#i want them to hate him bc he took a lot of both sides territories etc after vm war

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

things that upsets me is that it seems that vinci left v-m war as relatively a winner but i waaaant this to be different like both vinci n (now) falcone r weaked by 2 yrs of it and then clemente enters the stage

[catdoingblep]

Ok, I do not make tumblr posts, but I have this crossover stuck in my brain (and I am having a hyperfixation on the Shadow and Bones rn), so...

Shadow and Bones (TV) x Sandman (TV) crossover, Hob canonically was involved in the slave trade.

Hob Gadling, the new owner of New Inn (a small Inn on the edge of Barel) and your local saint (yes, he is known as Sankta Robert, and he hates this) and fellow Ketterdam immortal in his six hundreds, is trying to live his life in the Ketterdam right after his Stranger missed their meeting.

He was away for a few years after planned meeting (you know, all this “die and return as your nephew from Novyi Zem” things) and just returned to the city when Fold was destroyed. He doesn't want to interact with any of Barel’s gangs, because it is hard to hide your immortality when someone shoots you in the middle of the street (it happened before. Twice, actually).

He still tries to know all the local rumours, so he knows about Crows, and now his Inn is apparently the Dregs’ territory.

Meanwhile, Kaz is planning how to destroy Jan Van Eck and heard a rumour about the devil in the basement.

So, whatever it is, Jan Van Eck is very interested in it and spends a huge amount of money every month to cover the costs of Burgess. And the guards of the basement are so well-payed that no one can buy them. Wylan barely knows anything about it, he only knows that once his father said him that Burgess promised his father to guarantee that his next child will not be an embarrassment (in exchange for the favour that is taking away the Dream bc Alex wants to get rid of the ball). 

(Roderic Burgess was not a grisha himself, but Randall Burgess was a grisha and Burgess was already making a lot of plans for how he will monetize his grisha abilities and how he will use Randall in his barely legal plans before he died in the Fold and Roderick was stuck with useless otkazat'sya second son)

Crows think that maybe this is imprisoned healer because older Burgess was too old to be alive.  

(Alex considered himself “forced through circumstances” after his father died bc he was too afraid of both Dream and Van Eck telling everybody that is in the basement)

So Crows start some shenanigans to break into the basement, and Burgess or Van Eck heard about it and hires some killers to take them down. One of the killers? Corinthian.

Corinthian caught one of the Crows (Nina who cannot take him down because he was made from the dreamstuff?) in the side street, but Hob is passing by. And he doesn't want some kid to be killed on his watch. 

Hob attacked Corinthian and killed him (obviously temporally) but got stabbed in the process. In his heart. With a knife. So Nina tried to save him, but once she took out the knife, Hob comes to life.

And this makes Hob involved in all the things that he tried to avoid because he didn't want to simulate his death too soon (and these children already saw that he is immortal), and Crows offered him to “forget” about his secret. Price? Help to steal whatever it is in the basement. 

After this someone (Inej who will have very mixed feelings about Hob being a saint? like they already met some saints but no one was a slave trader in the past) understood who Hob is.

All this Sankta Robert stuff that Hob hates. He is not only a saint because he just died and was resurrected with too many witnesses, but he also did this during the period when he tried to destroy his own slavery business after his Stranger’s advice. So years after he was known as a patron of the slaves and the ones who were illegally detained.

The eternal reminder of his own mistakes. He is not a saint, ok? Just an immortal man who made a huge mistake and tried to do something right when he understood what a crime he did.

(And in that life, he was going with his real name for some time, so he cannot use Robert Gadling anymore because everyone knows his name as the name of the saint)

Idk what will be next but it all ended up as Hob saved Dream from the fishball and they got together trope, yes. Same story but with some extra Crows flavour.

(And after the rescue of the Dream he is very amused with the fact that mortals call Hob Sankta Robert. Like previously, he never paid attention to the life of Hob between their meetings, only to the Hob’s stories on the meetings, and Hob did not mention this so he didn’t know).

Hob also somehow "adopt" the Crows because they are just a bunch of youngsters for him. Like they're in their twenties, they are totally kids for Hob. Have they already saved the world? Not changing his opinion, they are kids! Kaz is trying to resist this but unsuccessfully (he is not so unhappy with this as he shows).

