#i still got some bloody bruises and healed up wounds on my butt from the wooden paddle xD

[joyful-downer]

Just wanted to share with you guys that I spent my weekend inside a prison for 24 hours (over night) and it was a lot of fun!

It was my first time taking part in a live-action roleplay, let alone a kinky one. And I can't wait to go again next year (if nothing gets in the way)

Not to brag or anything, but I got pegged and mouth-fucked by two female guards with straps at the interrogation room. 👀

Also it was a lot of fun to make cannibal jokes and tell a guard in the face that he looks delicious (which, despite him knowing my intentions, he took as a compliment xD)

[bump1nthen1ght]

Dangerous Liaisons (Reader x Tentacle Monster)

Pairing: Male!Kitsune!Reader/Tentacle Monster

Genre: FWB, Dark Fantasy, Sado-Masochism

Warnings: 18+ content up ahead! Description of blood and cuts, Mentions of past dub-con/rape (none depicted), Mentions of past murder, Just some bad people y’all

Word Count: 1695 words

Summary: After one of your neighbor’s kidnapping goes awry, you decide to make up for his lost prey.

Request: hi! i fell in love with your tentacle write, now my absolute favorite, so i’m here to request another one if you don’t mind. for this could it be a male tentacle monster x kitsune male reader? and instead of being traditionally good natured, reader’s of a more dark/evil-esk nature, as well as open minded to whatever kinks. esp anything rough, sadistic, & bloody. Tyvm!!

The cave floor is cold, icy compared to the humid air of the summer day. Sweat beads at your shoulders and your temple as you walk in, the shade a nice relief from the setting sun. You thread your tail in between your fingers, eyes drifting to the drying pool of blood near your foot.

“Another one bit the dust, huh?”

A deep gurgling sound crawls through the dark at the center of the cave. The looming stalactites and pitch-black emptiness might have scared away any nearby travelers or the mortals of the village, but you know what hides here; It’s not that scary.

To you, anyway.

“No….escaped.”

You roll your eyes, walking deeper inside until you see the familiar form of your pitiful neighbor.

He isn’t terribly damaged, only one long scratch running up one of his tentacles. It’s one of his larger ones, so the poor little morsel he had captured must have shocked him enough to run away and avoid any of the other tendrils.

“Tch, figures.” You chide, kicking a rock his way. “Seems you’ll have to move caves again. There will be adventurers here by tomorrow morning to kill you.” You brush off the dust from a nearby boulder, plopping your butt on it as he moans in pain. “This is what you get, Nio. You got too greedy, kidnapping mortals to partake in your ‘fun’”

A lone tentacle throws a pebble at you, but you dodge. A set of golden eyes peers out from the mass of limbs, furrowed in anxiety. You had only seen the form he used to lure his ‘playmates’ a couple of times; It resembled a handsome young man, only entirely purple, with shiny skin and placating smile. It was just tall enough to peek out from the cave and attract any wanderers, coming close enough to be snatched up by his tentacles, stolen away for his sick fantasies.

“Besides,” You click your teeth, “They break too easily. How many have you gone through now, six? Seven?”

“.....Nine.” Nio hisses, rubbing soothingly over his slowly-healing wound.

“See? Insatiable, you are. It’s not a very respectable look, you know.” You stand up from your seat, sauntering over to where Nio huddles in the corner. You rub your neck, feeling the sweat pooled at the base, and your robe falls down to reveal your shoulder. Nio’s eye’s flit from your exposed skin to your flicking tail. A lone tentacle, dripping with a viscous ooze, slowly wraps around your ankle. You chuckle, the damp air slowly reeking of Nio’s pheromones.

“But it’s your lucky day.” You undo the strap of your robe, letting it fall down your chest and exposing your form to Nio’s greedy eyes. “Because I’m a little insatiable too.”

Nio’s pupils blow out in excitement, his tentacles shifting as he slowly reveals his form. The tentacle around your ankle begins to travel up your calf, leaving a trail of slime behind it. But you yank away your foot and stomp on the tip, Nio squealing in pain and jolting backward. You smile, his yipes music to your ears.

“Just because I’m giving you my time doesn’t mean you're the one in control, idiot.” You throw your robe to the side, slicking your hair back between your ears, “Now you can touch me.”

Two more tentacles approach your legs, far more cautious than before. But when they reach your legs, you allow them to fondle your calves and your thighs, that thick ooze making your skin light and tingly. You let out a long sigh as you let the slow-burning lust of Nio’s aphrodisiac slime run through your body. You don’t need a lot, but it’s a definite plus of these rendezvous the two of you have.

You walk forward, Nio’s hungry tentacles easily latching on to your soft skin. They skirt around your erogenous zones, knowing what punishment awaits if they do anything without your direct permission. But one tentacle craves the pain, and tentatively fondles your balls.

Your deep groan descends into a snarky chuckle, letting the tentacle press against your perineum and even prod at your asshole. But with quick precision you grab Nio’s wounded tentacle and dig one of your claws into his wound.

All of the tentacles around you shudder and tighten as Nio shreaks, but none of them detach, even as blood drips down your fingers and onto your palms. You pull out your thumb from Nio’s flesh, the tiny wound reopened from your prodding, and take a long lick up your wrist. Crimson stains your jaw and lips, smearing as you lick your lips from the taste. It’s iron-like, but just a little bit sweeter than mortals. It’s another plus of sleeping with Nio.

You relish in the taste, putting on a show of rubbing your bloody palm up and down your chest. Nio’s eyes squint in frustration, but they dart up and down the red trails left on your skin.

“That hurt?” Nio nods and you lick your lips once more. “Good-”

You’re left wheezing as the offending tentacle shoves itself past your asshole with no warning. Another tentacle wraps itself around the base of your cock and squeezes hard. You keel over from the sharp tension and fire that is stoked in your belly. You look down at the offending  tentacles with a sneer, but you can’t help the small moans that escape you as you’re stretched open.

“Oh, we’re playing that game h-huh?” You mutter, thrusting your hips into the tight, hot grip of the tentacle around your cock. That tingly sensation now buzzes across your shaft, the tentacle alternating between playing with your tip and holding your balls in a vice grip. But the hand you use to yank back his bleeding tentacle is swift, controlled.

Blood falls down the appendage in small rivulets, the wound slowly rehealing before you lick the tip. You let your tongue roll out of your mouth, licking up the tentacle like a frozen treat, just avoiding the open wound. Nio’s groans rumble through the cave floor and up your body. You sink your lower half into his grip, more tentacles coming to support (and grope) your ass and thighs.

Your hand squeezes Nio’s trapped tentacles, claws retracted, and coerce it further down your throat. Saliva and blood drips past your lips as it  goes even deeper, thrusting against the back of your throat. Droplets fall onto your hard cock, now covered in a mixture of Nio’s ooze and your pre-cum.

The tentacle in your ass has become sloppy, it’s pace haggard and quickly losing focus on your prostate. To kick it back into gear, you nip the tentacle in your mouth with your teeth, pulling it out completely before giving it a kiss.

“You’re so greedy, Nio. Isn’t this supposed to be a partnership?”

Nio growls, but you can see the burning lust in his eyes as they take over your debauched mouth. Your lips are bruised from the blowjob, your skin sweaty from the myriad of sensations attacking your body all at once. You kiss the tip of the tentacle again and give him a wink.

The tentacle inside your ass picks up speed, going even deeper than before and paying extra attention to your pleasure spot. You smirk, slowly reinserting the tentacle back in your mouth.

“Good boy.” You sputter, Nio’s tentacle hungrily forcing itself down your throat once more. It presses hard against your gag reflex, ooze spattering over your cheeks as it plunges in and out of your mouth, soon matching the tempo of the one inside you. With each jolt of pleasure running up and down your abdomen is another shuddering thrust into your mouth.

You take deep breaths, compensating for the thickness currently blocking your airways. Despite his roughness, you do feel Nio slip a tentacle back to the base of your tail, petting your fur with light touches as another one punishes your asshole.

Aww, what a softie.

You can feel a tightness beginning to cinch in your stomach, your cock weeping globs of pre-cum, spurred on and on by Nio’s aphrodisiac. The tentacles coveting your body thrash with abandon, shuddering as their movements become messier and messier. A tentacle presses up against your insides, barely leaving your asshole before pushing it back in with an uneven pace.

You moan, heading rolling backwards as you feel your climax approaching and your  muscles preparing for a big finish.

But right before you can approach that peak, a large tentacle wraps itself around your neck, and squeezes.

You barely hear Nio’s raucous moans as your throat constricts around his tentacle, the rubber band finally snapping as you orgasm. Your hips jerk into  Nio’s grip as ropes of cum spray across Nio’s body and up your navel. He is quick to lap it up, the tendrils soaking in it as the pet your skin.

Nio let's put another booming growl as hot liquid shoots up your asshole and down your throat, viscous and sweet like nectar. The heat feels like heaven against your sore muscles, dripping out  of your holes and down your skin as Nio finally pulls himself all the way out of you.

You collapse your body against the cave wall, sweat and cum coating your skin as you  slide down to your bottom, cringing from your ass’ sensitivity.

The air is thick, reeking of bodily fluids and sex. The pool of blood has long dried, barely leaving a dent on the cacophony of scents in the air.

After catching a breath, you stretch your arms upwards, craning your back before pushing yourself back to standing. You bend your neck too and fro, your tail lazily swinging behind you.

You approach Nio, still quivering from his climax, and grab your robe. You sling it over your shoulder and brush your hair back.

“I’d suggest you get going soon. We don’t want any stupid knights to come and ruin our fun, right?”

Nio gurgles, eyes drooping as he sinks back into his mass of tentacles, exhausted. You lean down and pat one of them.

“That's what I thought.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ash can I maybe have some soft vampire chris, or soft early chris? Pleeease? :3 -theo-

Not sure if this counts as soft, @boxboysandotherwhump, but...

CW: Vampire whumpee turned caretaker, blood drinking, bad guy death, caretaker turned whumpee,

The duct tape across his mouth feels like a fucking insult more than a gag, and Jake glares at the asshole pressing it in over his lips. The guy meets his gaze with a cockeyed grin.

"Oh, don't look so put out, you're the one who had to come downstairs and interrupt us. Just stay right there, still and quiet, and we'll be in and out before you know it, bud."

He gets a pat on the head, and Jake jerks away from it, his mouth trying to curse without being able to open. The tape pulls painfully and he holds back his wince.

He kicks out, but the guy dodges it easily. His hands are taped behind his back, wrapped again and again with the damn duct tape until it feels like they're cutting off his fucking circulation.

He'd come downstairs for a glass of water, that was all. Just a drink to help himself get ready for bed after finishing up an essay at 1:30 in the morning, and he'd found out people had broken in only when he more or less walked in on them taking the TV right out the front door.

A gun to his back had gotten him on the couch, and now he felt a little bit like the whole roasting chickens you buy at the store all tied up with twine.

"In and out," A second guy agrees, taking Jake's game consoles from the entertainment center right in front of him. "No need to be all fussy about it, man. Not like you aren't insured, right?"

"Cutie like you shouldn't worry about anything." The first guy ruffles his hair.

Jake kicks out again, and this time it lands.

He feels the pain of kicking with bare feet and doesn't care, what matters is the expression of almost comical surprise on the robber's face as he connects with his knee and sends the guy crashing to the ground.

"God damn it!" The guy rubs at his knees, glaring up at Jake before he pushes himself up, pulling the gun out of the back of his pants where he'd kept, swinging his arm to hit Jake across the face with the butt of the pistol.

The pain cracks bright and white in his mind, behind his eyes, and he groans, muffled by the tape.

"Have some fucking manners!" The man snaps, and hits him again, the other side of his face. Pain, again. Stronger than the ache in his cheekbone, though, is Jake's anger.

How dare these assholes? How dare they? Nat is just trying to help people, and here they're walking around robbing her, and she's a better person than she should be, than anyone should be, and how. fucking. dare. they?

He kicks again, connects but the guy stays up this time. He just starts hitting Jake, over and over, with the butt of the pistol.

Again and again.

On the final blow across his forehead, something feels like it snaps, and Jake's thoughts scatter apart, replaced by a dizzy sickness as the world spins crazily. He slumps to the side, dropping onto the soft couch cushion. He's bleeding from his head, now, he thinks.

Head wounds always bleed so fucking much.

At least he can tell the ER doctors the truth about how he got this one.

There's a soft hissing sound that starts up, and Jake can't place it. He blinks once, twice, but he's having trouble focusing. He has a moment of wild incomprehensible worry about if the kettle is about to whistle, if the water is boiling for tea. The two men, though, glance to the side, towards the entryway to the house, where the stairs are, in confusion.

The house is dark. It's 2 in the morning by now, and everything is mostly silent in the world, just the soft buzz of the streetlights by the sidewalk, the occasional rumble of a passing car, and... a strange, nearby hissing.

"What the fuck? Do these idiots have a cat?" Guy 1 grabs a flashlight hanging off some kind of weirdass toolbelt he wears and shines it towards the stairs.

There's a sudden scuffle near the stairs, and the hissing ramps up in volume, becomes a wild, shrieking, inhuman scream.

Jake can't see that far, but he dimly hears Guy 2 exclaim, "Jesus Christ, what is that?!"

"Oh, my God!"

Movement.

The scream seems to echo, to hang in the air, the sound of an animal who feels only fury.

The flashlight drops, shining pointlessly into the corner of the living room, on nothing at all.

Jake stares into the darkness, struggling to see, as one of the men, the one who pistol-whipped him, falls backwards as if pushed, knocked onto his back onto the floor, and... something lands on top of him.

It occurs to Jake that it's Chris just as the little vampire drops his head to the man's neck and then quickly tears to the side, slitting his throat as easily as Jake might cut through butter with a warm knife.

There's a spray of blood, and Jake flinches as some of it lands on his own face, on the couch, spreads across the floor.

Chris raises his head, his eyes reflecting in the dim light, glowing like a cat's with pupils slit with focus, his bloodied mouth open in a snarl.

His fangs seem longer than they were last night.

The man beneath him struggles, weakly, already dying. It takes moments before he goes still.

Chris raises his eyes, and the soft hissing starts up again as he turns to see the other man just as he moves to run.

Jake watches the guy make it to the door before Chris lands on his back, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him back inside, slamming the door. He jerks the man's head back, forcing his spine to arch, baring his neck for the fangs that bury there.

The man stumbles backwards with Chris hanging off his back. He makes it one step, two steps, three, and then drops onto his ass on the floor, clawing at Chris, at his hair, his face his shoulders.

His mouth is open in a scream, but the sound seems so far away, like it can't fight the volume of Chris's shrieking battle-cry from before, the wild call of a hunt.

The vampire locks on, and as the venom takes hold the man's fight suddenly ceases. He slumps, seated on the ground, chin dropping to his chest.

For a second, the only sound is the sickening liquid noise of Chris swallowing, again and again. Then he purrs, the rumble loud enough to echo through the room as he drinks, soft satisfied little hums making their way out of his throat. His hands knead of the man's shoulders where he holds him, like a cat kneading its paws into a blanket. It lasts a few seconds. Less than a minute.

It feels like forever.

When he finishes, he pulls away, stands up, and lets the man's body drop onto its back on the ground, the slack, wide-eyed expression lit by the beam of the flashlight still lying on the floor.

Chris turns to look at Jake, and his mouth and his shirt are drenched in blood. It's everywhere, and he looks every inch the monster vampires are said to be. Bloodthirsty and thoughtless, except that he doesn't look like he's still hungry or hunting.

He looks worried, and a little bit scared.

And so, so very young.

So... human.

"Jake?" His voice is slightly thick, and Jake tries not to think about why it sounds that way. "Are, are, are you okay?"

Now how in Christ's name does he answer that question?

He just shakes his head - pauses - and then nods.

It takes a couple of minutes for Chris to get a washcloth, wetting down the edges of the tape, pulling it free of Jake's mouth and then wetting again, bit by bit. It hurts less than it would otherwise. All Jake can smell is blood, and he gags, but at least he doesn't throw up. He's got that going for him, right?

His head throbs, until Chris leans over and licks the wound torn open across his forehead. The wet cool tongue is slightly rough, and Jake shudders in disgust and then...

Then, the pain in his head is simply gone.

"Wh-what-"

"Ssshhhh," Chris says, softly, pressing at his cheek, watching him wince. "I, I, I can't heal the, um, the, the bruises. Those are underneath. Does-... does, does anything, is anywhere else hurt?"

Jake blinks, and slowly shakes his head. "Chris, have you-... have you killed people before?"

Chris meets his eyes, and gives a very small smile.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before, um. Before... you."

