Good God…” Dr. Brief turned to Vegeta, “What did you do to piss her off?”

“I had nothing to do with this, Old Man!”

“Now. Now. No fighting,” Mrs. Brief intervened, “Let’s just get Bulma taken care of and we can all get back to sleep.”

“I haven’t even slept yet…” Vegeta thought.

They came to the proper hallway. The door is opened.

“Oh crap…” Vegeta ran over, put his hands on the door frame, and stuck his head in. “And she’s gone…” Vegeta stepped away from the door, “Shit.”

“We’ll,” Dr. Brief yawned pointing down the hall, “I say we follow the fallen pictures.”

“…Vegeta you piece of shit…” Bulma’s voice came from the distance.

Dr. Brief looked at Vegeta. “I thought you said this wasn’t your fault?”

“Boys! No fighting. Come on,” Mrs. Brief walked ahead.

                                                    ~~***~~

They found Bulma in the guestrooms hallway. Three doors were opened, with Bulma beating and kicking on a fourth.

“Vegeta!” She slammed her shoulder into the door. “I know you’re in this one! You can’t hide from me! No one tells me what to do! No One! Not You! Not the Social Committee! No One!”

“Bulma! Sweetie!” Mrs. Brief ran forward, “You’re hurting yourself!”

“Momma?” Bulma turned as Mrs. Brief grabbed her.

“Come on, Sweetie. Why don’t we get you to bed. You’re not doing any good here.”

“Momma? Why are… YOU!”

“Shit…” he thinks.

“You!” Bulma stormed over and attempted to poke him in the chest, but only ended up simply punching him repeatedly over his heart.

“No one tells me to just to sit still and look pretty! I am Fucking Bulma Brief! I’m the most powerful bitch on this God damn planet! NO ONE TELLS ME WHAT TO DO!”

Vegeta blushed bright red and formed his fists at his sides, “I never called you pretty, Woman!” Vegeta then jumped backwards as Bulma barfed. “What is with your obsession with vomiting on me?!”

“Now, Bulma,” Dr. Brief walked forward and rubbed her back as she was bent over still spitting up, “We all know how frustrating Vegeta can be…”

Vegeta’s face twisted. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Shhh.” Mrs. Brief put her right arm across him and placed her hand on his left arm. “Getting her to bed is the important thing now,” she whispered almost reading his thoughts.

“But right now, it’s close to 2 a.m. And the sooner you get to bed, the better your hangover will be. So, let’s get to sleep and sort this whole thing out in the morning.”

Bulma nodded and her father put her arm over his neck and began to walk her off. Mrs. Brief nodded to Vegeta, then put her index finger to her mouth. She turned and caught up with her family, taking the opposite side to her husband.

Vegeta silently rubbed his eyes waiting until they were far ahead to follow. He casually glanced at the door. It had a dent with a deep crack in it at shoulder height. Vegeta then inspected the others. All had broken knobs and jams. He finished breaking off the last few fibers of one chuck of wood with the warped metal plate still affixed by screws.

“That slender woman broke through three doors and damaged another?” He looked at the doors and frames. “I know these are laughably frail, but they must be more than adequate for her species. These are doors after all…”

A whiff of admiration poked holes through his frustration thinking of this and her punching him repeatedly earlier.

“Hmph. Nonsense,” he dropped the piece of doorframe and followed.

                                                 ~~***~~

Mrs. Brief lifts the toilet seat and helps Bulma onto the floor. Her husband stands in the bathroom door and Vegeta behind him mouth slightly ajar looking at the filth the woman lived in.

She filled a cup with water and hands it to her, “Now Sweetie. You drink lots of water and try and hit the toilet, ok?”

Bulma nods while swallowing. She then hands the cup back and her mother refills it again and leaves it on the edge of the counter. Mrs. Brief then leans over, kisses her daughter’s head, then exits the room gently leaving the door slightly open to give her privacy.

Her parents then exited the room, to Vegeta’s surprise.

“You’re really trusting her to be alone?” he asked once the door closed.

Dr. Brief yawned, “She’ll be fine.”

Vegeta pointed towards the wall at the bathroom. “Excuse me for not trusting that woman not to drown in the feces receptacle after everything I just went through!” he said as loud as he dared.

“Vegeta,” Mrs. Brief started, “I understand you care about —”

“All I care about is the gravity machine being fixed,” Vegeta said crossing his arms.

“Then why are you blushing?” Mrs. Brief singsonged.

“Don’t provoke him,” Dr. Brief scolded.

“Oh, fine,” she sighed. “But Vegeta, as long as you stay quiet you can stay. Just behave yourself, ok?” She winked.

Vegeta didn’t know what she meant as she said it, but then she gave the same undeniable wink as her daughter.

“I AM NOT A RAPIST!” Vegeta howled as his energy exploded out around him.