[moon-ursidae]

SESSION #9!

as always: THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR BOTH GAMES AND THE HBO SERIES BELOW THE CUT!!!

ngl i’m not really feeling this rn so i might not play for very long. and these posts are kinda getting to be a chore and i want them to be fun haha. so idk if i’m gonna keep doing these. i started them so that i could remember my thoughts and stuff when i play. 🤷🏻‍♀️ ANYWAY

total play time: about 3 hours!

hostile territory?? oh geez

i just started the section where abby and manny go to find owen

i’m scared

i’m also fucking horrified for when i get to the ellie fight bc i’ve seen a lot of people say that ellie fights the way that you’ve been playing her??

so she’s gonna be placing hella bombs and is gonna be stealthy as hell and i’m SCARED

god this game is fucking gorgeous

“fuck danny. i’m jealous owen got to shoot him before i did.��� hmmmmm. HMMMMMM.

the more i learn about abby the more that i REALLY understand how revenge gets the best of her as well.

abby thanking manny for a bunch of stuff? hmmmm that definitely isn’t a sign of anything

WAIT I’M ON MY OWN AGAIN?? NOOO

i hate being on my own so fucking much

close quarters branch??? hmmm

i like the difference between ellie and abby’s branches

shows a lot about their fighting styles

i hate this long hallway i have to shimmy through

i’m gonna get jumpscared

GODDAMNIT I FUCKING KNEW IT

FUCKING CLICKER JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

damn abby REALLY doesn’t like the seraphites

goddamn

“yea may she guide you right off a cliff” like holy shit bro

“these freaks are in our backyard.” i love how they’re setting it up though. she clearly doesn’t like the seraphites AT ALL. so how she forms her relationships w lev and yara later are really important

i miss seeing what ellie would draw and write in her journal :(

i hear footsteps…

big ones…

am i about to get my shit rocked when i shimmy through this doorway

i was wondering when i’d see infected

i love how you don’t need the code for the safes anymore

i just go through and listen for the different clicking sounds it’s so fun

wait is this egg a goddamn jak and daxter easter egg

fuck yea ‘relic of the sages’

is there an uncharted ring somewhere?

i hope so

SHOTGUN ACQUIRED BABY LET’S GOOOOOO

WHY ARE THERE MORE INFECTED GODDAMN THEY KEEP COMING FROM FUCKIN NOWHERE

woooaahhhhhhh this seraphite truck is cool

“you want peace? stay on your island.” she REALLY doesn’t like them jesus we get it abby

NEW HOLSTER LET’S GOOOO

seraphites!

i’d rather fight people over infected any day of the goddamn week

NO I DON’T WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS CRAWL SPACE

NOPE. I DON’T WANNA

OH MY GOD THIS IS THE ROOM WITH THE FERRIS WHEEL IN THE DISTANCE THAT I SEE ALL THE TIME

i’m about to go crazy in photo mode >:)

WORKBENCH FINALLY

THIS SHIT IS SO EXPENSIVVEEE

there are so many fucking seraphites in here oh my god

god that took so long to stealth bc it was so many different levels oh my god

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT IS THE FIGHT SCENE WHERE THEY TRY TO HANG HER HAPPENING RIGHT NOW??????

I’M SCARED

flashback first!

the lights are so pretty in here 🥺

DOG???

DOG WHEN?

is he trying to make moonshine??

LMAO the way he went “abigail.” when she shook the jar

OH I’M ABOUT TO FUCK THIS SCOREBOARD W THIS BOW

YEAAAAA I GOT EM ALL

FUCK ALL YA’LL

13 BITCH LET’S GOOOOOOO

oh my god this is a mural of fucking salt lake city isn’t it?

YUP.

YUP. almost exactly from the pov where joel and ellie were standing

that’s crazy how that’s painted from memory

goddamn

aw the xmas decorations 🥺

THE MUSIC IS SO GOOD

wait is she about to ask him to go to jackson or is this after??

good mood because she found TOMMY.

SO THIS IS BEFORE JACKSON.

I HATE IT HERE.