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 4

Takako shook her head, eyes wide. “What the heck was that?” She shuddered in revulsion. “Ugh, he had hairy legs and everything. He could have at least shaved. How did someone like him become a magical girl!” Nothing remained of the second floor after the magical girl’s assault. The entire area had been vaporized. The gang members of Lotus Butcher cowered in terror, fearful the girl might unleash her wrath on them next. “They’re gone, yet I still detect that strange presence.” The fairy said, turning his attention towards the frozen Seina. Sweat trickled down her brow, realizing how helpless she was at the moment. “I feel it too.” Takako twirled the guns in her hands in thought. She sent a frosty glare in Seina’s direction. “You must be the real magical girl.” I need to do something. If they’re evil, I can’t fight while frozen. An idea popped into the magical girl's head. “Hey, can you unfreeze me?” Seina whispered towards Masato, who trembled in terror. “We might be next. She really hated your boss. Who knows what she’ll do to his men!” Seina wasn’t being entirely truthful, playing on his fears, but she needed to free herself somehow. Much to her relief, the thug nodded. “I can! Please save me! I don’t want to die!” Masato whimpered pathetically before striking Seina in the neck. Much to her relief, movement returned to her body. She released the thug’s arm. Her grip had left a nasty purple bruise, leaving Seina a little guilty, promising to be more gentle with normal folk in future. Even if this one had sort of deserved it. “Why didn’t you do that sooner? You could have saved yourself from getting thrown into a cement pit. I would have saved you.” The thug blushed embarrassed, before coughing into his fist. “Didn’t occur to me. But hey, now you can defeat that evil magical girl! We had a deal!” Masato ran behind Seina, using her body as a shield. Takako watched this entire exchange in amusement. “So you’re the magical girl of this universe? So lame. You allowed a bunch of thugs to get the better of you!” “Very lame.” Her fairy said, nodding in agreement. Seina grunted in annoyance, not liking their tone. “Who are you, anyway? What do you want? What do you mean the vampires should be running the planet?” Takako rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You don’t get it? Did your partner not explain anything?” Seina bunched her hand into a fist and opened her mouth for a nasty retort, but two newcomers paused her words. “Seina, thank goodness you’re okay!” Colten said, landing on her shoulder. “Sorry we’re late. Those thugs gave us more trouble than we expected.” Mr. Kiyojiro said. “We saw the strange explosion.” “Seina, who are these people?” Colten gave the new magical girl a wary eye. “Call me, Lily Annihilator. Just the baddest, most evil magical girl around.” Takako spun her weapon around and ended in a stylish pose. “Nier, partner to her badness!” Her fairy added. “Why did you defeat the vampires? Explain.” Takako asked. “Because they’re bad guys, and it’s the right thing to do?” Seina replied. It still shocked her that this girl had proclaimed that magical girls existed to cause suffering. The world was terrible enough already. Why add to it? “The right thing?” Takako broke into mocking laughter, unable to believe her ears. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those lame hero types. How embarrassing!” “She even looks lame. Who wears pink?” Her fairy companion added. “Pink is my favorite color,” Seina replied, her tone terse. What was with this girl’s attitude? “Too bad. Now I’m here to fix things.” Takako said. “At least someone is taking our magical girl duties seriously.” Seina clenched her teeth. After spending a moment to regain her composure, she gave Colten a meaningful look, pleading for some answers. Were magical girls just villains all along? “Not, now.” Colten’s little voice broke. Guilt washed over his tiny features and he turned aside. “We need to deal with her first.” Takako snorted and slung one of her pistols over her shoulder. “If you can. I’ve been a magical girl for almost three hundred years. You’ve been one for what? A few weeks? You can’t compare to me.” “Well, uh, wait, what?” Seina asked in alarm. “Uh, did I forget to mention that magical girls are immortal and don’t age?” Colten gave a nervous laugh. “Colten!” Was she stuck in a ten-year-old’s body for the rest of her life? She didn’t want that! Humans just got the ability to drive cars again. They’d never allow her behind the wheel now! “Now’s not the time. Evil magical girl!” Colten said, pointing towards their common foe. “Okay, you’re right. But we’re having a serious decision after this.” Seina let out a breath, centering herself. She couldn’t afford any distractions. After extending her hand, she summoned her staff. Takako blinked before she snorted, fighting back laughter. “Is that a bubble blower, really?” “It’s a staff, and it’s a perfectly valid weapon.” Seina straightened her posture. “You’re a strange one.” Takako tilted her head. “Your aura is bizarre. I couldn’t even tell you were a magical girl at first. Ah, well. It’s about time I kick your butt.” “Yeah, you’re about to die, poser!” Takako’s fairy friend said. Here it comes. Seina tensed. This was her first fight against someone on her level. Could she win this? “I’m getting out of here!” Lotus Butcher’s thugs ran for the hills, fleeing before everything got out of control. The dark magical girl didn’t bother stopping them. Instead, Takako focused her attention on Seina, mouth extending into a confident smirk. In an impressive display of skill, Takako spun her guns around before pointing them at her opponent. “Goodbye!” The walls around Seina exploded, leaving nothing but rubble and an enormous crater. None of the bullets, however, even touched Seina. “... Ha, very impressive! You have some guts. I admire your gusto, newbie!” Takako said, puffing out her chest, though Seina detected some red on her cheeks. “You’re just saying that so we don’t notice that you completely missed her. Can you even aim with those things?” Colten replied. Come to think of it, when she shot up Dreven, she just shot in his general direction not really aiming at him. “Shows what you know! I never miss!” Takako shot back. “You’re just too lame to see it.” Now’s my best chance! Seina darted forward, catching her opponent completely off guard. Takako howled in pain as her staff struck against her chest and sent her flying across the city. Seina blinked. “That was easier than expected. I hope I didn’t hurt her too badly.” Several minutes passed, and Seina feared the worst. Thankfully, a bloody Takako dragged herself back to the scene of the battle. It took several minutes for her to reach Seina, her limp making it difficult to walk. “Lucky shot.” Takako’s voice was ragged and held a great deal of pain. “Nothing compared to me of course.” “Are you okay?” A concerned Seina asked. “Wow, we hurt her pretty bad. Maybe you should run off somewhere and treat your wounds?” Colten said. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. No one can defeat me!” Much to everyone’s shock, the dark magical girl turned her white pistol against herself. “Healing shot!” Green light surrounded Takako. Like magic, all her wounds disappeared. Her breathing returned to normal, appearing good as new. “How did you do that?” Seina asked, amazed. “It’s my power,” Takako replied. “I can make my bullets do whatever I want. Creating a bullet that completely restores my health is nothing. Your little lucky shot was worth nothing!” “Magical girls are amazing!” It made Seina feel stupid that she could only smack things with her staff. Takako was on another level entirely. “Seeing how you’re quaking in your boots, how about you run off and cry somewhere?” Takako said. “Uh.” Seina blinked, unsure how to respond to that. Did the magical girl think she was winning already? Takako snorted and twirled her twin pistols around. “Well? Ready to run, or what?” “We could not fight? We could be friends instead?” Seina asked. Despite everything, she was grateful that the magical girl had saved her from Dreven. The situation might have turned nasty if she hadn’t arrived. “You don’t want to fight, huh?” Takako puffed out her chest. “Already lost the will to fight, have you? You aren’t worth bothering with. Let’s go, Nier.” Without another word, the magical girl vanished, leaving a baffled Seina behind. “Eh?” Did I lose? What was with that bizarre tough girl act? “What a weirdo,” Colten said, flying up to her. “Seems like you scared her away.” Though Mr. Kiyojiro seemed troubled and Seina could guess why. Did this mean more magical girls would come to fight them? “Let’s round up the rest of Lotus Butcher’s gang and return home,” Seina said. Colten still owed her some serious explanations, but the bad guys came first. The vampire’s gang had vanished. Only Masato remained, huddling in a corner. “Who is this Lotus Butcher, anyway? We owe them a butt-kicking for impersonating you!” Colten said, his tiny mouth twisting into a snarl. “Uh, I’m sure you’d believe me if I told you.” Before Seina explained further, Takako appeared from nowhere above her and fired her pistols upon her. Much to Seina’s surprise, the bullets exploded into nets. They wrapped around her, fastening themself to the stone floor. “You again?” The evil magical girl smirked and flicked her hair. “Did you really think I would leave with defeating you? I knew if I made you lower your guard, you’d be easy pickings!” “That’s just dirty.” Seina struggled against her bonds. Despite her enormous strength, they proved too difficult to break. Trapped, again! I need to stop dropping my guard. “You got her, great!” Nier said, hovering around Seina’s head. “Emiyo will be most pleased,” Takako said. “Seina!” Colten’s tiny paws pulled at the nets engulfing his partner, but they proved too difficult to break. Mr. Kiyojiro stood to the side, helpless. Takako’s black pistol fired again, and a further net appeared, trapping the fairy alongside his partner. “Colten!” “I’m sorry.” The fairy looked down. “They’re going to take us home, a place I never wanted to return.” “Too bad, traitor!” Nier said. “I’m not sure how a lowly fairy like you created a magical girl, but you know the consequences of betrayal. The Devil Princesses’ retribution will be quick and merciless.” “Seina.” Colten sniffed. “Never!” Seina refused to allow these Devil Princesses to harm a hair on her new friend. Despite what Colten may think, he’d brought nothing but good to her life. Because of him, she’d tasted freedom for the first time in her short life. “Huh?” Takako screamed in pain as Seina suddenly threw herself forward, striking her opponent’s face with her forehead. Despite the force of the blow Seina remained trapped in the netting. “Hey, I can move a bit!” Seina hopped around the empty warehouse. She wasn’t completely helpless! “You little!” The evil magical girl wobbled on her feet, grimacing in pain. “I’m not finished yet!” Seina bent down and threw her body headfirst towards Takako’s torso. Her opponent gave a strangled cry and disappeared into the distance. “Takako!” Her fairy partner flew after her. “Oops, I might have overdone it.” Seina hadn’t intended to hit the other magical girl that hard. She still had a million questions that needed answering. Much to her relief, the bounds around her body disappeared moments later. “Uh, you think she’s okay?” Seina gave a pensive look to a distant point on the horizon. Despite her claims of being the most evil being around, Seina detected no malice from the boastful magical girl. It left her very confused. “Oh, she’s fine.” Colten waved a dismissive paw. “Magical girls aren’t so easy to kill.” “She’ll be back, and she’ll bring reinforcements.” Mr. Kiyojiro gave Colten an icy glare. “It seems you haven’t been entirely honest with us.” Colten tensed before sighing. “I know.” “We aren’t angry with you, Colten.” Seina grabbed her partner’s paw and squeezed. “Just tell us the truth.” “Okay.” Colten’s expression turned pained. He wouldn’t enjoy what he’d say next. “The truth is, fairies are creatures of great evil. Magical girls are their instrument of destruction. They enter dark pacts with evil-minded girls to spread their horror and terror. They live in a world between reality called The Starlight Dream.” “Hold on.” Nothing about this story made any sense. “You aren’t evil!” Her fairy friend gave a weak smile. “I’m just some weirdo without the stomach to do anything bad. Back home, fairies hated and bullied me about it. I ran away to be anywhere else. That’s how I came to your universe.” “Oh, Colten.” Seina gave her friend a well-deserved hug. “I think you’re fantastic.” Mr. Kiyojiro nodded. “You’re better than any of them.” Colten sniffed, tears welling in the corner of his eyes. “Guys.” Masato gave his own empathic nod, patting the fairy on the shoulder. “Sounds rough. I wasn’t too popular with my family either. My folks kicked me out when I couldn’t live up to their expectations.” Seina jerked. She’d totally forgotten the thug was still here and glared at him. “Get out of here! You aren’t part of this conversation!” “Yeah, leave! We don’t care about your backstory!” Colten said, flying around in an irritated, erratic pattern. “I’m leaving.” The enormous man shrunk under the magical girl and her bodyguard’s angry glares and slunk away, ashamed. “Still though, it still stuns me you even became a magical girl, Seina. I’ve always been told only evil girls can become one. When your brooch appeared, I feared the worst, wondering if you were as wicked as the others, but you proved me wrong.” “Why did you leave out the genocide in my transformation chant?” The sudden inclusion of the horrible word had shocked Seina when Takako had used it. “It was in the vain hope transforming into a magical girl wouldn’t turn you evil.” Colten gave a pained smile. “I’m not very knowledgeable about any of this magical girl stuff. I’m no one special back home.Still it amazes me how powerful you are!” Colten said, flying happy loops around his friend’s head. “I was certain we were a goner when that evil magical girl showed up. There’s something about you.” Mr. Kiyojiro gave a thoughtful look. “That girl mentioned someone named Emiyo. Who is that?” Right, I’d forgotten about that! “And what did Takako mean when she said vampires should be running everything? Did magical girls cause vampires here?” Before the darkness’s arrival, the monsters had only been a myth used to scare children. “I’m not sure. Maybe?” Colten replied. “I’m not privy to the higher echelons’ plans. But I know who Emiyo is. She’s a lieutenant of the Four Devil Princesses. They rule Starlight Dream with their fairy companions. They’re bad news. Their powers are beyond anything we can face. Takako and Nier were only minor minions. I’ve heard stories that they can shatter entire universes!” Seina looked down. “So, more magical girls will come to fight me.” “I’m afraid so. They’re probably going to kill us and destroy this planet to make an example of it.” Much to Seina’s surprise, Mr. Kiyojiro’s expression hardened. “I refused to allow that to happen.” “Huh?” “There’s an old gym a couple of miles from your apartment.” Mr. Kiyojiro replied. “It’s the perfect place to train.” “Eh?” “We’ll show these princesses we aren’t such easy prey.” Mr. Kiyojiro’s voice held a remarkable intensity. “Those monsters won’t touch you or our world.” Seina stared for several long moments before nodding in agreement. She couldn’t afford to get sloppy. If those monsters wanted to hurt her world, they’d have to pry it from her cold, dead hands first. Somehow, she’d win this! --- Lilha yawned. As usual, the hateful sun blazed over her, making every moment its own torment. But it didn’t make her days any less uninteresting. Few people had approached her for ice cream, leaving her with little to do. She listened to some passersby jabber on about nothing in particular, laughing to themselves, and Lilha hated them for it. How dare they enjoy themselves while their rightful queen suffered so? I could murder them on the street for fun! She imagined people screaming in delightful terror as her victims’ blood spattered the pavement below. Her wonderful, imaginative image shattered when reality struck hard. And Seina would come and kill me. Lilha sagged and allowed her potential prey to pass unmolested. A strange sound caught her attention. The ex-vampire queen glanced up to see a figure hurtling towards a nearby beach. What the heck is that? Had that been a person? Lilha ignored it, turning back towards her ice cream stand. It was probably a dumb vampire thinking they could pick a fight with Seina and now paying the price, their tradectory certainly didn’t seem under their own control. Presumably they’d been sent flying by one of her nemesis’s blows.There probably wasn’t much hope for them if that was the case. Still her stand was empty of customers, and the fool might not be dead. She might gain an ally. Anyone powerful enough to survive an encounter with the magical girl must be someone worthwhile, right? After some searching, Lilha found a deep skid mark on the ground, flowing towards an empty beach. What the vampire found at the end of the trail shocked her. The young girl wore a similar dress to Seina, except this girl’s dress was black, and wore skull-shaped earrings. For crying out loud! Not another one! Or was this some sort of copycat? Lilha hid behind a nearby trash can as the girl stirred. A moment later, a black fairy in a skull mask flew down to help the magical girl. “Takako, are you okay?” The fairy said in alarm. The magical girl sported a nasty bruise on the head, bloody oozing from her mouth. With a shaky hand, the girl raised a pistol to her chest and shot. “Healing Shot!” Much to Lilha's astonishment, the magical girl’s injuries healed like they’d never existed. The black magical girl whirled on the fair. “What happened, Nier?” The girl said. “How is she so powerful?! She crumpled me with a single hit!” Huh? She isn’t a friend of Seina’s? “I don’t know, Takako!” The fairy threw up his tiny arms. “Her fairy was just some peasant! Not elite cool people like ourselves!” The black magical girl crossed her arms and looked away, a pouting expression on her face. “This is so lame. Next time, she won’t be so lucky! She just caught me off guard! ” What was going on? Were magical girls not the pillar of goodness Lilha had believed? “Next time?” Nier replied. “You’re not thinking of facing her again? We need to get Emiyo. We can’t defeat her by ourselves!” Takako whirled on her fairy companion, pointing a finger into his chest. “No, we’re doing this alone. I refused to return to Starlight Dream, begging for help. I have a reputation!” The magical girl’s jaw firmly clamped shut, refusing to argue on this subject. “Fine.” The fairy sighed, landing on a nearby rock. If they’re also fighting against Seina, then they’d be useful allies. Lilha might be finally rid of that hateful girl forever! “Well, if you’re an enemy of Seina, perhaps we can help each other,” Lilha said, leaving her hiding spot behind the trash can. “Who are you?” Takako raised an eyebrow at the newcomer. “My name is Lilha. I am the Queen of Vampires.” She replied, standing up proudly. “Really?” The magical girl’s skeptical eyebrow rose even higher, eying Lilha’s ice cream vendor uniform. Lilha’s face burned hot, fighting back her embarrassment. “It’s a disguise. It helps me blend in so Seina doesn’t recognize me.” “She has an evil aura, so I don’t think she’s lying about being a vampire at least,” Nier said, flying up to examine the newcomer. “Why do I need some vampire’s help?” Takako asked. “You’re the one so incompetent you couldn’t stop a single girl from taking the world back from you.” Excuse me?! Didn’t you just lose to her too?! After taking several deep breaths, Lilha calmed herself, remembering the bigger picture. Too much was at stake. She couldn’t afford to lose a valuable ally. “Nevertheless, you’ve seen her power,” Lilha said, crossing her fingers, praying this would work. “Without a solid plan, you won’t be able to defeat her. Seina can’t be defeated through brute force.” “She might have a point.” The fairy replied, nodding. “Okay.” Takako rolled her eyes. “I refuse to lose to that goody two-shoes loser again. Besides, a sidekick wouldn’t be too bad.” Sidekick?! Again, Lilha fought back her annoyance, forcing a smile. I hate magical girls so much! “Good, I think I know someone that might help us. Together, Seina doesn’t stand a chance!” Besides, even if they failed, another magical girl would eventually arrive and put Seina’s head on a pike. Either way, vengeance would soon be hers!

[mail-me-a-snail]

Put on a Show

my first jse fic, in where anti teaches dear jackieboy man a lesson :3

Be a hero.

That’s what Jack had said to him, before…before the incident, before all of this. Before that son of a bitch Anti got to him.