Pictures ripped of the walls and Mrs. Brief’s robe and night gown rippled violently as she put her hand up to shield her face. Her husband grabbed and shielded her.

“I have done more than enough to earn an eternity burning in Hell, but Rape is not one of them!”

Vegeta stalked forward, “Killing is completely natural, predator and prey. Rape is a perversion to all life!”

The door knob turned. “Mom, what was that?”

Vegeta vanished.

“That sounded like Veg—” Bulma opened the door and saw her parents in each other’s arms with ruffled hair, clothes and her father with slightly crooked glasses. The picture directly behind them was also fallen off the hook and leaning against the wall.

Bulma blinked a few times. “Never mind…” she shut the door.

“Wait. Let me help you…” Mrs. Brief opened the door and went inside closing it behind her.

“That was close…”

Dr. Brief looked up and saw Vegeta flat against the ceiling. He hopped down, then looked himself over. “It’s terrifying that the ceiling in the hallways are cleaner that the sleeping quarters your daughter utilizes.”

He looks up at the doctor. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Dr. Brief walked up to him and extended his hand.

Vegeta looked down at it, then back up at his face. “What are you doing?”

“Offering to shake hands, Vegeta. It is a sign of respect on Earth.”

Vegeta crosses his arms. “And what brings this about?”

“I don’t know how things are out there in space, but on Earth a man who would consider taking advantage of a woman as drunk as my daughter is right now a rape is rarer than a blue moon.”

“And?” he asked annoyed.

“I’m trying to say I trust you with my daughter, Vegeta.”

“I could still kill her, you know.”

Dr. Brief smiled to his surprise, “I thought you wanted the gravity machine fixed?”

Vegeta shook his head, but the door opened before he could open his mouth.

“Sweetie,” Mrs. Brief pokes her head out, “Bulma’s gone into the crying phase. I think I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

Vegeta turned to her, “So she’s deteriorating like I said she would?”

“Yes, Vegeta. You were right.” She turned to her husband and moved her hand in a dismissive fashion, “Now you go to bed, Sweetie. Vegeta, I want to talk to you for a second.”

“All right,” Dr. Brief yawned, then pecked her on the cheek, “Good Night, Dear.” He turned and walked away, “Good Night, Vegeta.”

Mrs. Brief exited about half her body out the door to talk.

“If this is about showing respect, your husband already did. There is no need to ‘shake hands’ again.”

“I see,” she smiles, “Good for him. But thank you, Vegeta, for being a decent man if not a good one.”

“Before you go,” Vegeta stops her from reentering. “What is a ‘blue moon’?”

“Oh? Did he use that to describe you?”

“Yes. He said, I was ‘rarer than a blue moon’.”

“Well, normally there are only 12 full moons in one year. But, sometimes, I’m not sure why, a 13th sneaks in. That is called a ‘blue moon’.”

“Isn’t the number 13 considered unlucky on this planet?”

“Usually, but a blue moon is actually lucky. There’s one in the next couple days, in fact.”

Vegeta ignored the phantom pain that suddenly shot up his back. “I see. Good Night, Mrs. Brief.”

“Good Night, Vegeta.” She slipped in the room and shut the door.

Vegeta turned around, then stopped suddenly and put his right hand over his face growling. “Goddess damn it! I still need to find a place to sleep…”

[araneaes-order]

In the Bleak Mid-winter Ch. 3

LAST HERALD-MAGE FANFIC

Fix-it…ish. canon mm

Young Stefen, living on the streets, found out someone was looking for him and decided to lay low, avoiding the mysterious stranger in red, so he’s never taken to Haven by Bard Lynnell. It was an unfortunate decision, but in spite of it, he and Van do meet up, just later, and under less kind circumstances. Basically a redo on the ending. ~55k words Finished.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Visit my master list

Word Count: ~4960

Rating: Mature for, sorry, lots of bad stuff, rape, sexual abuse, child abuse. Canon was pretty dark, especially what I was redoing here, so’s this.

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: We see something of Stefen’s life over the last few years. Also this is where we cross with some of the darkest events in canon. Mind the rating and the warnings. 

They rode through the night and much of the morning, Stefen only kept awake by the rough, punchy gate of his little mount. There were mountain passes only the bandits who claimed these woods knew, where only their stocky, sure-footed ponies could climb; once they’d reached them they had little fear of the guards catching up to them even if any of them noticed in time that the Herald and minstrel were gone. Stefen was in no hurry to reach ‘home’ but he couldn’t put it off either.

Rendan’s hall was hardly worthy of the name, but it suited the bastard who’d claimed it. Largely lacking in amenities, and barely more than a tumble-down hovel for all its size, Rendan wasn’t the sort to waste time and men on repairs.