“who’s more about justice than isaac?” you mean revenge?

everytime i start to like her more they remind me of the crime she committed that was killing joel miller.

but i also see how they keep pushing revenge on both ellie and abby’s side. joel took out the whole hospital to get ellie. to get revenge for taking her from him. for not giving her a choice. then abby wanted revenge for her dad. then ellie wanted revenge for her dad. it all goes in a never ending loop.

if ellie killed abby, lev would want revenge. then someone would want revenge for ellie, and so on and so forth. it would never end. so ellie had to break that cycle.

this is just so crazy bro

ugh okay now that i got that out

please don’t tell me it’s where they’re trying to hang abby

GODDAMNIT I SAW THE RAIN LIGHTING AND TREES AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN

OH GOD

THE SOUND DESIGN????????? ARE YOU JOKING????????

SO GOOD.

this looks fucking amazing

if you told me this was shot live action i’d believe you

THIS IS INTENSE

OH MY GOD

IS THAT EMILY SWALLOW????????????

THE FUCKING ARMORER?????????

HELLO????????

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE HAHAHAHA

HOLY FUCKIN SHIT

YARA!!!!!

CLIP HER WINGS????

ARE THEY GONNA BREAK HER ARMS??????

OH MY GOD PLEASE NO SHE’S JUST A KID

I CAN’T.

A HAMMER????? WITH A FUCKING HAMMER?????????????

I’M GONNA THROW UP

HOLY SHIT. THAT WAS ABSOLUTELY LEV.

YUUUUUP I SAW HIS BALD LIL HEAD

HOLY SHIT ABBY LET’S GOOO

IT BEGINS.

GIMME THAT HAMMER BITCH.

OH SHIT STALKERS??????

THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME. THE SINGLE TORCH THROUGH THE DARK ASS WOODS???

FUCKING AWESOME.

OH IT’S THAT ONE BITCH THAT AMBUSHED ME.

OH. MY. GOD.

THAT WAS BRUTAL.

SITTING HERE W MY JAW ON THE FLOOR.

GOD THIS EVEN STARTS OUT LIKE JOEL AND ELLIE.

ESCAPING THE QZ AND ESCAPING THE ISLAND

ABBY’S ATTITUDE “fine don’t tell me. i don’t really care.” LIKE JOEL WHEN HE WAS LIKE “i don’t care how you got infected.”

AHHHHHHHH NAUGHTY DOG I’M GONNA YELL

NEW MANUAL LET’S GO

INCENDIARY SHELLS??? AYO???

that’d be good as hell for rat king huh?

poor yara man :(

awe abby’s “stay behind me” she���ll deny she cares but you can tell that she does even just a little bit

more infected!

OH SHIT

SHALMBLER I AM BOOKING IT GOODBYE I AM HORRIFIED

I’M OUT

WAIT.

IS THIS A FUCKING AMBULANCE?????

WAIT IS RAT KING NOW????

I’M SCARED WAIT IT CAN’T BE

NO BC ABBY HAS A JACKET

IT’S DEFINITELY LATER

AND NOW CARRYING YARA AND RUNNING LIKE JOEL DID W ELLIE

WHAT THE FUCK

her hand is so red 🥺

oh my god her arm looks fucking awful :(

THE MUSIIICCCCCC

🎶on my own again🎶

wait. is the fucking boat scene coming up?

i’m scared. this building looks like bad news.

LONG GUN HOLSTER LET’S GOOOO

i was fully expecting to see seraphites out here not infected jfc

ALABAMA COIN

“should be a straight shot from here.” abby you forgot that this is a last of us game

it’s not gonna be that easy

WHAT THE FUCK DID I SAY ABBY

i cannot express how much i DON’T want to go into this building

i’m almost at 30 hours 😳

i think i’m gonna end here actually bc it’s almost 6 am haha

super intense this time!

in only a few hours of playing!

[theenderwalker]

re: DSMP "unsolved mysteries"

I've seen lots and lots of posts about the "unsolved mysteries" on the Dream SMP that focus on the TNT on top of the prison and the missing nukes. One of those I am very confident was implied canonically to be Ranboo, and the other I'm confident in my theory that it was him. Putting it under a read more bc its fuckin Long, but its worth the read! Word count: 2482

First: TNT at the prison.

This was implied to be Ranboo across a couple different streams, albiet subtly. I'm not surprised it went a little bit under the radar, but it's simply untrue to say we have no indication of who it could be.