It boils his blood and makes him gnash his teeth at night. As much as he hates Anti… …he can’t deliver the final blow. He has Anti pinned by the front of his shirt against the brick wall of the alleyway. Anti’s hair is ruffled and sticking up in all sorts of places. With some sort of sick sadness, the hero sees Jack in him, most of all in his blue-grey eyes, instead of monstrous black pools and tears. Even the slit on his neck isn’t bleeding black—it’s red. As if he’s human. As if he’s Jack. It’s not the only thing that’s bleeding red. Anti’s nose is bleeding, thick trails of blood dripping from his nostrils into his lips and soaking into his beard. Anti’s fangs are splashed with his own blood. Still, he smiles. Bruises black and blue dot his face and has swollen one of his eyes a dark purple. Jackie feels just as beat up as Anti looks—the knife slashes scoring his arms and back like tallies sting like hell. His fist is pulled back to wipe the smug grin off of Anti’s face but he just can’t do it. “C'mon, hero,” Anti sneers, coughing. Jackie’s fist curls tighter around Anti’s shirt. It’s black; no one will see the blood. “Take the shot.” Anti raises a mockingly frail hand and points at his chin. “Right here.” Jackie sucks in a breath through his clamped teeth. His own fist shakes. Why can’t he do it? Anti is right there. This isn’t different from all the other times. And that, right there, is why he can’t do it. Because it is the same process, the same cat and mouse game that they always play. The same bridges that are built then burned with a crowd to cheer for the winning side. But there isn’t a crowd now. In this dank, dirty, rat-infested alleyway, it is just him and Anti. So, take the shot, He yells at himself. But he can’t. “Why?” He manages to growl, more to himself than Anti. Anti tips his head and frowns. A bead of blood drops onto his cheek from a gash in his forehead. “Why what?” He says. “Why is it always the same damn game with you?” Jackie narrows his brows. “Day in, day out—you come out of hiding, act like some kind of big bad, and we fight while the crowd eggs us on. I never leave these fights with debilitating wounds. I rarely get hurt. Why? It’s like—it’s like this is all it is to you, this war between us. Like you never tried to hurt my brothers—” Jackie unconsciously lifts Anti a little higher off the ground. The demon looks pleased. “—like you never tried to fucking kill Henrik, or Chase, or Jack—” His voice elevates into a shout. “—so, why do you think this is a game?!” It’s only when the still silence that follows settles in that he realizes he had been shouting. Anti’s collar is still bundled up in his fist. He’s nearly ripping the fabric out. “The game only stops,” Anti isn’t smiling as he says, “when one of us is dead. I’m not interested in killing you, Jackie. You’re a comic book superhero—a try-hard with big dreams. You needed a villain. A villain who could be the big bad, who could never cause any real harm…at least, not to the city. So, I reeled it in. Just for you.” “…what?” “You’d never be able to handle what I can really do,” Anti sneers, “You’re a super hero without super powers—of course, the crowd doesn’t know that. The kids…they love you. They think you can do so many wonderful things…things that I do for you.” “I don’t…” “Come on, Jackie. You think I can bleed?” Anti wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it’s like the blood was never there. His bruises have faded away. His black eye is healed, the skin around it pink. “I’m not human—never have been. Never will be. They—” He throws his hand towards the street. “—know as much. They see me as the villain. The Saturday morning cartoon bad guy. And you’re the titular character.” “Shut up.” “It’s a show to them.” “Shut up.” He can hear the blood rushing through his ears. Every wound fades. “It’s all a ploy—” “Shut up.” “—because without me, they wouldn’t fucking believe in you the way Jack does—” “I SAID, SHUT UP.” His fist vaults forward. His breathing is ragged. He expects blood under his knuckles—but finds Anti gripping his fist like it’s nothing. Jackie’s hand shakes with the effort. He’s pushing with all his might but Anti isn’t budging. He isn’t the frail, beaten victim of justice he was just a few seconds ago. Jackie sees this in the way Anti suddenly straightens, the way the crusted blood under his fingernails disappears. Anti pulls back his fist and strikes Jackie. The hit connects and lands square on Jackie’s jaw, making him see stars. He shakes his head and loses his grip on Anti. The other sidesteps out of his range and grabs the front of his jacket, forcibly spinning him around. He head-butts him, a wild grin on his face. Jackie’s head snaps back from the force of it and he stumbles backwards, trying to stop the warm blood gushing from his forehead. He coughs. “That’s no way to play, hero,” Anti taunts him from behind. “What if all your fans were watching? You can’t let them see you lose.” He growls and whips around. The moment he does, Anti grabs his throat, rough nails digging in and leaving angry half-moon marks in the soft skin, and pushes him against the opposite wall of bricks. The back of Jackie’s head nearly smashes into them—he throws his head forward just in time to avoid the worst of the impact, but it still sends a shock down his spine. He can’t think much, can’t see much, either. Anti’s hold tightens and he gasps for air. His hand instinctively grabs Anti’s wrist, pulling and scratching, nearly begging. He’s about to break out of his hold when— The hero doesn’t even have enough breath to cry out when a sharp, hot pain erupts in his stomach. He jolts, hands jerking and teeth clamping down. Anti jostles the knife, just to toy with him. He can hear the other end grinding against the bricks. The demon leans close, so close Jackie can feel his beard tickle the shell of his ear. “This is why we put on a show, Jackieboy,” Anti whispers. Jackie flinches, wheezing. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried, not like this. So, at the end of the day, you win and I crawl back to whatever cesspit I came from, wherever they think I came from. The crowd wouldn’t like it if they saw you like this. Bleeding, broken…” Anti leans back. His grip on Jackie’s throat is iron tight. He smiles, and for a moment—it might be his concussion but—the scleras of his eyes turn pitch black, then flash again to white. Anti brushes the hair out of Jackie’s face, a motion so tender for a moment, for a stupid, vulnerable moment, that he wheezes, “J…Jack.” “That’s right,” Anti laughs. His voice dips into a perfect impersonation of Jack. “I’m Jack. I believe in you. You’re a hero to everybody, but most importantly, to me…bla, bla, bla.” The knife slides out of Jackie’s gut, a sickly slick accompanying it and a resulting gush of blood down his leg. Jackie squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t be like that,” Anti’s voice comes from somewhere in the darkness. “Give us a smile, Jackie. You’re our hero.” He refuses. The silence is deafening. He feels Anti’s thumb rubbing against his Adam’s apple, before his hand caresses Jackie’s cheek, the limb cold against it. He could breathe again. He took the time to take a few slow breaths. Jackie opens his eyes. He glares daggers and spits blood onto the Anti’s cheek. His smile never wavers, even as the blood drips down his chin and onto his shirt. “You’re forgetting your place in our game. You’re the hero, the one who wins…and I’m the bad guy, the bleeding baddie. This won’t do at all. How about this: a little something from me to you—a time out, if you will.” “Fuck. You.” Is all he can manage. His vision is starting blacken around the edges. The knife’s tip presses into his neck. Anti forces his head up with his other hand, his fingers digging into the side of Jackie’s temple and his thumb pushing against his lips. Jackie gnashes his teeth and has half a mind to bite Anti’s hand like a dog— The knife slides across his neck in one smooth motion, like cutting through paper. He had only ever seen the after effects of a slit neck—the blood, the loss of voice. Never had he realized that blood would bubble in his mouth, dribbling down thick as spit, nor that the pain would be like a tight wire cord was being wrapped around his neck and pulled taut. He slides to the grimy floor, grasping his neck, wheezing and coughing. Everything is tinged red. He sees Anti’s black Converse at the edge of his vision, one shoe tapping as if impatiently waiting for him to die. “Crawl back to your precious doctor,” Anti leans down and suddenly grabs his hair, pulling his head up to look at him. Jackie squints, the sunlight hurting his eyes. “And think about what you’ve done.” Anti lets him go. His head drops and so does he, breath slowing, bleeding out. The scarlet from his neck grows into a puddle beneath him. Anti starts to walk away, leaving bloody footprints behind him. Jackie’s shaking hand reaches out to him, but drops limply. The blood splashes. “When you come back…” Anti’s voice starts to fade away, as did everything, into darkness. “…let’s put on a show.”

[impossible-rat-babies]

 not quite people enough

pre-heartbreak | chargestep (m!ortega/nb!sidestep) | angst | 2843 words, most below the cut

[read on a03]

--

“Nanosurge at an end! The Rangers successful once again!”

TV screeching through the hospital waiting room, a few of the residents eyes focused on the rolling images and videos of the catastrophe cascading across the screen. Pollux pauses long enough to witness the few scenes of Rangers, all of them suitably heroic in the face of the dangers.

“With the danger now gone, efforts are being turned towards...”

He sighs and pulls his hoodie around his head tighter, sticking to the side of the hospital wall as he continues on. Keeping his eyes on his feet and ordinarily it’d be easy to keep people at bay, have their eyes slide off him like he’s just another face in the crowd, the memory of an indistinct face. A soft nudge, pushing eyes elsewhere takes care of anything else.

But not today, not when brushing up against any mind is like touching skin rubbed raw and bloodied, an open wound for days now. Now it’s relying on a hoodie pulled tight, surgical mask and sunglasses to make him look like any other sick person. Add a cough for good measure and sometimes its the simple things that keep people away.

He pulls his shields in tighter, a migraine already festering at the base of his skull. It’s been a week and there hasn’t been a day without a migraine where it’s too painful to breathe, the simple act of crawling out of bed like climbing a mountain, light bright enough to make him vomit. He spends hours poised over his toilet with bile dripping from his lips and blood running from his nose; iron and bile tasting the same in his burned raw throat.

There hasn't been a day without a nosebleed since the Nanosurge ended. 

He couldn’t very well keep his distance even if he wanted to. Even though the hospital is crawling with people and an elevator is far too small even when he’s alone, steadily climbing up towards the third floor. Out of all the victims jammed into the hospital there’s one person worth seeing, or one who would give him hell if he didn’t come and see him.

Heard news Ortega had taken the modded skin well, the rest left to heal with time. It would heal, he would heal. Better than any alternative and Pollux takes a deep breath when he finds the room number, door sliding open smoothly.

There are flowers. Of course there are flowers. 

Why wouldn’t there be flowers all over the place? They’re nearly everywhere, a cascade of color all over the room. Simple vases of daisies with little cards still sticking out of them, others large bouquets in a whole riot of colors. Imported exotic flowers from the classiest flower shops in the rich hills above Los Diablos; they come with little gold cards, handwritten notes in golden ink. Expensive, ironic and moronic he thinks.

Pollux shuts the door silently, poking his way around the vases, glancing at cards and picking at loose petals. One of the richest is from the Mayor and what sort of woman would she be if she didn’t spare any expense? 

Ortega is the Marshal, the biggest and the best in charge of keeping her city safe. Easy to click his tongue at the show they make, the veneer of civility and good faith. Pollux knows how often the Rangers butt heads with her office, passive aggressive undertones in meetings, thin patience in any other capacity. He glances over the others and they’re from all manner wealthy elite, the kinds Ortega meets at all the fancy Ranger events Pollux refuses to attend with him. More people grateful for their lives, as if they were at risk to start with.

He finds what he’s looking for on the beside table, a simple ceramic vase with simple flowers and there’s no card--Tia Elena doesn’t need one. A smile behind his mask and he finds a cup, filling it up to refill the vase. He sets the cup aside and pushes his hood off his head, gaze falling to Ortega.

He’s still asleep, head tilted off to the side in a mountain of pillows. Scabbed over nicks and bruises paint his cheeks and forehead, one funny little scrap on his chin, the rest dotted with purple, yellow and green bruises. The hospital gown looks atrocious, hiding away the dressings that cover fresh skin, skin to replace what was eaten away. Pollux has seen his share of wounds, seen what broken bones and cracked skulls look like, the blood a body can spill. He’s seen what the inside of someone’s guts look like, held them in his hands and tried to keep them where they belong, tried to stop the bleeding.

Seeing skin and muscle being eaten alive, bodies devoured into nothing but the vitriolic stench of rotting flesh strong enough to hurt his teeth and burn the inside of his nose was a whole different hell. Hell was watching people eaten alive, a single moment when Ortega reached out and there was no hesitation as they ate though his skinsuit, through to the skin below, eating his flesh alive. 

He hears the screams when his ears ring, in the heart monitor beeps beside him. Back to that day, back to screaming because he wasn’t going to lose Ortega, screaming 

no no no no no NO 

and they listened. Like holding a nest of hornets in bare hands, but he held them. Held them until his jaw cramped, every inch of him shaking from the effort, nose running rivers of blood to soak his teeth, tears of blood chasing down his face. Looking down and Ortega’s hands are wrapped in white dressings, cocooned tight. Easy to slip his hand into his, but he just balls his hand up tight, bruised knuckles against the sheets.

A deep breath in and Pollux looks, Ortega’s eyes squinting open.

“Hey...” Pollux mumbles behind his surgical mask, adjusting his sunglasses. He keeps his sunglasses on even if the blinds are shut--he doesn’t need to lose his guts in Ortega’s hospital room.

“Pollux?” Ortega’s voice is like gravel, a rumble in his chest. Pollux blinks and slides the tray table closer, the cup from earlier still filled with water. He finds the bed adjustment, scooting Ortega up.

“You got it?”

Hands unsteady but Ortega still takes it with a nod, sipping on the water. He winces, Pollux watching his hands slowly flex in the bandages, turning his hand over to look.

“Don’t push it or you’ll rip your new skin.” 

Pollux chides softly, biting his lip, not used to this. He’s not a stranger to hospitals, two years earlier it was much the same. The flowers, half a dozen surgeries to put Ortega’s abdomen back together, sitting in a room not unlike this one, watching him readjust to his body once more. There’s an itch in his feet, the creeping sensation of something amiss, nagging in the back of his skull.

“Why are you here?” Cutting to the chase and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“I’m here to see you, jackass.” He huffs. There’s no real itch and he’s only has piss poor bedside manner. Been too long since the last time he sat here, shouldn’t have this much practice at standing beside a hospital bed. He’s always been the one in the bed instead, the air cold on the open back of a hospital gown. Paper, not cloth.

“Hardly har,” Ortega half smiles, but it slips away quicker then it should. “But why are you here, Pollux? You look like shit.” He mumbles.

“Thanks for the flattery, asshole.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.” Ortega pointedly looks at him and he shrugs. The motion pulls on some bruise across his back and he bites his lip instead of wincing.

“Difference is you’re in the hospital and I’m not.” Pollux fires back.

“You should be. Heard about what happened to you.”

“They can’t do shit about it feeling like my head is going to explode. And I don’t need your sympathy, I’m fine...” Pollux sighs, rubbing his forehead and Ortega certainly isn’t believing that lie, but it’s hardly the point of it. They still have the energy to argue with each other and that's the real miracle of this whole situation; it would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

“At least let them look you over. Again.” Ortega sighs and Pollux grumbles.

“Let it go, Ortega for fucks sake.” 

Pollux huffs, yanking his sunglasses off and he rubs the corner of his eyes. Eyes that shed bloody tears and he swears he’s going to find gross in them for ages. He looks up and Ortega is giving him that Look--the look whenever he’s struck a nerve and it didn’t used to turn his guts to mush, make his heart do funny little things, get ideas about apologizing for what he said and all that garbage.

Pollux frowns.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He glares.

“Pollux.” He says it soft, but he’s still chiding, pressuring, and Pollux runs a hand across razor short hair.

“I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“What are we doing?”

“Bickering, arguing, fighting, pestering each other. Whatever the fuck we do, ass.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Fuck it if I know.” 

Pollux heaves a giant sigh, walking around to find the plastic chair. He drags it over to the bed, plopping down in it and god he could use a freaking cigarette. He settles for silently drumming his fingers against his bouncing leg, head leaning against the side of the bed, pointedly not looking at Ortega. He still feels his eyes on him however, examining the mess he’s made of himself. He’s never not a mess, but he’s sure he missed a few spots buzzing his hair and the bags around his eyes are even sharper.

“I’m not sure if you look worse or if you feel worse.” Ortega keeps looking him up and down like it will prove some point and Pollux snorts, glancing up at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Wanna take a wild fucking guess there, Marshal?” Pollux sighs, lips quirking. “Fucking, I dunno...”

How does he even describe it when he doesn't even rightly know how? There was fear...anger and fear and both are potent. The panic, the frenzy and then just agony, like muscles tearing from bones, pain like needles under the skin, metal an acid on his tongue, filling his head. 

Devour, devour, devour, eat, eat, eat, 

no, stop, stop, stop--STOP!!

Repeating the words over and over again until they lost their meaning, lost all but the feeling behind them, the command of a hive of minds in his own. His head still feels like bursting, the migraine brewing at the base of his skull creeping into his temples, pounding at the crown of his head. He closes his eyes, breathing in and back out.

“The sad hurt look is a good one on you. Could give the press a run for their money.” Ortega points out and Pollux opens his eyes to a half assed grin.

“You mean the eyes full of bursted blood vessels is a good look?”

“You know what I mean, Pebbles.”

His voice is actually soft that time around and Pollux doesn’t have the energy to fight. Not when he’s still here--still alive; not when he braved the great outdoors to reach the hospital. He’s breathing and living well enough to make jokes. 

Damn his ability to make fun even laying half dead in a hospital bed. Smug bastard.

“I know.” 

Pollux tip toes his fingers across the bed, pausing before they make their slow journey across the top of Ortega’s hand, taking their rest before the slope of his forearm. Tenderly turning his hand and they’re palm to palm, finger tip to finger tip splayed out. Grey eyes drift back to the flowers and Ortega coaxes his fingers to slip and lock in his, fitting far too well. 

They fit far too well into the cracks of each other and it always opens a pit in Pollux’s stomach.

Ortega is still here, still breathing, but each second feels like he’s lost him. A glance away and in a flash he’ll disappear. He shuts his eyes at night and it’s too real behind his eyelids. Every night it’s watching it happen all over again like a skipping dvd, waking up with bloodied sheets and too many tears to count, wondering why the fuck he’s crying over him.

“Tired?” Ortega asks and Pollux shakes his head, eyes falling to the ground.

“Thinking...”

“Now that’s dangerous, Pollux.”

Heart skipping a beat and he swallows against the lump forming in his throat. picking at the seam of his pants. He didn’t have a chance to see if Ortega got out safe, if they pulled him out--flesh dripping from his body--and he was still breathing. He collapsed to the ground in a bloodied heap and it wouldn’t be the first time he saw him like that, but goddamn it he couldn’t hold his body together that time, blood soaking through his gloves. Could have died on the way to the hospital, his world ending without knowing it, saving everyone but the one who matters the most.

“Can’t I think in peace?” He teases, forcing a smile and Ortega gives him a look of surrender, softly squeezing their hands still intertwined.

Pollux swallows hard again and he closes his eyes. Is that was Ortega is now? His world? He means enough for his gut to clench hard as he turns to stare death once more in the face and he wants to call him a fool, curse and yell at him each time because one of these times death is going to stare back at him and grin. It’s less waiting on bated breath, but knowing he’s gambling on a bad hand with only a few chips left.

He’s always been a bloody cheat with death, but watching others gamble when he knows how the cards will fall sparks terror he can’t compute. Attachment he can’t compute, understanding how human it is and he’s gasping for air in an ice bath.

“Pollux?” 

He yanks his head up, his name still lingering on Ortega’s lips. Pollux tears his hand away like he’s touched a stove, hiding his hands within his sweatshirt, burying them deep. His heart in his throat and look everywhere but at him, don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Cheeks burning and his gut twists and twists. 

Can’t have someone mean this much, can’t have this feeling he doesn’t understand. 

Pull back, pull back, pull back, instinct kicking in. Anger burns his face, teeth grinding. Stupid, idiot, ridiculous adrenaline junky playing at hero and look at where it’s always gotten him? Stuck in a hospital or patching wounds in his apartment, cursing him up and down. Or it’s pulling a car off of him and fuck Ortega’s lips were on his and it tasted like blood, but it was all too real and he whispered to him, holding him tight like his life is going to end if he let go and it was so, so close and...is that why he kissed him? Is that why they keep kissing? A relationship built on far too many close calls and it’s a slippery slope, but fuck he’s already on a collision course and he’s not people enough for that. Won’t survive the fall, the break that comes.

“I gotta go...” Pollux forces out from behind his teeth, chair startling him as he roughly stands, quick around the bed, past the flowers in their blurs of colors, the door three strides away.

“Pollux, what’s wrong?”

Ortega’s voice catches him with his hand on the knob, trembling. Eyes burning and he bites his lip enough to be painful and a little more. He can’t cry, not now, not here. He likes his breakdowns in private, not where Ortega can see him--not where anyone can see him.

“Pollux please don’t leave.”

“Why?”