In the winter—so most of the damned year—just like the guard post, they didn’t bother with the kitchen, just roasted meat and stewed up boiled whatever over the fire in the great hall. The boy, Damen, took care of that, though he got little thanks for it. Rendan had tricked the poor thing into coming to live with them while Stefen had been with Master Dark and the kid counted himself lucky if cooking was all that was asked of him when Stefen wasn’t there to keep Rendan and his men off.

“Oi, and what pretty little snow hare did you bring us back for dinner, eh?”

Stefen’s mouth twisted in disgust but he knew Gerth wasn’t talking to him. He slid off the unpleasant pony, dodging both its snapping teeth and its side-stepping attempt to trample his feet. “Back off, you, or I’ll make a blanket of you yet,” he hissed at it.

“Got the Master’s boy, sure enough,” Tan answered, dismounting and hurling the Herald back over his shoulder again with a hollow, meaty thud, letting Gerth take the horse. “Was our sweet Stefen ran him to ground though. He did alright. Might be time we stop leaving the little bugger behind when we go hunting. Good as bait even without Master Dark’s tricks, I reckon.”

Stefen’s hands fumbled at the pony’s reins so badly the ill-tempered beast managed another snap at him. He wanted no credit for bringing the Herald to them and he certainly didn’t want to give them ideas of dragging him along on their raids.

He knew better than to respond though. Instead he wrestled the pony back under control and silently took the reins of Tan’s mount from Gerth and led both animals away.

Stefen let himself into the hall as quietly as he could.

He needn’t have bothered though, Rendan and his men were entirely preoccupied with their guest. Many of Rendan’s boys originally hailed from further south, but had been driven hard into the far northern wilderness beyond the border, Heralds ever on their tails. There wasn’t a one in the lot who didn’t fully deserve to dance a hangman’s jig, but that didn’t stop them from blaming the king’s men, and especially the Heralds, for their sorry lots now.

Stefen winced and broke through the circle gathered around the Herald. They were holding him up like a rag doll, and Heverd was driving his fists hard into the man’s torso like he was just a training dummy. Gods.

He headed for the fire where Damen was turning the remains of a deer on the spit in a slow, mechanical measure, though he stopped first to fill a dirty bowl from the barrel of beer always given the place of honor on the table in the center of the room. Damen side-eyed him as he took a seat beside the fire and tucked his gittern against the wall.

“Want a bowl?” the boy asked, not to be caught shirking, though Stefen wouldn’t cuff him or rat him out to Rendan if he hadn’t.

He just shook his head and reached for the flask in his breast pocket. A small measure added to the beer would make things better. As better as they ever got for him.

Damen didn’t say anything else, not until Stefen had taken two long sips, with a weary, bow-headed pause between. Old Berte—he’d been so prickly towards her and her vices once, but he knew now what peace dreamerie could provide when nothing else did. It went down bitter but the clouded mind it left you with couldn’t mourn for choices made or choices never given. Gods forgive them both.

“They’re gonna kill that ‘un,” Damen said quietly and Stefen groaned a little, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. As a liquid instead of smoke the dreamerie was more potent, but he also seemed to be adjusting to it faster. He’d need a double dose to really push the world away and he was running low. The blood price on the Herald’s head should be worth a good size bottle, and spare him having to deal with Master Dark again for a bit, not that he wanted to think about that.

If the boy would just shut up—but no, even if Damen kept his tongue, Stefen would still hear the grunts and thuds and jeering of Rendan and his men as they played with the Herald.

Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, living legend, savior of the meek and the lost inside his borders and beyond, brought down from grace by a worthless street rat with a pretty voice and a quick hand at doctoring a drink.

“They won’t,” he promised the boy as he stood and moved to the corner and the threadbare pallet that he’d claimed as his bed long ago, before they’d had Damen to tend the fire. “They don’t dare. Master Dark would flay us all.”

He turned his back on the wide-eyed, shivering boy and pulled the piece of cloth that passed for a blanket up over his head.

For a while, between delayed sleep and the little bit of dreamerie he’d portioned for himself, Stefen was able to escape, but he woke to Damen, sniffling now, hunkering down beside him in the corner.

“Wha’s’a matter?” he slurred and yawned at once.

The boy’s expression was haunted but he just shook his head and hid his face against the wall, curled up and looking half his already meager years.

Thrice damn it, they hadn’t killed the Herald after all, had they? Stefen wondered in alarm, panic forcing him to his feet for a better view of what was going on on the other side of the room.

Rendan and his gang had been at the beer too long, the taste of it permeated the air. The Herald was laid out across the bench near the door, tied to it, belly down. The bench. He’d have known what had spooked Damen then even if Rendan wasn’t in the process of undoing his trews and Tan wasn’t holding the man’s head up by a fistful of silver and black hair and crooning in that awful way he had.