This point doesn't hold true across everything of this nature, and if it did, it would be a dead giveaway, but I think it's relevant here for a couple reasons: Ranboo was online at the time of the explosions. Tommy tends to reflexively open the tab menu during his lore streams, almost as a nervous habit, so we saw multiple times that Ranboo was online, and would seen it have even if Tommy had chat turned off. Online at the time were Sam, Dream, Tommy, Foolish, and Ranboo. Foolish could not have been the culprit, as he was live at the time. In the case of this incident, it would have to be manually triggered by someone. Afterwards, when Tubbo was doing his "interrogations", his first bit of evidence was checking who was online when it happened. For these reasons, I feel this is a valid point for this incident.

That night, Ranboo was live on the SMP. This stream is notable for most people because it was when Ranboo did the odd code in his inventory, that read "He is in control" (or he is in control of me, if you count the to do list). Many people focused on this as a indication that Dream controlled Ranboo to set off the TNT, but this line of thinking was abandoned over time, especially as we saw the implication that the message was actually referring to the Enderwalk, talking about Ranboo stopping himself from doing anything to save Tommy from the prison during that week. However, other details in that stream also hinted it was Ranboo. Most notable to me was Ranboo reading chat or a dono asking him what he had done that day, and him answering that he had "probably gone mining," with some uncertainty. Later that same stream, he went down into his mines , found no ingots in the furnaces, and commented "maybe [he] didn't go mining", and that he wasn't sure what he had done that morning. This comes across to me as an indication that he had a blank spot in his memory that day--that he had been Enderwalking. He drew attention to this here, where he otherwise wouldn't, because it implies he was Enderwalking while he was visibly online, on Tommy's stream, where he would have been able to set off that TNT.

Ranboo was one of the only people on the server with a positive relationship with Dream, of any sort. It is true, especially at this time, that many people had negative opinons of Tommy, but Ranboo was the only one who didn't outright hate Dream... in his Enderwalk state. (with the sole exception of Punz, if you think the vault confrontation was staged, but that's definitely theory territory.) Dream has repeatedly stated that he finds Tommy "fun" and enjoys fucking with him. Tommy was locked in the prison after Ranboo could no longer visit, so assuming he has no supernatural means of communication with Dream (which is likely, as we have no real indication otherwise), he would have been acting without instruction. What better way to help Dream out than getting him his 'plaything' for at least a week?

Alternatively, you could frame it as a distraction or a break in/out attempt... which also doesn't make sense for anyone but Ranboo. Either way you frame it, Ranboo is the only person who makes sense without having to stretch their relationship with Dream into something it isn't.

Tubbo's investigation was the only real in character investigation into this incident we saw. He started out investigating people who were online, which is why I believe it's uniquely relevant to this incident. As I mentioned earlier, Foolish's alibi was that he was live. Ranboo's alibi was that he was mining. If you recall, the day Tommy was locked into the prison, Ranboo acknowledged that he did not know what he had done that afternoon, and that he distinctly had not been mining. This investigation didn't get much further than this because Tubbo refused to acknowledge that Ranboo could have done something like this. Because Ranboo has hidden his enderwalking so well, no one has any reason to believe he would do something to intentionally hurt one of his friends, or to help Dream.

Canonically, there isn't much evidence outside of Ranboo's comments to the audience because the characters absolutely cannot find out that it was Ranboo. He cannot be revealed as a traitor, narratively. Not yet, at least. So all of the evidence has to be directed towards the audience, which leads to it falling into subtext more often than not. The Enderwalk arc has the potential for an absolutely disastrous reveal at some point, where others discover exactly what he has done. It's unlikely that something like this will be confirmed explicitly until that point, but I believe the details I have explored above are foreshadowing, and will be explored again at this reveal. This point applies to the nuke, as well--perhaps even more so for reasons I will explore below.

Second: The missing nuke.

This one treads a little more into theory territory, but I think some of the subtextual implication is in this one too, it's just a bit further apart. Instead of being implied in streams the day of the incident and one week later, these implications are a little bit further out. I don't think I'm necessarily stretching by making these connections, though I can see why someone may think it's a stretch.

Ranboo was not online during this stream. This is why I think that's only conditionally applicable to the last point--Tubbo does not check tab habitually, and he had chat turned off intentionally. The tab list isn't necessarily canon to this stream. If we go by that, Jack Manifold is physically the only person who could have taken the nuke. The only other people online were Philza and Foolish, who were both live. Since this wasn't taken into consideration for the investigations, it's not relevant here.