The question that’s been boiling on his tongue, tucked back in his throat because he doesn’t want the answer, doesn’t want to know how this goes.

Doesn’t look back, eyes on the door, starring straight ahead. Can’t look back, can’t face him. He’ll get ideas then--ones he can’t be having at all, no thank you. Silence stretches between them, aching just like how he is now, the exhaustion descending back over him along with regret. Bile boils in his gut and he manages to swallow against the lump in his throat, twisting the knob.

“Pollux, please.” Ortega repeats and he manages his best smile, the only one he can manage when he’s five seconds away from losing his nerve. Letting the tears fall and Ortega would hold him so, so close and he’s not people enough for that.

“I’ll see you later.”

The door clicks shut behind him and its only silence now, only that dearest and oldest friend of his to follow him home.

[t-khalynn-tales]

Provoking Ire

Author’s Note: Originally started out as “Hey, lets write a really short, funny scene with Mei making rude gestures at people!”  

~Three thousand words later...~ __________

“Mei, ya sure ya wanna do this?” Tala handed Mei the practice weapon, frowning slightly. “ ‘Cause ‘m not sure…”

Mei nodded firmly, taking the weapon in hand. It was, essentially, a plank of stout oak, longer than she was tall, with a leather-wrapped handle meant for a two-handed grip. 

~Yah. T uses a sword too,~ she added, pointing to her cousin’s sword and shield, currently being guarded by a watchful blue chocobo. ~An’ T practice fights with tall folk, sometimes.~

“Well, yeah. But issa little different! I started learnin' years ago! But Mei has only been learnin' fer a little bit! Maybe gettin’ a few more lessons first would be better…?”

Mei shook her head, expression confident. ~Is fine. Mei wants ta learn like this, Mei learns best like this.~ Shifting her grip a moment, she made a fist with her right hand, and pressed it into her own chest, near her heart. ~T can trust Mei, ok?~

Tala just sighed. “Alright.”

“Yo! You popotoes done dithering yet?” the big Hyur called out, shifting from foot to foot, his own oversized practice blade resting on his shoulder. “I’m a busy man, so if you’re just gonna chicken out, just gimme the gil now so I can get a drink somewhere.”

Both lalas turned towards the speaker. Tala just grimaced in exasperation, while Mei’s eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Is only NOON!” Tala protested with a huff.

The young mercenary laughed. “Yeah, so? In case ya hadn’t noticed, shorty, Gyr Abania is hot. It’s always a good time for a drink.”

The lala just shook her head and turned back to Mei. “Anyroad. Okay, so remember ta watch how he moves. He’s got th’ longer reach, so ya hafta be quicker ‘n ‘im. ‘Specially since ya only got a big wooden stick ta attack an’ defend with.”

~Duh,~ the younger lala scoffed, still focussed more on the cocky mercenary than the advice.

“Hey, is not MY fault ya chose th’ big giant sword ta learn. Issa different kinda sword fightin than mine, so ‘m not able ta help ya wi’ that. But fer basic fightin things, yeah.”

Finally noticing the cause of Mei’s distraction, Tala flicked her cousin’s forehead. Hard. 

Mei rubbed at the new bruise. ~Ow.~

“Focus, Mei!”

~Fine,~ she pouted.

“So, one part of fightin I learned from Kori is stuff like this. Sometimes when people are fightin', they can do an’ say dumb things. Like, ta break yer focus, an’ put ya on yer back foot. Kori says, easiest way fer them ta do that, is ta make ya mad. Like, callin lalas popotoes an’ stuff. So dun let ‘im trick ya inta anger, okay?"

The other lala nodded.

“An’ dun forget, YOU can use th’ same trick on ‘im, too. So, like, Kori likes ta shout mean things at ‘em. Callin’ ‘em names, tellin ‘em ta stuff their, uh, stuff inta their own backsides, ‘n things.”

Mei raised an eyebrow. ~Oh? So how ‘bout T? What does T do?~

Tala flushed slightly. “Umm… well… a-anyroad. Even if ya can’t yell at ‘im,’m sure ya can come up wi’ somethin.”

After a moment, the younger lala just grinned wickedly.

“Yo, seriously! Any time now?”

Recognizing her cousin’s mischievous expression, Tala sighed. “Just dun make ‘im TOO mad, okay? I’d hate ta get run outta town fer bustin' 'is face wi’ my shield.”

The man scoffed. “I’d like to see ya try it, shorty!”

~No promises,~ Mei retorted, gripping the practice blade in both hands as she turned to face her current "tutor."

“FI-nally! Alright, pipsqueak, let’s get started…”

___________

The sounds of heavy clashing wood filled the air of the small sparring yard.

It was stupid. The whole thing was just dumb. Starting with a pair of novices, sizing each other up at the small town's only training dummy. Some unsolicited criticism first, then some rude gestures and snippy commentary in return, dutifully translated by a reluctant Tala. And now this -- a "friendly" challenge and wager.

Tala was clearly against it, but could only watch anxiously from the sidelines. 

So far, Mei was doing remarkably well at holding her own, despite the fresh welts and bruises both combatants were now sporting. It seemed Mei did learn quickly when thrown into the fire. Especially since her opponent was a little impatient. And not used to facing opponents so much shorter than himself.

Mei was also exceptionally good at taking advantage of that. And at being a brat about it.

The lala ducked under a wide slash, then managed to counter with an upward swing that seemed almost impossible with such a large sword. The Hyur jumped back, but not quick enough -- the blunted wooden tip managed to clip him. He fell back with a curse, clutching his left forearm.

But Mei quickly stepped forward in pursuit, switching her grip and leaping up to deliver an overhead strike. The man barely managed to adjust his own practice blade to block, grunting at the force of the blow. A little unnerved, pulled back again, blade ready to guard.

“Shit!” he spat, tensing his arm, the pain still pulsing like a jagged flame, flaring to the beat of his own heart. “What the hell!”

Mei smirked and relaxed her stance, settling her sword against her shoulder and beckoning with one hand. The insult needed no translation.

~Bring it.~

His eyes narrowed. “You’re a spicy little popoto, ain’t ya,” he sneered in response, grip tightening in anger. “Looks like I’ll have ta stomp ya back into the dirt a bit!”

Both lalas blinked in momentary confusion, trying to make any kind of sense of that. But when the man charged forward with a roar, Mei set herself for another clash.

He attempted an overhead strike of his own, intending to smack the uppity lala on the head in retribution. But Mei angled her blade to deflect most of the power of the swing and side-stepped, letting his own momentum continue to carry him forward. As his sword made contact with the dirt, she managed to spin around, slapping his butt with the flat of her own weapon. With a yelp of surprise, he lost his balance and fell.

Face first. 

He lay there for a moment in stunned silence, before scrambling to his feet again.

“You little…”

Suddenly, the energy in the air shifted. Like an abrupt drop in temperature, or a sudden shadow obscuring the sun. Where before there was an atmosphere of begrudging parity and competition, now there was an invisible miasma of sheer malice.

And for just a moment, it seemed the tall Hyur’s eyes glowed an inhuman red…

He lunged forward, much quicker than before. Mei managed to barely block the first wild blow, but couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the second. Or the third. With a gasp, the wooden blade fell from her hands, pain resonating through her arm.

The fourth blow hit her in the stomach driving her to her knees, gasping for air. Wincing, she just barely managed to duck and roll out of the way from the fifth strike. She crouched to get back to her feet, only to be met with a boot to the face. Mei flew back, landing on her back with a dull thud in a small cloud of dust.

“Got anything else, runt?” she heard him growl menacingly. Blinking, Mei made out the blurry dark shape looming over her. Belligerently, she replied with a bloody smirk -- and a single shaking middle finger.

“You little…” the dark shape raised his oversized blade up high…

...and winced when a heavy coin pouch struck him in the face.

“THA’S ENOUGH! Ya won yer stupid bet, now take yer coin an’ BACK OFF!” Tala yelled, brandishing a make-shift broken broomstick handle. “Or ya really WILL get a shield ta th’ face!”

"Yeah? How ya gonna reach that high, shorty? Stepladder?"

"Nah, 'm just go gonna kick ya inna crotch ta bring yer ugly arse-face closer. Might need a jeweler's loup ta find yer itty bitty manhood, though."

"...what…?"

"Jeweler's loup? Ya know, th' thing goldsmiths use fer lookin at really small stuff? Spirits, are ya stupid too, an’ nae just ugly? ‘M feeling sorry fer yer Mum."

“Shut up, or I’ll show you ugly,” he snarled, stalking towards the shorter lala -- and subsequently away from the one laying prone on the ground.

“Ya dun gotta get closer, yer ugly face is PLENTY UGLY e’en from REALLY FAR ‘WAY!”

Mei wanted to keep watching, but her eyes were just... so... heavy. The last thing she saw was the Hyur charging her cousin’s much-smaller form in the distance. 

Then darkness enfolded her in its soft embrace, and consciousness faded away.

__________

There was something loud going on. Mei wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was loud. And annoying. And she was tired. Really tired. She just wanted to sleep a little more.

But as the noise went on and on and on, she realized that, as tired as she was, she wasn’t going to get that sleep right now. And that she was also not very comfortable right now. The floor was too hard, too dusty, and too hot. And something feathery hovering over her, cooing softly but insistently in her ear. Reluctantly, she managed to open her eyes, frowning against both the brightness of the sun, and at the pain echoing through her body. 

She groaned silently as she tried to sit up. A blue feathered head helped support her.

“Kweh!” the chocobo scolded her softly, even as she felt healing energies continuing to flow from him into her battered face, easing some of the pain. Mei recognized Stalwart, her cousin’s blue chocobo companion, and gave him a little pat in thanks. She then turned her bleary attention to the source of all the yelling.

If she could, she would have laughed.

The big Hyur, the one she had been sparring with, lay in a heap nearby -- face clearly bruised and a little bloody. His nose was obviously very broken, and he may have lost a tooth or two. A healer in robes seemed to be tending his wounds. Another man, a Hyur, older and somewhat resembling the one bemoaning his smashed face, was standing over Tala, hands on his hips, yelling angrily.

Tala just glared back up at him defiantly, arms crossed. Despite one swollen eye, she was clearly unrepentant.

And finally, an armored miquo’te stood somewhat between them both, tail twitching ever-so-slightly. The manner of his stance and the state of his armor indicated he held some level of rank, as well as respect, in the small settlement.

“So,” the first man sneered. “What yer saying is, young Stefan here beat the little brat there in a spar, so YOU beat him up? Yourself?”

“No,” Tala corrected. “He baited her inta a wager. One he knew he’d win. Prolly ‘cause ‘es a lot bigger ‘n her, an’ also ‘cause he has more trainin’ too. But she managed ta get th’ drop on ‘im. He got ‘is feelins hurt, so got mad an’ beat her near ta unconscious. I tole ‘im ta take ‘is winnings an’ go, but he was gonna hit her again. THAT’S why I stepped in. Wouldnae been needed, if he hadnae got so mad an’ stupid.”

“Riiiiight. Short little runt like you managed to beat my boy Stefan with a broom handle.”

“Nope. Broom handle was mostly fer distraction. I just kicked ‘im inna crotch, then bashed ‘im inna face wi’ my shield,” she gestured to the round shield at her back with a thumb. “I e’en tole ‘im I was gonna do it, afore I did. Isnae my fault he didnae listen.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Khalynn, but the battering to his face wasn’t caused by just one hit,” the healer spoke up, continuing her healing duties.

The miquo’te looked at the lala inquisitively.

“Oh, yeah,” she shrugged. “He kept gettin back up an’ chargin in, so I had ta bash him inna face a few more times. Again, isnae my fault he's stupid. Oh, an’ ya might wanna get some ice fer ‘is crotch, too. I mighta stepped on ‘im a bit.”

Both men winced slightly, but the miquo’te’s lips twitched upward in hidden amusement.

“My boy has been training for over a year!” the man yelled. “He’s a good recruit, shows good promise with the greatsword! There’s no way…”

“Your boy,” Tala cut in sharply, “is undisciplined an’ too easily provoked. Also maybe a bit unscrupuled, ta be settin’ up wagers wi’ beginners, yeah? So maybe ya should teach ‘im better.”

“And who are YOU to lecture me, runt?”

“Miss Khalynn is recognized as a free paladin,” the miquo'te noted dryly. “She was also a volunteer in the healer’s division of the Twin Adders. And now she leads a small but honorable free company.”

The lala in question coughed, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“HAH! THIS runt? A paladin?”

Tala huffed, blue eyes glinting. “If ya want, I can bash YER face in wi’ my shield, too.”

“That’s enough, Dorian,” the miquo’te stated firmly. “Upon my honor, I assure you Miss Khalynn is indeed a free paladin. Unless you doubt me?”

The man immediately backed off. “No, of course not, Rakhal. You’re a man of yer word, and all. But, still, how…?”

“What, did you never witness Pipin Tarupin fight on the Bloodsands? Size does not count for everything.” Rakhal shook his head. “Now, back to the matter at hand. Miss Khalynn, do you swear to your earlier statement?”

Straightening, Tala nodded. “Aye, is truth. I give ya my word, upon my honor.”

The miquo’te nodded as well, then turned to the healer. “And Lucinne, what say you?”

The elezen woman looked up. “Well, the story plays out with what I witnessed when I got here. THIS one,” she poked her now bandaged patient, “was getting the snot beat out of him by Miss Khalynn. While THAT one, “she points to Mei, the lala in red being propped up by a blue chocobo “was laid out on the ground, with a boot print across her face. Her nose was smashed in, badly. Also there was deep bruising of her abdomen, and several nasty welts on her arms and face. Had to do a little conjury to heal her up a bit, but switched over to THIS one once Miss Khalynn was done with him.”

“Why didn’t ya heal my nose?” the young merc whined, gently nursing his bandaged nose.

The healer just snorted. “Because you’re a bully and an ass, Stefan. And it was about time someone put you in your place.”

“Now look here...” the bigger Hyur started angrily.

“No, YOU listen here!” Lucinne replied, just as hotly. “I’ve been out here in Gyr Albania since the breeching of Baelsar’s Wall. I’ve seen plenty of folk from all sorts of free companies pass through these lands. Some looking to help out restoring and reclaiming the land. Some looking to earn a quick gil. I know a thing or two about people. And Dorian, your boy is a bully. Like Miss Khalynn said, teach him better!” 

With an angry huff, the healer gathered her things and left.

“Well then, I guess that settles things, then,” Rakhal decided. “Unless, of course, you have any further objections, Dorian?”

The big man mumbled something under his breath, but shook his head.

“What about my winnings?” Stefan whined.

At that the big man growled and hauled the injured young man to his feet by the collar, “Shut yer face, boy! If you think you’re good enough ta be showing off your blade skills, we’ll just have ta put ya to the test, right? Be ready fer more training tomorrow! At dawn!”

The two lalas and one miquo’te watched the big man drag the younger one away.

“I almost feel sorry for the kid,” he noted.

~Mei doesn’t!~

Tala laughed, earning a puzzled look from the armored warrior. She shook her head. “Issa bit long ta ‘xplain, Kal. But this is my cousin, Mei.” 

He bowed politely. “A pleasure, Miss Mei. I am Rakhal'sae Moui, a free paladin like Miss Khalynn here. In fact, I trained with her for a time.”

Assisted by Stalwart, Mei had come closer to the chatting pair, and nodded back. The chocobo had healed most of her wounds by now, and she only had a slight headache. Nothing a good night’s rest and a good meal wouldn’t fix up. She nodded at the paladin politely, then glanced at her cousin to translate.

“Kal!” the other lala protested. “Ya know is just Tala. Dun start th’ ‘Miss Khalynn’ stuff again! An’ Mei says, ‘Is nice ta meetcha, too’ ”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Um, she can’t talk. But I can understand her. Kinda.”

“This sounds like an interesting story. Maybe you can share it over a nice meal?” he held up the pouch of gil that had been all but forgotten in the scramble. 

Surprising everyone, Stalwart nimbly snatched it out of his hand. He prodded Mei gently until she extended an open palm, then plopped the pouch into her grasp.

“Well, guess Stal agrees,” Tala chuckled. “Lead th’ way, Kal.”

As they followed along, Tala turned to her cousin. “So, didya learn anythin’ from that mess?”

Mei smirked. ~Yah. T is REALLY good at makin’ insults.~ 

__________

A.N. 2: So originally, the plan was for Mei to be a Black Mage for DPS, with Dark Knight as a tanking job on the side, showing how Tala and Mei are kind of opposites -- White Mage to Black Mage, and Paladin to Dark Knight.

However, game-play wise, I rediscovered that I am in fact BAD at Black Mage, and DRK tanking just… didn’t feel right for me as a player somehow.

Luckily with Stormblood came Red Mage, a DPS class I was much more suited for. And with Shadowbringers, Mei was able to finally find a tank class that works - Gunbreaker. It’s been a lot of fun so far.

(And, thematically, having both Tala and Mei become primarily RDMs changed the focus on the cousins as well, but anyway…)

So in this story, which takes place a little bit after the close of “Greetings and Farewells,” Mei is trying to learn how to Dark Knight. Or at least, how to use the giant two-handed sword taller than she is. I know that the skills for the job have changed, and I’m no longer sure if Provoke was a thing for DRKs way back then, but I’m going with it anyway.

Also, to clarify - Mei is mute, but has the ability to "speak" with Tala telepathically. And like with spoken words, Mei can also convey a lot of emotions through the tone of these silent communications. Tala can sometimes project some emotions back through their link, but cannot manage to convey actual words.

[lady-dimitrescus-loving-wife]

Hisollumi || Part 3

Hisoka had twitched when he heard foot steps, they were a bit distant but he had still managed to hear it considering his ear was against the floor closest to the door. His eyes slowly opened, dull and vision was blurry and his body was cold. His room didn’t really hold any warmth and now that he was little and weak again he noticed it for his first time since staying here. He sat up a little, vision starting to focus and hand coming up to rub at his numb temples.

He must have cried himself to sleep... no there was no doubt. He looked around and noticed he was on the floor hands running carefully over the carpet, no wonder... He moved to get up, swaying as he hugged his own naked body to crawl back into the bed avoiding looking at the mirror. He was too disgusted to look at it.

He had bags under his dead golden eyes and he looked paler than normal, he had already caught a cold.. mainly thanks to his hysterical crying and cold room. With a soft broken noise he placed a hand on his messy bed climbing up and flopping down, the sheets wrinkling under him.

He would have grabbed his blanket but there was no use, it didn’t matter nothing did anymore. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged his them closing his eyes once more. It was midday and the sun had still been out for a bit. He didn’t care though. He started to lose consciousness but then his phone rung again, golden eyes snapping open as he stayed still frozen with shock.