Shiteshiteshite. Too far was too far, even for Stefen.

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, weaseling in between the eager observers who hadn’t already crashed into drunken stupor on whatever surface was convenient. He grabbed Rendan’s hand before he was done freeing himself.

“Wait now! No need to waste that ona fucking Southn’r like ‘im!” he tried to purr, but the dreamerie tangled his tongue and made his words come out slurred. It didn’t do enough to dull the pain when Rendan backhanded him hard enough to send him flying, skidding on his arse across the flagstones.

He’d expected it. He welcomed it. He was too old to be of much interest to them anymore, Tan in particular liked them much younger, and they were mostly bored even of knocking him around these days, but he was younger than the Herald and unlike the Herald he was conscious enough to cry out and cower, both definite attractions to this crew.

He crawled back to Rendan’s feet like he couldn’t keep himself away, feigning at being more drunk than he was.

He was also damned good with his mouth, if he did say so himself, and with more than music.

Rendan only shoved him away in disgust one more time—perverted shaych fucker, he muttered, like Stefen was the disgusting one—before he gave in with a sneer and fisted Stefen’s hair to pull him closer.

When the last man wandered away, sated, Stefen collapsed against the bench where the Herald was still bound. He wiped at his mouth, not sure, with his bleary eyes and so far from the firelight, if the wetness he found there was his own blood or something worse. His head spun, he couldn’t catch his breath and he desperately wanted to vomit but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His hands shook as he set his pants to right.

A darting glance showed him Damen had taken the bed in the corner, hidden under the blanket, facing the wall. He didn’t have the stomach for this life. He wasn’t as practical as Stefen had been, even at his age.

His stomach heaved and his head fell back and he cracked it on the bench, seeing stars for a moment. He licked his lips and the taste made him instantly regret it.

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there before Damen shook himself free of the blanket and his own memories and started scampering around the fire to gather a chipped bowl full of melted snow and a rag torn off a dead man’s shirt.

Stefen closed his eyes, hating the boy and the Herald both. I’ve done this for you more than once too, you damned little git, he thought. He didn’t remember anyone ever taking a punch for him, let alone a cock up the ass. He turned his head and subtly tried to hide his tears against the Herald’s soft, quilted doublet.

He heard Damen’s sharp gasp when he was still a few feet away and opened his eyes to find the boy stopped, chewing at his lip, worry carving lines too deeply in his young face.

“He don’t look good,” he said, eyes past Stefen, on the Herald.

He didn’t look good? Stefen was the one who’d—

But he craned himself around to check the Herald and his breath caught just as Damen’s had. The Herald looked more than half dead. His face, turned to one side against the rough-hewn bench was a mess of bruises and swelling, probably a broken nose, definitely a split lip, but worse, under the rising black and purple he was frighteningly pale, utterly bloodless, and his lips had a blue tinge.

Not daring to breathe at all Stefen reached for the high collar of his shirt, fumbling it aside to feel for the pulse in his neck.

His breath was a shuddering sob when he managed one and then, “Rendan!” he screamed.

Even Rendan had the wit to look a little worried when he felt the Herald’s weak, thready pulse for himself.

“He’ll probably be fine—” he started to say, no conviction in his voice.

“He’s on death’s door, you idiot! What the fuck were you thinking?” Stefen’s words were cut off in a gasp when Rendan grabbed his throat and used that grip to pin him to the wall, lifting him so the toes of his boots strained to find enough purchase on the smooth stone to keep him from choking.

“You’ll mind that sharp tongue, boy. I can do worse to you, right enough,” Rendan growled through gritted teeth, his foul breath washing over Stefen and doing as much as the grip around his throat to make the world spin and darken.

But he’d left him enough leeway to shake his head, a little. “Good! Because what Master Dark’ll do’ll be worse than anything you can come up with. Kill me now and face him yourself!”

Rendan’s own younger brother was a good enough example of that: when the nights were calm enough you could still hear him screaming, and it had been years. Even a painful death was better than one that just wouldn’t come.

He frowned and let Stefen down, but didn’t take his hand away.

“The damned pretty boy needs help,” he mused, looking over at the Herald.

“He needs a goddamned miracle!” Stefen squawked. “He needs—”

“A Healer,” Rendan announced slowly, a smile stretching his lips.

“A miracle’d be more likely. There’re no Healers within leagues of here and with the storms—”

“I have a Healer,” Rendan said.

“You have a…”

Rendan nodded and grabbed his cloak where it’d been flung over a pile of still unsorted plunder. He stopped in the doorway to look back at the frightened circle of his men—and Stefen.

“You!” he barked at Stefen. “Take care of him. If he’s not still breathing when I get back I’ll just see if I can’t come up with something to rival the Master’s tricks—before I hand you over to him. And the rest of you lot, keep your hands off of both of them or I’ll cut them all the fuck off when I get back.”