Out of character, Jack took the nuke. Jack did not stream his perspective of this incident, he hung behind when Tubbo went ahead to start building the silo, and when the two came back together later, it was gone. This was intentionally done, as Jack usually streams his perspective for lore like this. If he had been the one to take the nuke, we likely would already know. His secret plans are not a secret from the audience, they are a secret from other characters--this leads me to think that in character, he did not take the nuke.

Very few people knew about the nukes, so we already start with a pretty small pool of suspects. One of these people was Ranboo. Even if Ranboo did seem to forget what Tubbo told him, the nuke would have been taken while he was Enderwalking--y'know, when he remembers everything, or at least remembers more.

The backbone of this theory, and the reason why I even began to consider it, is that Ranboo has a very solid and clear motivation to want the nuke. Ranboo has been helping Dream. The nukes were made specifically to be a deterrent/protection against Dream. If Ranboo takes one of the nukes, Dream now has access to that nuke, and the playing field has been re-balanced. Essentially, it's creating Mutually Assured Destruction between them. To take it one step further, only one of the nukes went missing. Tubbo was left with one nuke, and Ranboo and Dream have one nuke. Why not just take both? Well, leaving both parties with a nuke essentially ensures neither side will use it. It protects Dream, but it also helps to maintain (a semblance of) peace. Neither side can use their nuke without the other retaliating in kind. This leads to tensions, but prevents outright warfare from either side. It's not pretty, but it aligns with Ranboo's broader goals of keeping the peace.

So we've got the motivation, it makes sense. But that's not enough to make the claim on its own. What's the evidence?

This is a touch convoluted, so I get why it doesn't necessarily come up in relation to this as evidence often, but it's pretty solid to me. Especially compared to how vague most of Ranboo's subtext can get.

It's in the lessons! The highest number of lesson we were given was 94, though when Ranboo was repeating it outloud, he said 93. He later clarified saying 93 was intentional. This stream was on April 23rd. 93 days earlier, to the day, was January 20th--the day Dream was locked in the prison. 93 lessons for 93 days. If we take this to imply the lessons were daily, starting when Dream was locked in the prison, each lesson corresponds to a specific day. March 26th was the day the nuke went missing. 67 days from January 20th is March 27th, the day after the nuke disappeared without a trace. Neither Jack nor Tubbo had any real leads on the nuke. Lesson 67, the day after the nuke was stolen... "Leave no evidence of what you have helped with." This EXACT thing is why the nuke is so hard to pin down. There was no real evidence left. This lesson lining up so closely to the nuke's disappearance is not a coincidence. Further, at this point Ranboo no longer had contact with Dream. He had locked himself out of the prison and couldn't visit. If the lessons are daily, the things he writes down are things he's figured out for himself. The lesson being the day after the nuke was stolen makes sense, when framed like that. He stole the nuke, left no evidence, and wrote that down because it worked.

All of the hints/foreshadowing for the eventual reveal of where the nuke disappeared to has to be done in retrospect, and it has to be either from Ranboo, or from some other source that knows more than the characters. Which leads into my second bit of evidence: the Tubbo Texts. Across like, a week of streams (starting on April Fools Day), spooky half transparency cryptic text appeared on screen periodically, that c!Tubbo was unaware of. Those texts have never been explored in canon, it seems that none of the characters are aware of them or of their contents. So they are posed directly to the audience. The second one in particular stands out to me here:

"Quick, I don't have much time. Stay away from the North. A strange metal weapon washed up. It poisons the nature, the water. No it's not. That's it, we are leaving."

The 'strange metal weapon' seems to refer to the nuke, the poison being the radiation. Geographical direction is rarely paid any mind on the server, but north is distinctly the direction of Techno, Phil, and Ranboo's house. I think I remember Ranboo telling Sam he lives "up north" while trying to visit the prison. The arctic commune is the only notable northward location. The nuke disappeared, and reappeared in the north, in the direction of Ranboo's home. The rest of the texts refer to the north as well. We don't know where Ranboo's base of operations is in the Enderwalk, but we can assume he has at least one, and we can assume the nuke is hidden there, if he has taken it. If Ranboo has taken the nuke, it makes sense for it to be in the North.