When it went to voicemail after a few rings he sighed in relief, it seemed whoever had called him didn’t care to bother him much. He couldn’t be bothered and he doubted it was Illumi but then his heart started to pound in his chest at what he heard from outside his room door.

“Hisoka, I’m here. Open the door before I kick it down.”

The small child jerked and covered his mouth feeling the bile coming up, he was scared.. really fucking scared. He tried to scoot out of the bed without making any noise but he suddenly felt like a newborn deer. His legs shaky and hand gripping the dresser next to it whimpering when he tried to run to the bathroom and banged his leg against the firm wood which managed to form a dark purple bruise. It showed how frantic he was to leave, such force...

Illumi wasn’t stupid and his eyes darkened clearly annoyed at the loss of a response. He was an assassin trained since birth after all, he’s hearing was infinite. He waited a while longer outside the old rickety door, listening carefully to the shuffling noise inside before he stepped back and kicked open the door. The wood breaking into splinters that shot throughout the room thanks to joe much force he put into it. Splinters launching into the was and furniture.

His leg slowly lowering as he took in the scene.

When he stepped in he expected the fool to be in a strange position, thanks to dodging the attack, with a fox like grin; maybe stating how to assassin seemed ‘active’ today as a joke but he didn’t. The room was supposedly.. the bed was messy, blankets hanging down on the the floor and clothes tossed all over the floor.

The Zoldyck looked around slowly, wide dark eyes taking in their surroundings, before walking over to the mirror. His steps nearly silent as he went over. He then looked at the carpet floor squatting down slowly when he noticed red in it. His long hair hanging over his form like a curtain as he hummed. He knew he had smelled blood and there was a bit which obviously some type of damaged was caused but from who? He doubted Hisoka got hurt, it was possible but he knew the other couldn’t give jumped or killed easily not without a major fight of some sort.

The clown may have been an idiot but he wasn’t a weakling.

He would have used En to scope the area but saw no need. He sighed. Maybe the idiot had simply went out on a walk or something or found a rat and killed it. Granted, that would help piss him off as well considering he never got an answer. Illumi also noticed a faded hand print in the mirror scooting closer to get a better look. He stretched his limbs before pressing his hand against the surface next to it.

“A child? That fucking freak..”

The male spoke before standing a bit of a disgusted look in his eyes dusting himself off. He didn’t notice something was crawling until he pulled himself from his thoughts. He immediately turned around and there he was... A small boy, he assumed, with straight red hair, golden eyes, and bruised skin.

Hisoka turned to stone under the other’s gaze looking up at the other with the most dreadful look. Illumi tilted his head... was it really possible for this to be Hisoka. There was no way it wasn’t, the clown had way too unique looks for him to not be able to point them out. Illumi May have been a person that ignored a lot of things but he knew Hisoka when he saw him. How the boy looked at him annoyed Illumi just a little. He hadn’t even done anything but it managed to not show on his face.

“Hey.”

Hisoka bit his lip as Illumi looked over him, eyes blank and cold.. something Hisoka hopes to not see.. He had a baggy shirt on and nothing else and Illumi was just a bit confused. So did something happen? He suddenly started to reach out to the now, his aura dark and dangerous as the tops of his long hair started to raise. The now younger male immediately yelped standing up gripping the wall to keep himself from falling or stepping into any of the sharp wood pieces.

Hisoka tripped as he turned to corner but kept pushing himself to began running out the door jumping the rail, managing to twist his ankle which made him hiss and tumble.. dirt in the group pushing up and covering his already dirty skin even worse, the dust getting into his cuts as well. He fought it standing up ignoring the aching pain as he push through his unstable mind focusing on running and getting away. His shirt flowing on him like a dress as he ran as though he life depended on it.

It didn’t last long though, he had gotten to the woods when he stopped falling down to his knees. He clutched his shirt trying to gathering breath, his throat was dry and his heart felt like it was going to explode his free hand gripping his naked thigh hard enough to cause blood. It was quiet, too quiet and if he was in his older body he would have noticed that.

He coughed, back arched as he dry heaved. His heat wet with sweat and sticking to his head. Suddenly he was face first in the grass and hurt cry leaving his lips, grass tips tickling his dry tongue as long dark hair slowly glided down to surround him. A large slender hand in his hair pressing his face to the ground and another holding the hand that had been in his thigh behind his back. Illumi loomed darkly over him, the shirt rising up showing his cute round butt which the Assassin ignored as he straddled the boy.

“Hisoka... what the actual fuck is this. If this is some joke I’ll kill you right here.”

He spoke lowly against him, their bodies flushed together and Hisoka whimpered. His wounds burned, throat throbbed, and body soaked with sweat as he was forced to look at the ground. In another situation he would have love this. To love been pinned down by this man and getting wrecked... even just the thought made him shudder. However tears were leaking out of his eyes.

“P-please..”

Illumi glared his aura shooting out causing the boy’s spine to shiver all over. Hisoka whimper bring his lip.

“So you’re this weak now, begging like a bitch. I can’t believe it.”

The male spoke pulling the boy’s arm until it popped out of its socket making Hisoka scream and cry out his voice echoing as he roughly rubbing his head into the ground to whimper. Illumi tilted his head, it was basically a test. If this was truly happening then they couldn’t continue with their plans and honestly, as much as Illumi wanted to kill him he refused to have his little brother snatched from him and for that to happen he needed Hisoka back in his regular body.

Illumi pulled away from his thoughts when he heard sniffles and whimpering and felt twitching. Hisoka couldn’t handle pain like he did before.. it raked through him and just like a child he wanted it to stop. Trauma led him to begging. When he was younger he went through a lot.. begging and apologizing became a regular thing until he became cold and dark.

However he’d never turn on Illumi. He loved him too much even though he was worthless to him now. Even though he was weak and stupid.

He was pitiful.

“I-I’m s-Sorry.. p-please.. I-I’m so sorry.”

Illumi calmed down, eyes icy. For some reason he felt as though Hisoka wasn’t apologizing to him.. he didn’t know why but he just did. It didn’t matter though. He guessed he had no other choice but to put the plan on hold and try to get Hisoka back in his body. He let go of the boy’s hair and limb broken arm standing up.

Hisoka twitched and jerked when Illumi spoke.

“Get up and let’s go.. we’re going to my house.”

Hisoka tried to listen trying to sit up but he was so weak, his strong arm pushing on the ground to push him up as his other fell limply to his side dead to this world. He ankle sore and bruises and cuts dark and bloody. Illumi watched in a bored fashion before kicking the other’s thigh making him whine.

“Hurry up.”

He spoke and Hisoka forced himself to work hard, sweat dripping down his forehead at his struggles. Eventually he was up and swayed. His working arm holding his broken one trying to support it as he leaned against a tree. His head down, hair over his teary red eyes. Illumi stared before turning and walking to which Hisoka tried to follow but tripped and tumbled to the ground with an oof.

He didn’t want to cry but this was such a blow. No doubt this would take forever to heal and even though he didn’t know why Illumi was taking him at the moment he still wanted to follow. Still wanted to be by his side. Still wanted to be with him...

He bit his lip when a strong hand gripped the locks of his hair tightly pulling him up in the air. His body limp as Illumi looked into his eyes. Obsidian staring in golden pulls filled with pain. Illumi rolled his eyes before holding the body in his arms, Hisoka pressed against his strong firm chest as Illumi started walking again slowly forming into a run as he traveled across the grass and through the trees of the forest.

Hisoka felt his vision getting blurry, the corners of his eyes getting dark. He started to lose consciousness and with the freezing cold air he curled up tightly, face against the man’s chest a bit happy to feel him.

Illumi suddenly thought back to when Killua was still little, hugging him and whining for him. He loved his brother.

He’d have to wait to save him though, for he had trash to take out...

[sseroxy]

Can You Forgive a Monster

Good ol Cass x Lance fanfic/fluff/angst

Takes place after season 3 and what I believe happens.

Warning for blood and injuries

--

It's finally over. Years of working with new friends and the final product was a nearly destroyed Corona, a town of injuried civillains, almost 10 casualties, a broken princess of light and prince of Dark, friends hurt and beaten up, but most importantly, a warlock who's only remain in this world is a single horn. Zhan Tiri had beeb defeated at last with the power of the Sundrop within Rapunzel, the Moonstone with Cassandra, the faith within Eugene, and the scientific magic within Varian. A great battle between friends and foes. The most painful battle for everyone; having their own friends fighting them, Zhan Tiri leading them in bloody rage.

Finally, all are settling down, only a day after this war. The wounded are being tended to, those capable are cleaning up rubble where houses and shops once stood. Some lost more than others, whether if be a person, thing, or body part. But I was okay now. Rapunzel had lost her hair, Cass lost the Moonstone and the bloodlust that came with it. Those powers were back in the Heavens where they belong, restoring balance.

Quirin had been freed at last, his note holding a final goodbye that won't come for another 20 years. Varian had been redeemed and has been working with Xavier since, allowing him to help in the war. Xavier decided to keep Zhan's horn as a reminder but also for any spells or experiments. The Brotherhood had been reunited, and after it all, Eugene had found his family in Corona and the Dark Kingdom. The Dark Kingdom had decided to make an alliance meeting with Corona, one that took place today. All knew it was a sure agreement.

While all were getting their lives back to normal-or what they wished to be normal-an incredibly injured Cassandra laid on her bed, resting off the day before. When she opened her eyes, they looked around and met with three others in the room. Rapunzel smiled greatly, pulling her friend into a large bear hug, gaining a painful grunt from Cass. She pulled back, offering space. Cass looked her up and down, saddened by the scene. Rapunzel had lost her golden locks for her natural brown, short hair, and her leg was in a cast as she held herself up with a crutch. Her face and arms were covered in bruises and cuts; she knew where they were from.

" I'm so..so sorry.."

She let out a whisper, regret showing it's face within her voice. She looked down, remembering it all. Everything she did. She had every intention to use that stone for glory, to take it, to finally take what she worked so hard for. This was never what she wanted. She not only hurt her friends, but was at the mercy of that thing. That twisted creature of magic that wanted nothing more than to use her to destroy everything.

" This is all my fault.. I let him get to him..i let him hurt you.. I hurt you."

Her brows pushed together as she tried to keep the water of her eyes From pouring. She clenched her teeth and her fist. Her left fist. She looked at her right arm to see it was gone up to her elbow. Exactly where her burn was. That painful reminder of her first dip into pain and madness and it was just gone. She moved it up anf down, feeling nothing but a sting in it's end.

" Careful. It's still healing."

Eugene put a hand on her injury. She cringed at what happened to him. The left side of his face was covered in bloody bandages and his right side as well. The flashback struck her; cutting his eye and stabbing his side with the rocks. She looked at Lance, who had bloody bandages around his head and his arm in a sling. He wasn't hurt as badly as Eugene or Rapunzel. She went easy on him; as if she even had a choice.

" It's okay, Cass. It wasn't you."

Rapunzel sat next to her, a small smile from her lips gave a warm, but disgusting feeling to Cass' heart.

" It was, though. I chose to grab the Moonstone. I chose to listen to..him."

She looked away, her teeth clenching harder. Rapunzel took her hand.

" Yes, those were choices you made, and I really wish you didn't, but you had your reasons. And you didn't want to hurt us, that was Zhan Tiri. You were in a bad place and I should have been paying more attention to it like I should have with Varian. It's over, though. It's all okay now."

She hugged her, that disgusting warmth again. A warmth she hated because it was no longer innocent. It was built on hurt, guilt, and betrayal. How was Rapunzel so happy after it all? She wanted to be happy.

" I'm mad about the whole thing; especially with you ruining this beautiful face and my own," Eugene motioned at Rapunzel and himself, " But I think we'll all get over it. Though I'm not too sure about the Brotherhood or my father, they might not be so quick."

He laughed slightly, then proceeded to mess up her already bedhead hair, to which she pulled away slightly.

" Hey, uh, can I talk to her for a moment?" Lance spoke up with a small voice. Eugene and Rapunzel looked at each other, slightly surprised, but nodded. Once they were gone, Lance sat on the bed next to Cass. He sighed.

" I'm so-"

" Don't." Lance cut her off. She was taken aback slightly at this, " I get it." He looked at the floor, " You feel bad for everything you did, heck i would too, what you did was really terrible." Cass' eyes darted, " But it doesn't mean you're terrible."

Cass held what was left of her arm. " What are you getting at?"

" You're a good person, Cassandra." He stated, " You have so much going for you; physically, emotionally, even your personality. You have so much inside you and you wanted people to notice it. And we do."

" What are you talking about?"

" I have seen and noticed everything. Even when you though no one was seeing you, I was watching. I learned so much from you. You taught me how to be stronger, fearless, and helped turn me around from my life of crime."

He laughed slightly, " Even when you knocked me on my butt, i still looked up to you."

The silence took the room once more. It was like an awkward silence. Cass sat motionless besides her slight shaking from trauma. She shook her head.

" You..look up to me? Why"

Lance looked at her, holding a sort of kicked puppy expression.

" Because you are.."

He choked on his words, thinking to himself if he should tell her how he felt. What he's been wanting to say for a long time.

" I..have a thing for strong women."

He smiled slightly, hoping she'd get the hint. She scoffed.

" You want help with Adira or something?"

Lance jumped up, his body full of what he wants to say.

" IT'S YOU!"

He yelled. Cass slightly jumped at his sudden tone. When he saw her uncomfortable gaze of confusion and slight fear, he sofftened.

" It's you, Cass. I..I like you."

Cassandra looked at the large man presenting his love to her. She couldn't react. Was this the right time? Was she ready for this? Didn't he like Adira?

" Lance, I-I..i don't"

Lance let his shoulders drop.

" You dont feel the same- GAH! I knew I shouldn't have said anything, after everything you're not ready for this and should have known better,"

Lance walked around the room, his hands on his face.

" I shouldn't have said anything. Just pretend I didn't."

" Lance.."

Cass got out of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor beneath them. She too Lances hand with her left.

" Now wouldn't have been the best time, but since we're being open..I do too."

She looked down, then back to make eye contact with the lovestruck thief before her. He started to smile.

" How long?" He asked.

" Since the island."

The room seemed to feel hotter and the air tasted sweet. Almost too sweet to breathe. Lance, with tears, opened his arms slightly, to which Cass leaned in. The embrace was at first one sided, as Lance hugged Cass, but he felt her arm wrap around his large middle, sniffling being heard as she started shaking. He felt his eyes drip their usual tears.

Why was this so hard? Why was this so painful? Is it because of the war? Was it that they dont feel they'd make it together? These questions buzzed in both of their minds. Though, Cass had another thing on her mind.

" How can you forgive me?"

She sniffed, her arm burning along with her chest. A flashback took her mind with surprise.

" Cass, what are you doing?!" Rapunzel screamed in horror at the sight of her best friend become the host of the Moonstone.

" Taking my destiny." She said before forcing the black rocks to attack her once beloved friends.

Her eyes snapped open from the memory.

" After everything I did.."

Lance held the small woman tightly.

" I hurt you."

-She felt the tear of flesh as she cut Lances head with a black rock protruding from her arm like Hectors blades. This wasn't her. She didn't do this. She didnt want to do this. Lances cries of pain as he fell back shook her core. She wanted to stop, why couldnt she stop? She recoiled, but felt her head burn with her arm. The vines on her neck and arms were unable to be seen by anyone but her. Gripping her head, her eyes glowed blue and green as she fought. She couldn't stop him.-

" I almost hurt everyone."

-A burning sesation from her chest made her scream out in agony. Zhan Tiri tore the power out of her very soul in front of everyone. They all looked on in horror, Rapunzel trying to stop him. "STOP!!" She cried. He finally tore the Moonstone from her chest and-

" I was a monster."

-He dropped her body, the group rushing to catch her. She wasn't dead yet. Her arm was shown to be useless again, much worse this time. Her color drained but her hair remained blue. The Black Rocks that took place of clothes were scattered along her body, some still embedded as her actual skin. Zhan Tiri consumed the stone but he never would have guessed-

" You're not a monster, Cass. You never were."

-"You can't expect them to hand your destiny over after all of this can you? You have to take it." The creature behind the door had a point. It showed her everything she's worked for and had taken away. Her glory, her dignity, her arm." The Moonstone is meant to be yours."-

" You weren't yourself."

-" I can fix you, just listen..and obey."-

" You cant think that for a second, okay?"

-The finale surged as the scroll revealed how to use the power. Cass still had the Moonstones energy inside. Even if it killed her, shed fix this. Rapunzel held her hand along with Eugenes and Varian activated his machine. This was it.-

" And I want you to realize that I will never see you as a monster. Trust me, ive done terrible things too, but you stuck with me, didnt you?"

Lance tore apart from the hug, putting his hands on Cass' shoulders, keeping eye contact.

" We're in this together, whether as a team or-"

His sentence was broken by a kiss. Cass brought his head to hers with her hand, and even though Lance was big and strong, even if he wanted to he wouldnt be able to break her grip. He didnt want to, though, and instead embraced this moment. It was warm. Not disgusting anymore. The disgust was from thinking she didn't deserve the warmth except from the burning of her arm. This was different. It was nice. Needed. For both of them. It felt like eternity until they broke their lips, yet they wish it would've lasted longer. They looked into each other's eyes, tears staining their faces.

" Better?"

Lance asked. Cass chuckled slightly, hugging him.

" Yeah..better."

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

Nochu & Butterfly

Title: Nochu & Butterfly

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Gang!au, angst, ultimately fluff

Rating: PG-15 (first time using the official BTSWritersGuild rating system! LMK if I’m wrong!)

Warnings: I mean…it’s a gang!au. Blood, gun violence, references to illicit activities, self-loathing, frequent mentions of death, the occasional sleazy pickup line, language (a constant with me),  Guk being a tattooed softie.

Word Count: 2,764

A/N: The long overdue request from @zerotexas1975 as a part of my follower celebration! Thank you for being so patient and always kind! I hope you love it!!!  

I’m in my last semester of grad school, and I work, so life has been kicking my butt. And I’ve been so unhappy having ideas but not being able to find the time to write for you all. I’m hoping to get part 5 of One Ring up this week as an apology.  I’m also working on a Life Eclipsed rework and  a new Joon fic I have in mind- this mixtape cannot come soon enough!!!!

I have a conference and will be headed to Phoenix and LA this weekend and will likely have some time on the flights. Thank you again for being so patient with me!  Will edit as I see them but I wanted to get this out<3 <3 <3

Like the caterpillar emerging from the chrysalis reborn as a butterfly, every time your opponents thought you dead, you emerged, reborn. Stronger, better, faster. That was how you got your codename: Butterfly. Sometimes though, you felt like a phoenix, being burned alive while being reborn, and you wondered if it would be less painful to stay as ashes. But you had a debt to pay, and flirting with the abyss didn’t pay the bills.