Every man there turned away as soon as the door closed, not willing to even breath too hard in the Herald’s direction and risk being blamed for worsening his condition.

Not that Stefen could imagine how his condition could be any worse, short of death itself, which would probably be a mercy at this point. He should’ve just let them bugger him to death, saved himself the pain and the Herald the lingering, he thought, using the knife from his boot to carefully cut the Herald loose.

He stared at him hopelessly. He didn’t stir, not in pain or complaint or even just restless dream. But he was still breathing.

“Damen,” he called over his shoulder. “Go grab me some blankets from Rendan’s bed.”

When Damen returned they made a nest of the blankets and a few musty pillows and Damen helped him lower the man onto his back in this softer new refuge.

They stripped him and Stefen was aware of the irony, considering how hard he’d been trying to keep the man in his clothes only a short time ago. The rest of him looked as bad as his face: broad, darkening bruises and a maze of cuts all laid over a whipcord lean body that didn’t look like it had any reserves to spare for surviving such a brutal assault. His hands and feet and head were like ice, but his chest was so hot it seemed to scald Stefen’s hand as he used the rag and the melted snow to try to wipe away the crusting and oozing blood.

Between his pallor and his fever, Stefen would’ve laid odds that he was bleeding internally. He wouldn’t survive the night, let alone being transported to Master Dark, unless Rendan came through with his Healer quickly. Stefen wasn’t certain it still wouldn’t take a miracle, Healer or no, to fix what Rendan and his men had done.

He finished cleaning him up as much as he could do with a rag and water and pulled the rest of the blankets up around him, leaving only his head uncovered so he could breathe.

With his back to the room, Stefen touched the ruined face, under the guise of turning it as gently as he could towards the light for a better look. It would be best if he never woke at all. Stefen could smother him with a pillow before Rendan returned—even if the Healer was good enough to put the broken man back together, Master Dark would surely just rip him apart again.

And it was Stefen’s fault for bringing him here. For giving him to Rendan and his jackels. It didn’t matter that he’d had no choice, that a command from Master Dark was a death sentence to those whose efforts failed, or that he was Rendan’s cur, dependent on him for everything and due for worse than just a beating if he tried to run off again.

He ran his thumb through the air above the swollen, cracked lips, and felt the soft puff of the Herald’s feeble breathing and knew he couldn’t do it.

With a sigh of frustration he sat back on his heels. “Get my gittern,” he snapped at Damen, who hadn’t gone far from his side since he’d returned with the blankets.

If he couldn’t help him and he couldn’t free him, at least he could make sure that if the Herald still felt anything, it wasn’t pain.

“Outta the way, half-wit,” Rendan growled, toeing Stefen away from the Herald with unusual gentleness.

He blinked, scrambling to his feet to allow the stranger Rendan had brought to take his place at the Herald’s side.

“What in the hells did you do to him?” the older man demanded, going to his knees and rolling the blankets partway down the Herald’s chest before stopping to split a glare between Rendan and Stefan.

Stefen didn’t care whether the Healer blamed him or not, he was dizzy from playing so long and his throat was parched.

Gods, and how long had it been? he wondered. His fingers burned and cramped when he flexed them, and he stared down at them as though he didn’t recognize them. They didn’t even feel like they were still fully a part of him.

“Don’t worry none about that,” Rendan said gruffly, but Stefen could still hear the worry behind his words. “Just fix him up neat. Master Dark wants him alive and you’re the one he’ll want to talk to if you botch it.”

It was an empty threat, but the Healer couldn’t know that, and he paled. Or maybe it wasn’t completely; Stefen wouldn’t put it past Master Dark to level the forest and everyone in it for the loss of the Herald, as bad as he’d apparently wanted him.

“Then take yourself off and let me work,” the Healer snapped pointedly and after a short stare-down Rendan snorted and withdrew, filling an old mug with beer and taking it to nurse across the hall, literally kicking one of his lackeys from the seat he wanted.

As soon as Rendan was gone Stefen felt something bump him in the back of the arm and he turned to find Damen standing behind him with a clay goblet full of beer.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even meet his eyes but Stefen took it gladly and folded his legs beneath him to sit again and watch the Healer at his work. He could mix in another precious dose of his dreamerie, even just a few drops, to take the edge off. But he couldn’t help feeling he’d need to be sharper than it would leave him for whatever was coming.

Because something was definitely coming, he thought, as the Healer put one hand on the Herald’s forehead and one on the center of his chest, and closed his eyes.

The beer did soothe his throat at least, though his fingers continued to ride an uncomfortable edge between numb and burning and he rubbed them absently. Near as he could tell he’d been singing a good six hours; it was a wonder he’d hadn’t played his fingers down to nothing and sung his voice away entirely.