Ranboo has proven he can take things without any evidence left behind. Remember his first beacon, that disappeared like, a day after he set it up? He never tracked it down, just replaced it. Within a couple days, he made a comment about his pickaxe durability being suspiciously low... maybe because he was using the stolen beacon to mine far from his home base so it wasn't noticeable that he had been mining. That's beside the point. I mean this to say, he knows how to take and hide things, he knows how to keep secrets, and he almost definitely has at least one secret base we've never seen onscreen.

So maybe Ranboo took the nuke, maybe he set off the TNT at the prison, that's cool, but why have they abandoned the plotlines? Why have we never gotten more explicit answers? Why won't they come back to it?

Ultimately, it seems a lot of these plans have been pushed back and delayed for one reason or another. Beyond that, an untimely reveal of either of these things to other characters would be a huge letdown. The arc seems to be building to a catastrophically large reveal, and each thing that gets revealed before then makes it much less impactful. Keeping it subtle towards the audience, while still offering some hints, stops a certain degree of the chat spoiling "metagaming" we see sometimes, that makes some streamers have to fully ignore their chats during lore streams.

This part is very much my own opinion, but I don't believe the missing nuke plotline will be resurfacing until after Dream is out of prison. Ranboo has no reason to reveal he has it until it will be put to use, either as a nuke or as a threat, and that won't happen til Dream is out of the prison and the nuke is in his hands instead.

The TNT on top of the prison will be an insanely gratifying reveal if it comes out with the rest of the enderwalk stuff. Any of this taken out of that context just kinda falls flat. So people know Ranboo set off the TNT, or know he has the nuke. How does that propel the plot? Ranboo won't do much of anything about it. People will distrust Ranboo, sure, but they won't know the depth of the issue, and that just makes the reveal frustrating. It will be revealed in time, I'm sure, but I think the enderwalk arc has to reach a climax first, or it's just disappointing.

I agree with the general frustration that these plotlines appear to be dropped or greatly delayed, but it's a symptom of a bigger pacing issue than solving either 'mystery' on its own will fix. And the answers aren't as obfuscated as they first may seem, it just takes a little digging!

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: "you accidentally get sent into the future and see how you both turn out.”

♡ pairing: dick grayson (anyverse / nightwing) x fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “I said that’s life and as funny as it may seem, some people get their kicks stomping on a dream but I don’t let it get me down cause this fine old world keeps spinning around.” 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / again like what I said with my Jason fic, you don’t necessarily use the TITANS universe to imagine this fic. i just used this version of dick for no reason. 

“god, this is the last time I do any kind of work with ANY OF YOU!” you yelled at Dick as he bit on his inner cheek. all of you had been fighting off a bunch of crooks and at first, you thought it was okay.....that was until one of the crooks pulled out his hidden magical abilities, “at the very least, we could’ve called Klarion for help!” 

Damian gave you a look as if what you were saying was stupid, “I’M JUST SAYING! WE’RE ALL FUCKING HUMAN AND ZATANNA ISN’T EVEN IN THE COUNTRY TO HELP!” you yelled back. 

Dick was trying to remain calm as he hadn’t seen one of the criminals approaching him. he was too busy charging one that was heading towards you. you; however, had saw them out of the corner of you eye and practically sped to Dick which is what the criminal wanted. 

he wanted you and Dick out of the way in order to get Damian trapped. as you and Dick had passed each other with the notion to save each other, the crook pulled out a gadget that opened up a portal. 

“NIGHTWING!” “( YOUR HERO NAME )!” 

+

the two of you went to grab each other but it was too late. you and Dick had gotten sucked into the portal as you let out a piercing yell. Dick tried grabbing you, hoping that wherever the two of you landed, he would get the hardest impact. 

soon enough, both you and Nightwing collided with the ground. you instantly shot up, preparing to fight whoever was around. Dick had took in the surrounding and whispered that the two of you were safe. 

“where the hell are we?” you asked, trying not to panic, “we need to find another portal back. Damian is on his own!” you fidgeted with your fingers as Dick waved you off. 

“if anything, Damian might be more in his element,” he whispered, “you forget how Damian grew up. I think he’ll be fine. he probably already called Bruce or one of the boys.” you tried to figure out how the hell Dick was so calm about the situation. 