Long ago, in a far away land-or really, just the post-industrial remains of your city two decades ago, the city’s most notorious gangster found a small, bruised, hungry child. The final threads of human empathy must have stirred in his bloodthirsty heart, because he took you in and offered you a warm bed and a meal. Had you been less desperate, you would have been skeptical of accepting any offers of charity from a strange man, but you had been young and defenseless. Now though, you knew that everything came at a cost- some more dear than others.

You supposed, in his mind’s eye, that he had raised you up. No one ever bothered you, and if they so much as looked at you funny, they might return later sporting a new bruise marring their skin.  Your “father” start you with small errands, eventually progressing to  drug runs, security, intel, heists-no one ever expected you, and that was your advantage. You were small but fast, light on your feet after years of lost fights and close calls.

But now, as your final initiation to full membership the final test: murder. Your father figure had asked you to take down the heir to the rival gang across town.  Known as Nochu, he led the crime family known only as Bangtan, and they had become far more organized under his leadership. Whereas your father was known for muscle and displays of aggression, they were know for their smarts and stealth, trafficking sensitive shipments for clients with the utmost secrecy. In fact, some even doubted their presence, but when your father’s hired mercenaries started to idle about more than they were out bullying people, your father naturally felt threatened.

You didn’t want to kill anyone, but you saw little choice. It was that or pay back a lifetime of accumulated debt-you couldn’t even begin to fathom the amount. And no one ever left- at least not unless they were six feet under. So instead, you were dragging your feet as long as possible, gathering as much information as you could possibly justify, and preparing yourself for the worst. You’d been living on borrowed time anyway, and loyalty meant a lot in your world. Maybe it was just something to accept. You had accepted everything else prior, but this felt like the end of any chance at redemption.

A small consolation: Nochu & co. were making it immensely difficult to find anything more than shadowy rumors. A little bird (aka your favorite irritable ajumma at the market) had mentioned that something was happening  that night by the docks on far side of town. This was where you now found yourself, fingers numb from the damp chill and legs cramping beneath you from disuse. You’d been out here in the fall drizzle for hours, waiting for something, anything.There was a young boy in a windbreaker and high tops sitting at a bench, feeding bread to the  seagulls, which struck you as odd. It was too damn cold. Normal people’s lives must be boring if this was the best way they had to spend their time. And why the middle of the night? Didn’t he know there were delinquents about? You smirked, realizing the irony of how protective you felt over the strange young man, considering that you were one of said delinquents. The tattoos skimming your arms and collarbones attested to that clearly enough.

Your mind wandered as you got bored, and you continued to watch the boy, who was still sitting there You could feel your leg starting to seize up, but there was scant little you could do, unless you wanted to stand up and alert the whole damn neighborhood to your location on the rusted warehouse fire escape. It had been in the shadow of the neighboring building, but even so, shadows could only shift so much before any sentinels might notice your location.  

Just as you were wondering if the ajumma had sent you on a wild goose chase, another man emerged from the shadows.  He was older, boxier, softer. He looked like the type of person who had spent years working at a desk job, moving from cubicle to corner office, slowly but surely accumulating intoxicating power in society. You’d met a million other men exactly like him, and you always wondered at their greed. Why was enough never enough? He didn’t seem like the type of person to hang out with Seagull, as you had taken to calling him in your head, but who were you to judge? You didn’t seem like the gangster type, but here you were.

If you hadn’t spent years training, you would have never noticed the transaction switch hands, the boy tucking a wad of suspiciously crisp bills into his jacket.

“And the rest of it?” The boy inquired, dark glint in his eyes completely incompatible with the person you had seen feeding the birds only a few moments ago.

“You’ll get it when you finish the job,” the man huffed, clearly irritated.

“Those weren’t the terms.” The boy’s voice was low with anger, cheek ticked out in frustration.

“We do this on my terms,” the older man chuckled, irritating the boy further. The boy moved as though to grab him by the collar, but the older man was faster, clicking the safety off on a handgun that must have been hidden somewhere in his genteel blazer.

You leaned forward, trying to get a better view, and that was when the rusted guardrail of the fire-escape gave way. Years of training kicked in, and though you were a couple stories up, you landed on your feet, scraping your knees and wrists only a little in the process. You were facing the old man, whose face was turning purple with rage.

“I thought we agreed to meet alone. You have your spies here, Nochu?!” He shouted, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. This told you everything that you needed to know: Corporate Goon was new-really new- if he didn’t recognize your tattoos, and secondly, more importantly, you had finally found your elusive target.  But before you could even turn around, Goon had shot you in the side, carrying on unintelligibly about teaching Nochu a lesson for crossing him. It was laughable that he thought you,of all people, worked for him.

You spun around, hoping to memorize the boy’s face, for when you met up on more advantageous terms.

Your head didn’t believe in love at first sight, but your heart was saying something else. Or maybe it was just the mixture of intense pain and gushing blood loss. Though you couldn’t guess whether he was feeling what you were or just surprised to see you  fall from the sky and land on your feet, he seemed equally stunned, eyes round and teeth biting in to his lower lip hesitantly.

But you soon had no choice in the matter but to end your revelation early- you could feel the familiar dizziness associated with blood loss headed your way. And you’d be damned if you let some seagull-feeding softie best you. So you slipped back into the night that had become so familiar, wondering if Nochu’s (and your) time was up.

A few weeks later, knees scabbed, palms mostly healed, and shotgun wound aching slightly, you found yourself in completely different surrounds. The cold, rusted fire-escape had been exchanged for an opulent ballroom. You were sure if you looked, you would find the goon who had shot you rubbing elbows, shoulders and god knows what else with the local politicians. Though you were rarely so vengeful, you longed to teach him a lesson. Gunshot wounds took foreverto heal. Even now, if you twisted in a certain way, you would find blood dotting your bandages later.

But Corporate Goon wasn’t your target for the night. Instead, you were here for Nochu. Your father had been displeased when you had returned that cold rainy night, blood gushing and little to show for it. So you’d been left on your own to bandage yourself. You supposed you should be grateful it wasn’t worse. But here you were, knowing in your heart of hearts that tonight was the night. It had to be. So you sucked up your pride, and found yourself here, dressed to the nines, hoping to slip away with a certain boy amidst the chaos of a large party. Thought it wouldn’t exactly be a romantic tryst you’d be having.

You knew you didn’t have the luxury of more time. Rumor on the street had the ajummas packing up early. Your father was seen as weak, not eliminating a younger gang in the same city, encouraging other groups to make their move to fill the perceived vacuum. But you knew it wasn’t true that he was weak, nor that he would go down without a bloody fight. It had been a bitch and a half to get more intel on Nochu, but you knew as well as anyone that he’d be here-to show face, and maybe make good on the dirty money all these beautiful, wealthy, powerful people owed him.

You scanned the room, idly wondering how unacceptable it would be to throw your demon shoes into the crowd below, when a hand slipped around your waist, hovering over your wound, but not pressing down. A power play- whoever it was knew exactly who you were, and your weakness, but has decided not to push the matter….yet.

“What is someone like you doing in a place like this?” A warm voice teased, and you hated yourself for blushing slightly. Sleazy lines shouldn’t work on you at this point. To anyone else here, the two of you looked like a young, flirtatious couple enjoying the anonymity of a large gathering, instead of rivals out for blood.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back, doing your best to appear undeterred. “Aren’t you risking your reputation of maintaining the lowest profile amidst all the families in this city?” No point in beating around the bush, when he would soon be eliminated.

He looked at you, eyes surprisingly open and honest, but before he can speak, the loudest booming sounds you had ever heard echo throughout the enormous space, followed by even more chaos and screaming. Grabbing Nochu’s hand without thinking, you rushed to the nearest exit, but stumble to a halt as you see your father’s men at the door. They appraise you, hand in his, and give you a knowing (if not unsympathetic look), and you know that it is over for you as much as it is for him.It was a set up, and you should have known better than to trust anyone, least of all your bloodthirsty father. ow convenient- to be rid of a threat and liability in one go.

Before you could even process the emotions you were feeling, the crumbling building a metaphor for the flimsy life you had constructed, debris falls, trapping you to the ornate floor. You heard a shout from the boy next to you, but your reeling head had already bounced off the marble floor and everything was going black.

At first, you thought you were lying  on the beach. It was a nice dream for the few seconds it lasted, but then you realized it was just the rhythmic pounding of a massive headache. You cracked an eye, trying to get your bearings. Much to your surprise, the boy from earlier was there, this time sans evening wear. Instead, he has donned a comfy tee and sweats, looking strikingly normal.  As your vision adjusted, his tattoos blurred in and out of focus, stretching from his wrists to locations unknown under the sleeves of his tee shirt. Tattoos were earned, a sign of membership- and he had a ton,especially for one so young.

You sat up, hating feeling vulnerable in front of a rival, and try to swing your feet to the ground, but your efforts to stand only served to make you more dizzy. Your concussion was worse than you thought. You shrugged internally. You’d experienced worse, and worse would be waiting for you out there. It would have been a mercy to die back there. A phoenix, indeed. Before you can right yourself, steady hands reach out, and gently prop you back up.

“Why are you being nice to me?” The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself. “You’ve seen my tattoos.” You wouldn’t allude to your guardian directly, but unless he was an idiot, he would know what you mean.

He smirked, dimple appearing on one side of his face. “What do you take me for? It would be completely dishonorable when my opponent is incapacitated. Would you go after me if the tables were turned?” You snorted at that. Yes.Well, if he were anyone else.

As you tried to unravel the enigma that was the boy in front of you, he stood, closing the door behind him quietly. You rushed to the door, ignoring the residual dizziness. You could hear him quietly addressing two other men, presumably stationed on the other side. Though it was to be expected that they kept an eye on you, some small part of you felt hurt to be under lock and key.

You didn’t have time to get sentimental- you had to determine your best course of action. What were their intentions? Where were you, beyond the obvious? Where would you go, now that your father knew that you knew where to find Nochu and yet had not killed him?Not only had you taken a bullet for the very person you were supposed to eliminate, you had literally fallen for him after you had fallen from the fire-escape.The irony did not escape you. And though you had ultimately been incapacitated, when your fight or flight response kicked in, your hand had immediately found his. In a moment of clarity, you realized that you would accept any fate your father had in store before you hurt this man.

The murmured conversation continued, and you could barely make out the words.

“Are you sure about this?” a lower male voice continues. “From our intel Butterfly one of their best.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” a third voice chimes in. “How do you know she’ll accept at all? How do you know Butterfly won’t turn and run back to them?”

“Keep your voice down,” he commanded coldly, “She’s barely recovering from blunt force trauma.” The authority in his voice leaves little doubt to how he was able to make the members fall into line, despite being the youngest head ever. “I was curious about what kind of gang member falls from above, only to take a bullet for a rival gang member, and then one who rescues a rival along with herself.”

“Which ultimately failed,” the second voice grumbles. “She almost got you crushed by a light fixture.”

“I don’t care,” he counters, sounding more sure of himself than anyone who almost died twice has any right to. “It was her intention that mattered.” The finality in his tone tells you that the conversation is over, and you rush back to the bed, desperate to not get caught eavesdropping.  In your dizziness, you overshoot, and land in a mass of pillows and blankets on the floor. Much to your chagrin, the door doesn’t squeak when opened, meaning that Nochu has witnessed this entire debacle. Once again, you ponder the preferability of being crushed in the explosion.

The smile on his face is the gentlest you’ve ever seen, even if you are a little indignant that he’s laughing at you.  But you find a small smile tugging at the corners of your own mouth in response.  

“Why don’t you come home?”He asked, palm upward, waiting for yours. And as cheesy as you found all of those dumb rom-coms you would watch secretly in your room, when he says it, you feel your heart open up, and another cycle begins.

[dictionarywrites]

Brought To Justice: Chapter 3

Odin gives Loki a choice when he is brought back to Asgard: imprisonment, or execution. When Loki chooses the latter, Odin increases his punishment twofold, and Loki is sent back to Midgard in order to repay his debt. Bound by his own magic and forced to obey whatever order Steve Rogers lays out for him, Loki is forced to attempt a redemption he neither wants nor deserves.

Ao3 link. Steve Rogers/Loki. Slowburn. 18k. Rated M. WIP. 

Send requests. Tip jar. 

When one is an immortal, the passage time becomes somewhat immaterial. Every day that passes is scarcely an afterthought, a vague understanding that once more, the sun has risen and the sun has sunk beneath the distant horizon, and that another page of Loki’s meticulously kept diary has been filled from margin to margin.

The days on Midgard are shorter than those on Asgard – the planet is small, much smaller than Asgard, and there are only twenty-four hours to the day. It is somewhat frustrating, he must admit, trying to accustom to such short hours, particularly when the Avengers demand such time of him to train (and what a joke this “training” is), and when he has so much to learn, so much to try to learn, to take in.

May 6th, 2014

The Allspeak cannot teach Loki that which he does not already know, and there are thousands of non-familiar concepts, inventions, oddities of this strange little realm, and brands, and names!

“Lift it? What do you mean?” Loki asks, staring at the object before him. A long, steel pole rests upon a custom-made stand, with large weights on each side. There are three weights on each side, labelled 15kg, and Rogers crosses his arms over his chest. Loki moves toward it, tilting his head as he examines the object.

“You just lift it: lie down on your back and— Jesus!” Loki gently brings the rod from its moorings, feeling its weight over his palm. “That’s really that easy for you?”

“Why shouldn’t it be? I weigh three times as much as this.”

“Loki, you’re holding two hundred pounds in one hand. That’s not meant to be easy. Are you using magic?”

“No,” Loki answers. Rogers lets out a laugh, turns away from him, and puts his face in his hands.

May 7th, 2012

“Just try one,” Stark says, and Loki looks up from the packet in his hand.

“Do you want to know how many artificial colouring agents this contains?”

“I most certainly do not,” Stark replies.

“I’m not going to eat that.” Stark sighs, and he puts one of the gummy worms in his mouth.

“Fair enough,” Stark relents, and he snatches the packet back.

May 8th, 2012

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

“I won’t have to touch you if you’ll just stay still, Mr Barton,” Loki retorts, and Barton scrambles away from him, his arm dribbling blood, and Loki puts his left hand up in the air, freezing Barton bodily in his place. Struggle as he might, Barton cannot move so much as a muscle, except to breathe and let out gasping sounds of fear, and Loki lets out a trail of seiðr, healing the wound Barton had sustained when his bowstring had snapped.

Loki releases him, then, and Barton lunges at him, his bloody hand going for Loki’s throat – when he tries to squeeze, he finds the marble column of Loki’s throat will not so much as dimple. He lacks the strength.

“You can’t fucking do that,” Barton snaps.

“What, heal your wounds? I believe you’ll find that I can and, in fact, am bound to.” Clint smacks him across the face, his palm coming hard against the side of Loki’s cheek, and Loki doesn’t feel the need to pretend it hurts. It hurts Barton, though, and he lets out a short, soft sound of pain. Loki’s seiðr comes across the bruised flesh like water, and Clint hisses out a sound as he stalks away from Loki.

May 9th, 2012

“You like cats?” The cat butts against Loki’s cheek, its whiskers brushing over his cheeks and lips, and Loki smiles, softly, rubbing against the young feline’s softly vibrating gullet. Banner is watching him as if Loki is some sort of strange museum exhibit, and Loki glances from him back to the cat.

“My mother keeps cats,” Loki replies. “They’re so small on this planet.”

“How big are they on Asgard?”

“Bigger than you.” Bruce smiles, apparently forgetting for a moment that he oughtn’t smile at Loki.

“Really?”

“No. But bigger than her. Twice her size, perhaps,” Loki answers, and then he stands, walking beside the other man away from the alleyway.

May 10th, 2012

“Who’s this?” Petroyvek says, and Romanov turns to look at Loki. Loki, who has shoulder-length, red hair and pale pink skin, plump lips, and eyes of sapphire blue.

“Intern,” Romanov replies, and Loki breaks the hand of the “goon” that reaches for him.

May 11th, 2012

“You got mail, princess,” Stark says, and he passes an envelope into his hand. Loki stares at it, stares at the handwriting on the front of the envelope, looping to just say Loki. The back of the envelope shines with the golden gilt of the royal seal.

It turs to ashes in his hands, and Stark seems too scared to question him about it.

May 12th, 2012

Loki lies on his back, feeling the cool stone of the tower’s roof beneath his shoulders. He wears a loose button-up shirt, plain trousers, and he stares up at the stars above him. It makes him sick, to look at them.

They’re all wrong.

May 13th, 2012

“You want one?” Barton asks as he hands a ten-dollar bill to the man at the “hot dog” stand. Loki frowns, tilting his head to the side, and shakes his head.

May 14th, 2012

“What are the rules?” Loki asks, and Banner comes to stand a little closer to him, until Banner’s shoulder is brushing against Loki’s elbow. Has he truly forgotten what Loki is so soon? Truly come to trust him so very easily?

“They have to shoot for the basket with a trick-shot,” Banner explains. Rogers bounces the basketball off of a nearby rubbish bin, and it sails easily up into the air, dropping down into the net as Barton groans his frustration. “That means that the ball isn’t just going clean into the net, but they’re bouncing it off something or getting it in by a longshot.”

“Why it called Horse?” Banner opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I don’t know,” Banner says. “Five letters, I guess.”

May 15th, 2012

“What’re you reading?” Sergeant Rhodes asks, and Loki glances up at him.

“The New Testament,” Loki replies. Rhodes stares at him, blinking once. Twice.

“Good read?” he asks.

“I don’t understand why this is presented as one volume. Many of the gospels are repeated several times over, between the individual books. He was undoubtedly an eloquent speaker, regardless of his upbringing, but—”

“Who?” Rhodes asks.

“Christ.” Rhodes stares at Loki, for a long few moments, and then turns on his heel and walks away. Frowning, Loki turns back to the text.

May 16th, 2012

“You just gonna wear a new face every day, now?” Romanov asks him.

“Don’t you get tired of wearing the same one?” Loki asks. Romanov lets out a sound that is almost a laugh – it would be, were it not quite so derisive.

May 17th, 2012

“That’s Lucky,” Barton says.

“It’s a dog. How lucky can it be?” Loki replies evenly as he reads a Wikipedia article about bullet rounds. The article is badly parsed. Loki ought edit it. The dog pads forward, and it lays its head gently upon Loki’s knee, looking up at him with soulful brown eyes. Loki pats its head, gently, and it leaves him – mercifully – alone.

May 18th, 2012

“And now, downward dog…” the woman’s voice is low and soothing, and Loki examines the position on screen for a moment before carefully bringing himself into the position. Many of the poses are perhaps a little basic for his liking, so used as he is to performing his own stretching exercises and contortions, but he should rather begin with these poses and keep up with the instructions when he focuses on a more advanced video.