“What’s he doing?” Damen asked.

“Healing magic,” Stefen said, wincing at the way his words came in a croak.

“Will he really save him?”

Stefen shrugged. “Who knows?”

“What happens to us if he don’t?”

“Just don’t think about it—”

The Healer’s head shot up and he pulled his hands back to grab his knees so tightly his knuckles showed white. His eyes blazed and his face was drawn in tense, hard lines. “He’s as near to death as anyone I’ve ever seen. I don’t even understand how he’s still alive. But he won’t be much longer if I—” He stopped, inhaled deeply, and shot a quick look over at Rendan before turning back to Stefen. “I can’t get in to heal him, there’s some sort of barrier.”

Stefen’s eyes widened. The damned powder that was keeping the Herald quiet was keeping the Healer from his work?

“I can take it down—” His thin smile said he had some idea what that would mean, but not enough, if it didn’t frighten him. “—if that’s all right?” he finished. “I can’t do anything for him with it up.”

Stefan looked at the Herald, still and quiet as he’d been since he’d drugged him. Even if he hadn’t been aware of everything that happened since—good, if it meant he wouldn’t remember the beating at the hands of Rendan and his men, or what Stefen had been up to afterwards—when he regained consciousness he would probably remember the last face he’d seen before he’d gone under, which would mean it was Stefen he’d be after.

Demonslayer. Shadowstalker. Valdemar’s Vengeance.

Shite.

Stefen licked his lips and nodded.

The Healer returned his hands to their places at the Herald’s head and chest and closed his eyes again. If he could actually do this…

Stefen snaked around and grabbed Damen’s wrist.

The boy jerked and then froze at the unexpected touch, his expression one of terror and betrayal.

“Go to the storeroom and lock yourself in and don’t come out no matter what you hear,” he told him.

For a moment the boy just looked at him, paralyzed by fear.

Stefen shook him, harder than he’d have meant to. “Go!”

As soon as he released him the boy took off running. Stefen watched him shoving the heavy door of the storeroom closed behind him—the door was still cracked when there was the first sign of movement from the Herald.

A gasping breath, deep, ugly, shuddering.

Rendan and his men took no notice.

The Herald opened his eyes, bloodshot, the silver of his irises standing out even more.

Half the roof exploded, like a giant had reached down from above, torn it off and crumpled it in an enormous fist, allowing the debris to rain down over the hall, dust and snow and sharp bits of wood and stone and mortar. Stefen dove to the side, close to the wall, hiding from the worst of the falling rubble, which was so far mostly concentrated over Rendan and his crew.

They’d been completely engaged in their beer and dice games until then, but after picking themselves up and shaking away the strange, wooshingsound that had accompanied the violence, they’d grabbed their weapons and were squaring up to face their attacker.

The Herald was clambering to his feet as well and his eyes weren’t just bloodshot, they were glowing an infernal red. The Healer had been knocked aside at the same time the roof had exploded and lay crumpled against the wall, unmoving, and Stefen didn’t know whether the brave fool lived or not. Either way the Herald paid him no attention, and neither did he look at Stefen, who kept himself very, very still while the Herald stalked across the remains of the hall to Rendan.

He spoke, but his voice was low and deadly quiet and Stefen couldn’t hear what he said over the wind that moaned across the open roof of the building like breath at the mouth of an open bottle.

Three of the men, Resley, Gerth, and another Stefen couldn’t see, suddenly fell to their knees, screaming so loudly he could hear them even over the wind. Some of the others panicked, scrambling away from their fallen companions, others, hardier or more foolish, stood their ground, but none dared advance.

Then out of the sky above them, still swirling with falling snow and bits of the roof, a finger of lightning reached down like an arrow and struck Gerth, lighting the hall with a terrible glow, leaving a smell of ozone and burnt meat and a smoldering, black pile of refuse. One after another the lightning took out all the kneeling men, as though they were no more than ants being crushed by a capricious child.

Who’s next? Stefen thought he heard the Herald say, but he couldn’t be sure.

Two men, Kef and Jess, tried to make a run for it, stumbling through burning wreckage for the door, but the Herald waved one hand and both of them flew at the wall as though they’d been struck by cannonballs, and they hit the stone and timber with such sickening crunches that Stefen wasn’t surprised that they didn’t rise again from where their bodies fell.

Five more went to their knees, screaming like Resley and Gerth before them, unholy screams, like something was tearing them up from the inside, until the lightning silenced them each again.

Stefen couldn’t find pity for them. Rendan’s men were black-hearted brutes without exception, but he couldn’t stand to keep watching as the Herald picked them off.

Hoping the Herald remained distracted, though he fully expected to face him soon, he shuffled forward along the wall to the slumped Healer. The man was not only still breathing, but he was already stirring, twitching at Stefen’s cautious touch and stretching from his crumpled position with a pained expression.

“God’s, what’s going on?” he asked weakly, blinking and clearly unable to focus on the massacre happening before them.

“Shhh!” Stefen hissed. He’d had some vague thought of shooing the man through the door that was only a few short feet away, but the old Healer was so woozy he doubted he’d make it without help and he didn’t trust that the two of them moving together wouldn’t attract the Herald’s fury.

He couldn’t stop thinking now that the Herald-Mage was accounted a hero in all the songs out of Valdemar—but the songs that came from Karse called him the demon. How could this much power, even if used against evil men, be anything but evil in itself?

Surely the magic wasn’t endless? Surely he would tire soon?

Stefen let himself collapse against the wall. His hands hurt when he used them to brace himself and adjust his position and it took him a moment to remember why that was. Could it have been such a short while ago that Rendan had stopped him playing?

Across the hall there were only three left standing: the Herald, Rendan, and Tan. The Herald could have been the stone effigy of some ancient god, naked and beautiful in it, even with the bruises like blooms of darker stone in white matrix.

It was quiet. Even the wind had calmed. Had that all been the Herald?

Tan moved stiffly away from the two other men and picked up the shaft of a spear, broken at each end by the carnage that had gone on around it. The Herald made no move to take the weapon as Tan brought it back, and held it out between himself and Rendan.

They each took a stiff, unwilling step towards the sharp points of broken wood nearer to them.

He’s going to make them impale themselves, Stefen realized, and turned his head so he didn’t have to watch.

The door of the storeroom caught his eyes—because it was creeping open. He tried to shake his head in warning, but Damen wasn’t looking at him, hidden in the shadows of the wall by the bench, a direction the boy had never liked to look too often anyway. The boy’s eyes were wide on the wreck that had been made of the great hall: the bodies, the fallen ceiling, the scattered fires, the little whirlwinds of snow.

He took a faltering step out into the room, not seeing anything but the chaos the Herald had left, not noticing the danger he was stepping blindly into.

He was closer to the Herald than he was to Stefen and the Healer.

Stefen held his breath, hoping the Herald would remain focused enough on Tan and Rendan that Damen would have the chance to run either back to the storeroom or to the door.

The gods protect fools and children, Stefen had been told, but he’d never found that to be true.

Damen’s shocked gaze finally fell on the strange tableau the Herald made with the robber lord and his man, and he gasped, a sound so loud in the silence that had fallen that Stefen could hear it clearly from his place by the bench.

The Herald whirled, hand outstretched to the boy, a white glow kindling in his empty palm. His face was already looking more like it had when they’d first met, the bruises fading, the swelling diminished. A terrifyingly beautiful face with no mercy in it.

Stefen flung himself to his feet. “Damen!” he shouted, distracting the boy and the Herald both.

Though that glowing, outstretched hand turned menacingly towards Stefen, the Herald’s eyes clearly tracked the boy, who’d immediately started running, even when Stefen himself ran a few paces to meet him and shove the child behind his back.

Stefen was panting with fear, not exertion, so lightheaded he had good reason to hope he’d pass out before the Herald turned his powers on him. Damen was clutching his hands, burying his head in the small of his back. It only struck him then that Damen would probably have been safer if he hadn’t let him come hide behind him. If the Herald called his lightning on him now, Damen would be caught by it.

He forced his breath to steady; forced away the black edges of terror closing around his vision; forced his spine to straighten and his chin up, and stared square into those disturbing silver eyes.

Continued in Chapter 4

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[gwassysworld-blog]

memory time line born - 7 years old

1980 my parents were married. My mom had just turned 18 and my dad was 19-20ish...

1982 I was born by cecsarian and almost died due to strangling myself with my own legs, yup I was coming out butt first. my mom was in labor with me for 24+ hours and makes sure she tells me about this as much as she can.. and anyone else who has a delivery story she makes sure to tell them how much pain and torture gwassy was to have.. no happy memories.. no stories of me as a baby... just 24+ hours of hell... so when I was born we moved into my grandparents den (my dads parents). Nan and Pap who were also still fairly young. Nan was not ready to be a Nan as she still had a 6 and 10 year old at home.. and pap was never really to be a dad, and definetly not a pap.

1983 my brother was born 9 months after myself and he was premature which led to the well known pneumonia story and how little and precious he was... so my parents now have 2 babies under 9 months old. my mom always tells the story she had me potty trained by 10 months because she wasn't going to have 2 babies in diapers... maybe I'm a genius... doubtful.. but what baby do u know can go on a potty at 9 months?? so we obviously we outgrew the den and my parents built an addition onto my grandparents home for us to live in. basically turned there garage into a 6 bedroom duplex.