“You’re gonna become a yoga mom, huh?”

“What connotations does that label come with?” Loki replies, and he stands, examining the pose on the screen before adjusting it slightly, putting his leg over his head instead of at a triangular angle, and he hears Stark whistle.

“Jesus. You’re lucky Clint’s one of us, or he’d be getting you to join the circus.”

“I’m too pretty for the circus,” Loki replies mildly, and Stark laughs.

“Yeah, Pepper said the same thing,” he replies, and Loki flicks the video off, turning to look at the other man. “But with more indignation.” Loki smiles, wanly.

“I see,” he says.

May 19th, 2012

Loki speaks to nobody that day. He finds himself assailed by one of his melancholies, and he spends the entirety of the day in the confines of his quarters, sitting in the corner of the room, his back against the wall.

Another letter from Asgard, unread, rests upon his writing desk, and he doesn’t dare look at it.

May 20th, 2012

Loki lies back in the cold bath, letting out a short hiss of pain. His skin is red and covered in stretches of rash and pained, raised bumps, his ankles and neck swollen more than they should be. When the door bursts open, Loki is far from surprised, and he looks up at Rogers from within the bathwater.

Rogers stares into the depths of the water, his gaze running over Loki’s usually white flesh.

“What the Hell happened?”

“Doctor Banner asked me to join me for a swim in the basement pool. He thought I might be able to shave a few minutes from his lap time.”

“And?”

“I haven’t been swimming for months – I dived into the pool.”

“And?” Rogers presses, and Loki sighs, looking down at his patchy body. Even his face is marked with red spots and painful strips of skin, and he feels like stewing in his water as a bilgesnipe in swamp.

“It would seem I had an allergic reaction,” Loki replies. “Ms Potts forwarded me the list of the cleaning supplies used in the pool, and I would guess it’s the potassium peroxymonosulfate. It’s an oxidizing agent introduced to pools to balance against the amount of chlorine.”

“I thought you were an alien,” Rogers says.

“Aliens have allergies,” Loki replies. “Do you think I lack an immune system as well?” Rogers crosses his arms over his chest, taking a step forward, and his gaze flits downward, stopping between Loki’s legs. His blond brows furrow, and Loki says, for a second time, “Alien.”

“Thor doesn’t look like that,” Rogers murmurs. “And Thor has hair.” If Loki felt nervous about this particular situation, perhaps he would press his thighs together and hide the shape of his organs, but the pain is too widespread to move with such a hurry, and Rogers doesn’t seem the type to become so hung up on such minor details.

“Thor and I are different species,” Loki points out. “As I believe I’ve told you before.”

“That hurt?”

“Terribly.” Loki sighs, softly, and tries to dip himself lower into the water. It becomes cloudy with ice, and Loki relaxes slightly in the freezing press of it against his skin. “My apologies. I ought have tested the waters first.”

“Don’t apologize,” Rogers says, and then he turns to go.

May 21st, 2012

“You ever try some, Loki? Long-pig?” Rhodes asks, and Loki looks across the table at him. Loki had been somewhat nervous about settling at the table with the marks and redness still visible on his face and neck, on the backs of his hands, but no one has mentioned it. If anything, everyone is being almost kind.

“My advice would be not to ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” Loki replies quietly. Rhodes stares at him, then grins, leaning across the table.

“You haven’t,” he says. “You haven’t!”

“You oughtn’t look so excited,” Loki says. “From your perspective, this is cannibalism.”

“How long ago was it? What, a thousand years ago? Two thousand?”

“You can’t just drop out a hint you’ve eaten people and not spill the beans,” Barton jumps in, pushing his sickly-sweet cake aside, and Loki looks around at all of them. Even Rogers looks rather curious, and Loki wonders why he had so overestimated the human capacity for disgust amongst these strange little creatures.

“Human flesh was overly rich and fatty in Nippur, two thousand years ago. I certainly wouldn’t recommend it now.”

“Nippur?” Romanov repeats. “What, in Iraq?”

“It wasn’t called Iraq back then,” Loki murmurs, and then he sets his knife and fork down. “I was young, impulsive. I had learned new spells that very week, and my mind was electrified by the magic within me, driving me nearly feral.”

“So you ate him?” Stark asks, and Loki exhales.

“He was a soothsayer. He told me I should convert.”

“What to?” Banner asks.

“I never found out,” Loki replies, mildly. “I devoured his heart from his chest and roasted his tongue on a spit.”

“Gross,” Barton says. “You eat tongue?” Loki puts his face in his hands, and when the laugh sounds from the around the table, he feels neither small, nor pathetic. The laughter is good-natured, and warm, and Loki feels – for a second – as if he is at home.

May 22nd, 2012

“Good morning, Colonel Fury – I suppose you’re here to see Captain Rogers,” Loki says. “How are you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fury retorts as he sails past Loki, and Loki shrugs his shoulders, returning to his book.

May 23rd, 2012

“You wanna come?” Barton asks. Loki glances up from the laptop on the table before him, staring at the other man, and he slowly moves to stand. “What? We’re going to the movies.” Loki takes a few steps forward, examining Barton carefully, and despite how close Loki comes to him, despite how much Barton should fear him, he does not flinch away. He looks up at Loki, ­his expression a mask of perplexity.

“Your habit of burying trauma in humour and friendly ribaldry is toxic to you,” Loki says, very quietly. Barton leans back, his eyes widening slightly. “Go to the cinema with Ms Romanov, Mr Barton. Put this behind you.”

“What, you think you’re too good to be friends with me?”

“Mr Barton,” Loki says, emphatically. “It is precisely the opposite.” Barton walks away from him, and Loki slowly shakes his head.

May 24th, 2012

“Do a hundred more,” Rogers says. Loki is partway to his feet when Rogers gives the order, and Loki sighs, dropping down onto his palms once again and beginning the round of push-ups once again. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him he should stop attempting to be my friend,” Loki says. “He oughtn’t forget what this is.” Rogers’ foot rests against Loki’s shoulder, and he begins to place his weight upon Loki’s back, pressing down with some of his inhuman strength, and the push-ups become marginally more difficult.

“This is your redemption, Loki. Get your head out of your ass and take it.” A shiver runs down Loki’s spine, and he bites it down, focusing on the burn in his arms, the ache in his palms.

May 25th, 2012

“Pietro Maximoff,” the man says, and when he puts out his hand, Loki takes it. “This is my sister, Wanda.”

“Put your magic away,” she says, and Loki gives a small bow of his head, his expression apologetic. His seiðr is normally stretched about him, tendrils comfortably taking in that which can be felt upon the air – enough, for example, to realize that neither twin is as young as they seem to be, to realize that they are older than they seem. She puts out her hand, and Loki takes it, leaning and pressing a kiss to the backs of her fingers, which are a beautiful brown. “You think I’ll be charmed by this?”

“Of course not,” Loki murmurs, and he looks between the two of them, feeling a soft smile come to his face. “But I know royalty when I see it.” Her brown eyes widen, and immediately her brother steps in, his fists clenched at his sides, and Loki reaches for his hand as well, holding it tightly. His blood runs so fast beneath his skin that Loki can feel it like the thrum of a livewire, and Loki looks between the both of them.

“You look like—”

“My father, yes, I know,” Maximoff mutters. So these are two of the children of the mighty Magneto – a king in his own right, Loki thinks, or he would be. Loki can feel the twist and tingle of reality-bending magic around Wanda’s energy, clinging to her skin like stardust. Loki will only have to use their forenames: it is so complicated with twins.

“Joaquin Phoenix,” Loki replies. “Tony Stark had me watch a film that starred him.”

“I don’t watch TV,” he says, lowly. “Nor film.”

“I don’t care for it,” Loki admits. Wanda pulls her hand away, but Pietro doesn’t: he lets his hand remain in Loki’s grip, and Loki leans, brushing his lips across his fingers too. If it shocks him, it doesn’t show on the other man’s face.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Wanda asks, and Loki smiles.

“If he wants you to.” Pietro withdraws his hand, squinting slightly at Loki, and Loki cannot help the way he grins.

May 26th, 2012

“You got another letter,” Tony says. “You want me to give it to you, or are you just gonna burn it again?” Loki hesitates, looking at the envelope in Tony’s hand, and then he takes it, opening up the envelope and looking at the paper within. Fragments of the wax seal cling to his fingernails, but he barely notices as he looks at the two pages, one written in his mother’s careful script, the other in his brother’s ugly scrawl.

He looks between the two of them, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

“You expected three letters?”

“No,” Loki answers. “But I hoped.”

May 27th, 2012

Dearest brother,

Dear Thor,

Thor,

Dearest Thor,

The nib of Loki’s pen crumples beneath the press of Loki’s hand to the page, and Loki sets it aside, then begins reading the Wikipedia article on the previous iterations of the Avengers Initiative. The Maximoffs have been involved before, back in the seventies, and Loki runs his hand through his hair as he reads through the page before him.

Dear Loki, reads the letter open upon Loki’s table, and Loki cannot help the way his gaze is drawn to it. Loki had sent his reply to his mother yesterday, but Thor’s… Brother, pray, know first of all that I forgive you, whole-heartedly, and with all the love I have to hand. Do not doubt that I adore you, even now: I miss you with every day that passes, and I wish only to forge our bond anew.

Loki closes his laptop, closes his eyes, and tips his head toward the ceiling.

“Loki! Am I teaching you how to make this masala or not?” comes a call from down the hall – Rhodes is in the kitchen, waiting for him, and Loki is desperately glad for the distraction.

May 28th, 2012

“Hard, isn’t it?” Maximoff asks across the table.

“What?” Loki asks.

“Having to be a hero when you know you’re not one.” Loki smiles.

“There are similarities between our situations, of course. For example, we both have blue eyes and prominent noses.” Maximoff laughs. There’s something uncanny about the way he moves, perhaps because he is naturally inclined to moving so very fast, because he is slowing himself down for Loki’s benefit, as he does everyone else.

“Pass the salad,” Romanov says, and Loki does.

“You aren’t an Avenger,” Loki murmurs. “You still have a contract with the X-Factor, do you not?”

“You aren’t an Avenger either,” Maximoff replies. “Yet.” Loki smiles.

“No. I’m not.”

May 29th, 2012

Dearest Thor,

I regret my haste in avoiding the first letters yourself and Mother sent to me: I hope you know I did not mean to be uncaring, or unfeeling. I was driven by fear alone, unable to bear glancing at the parchments I thought would condemn me ever more than I already am condemned… And I was wrong to doubt you.

The events of New York, I would tell you— They were not entirely within my control. I would not ask you sympathize with me, for I still made the choice to attack your Avengers, still laid out a plan that would harm your few friends on Earth.

I am safe, brother, and I am well. Captain Rogers treats me well, although he has no obligation to do so, and I feel almost comfortable in my position here. I am not a hero at my core: it does not come naturally to me to be self-sacrificing, to be as you are. And yet my very magic binds me in my bones, makes me become accustomed to my situation in a way I would not without it.

I have always struggled, as you know, in search of happiness. I have seen Angrboða go before me to Hel; I have felt my children taken from me; I have parted ways with Sigyn, after the death of our two boys. I feel ever adrift on a vast ocean, unsinking, with no shore in sight.

Let me be as you are. Let me try.

With all my love, Your brother in bond if not blood, Loki

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

Steve stands in the middle of Central Park, sunglasses balanced on his nose to protect from the glare of the sun. It isn’t as warm as it looks, but Steve just wears a light t-shirt and a pair of shorts, already having done his morning jog. Once again, the young black guy – another soldier, is right in front of him, and he is approaching Steve with a smile on his face.

“Out here making me look bad again, huh?”

“I don’t need to make you look bad,” Steve replies, putting his hand out to shake, his dossier held at his side, and the soldier takes it firm in his own hand. “You do that all on your own.”

“Sam Wilson,” the soldier says, and Steve smiles.

“Steve Rogers.”

“Uh, yeah, I know. You saved New York a month ago?” Steve shrugs his shoulders, feigning a lack of care, and he and Sam then chuckle together, sharing a laugh. Steve watches as Sam pulls his water bottle up to his lips, taking a long drink before he glances at the dossier in Steve’s left hand.

“What’s that? Paperwork?”

“Something like that,” Steve says, and he turns his head. The young man that comes running toward them looks to be in his early twenties, his skin fair, his eyes a soft, sea-green. He’s running fast, and this is his fifteenth lap of the park, but he still hasn’t broken a sweat. Skidding to a stop in front of them, Steve reaches back, grabbing a bottle off the bench and passing it over – the runner takes a short sip, then reaches up, pushing his red hair out of his eyes. “You’re not sweating. Isn’t this hot weather for you?”

“I don’t sweat, Captain Rogers,” the runner replies, and Steve looks down at the folder.

“Did you write that down?”

“Why would I write that down? Is it important that I sweat?”

“Do another lap,” Steve says.

“But I—”

“Go!” Tossing the bottle back to Steve, Loki takes off, and Steve grabs a pen out of pocket, scribbling “doesn’t sweat” at the top of the page he’s on. Loki had passed the dossier onto Steve two days after he’d arrived, handwritten with a fucking index at the back, but the thing is like a damned book, and Steve has barely read halfway through it.

“Training new super soldiers?” Sam asks, his lips quirking into an easy smile, and Steve exhales slowly, shaking his head. They’d decided the day after Loki had touched back down on Earth to keep the situation secret from the public for now – better to have him appear as someone else for now, and to wait until they’d fully catalogued what the guy could or couldn’t do before they put him in the field and started selling him as a guy out for redemption.

“He’s not in the same league as super soldiers,” Steve says, and Sam laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Shit,” Sam says, looking down the trail Loki had taken. “Kid’s giving you a run for your money?” This shouldn’t be part of Steve’s purview right about now. Steve should be chilling out, making a list of the stuff he still needs to learn about this modern new world – like Loki is – and he isn’t. Tony is taking over the Avengers management, and Steve… Steve has his hands full with Loki.

“You have no idea. Doesn’t even realise he’s supposed to be sweating. You know how many laps he’s done?”

“How many?”

“That’s his sixteenth.”

“Jeeze,” Sam says. “How do you—” There’s a loud, crackling bang on the air, sounding heavily on the warm breeze, and Steve’s head whips in the direction of the gunshot. Immediately, he and Sam are running toward it, Sam falling behind as Steve’s comparative speed kicks in, and Steve zones on the sound of a struggle, coming into a wooded area of Central Park and scrambling through some thick bushes.

“I told you to stick to the path!”

“You also told me I had to help people in danger!” Loki snaps back, and he bends his head, his red hair shining in the light that dapples in through the trees above their head. The girl across his lap has deep brown skin and natural hair, a ring through her nose: Loki is carefully pushing her hair aside to work on the wound on the side of her skull. Steve can see that the bullet has glanced off the side of the girl’s head, and he glances around for the shooter, listening for pounding feet.

There are none.

He kneels down beside her, and he stares as Loki weaves his magic into the flesh, rebuilding it before Steve’s eyes, building up the fragmented skull. Loki has his palm tangled in her hair, his gaze focused, but far away, and Steve just wishes he’d had the time to get to the bit in the dossier on Loki’s healing.

“She gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Loki answers, and he taps the girl’s face, gently. She stirs, her eyes opening, and she shocks in her place, but he shushes her in a very soft, low voice. “I’m so sorry for shocking you.”

“Eli had a gun, he was gonna— Shit—”

“Sit up carefully,” Loki instructs, and Steve leans back, his hands on his knees as the girl comes up into a sitting position, looking around her wildly. Behind Steve, he feels Sam’s steps come up behind him, but Steve doesn’t even need to put up a hand to stop for him to get the message.

“What happened? Where is he? He was waving this gun around, talking about… Shit, I don’t even know…” She trails off, and Steve watches the way Loki’s hand settles on her arm.

“He ran,” Loki murmurs. “What’s your name?”

“Vanessa,” she says. She’s breathing heavily, and for the first time, she turns to look at Steve. Her lips part, her eyes widening slightly.

“You fainted,” Loki murmurs quietly. “It’s an understandable reaction – when we’re given a big shock, sometimes our vagus nerve, which connects our lungs and heart to our brain, is prompted by the sudden change in blood pressure, and we lose consciousness in a fainting spell. Your lovely hair cushioned the blow quite nicely.” Despite the shock of the situation, Steve can see Vanessa’s lips twitch, and she smiles.

“You saved me. I remember— He was about to pull the trigger.”

“Just happenstance, I fear,” Loki says mildly, patting her shoulder once more. “Very lucky, too – he might have shot you.” Standing, he offers her his hand to help her up, and she lets out a short, nervous sound. “You should call someone. Your mother – a family member. You oughtn’t be alone.”

“Yeah, I, I’ll call my mom. Thanks, uh— What’s your name?”

“Hamish,” Loki says smoothly. “Have a good day, Vanessa. Stay safe.” It doesn’t look exactly like she wants to go – Steve can see the curiosity on her face, the way she wants to linger, but the way Loki suggests stuff, it comes across as… Not an imperative, but a push, at least, and Steve has to wonder if there is magic in the words themselves. Steve can see Vanessa tap a number into her phone and hold it to her ear as she keeps on walking, and Loki sits back on his heels.

“Hamish, huh?” Sam says. “What, you English?”

“Samuel, is it? Who are you, the son of Hannah?”

“Don’t get nasty with strangers,” Steve mutters under his breath, knowing Loki will hear him, and Loki closes his mouth shut, crossing his arms over his chest. “And don’t use the Bible to do it, people will think you’re some crazy church guy.”

“Nah, my mom was called Deborah. I’m the son of Paul, though,” Sam says, not seeming too offended, and he puts his hand out to shake. Loki takes it, politely. “Guy ran off?”

“No,” Loki replies, and he glances to Steve, asking silent permission. Praying Loki isn’t going to show them a body, Steve nods his head. Loki takes a few more steps away from them, reaching into some thick hawthorn bushes, and he drags out the guy inside. Eli, a white boy with a California tan, is out cold, and in pulling him out from the bushes, Loki has caught his forehead on the hawthorn – a thin trickle of blood is coming away from his brow. Loki frowns, reaching down to heal it, but Steve catches his arm, giving a slow shake of his head.

“We’ll take him to the station,” Steve says, and Loki reaches into the bushes, using a handkerchief to hold the gun.

“Glock,” Loki says.

“Very good,” Steve says, then looks at Loki expectantly, arching his eyebrows. Loki looks between Steve and Sam once again, and Steve says, “It’s fine. Tell me what it is.”