1984-85 I was 2 and 3 years old.. I have no memories.. no stories.. except one. I remember laying on this metal table with bright lights over me and there were doctors and my dad standing around me. I remember a few days later riding a big wheel thru a hospital pulling an iv bag behind me and that I was so excited because it was the first day I was aloud out of the hospital room. ... story is I had a lump in my neck that traveled into my face and eyes.. I don't remember what it was called.. some big word.. but it caused damage to my eye muslces and they never grew any bigger

1986 I was 4.. this is when my memories start... when I was 4 my first sister was born. the only child my parents planned and their absolute love. I have so many memories of me and my brother, yup we were 4 & 3 wondering playing between these strip of 6 houses in a row that had kids to play with. they are all pretty well spaced apart houses and they all sat very far back from a very busy road. but me and him, by ourselves would go from house to house to play with who ever was available to play that day.. meaning my mom really never had any idea where we were.. there was this tunnel that ran from one of the houses side yards and it went under the road into a big field across the street.. big storm tunnel. we used to ride our big wheels in there and pretend we were ninja turtles. maybe that was normal back then to let your kids roam like that.. I mean that's how it always was till I was a teen ager and then my parents wanted to know exactly where I was all the time, as long as they were sober enough to comprehend me telling them where I was... que serah.. woooooosah

1987 I started kindergarten. I was on a bowling league and I was good! I remember having a lot of friends at school, the letter people were so much fun to learn, I got in trouble when my brother told on me for kissing one of the little boys who lived a few doors down. I was grounded to my room for 2 weeks.. once I was ungrounded I went to play with the little boy.. I got a huge splinter in my hand on the way there from the bridge that goes over that sewer drain. I was in tears when I got to his house. the boys parents were not home but his older teenage sister was watching him.  as soon as I walked in the door she yelled something about me being a little slut.. yes I was 5.. already crying from this piece of wood stuck, sticking out of my hand, but I'm hiding it cause I'm so embarrassed.. this girl goes to hand me an anniversary card, laughing hysterically, her parents just had theirs and she thought it was funny to pretend like it was for me and her brother.. she thought it was cute.. probably didn't see any harm in it ... so add to my embarresment.. I ran and hid in the woods for a few hours till Pap came and found me. whooped my ass for taking off and I was grounded again... why didn't I go home as soon as I got the splinter? maybe I was so excited to be out of the house that I figured I would get in trouble for the splinter and wouldn't be aloud back out.. that's my only guess cause that's also how life continued to go on. I have no idea why this memory sticks out so much for me. its one of my earliest clearest memories of a whole event..  

1988 I'm 6 my youngest sister is born. I remember swimming in my moms parents pool, there was a pink sky at the time and papa told me I had another sister. so yup were up to 4 kids now... first grade.. the only memory I have from 1st grade is that I used to cry all the time... I remember having to go to my moms parents house while they went to conferences, they came back to my nanas afterwards and talked with me about why I was crying all the time at school... I don't remember the answer I gave them.. probably didn't give them one, but they told me that if I could go all day tomorrow without crying they would buy me a receese candy bar. so the next day at school I remember going up to my teacher and telling her that I was sorry for crying all the time but I couldn't even get the words all out before I started crying telling her.. this bothers me to this day because I don't no why I would cry all the time.. I mean theres a lot of reasons I would cry all the time.. but I wish I could go back to that little girl and tell her its ok.

1987 I'm 7 years old. 2nd grade. my mom and nan decide to have this garage sale.. well its sunday and its time to clean up and normally every sunday we go to my moms parents house for dinner. my parents were in a hurry got all us kids loaded in the car and didn't feel they had time to help clean up. I remember sitting up in the car looking out the back window. I could hear my pap yell at my dad and tell him he better help clean this shit up before he leaves. next thing I remember seeing my pap swing at my dad and punch him in the face. that's it, that's all I remember.. next thing in my brain were moved out of my dads parents house and living with my moms parents. luckily in the same city so I didn't change schools, but close enough to the schools that nana could walk me to school every day. this is the age I first remember feeling love. we only stayed there for about 2 months. but my moms parents were amazing people. I would eat cereal with my grandpa every night and sit on his lap and watch old black and white shows. I was happy. then we moved... still in the same city.. they found a house.. another duplex.. in a row of duplexes and I met my first best friend.. her mom was like  a mom to me, I was always with them, family events, holidays, even when she would go stay with her dad on the weekends.. I became like a sister very quickly.. this is also the time I remember my parents starting to go out.. all the time, every night... we either had a baby sitter.. who would rob our house when we weren't home and would take me and my siblings to parties while she was watching us... or we were at my moms parents house, I didn't mind tho.. it was life.. and papa and nanas house was the best!

This is about the first time I remember getting “cramp cramp cramps” pains through my muscles... awful cramping. but it was only once a week and the doctors all said they were growing pains.. no big deal.