“It’s a fourth-generation Glock 17. Magazine capacity of 17, and it’s a semi-automatic handgun, popular with law enforcement… No serial number: it’s been scratched off.”

“What rounds does it take?” Sam asks.

“9 by 19mm rounds – Parabellum. One of the most popular rounds in the world, actually, particularly for military use – it was designed by Georg Luger in 1902 and the name actually derives from the Latin: si vas pacem, para bellum: if you seek peace, prepare for war. I was just reading last night—” Christ, the man takes in information like a sponge. Tony had shown him Wikipedia in the first week he was here, and the guy just takes in page after page of information – seemingly to memorise it.

“That’s enough,” Steve says, and Loki does.

“You in the army?” Sam asks.

“Goodness no,” Loki replies, and when Steve stares at him, he amends, unconvincingly, “I’ve not the wherewithal for such hardship.”

“I’ll see you, Sam,” Steve says, and Sam presses a piece of paper into his hand – a phone number. “You picking me up?”

“Not without a little more benchwork,” Sam replies: Steve half grins, despite himself, and Sam gives him a mock salute as he heads off, and Steve can’t help but watch him go. Then, he turns his head: Loki’s lips are twisted in a sour scowl, and he stares down at the man prone on the ground before them.

“I wasn’t expecting this situation, Captain Rogers,” Loki murmurs quietly. A little apprehension shows on the pale face of Hamish Adams, and Loki adds, “She let out a sort of half-scream, but his hand had clapped over her mouth – if I hadn’t stepped in, she surely would have—”

“You don’t have to justify it,” Steve says. “You made the right call. Did he see anything?”

“No, I came up behind them. My reflexes weren’t quite fast enough, but any slower and the bullet—”

“Yeah, I get you,” Steve says. “Let’s go.”

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“Where’ve you been?” Tony asks, and Bruce sighs, slowly sinking into the mesh chair across from Tony. They’re at a Jewish deli Happy had recommended, and Tony pushes the cup of coffee waiting for Bruce across the table to him, watching the other man take the drink and take a long, slow sip. Bruce is dressed in a green shirt, and Tony is dressed in slacks and a t-shirt, his sunglasses hiding a good amount of his face from view as he leans back in the seat.

“The police station, and then Avengers Tower,” Bruce murmurs. “Steve needed to stick around and give more statements, but he wanted someone to walk Loki back to the Tower, and Clint wouldn’t do it.”

“You blame him?” Clint is avoiding Loki entirely now, barely even looking at the guy if it can be avoided, and Tony only vaguely knows what the Hell passed between them.

“No,” Bruce replies. “I was kinda apprehensive, if I’m honest.”

“What did you talk about?” Tony asks, and Bruce runs his fingers through his hair, its waves giving way under his hand. “Let me guess. He didn’t say a word.”

“No, no, he did,” Bruce says, shaking his head. “Told me the whole story. He was jogging in the park – Steve’s getting him to do laps – and as he hears this shout of surprise, some girl crying out. So he busts through the bushes, and sees this guy, her boyfriend – Eli Henderson – with a Glock in his hand, ready to shoot this poor girl’s brains out. Turns out this guy thought she was having sex with her psych professor, and was ready to kill her over it – completely unfounded, apparently – and Loki stepped in. Caught the gun out of the guy’s hand just as he was shooting, so that the bullet just grazed her instead of going right through her face, knocked Henderson out…” Bruce rubs his temples, slowly shaking his head. “I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right with me about the whole thing.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asks, and Bruce sighs.

“Steve was glad. Excited, even – Loki stepped in and saved somebody without a thought. But Loki, God, the guy might as well be telling me about a Wiki article he read. It’s like it doesn’t matter to him at all. I’m not expecting him to be Mr Fantastic overnight, but…” Bruce trails off, and he pushes his glasses up his nose. Tony can see the calmness in him, the surprising ease with which he conducts himself – this isn’t a guy frightened of unleashing the Hulk at any second. Not right now, anyway. “I keep forgetting he’s an alien.”

“Me too,” Tony murmurs. “You think it’s ever gonna work? Him as one of us?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says, tapping his fingers against the desk. “You and Steve are working out a whole initiative, right? Some of the local heroes… I heard you were gonna poach some of the X-Men. What, the Maximoffs aren’t enough for you?”

“We only have one of the Maximoffs, and… It’s not poaching if they come to us,” Tony replies, and Bruce grins.

“You sound like Jen,” Bruce says, and Tony gasps woundedly, putting his hand over the Arc Reactor dully shining from beneath his shirt.

“Me? Sounding like a lawyer? That’s a horrible thing to say.” Tony frowns. “Wait, no, she’s also your cousin, and that’s even worse. I don’t want to be related to you.”

“Worried you’ll turn green?”

“Worried I’ll turn nerdy.” Bruce laughs, showing all of his teeth, and Tony smiles to see him smile. “I’ll talk to him, Bruce. See… What’s up.”

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

Loki sits in the corner of the common room, sitting straight-backed on a dining chair, his feet planted on the ground, his gaze on his laptop screen. It’s incredible, Tony thinks, how quickly he’s picked it up – his fingers flash across the keys as if he’s been touch-typing for years, and as he reads page after page he takes careful notes in a leather-bound diary, his pen (we’re past the quill, now, huh?) leaving curving lines over the parchment. He sits right next to the wide windows – Tony’s noticed he seems to be drawn to spaces where he can survey a lot at once, like a damned cat.

“You can have an armchair, you know,” Tony calls as he comes into the common room, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly to the side. Loki looks up from the laptop, his lips parting. “Or the couch. Maybe a beanbag.”

“Beanbag,” Loki repeats, and Tony watches his fingers flash across the keys, press Enter… Loki’s face is a mask of disapproval. “That seems very undignified.”

“That’s life on Earth for ya, your highness. It’s indignity all the way to the top.”

“I’m not a prince any more, Mr Stark,” Loki replies evenly. Tony wonders if there will come a point where Loki calls any of them by their first names, or if they’re going to eternally be “Captain Rogers,” “Mr Stark” and “Doctor Banner.” He looks back to his laptop, then turns his head sidelong, his gaze settling on Tony’s face. “Have you need of me?”

“Wanted to ask how your day went,” Tony replies, mildly. “Bruce says you got into the hero business a little early.”

“Oh, that,” Loki says dismissively, and he stands from the chair, setting his laptop and his notebook aside. He wears a tight-fitting, light blue shirt that’s open at the collar, paired with black trousers that are tight at his hips and calves, and his hair is tied messily in a loose bun. Tony’ll give it to him – the guy blends into the New York Streets so easily that even with the exact same face he wore to pulverize the city a month ago, nobody notices him. “I was obeying orders.”

“You didn’t have to save that girl,” Tony says. “Didn’t have to knock the guy out so Steve could take him to the cops. Didn’t have to do any of it.”

“Fourteen days ago, Captain Rogers: if you see someone in immediate danger, and there’s not enough time to tell someone else, step in. Save them if you can. Nineteen days ago, Captain Rogers: don’t kill anybody, but knock someone peacefully out if they’re getting violent. Eight days ago, you: you’re meant to be a hero, now, Loki, and you can’t just stand by if someone’s getting hurt.” Tony stares at him, and Loki stares back.

“Well,” he says, trying to grab at something to say in response to that, “Didn’t it feel good?”

“What?”

“You saved her,” Tony says. “You saved that girl’s life. Doesn’t that make you feel good?” Loki tilts his head to the side, seeming to consider the thought. Jesus, he is alien sometimes. He’s almost robotic, the way he thinks about this simple question, but Tony isn’t gonna hold that against him.

“No,” he says. “I don’t feel anything about it. She wasn’t important.”

“Of course she was important,” Tony says, reaching out and touching the side of Loki’s arm, and Loki looks down at the touch of his hand as if Tony is poking him with a stick, but Tony powers through. “Listen, Loki, that kid is gonna live a long life, live happily, all because you didn’t let that stupid kid murder her just ‘cause he could.”

“Long life?” Loki lets out a derisive sound. He curls his lip in obvious disgust, and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“Well, not by your standards, sure, but by hers,” Tony says, trying to be patient, but Loki cuts him off before he can say anything.

“No, she isn’t,” Loki retorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brain tumour. Occipital lobe. I would estimate a life expectancy of six months, at most.” Loki’s voice is cold, clinical, and Tony stares at him, unable to say anything at all. Loki clenches his fists at his side, setting his jaw. “What was the point of it? What’s the point of saving her if she’s going to die anyway?”

“It’s okay,” Tony says softly, and Loki’s gaze becomes fiery, his breathing heavy.

“You think I care? About that pathetic little girl, I could—”

“It’s okay,” Tony repeats, and he puts both of his hands on Loki’s shoulders, holding him tightly in place. “Calm down.”

“I am calm!” Loki growls, and Tony tightens his grip as he feels Loki’s shoulders shake, holding him in his place. Loki trembles visibly, his breaths coming fast and heavy, and he sets his jaw. “I’m going to be—” Tony is already stepping aside, and Loki’s light lunch spatters loudly into the pail he conjures from the air at large. Jesus Christ. Where’s Steve when you need him?

“You okay?” Clint asks from the doorway, and Tony gives the other guy a nix motion, shaking his head and drawing his hand over his neck, but Clint ignores him, his eagle-eyed gaze on Loki. His whole body convulses as he gags, and when he finally stops, the bucket bleeding away from his hands like a hologram deconstructing, his face is a chalky white. “What happened?”

Loki says nothing. Stares down at the carpet of the little room, and then walks away. Tony heads over to the other side of the room, closing his laptop and putting his notebook on top of it, ready to take them back into Loki’s room.

“Is he sick again?” Clint asks, and Tony shakes his head. He turns to look at Clint, pressing his lips together for a moment, and Tony reaches out, touching Clint’s shoulder. “Not more allergies?”

“You hear he saved that kid?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s dying.” Barton lets out a low sound, shaking his head, and he runs his hand through his blond hair.

“Shit, man. That’s rough. He tell her?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tony mutters. “We’ll leave him for a while. Let him… Chill. You and him, what’s up with that?” Clint sighs.

“He says I’m prone to self-sabotage.”

“Your therapist agrees, right?”

“I don’t have a therapist.”

“You probably should, buddy.”

“I’ll go if you will,” Clint replies, and Tony laughs.

“You got me, Legolas. Let’s stay unhealthy together.” Clint puts up one first, and Tony – almost without thinking – bumps his own against it. Doesn’t play well with others, Tony’s ass.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

When Steve enters Loki’s bedroom, Loki is on the floor in front of his window, his head between his legs, his fingers interlocked against the back of his skull, palms beneath his ears. “Rhodey teach you the brace position?”

“Get out.”

“Yeah, I’ll go where I want,” Steve replies, kicking the door shut behind him. “Vanessa Pearson has a brain tumour?”

“Mmm.”

“And you want us to feel sorry for you?” Loki’s head pops up from between his knees, his pale, chalky face a mask of anger.

“What? No, I—”

“Then walk it the Hell off!” Steve says, and Loki stands, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You listen to me, and you listen to me now. You don’t get to decide how long people live. You get a chance to save somebody, you’re gonna take it, and you’re gonna smile about it afterwards.”

“I—”

“Smile,” Steve orders, and Steve feels his stomach turn as Loki’s lips curve into a smile, his teeth showing, his thin lips pink in the light. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which are full of rage, and Steve says, lowering his voice, “You aren’t a god any more, Loki. You do the job, you get it done, and that’s enough. You hear me? That’s all you can do.”

“But if it doesn’t matter—”

“Loki, it does matter,” Steve interrupts him. “Six months doesn’t mean anything to you – you have millennia behind you, and I bet you the days feel like nothing to you. But to her? To that girl? They could mean everything. You don’t kill people any more, okay? And if you have the chance to save somebody and you don’t take it, you may as well be killing them. You can stop smiling.” The expression bleeds from Loki’s face, and Loki reaches up, tracing the curve of his own lips. “I’m not gonna order you to feel good, Loki, but I could. Do you understand me?”

Loki’s smile comes back. It’s the barest ghost of an expression, and he takes a slow step forward, closing the space between the two of them, and his eyes are alight with energy.

“What?”

“I’ve suddenly found some respect for you,” Loki murmurs.

“Suddenly, huh?” Loki is too close. He’s barely an inch or two in front of Steve, now, so close that Steve can smell the subtle cologne he’s started using, so close that Steve should be able to smell the vomit on his breath, but obviously Loki has washed his mouth out. Probably did it before he lay down on the ground like this. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Are you going to call him?” Loki asks. His eyes shift slightly as they search Steve’s face for some sort of response. “Steve?”

“You think I shouldn’t?”

“He’s certainly handsome,” Loki murmurs.

“Not what I asked.” Loki’s lips part, and he leans in, leans closer, until his lips brush against Steve’s, and Loki’s mouth is as cold as ice, coming against Steve’s own skin like he’s just chilled them on something first. Steve feels a tingle start in the base of his spine, but he keeps his expression completely impassive, looking Loki right in the face. Hesitation might not be in Loki’s nature, but it shows on his face now.

“May I?” he asks in a whisper.

“You asking me as a friend, or as your commanding officer?”

“We’re not friends,” Loki says, seemingly reflexively, and Steve begins to walk away, putting his hand on the door – he expects Loki to protest, expects him to say something else, or chase after him, grab him, even. He doesn’t.

“You’re right,” Steve says, and he closes the door behind him.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

Loki stands in his bedroom, his arms held loosely in front of his chest, his gaze focused on the door. His mouth is dryer than it ought be, and the room feels uncomfortably hot, clinging to his skin, needling at it.

Loki climbs onto his bed, and he tastes the rejection and the power Rogers had wielded over him at once. Vanessa Pearson couldn’t be further from his mind.

[sterekloveaffairs]

Patched Up - Chris Argent

Author: sterekloveaffairs

Characters: Reader x Chris Argent

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence

Word Count: 1 204

Imagine being a nurse and patching Chris up after a fight at your place because he doesn’t want to go to the hospital:

I was carefully trying to clean the wound on Chris's shoulder, but the fact that it was still bleeding, made it very difficult.

“I still think you should see a doctor,” I murmured, not expecting an answer. Chris was staring at the wall, clearly trying to bite down the pain. I took another cotton pad, not even caring anymore about hygienically disposing of the other one. I would clean it up later. The gaping gash looked deep and ugly, and even with stitches it would be one hell of a scar, if it had finally healed properly.

Finally, the bleeding stopped, and I sterilised a needle and took the thread. He hissed and cringed, but kept still while I tried the best I could to patch him up. It took all of me to keep my hands from shaking, because seeing him like this, clothes thorn, blood smeared across his skin, his face contorted in pain, simply terrified me. Chris was a man who always seemed calm, collected. Nothing seemed to faze him. So, when he showed up to my doorstep, looking like that, it had scared the hell out of me. I had let him in, and without a second thought I had taken him to my bathroom and taken off his shirt to examine the wound. He had shortly explained something about a wendigo, but to be honest I had been too absorbed by the medical side of the story, trying to figure out how to help him without having to take him to the hospital. I still think that is the best option, but no matter what I said, he refused.

“They’ll want to keep me there for at least a few days. I’m too close to take a break now.” He had said. So here I was, tending to the man who looked like he never needed anyone else to take care of him. I was trying to be gentle, but the fist on his other side was clenched in pain and anger, the veins on his arm bulging while he looked away, trying to hide the expression on his face from me. I didn’t have to see it to know he was in pain. So I hurried, getting it over with the fastest and least painful way possible. I finally put away the needle and put a clean bandage on the wound.

“There.” I don’t know why I whispered. It was almost as if I was afraid to break the tension. Don’t have a clue why though. He looked at his shirt, balled up and bloody in the corner of my bathroom.

“I might have something Caleb left, wait here for a second. You want a drink or something to eat?” That last part was not a suggestion. More like a requirement for him to leave my sight. He had lost some blood, and once the adrenaline would leave his body, he would need another source of energy to keep himself going. So despite the fact that he didn’t answer, I went to the kitchen and got him a bar of chocolate and a can of coke. I brought it to him before heading to the garage, where I had a box of my ex-boyfriend's stuff that was waiting to be thrown out. For some reason I hadn’t done it yet, even though we broke up almost three months ago. Maybe I was not ready to let go. But when I took out a grey shirt and went back to the bathroom, I thought that maybe I was. Chris was standing up, leaning on the sink, his head hung low. He looked handsome, attractive. The muscles on his back looked tense, and I knew that whatever he had been doing tonight, he would be more than sore tomorrow. I looked at a nasty bruise on his ribs. He looked up when he heard me sigh.

“What?” He asked. He smiled softly, knowing all too well that my nurse instincts were kicking in. Whenever I saw a damaged body, I had to heal it. That’s what I did.

“I might have something for that. If you will let me.” I said while pointing at the bruise. He looked down, looked back at me.

“You won’t let me leave otherwise, will you?”

“Absolutely not!” he chuckled, sitting back down on the chair that would usually serve as a clothes rack. I hung the shirt on the sink, opening one of the cabinets to look for the salve I always used for my own bruises and sore muscles. It had a horrible smell, but it worked like a charm. The white pot was in the back, of course, and I had to stand on my toes to reach for it. When I finally got a hold of it, I turned around, and I saw Chris hastily take his eyes away from my butt. I tried to suppress the blush creeping up on my cheeks and kneeled next to him, opening the tub. He scrunched up his nose.

“What on earth is that?” He asked with disgust.

“Only the best stuff ever,” I said with a soft smile. I took some of it on my fingers and carefully applied it to the bruise. He winced and hissed through his teeth when I started rubbing it in, but after a few seconds he relaxed.

“Is it supposed to be this hot?”

“Yep. It helps sore muscles too, want me to put some on your shoulders too? You seem very tense.” He nodded, I took some more salve and started massaging his shoulders and back, careful to avoid the wound. He relaxed more and more as time passed, and eventually I was satisfied with the care I provided. I gave him the shirt, and when he put it on, I couldn’t help but think it looked better on him than it had on Caleb.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s best if you stay here tonight. I want to keep an eye on you, and then I can change the bandage in the morning.” I was whispering again, and he stood up, opening the can of coke and slowly taking a sip.

“I guess that's fair,” He eventually concluded, “I owe you something.” He was standing closer to me than usual, but then again, my bathroom was very small. And he whispered too. He raised his hand, put a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Thank you so much.” I could feel his breath on my skin. We were both completely absorbed with each other, his eyes looking like stars to me. We both jumped when his phone started ringing. I backed away, turned around and put the tub back into the cabinet. I don’t know what was happening, or what would have happened if his phone had kept quiet.

But when he was sleeping in my guest room, I might have checked in on him a few times too many. Simply because I wanted to make sure he was still breathing.  

And he was. Luckily.