Dick took off his mask as you followed along, “I think are biggest issue might be trying to figure out what year he took us too. I can’t imagine he took us in the past so we might just be in the future,” Dick explained. 

both of you walked down the hill that you had landed on and saw you were in Bludhaven, “I think we’re in your home territory,” you murmured. Dick sighed in relief. he was more relieved that both of you landed in his hometown because had you landed in Gotham, he felt like that would’ve landed you in more trouble with the Bat, “I didn’t think Bludhaven was this ran down,” you told Dick. 

“hey!” he exclaimed, “it isn’t as bad as it looks!” you giggled trying not to catch attention from anyone. the two of you made it down the hill when the realization hit you. Bludhaven had snow falling all over the town and you nor Dick were even mildly dressed in clothes to handle the cold. 

“do you have clothes in your apartment? it’s freezing out here!” you exclaimed. Dick gave you the side eye, “I do but if we landed in the future, my future self might be there. we can run into a store and get clothes there.” 

“and do you have cash? bc if you’re carrying a debit card, that would be really weird to see a transaction from the future,” you replied. Dick took out his wallet and pulled out a crisp 100, “I stand defeated,” you murmured. Dick rolled his eyes as the two of you saw a department store at the corner of the street. 

before you could pull in, you heard someone scream you hero name, “hey! those are sick cosplays!” they said running up to you. you gave him a confused look before realizing, you had to pretend that you weren’t actually yourself, “thanks! it took a lot of work,” you tried to say. 

“I bet. it looks super realistic too! ever since she stopped fighting, it’s been super weird not seeing ( your hero name ) around.” you stood confused, wondering what he meant by that, “oh! you’re supposed to be Nightwing! that’s awesome! do you think I can get a picture!” he asked. 

you looked to Dick who just shrugged and agreed. the two of you smiled for the photo as he scanned it, “thanks! I swear, you look exactly like her too! but clearly that can’t be right since the actual ( your hero name ) is pregnant allegedly!” he said as he turned around to leave. 

“pregnant?” you yelled, holding onto Dick who was laughing hysterically, “it’s not fucking funny! I’m pregnant in whatever year this is!” you yelled. Dick could see the panic in your eyes, “he never said it was actually true. he said it was alleged that you were,” Dick tried to emphasize. 

you walked into the department store, which ended up being a Target, and ran to the women’s section, wanting to get out of your hero costume as soon as possible. once you and Dick grabbed the clothes, he quickly paid for it before the two of you darted to the bathrooms to get dressed. 

you managed to come out faster than Dick as you held onto your costume by hand. with curiosity plaguing your mind, you saw a magazine and looked at the date. 

December 22, 2024.

you sighed in relief. the two of you had only gone three years into the future which was a good thing....right?

“we’re three years into the future,” you told Dick. he nodded as you walked outside, “we can check if future you is actually home and if he’s not, you making some portal to get us back home!” you threatened. 

“at this rate, I would’ve preferred if Damian would’ve been the one to come along,” Dick retorted. you pushed him to street, making him stumble over his feet, “say some snark shit again and see where that gets you,” you told him, “plus, you think I want to get stuck in the future with you? I would have preferred Jason if we’re going to be honest. at least he would’ve been more entertaining to be around.” 

Dick remained quiet, not knowing how to respond. 

the two of you had a weird relationship with each other. at times, the two of you got along, to the point where some thought the two of you were together while other times, you practically hated his guts. no one knew why the relationship was this way but his heart felt a pang as you confessed that you would have rather been here with Jason than him. 

“way to kill a mood,” Dick said. you rolled your eyes, “you literally just said you’d rather be with Damian! don’t blame me for this shit. plus, if it wasn’t Damian, I’m sure you would wanted Starfire next,” you added on. 

Dick looked at you stunned, “what makes you say that?” he asked. you rolled your eyes, “please, it’s not hard to tell that you and Star have a thing for each other,” you said, this time more quietly than before. Dick didn’t know how to respond but quickly for him, he didn’t have to. the two of you had arrived to where lived or at least hope he still lived there. 

the house wasn’t big, not in the slightest; however, it was big enough for him on his own. the two of you looked inside of the window and saw that someone was facing their back towards it. 

“whose that?” you asked Dick. he shrugged, half of him annoyed at you and the other half not knowing who it actually was. the two of you remained looking at the person, hoping they turned around so you could get a look, “it looks like you if I’m going to be honest,” Dick replied. 

you sighed, “I don’t think it is but sure,” your statement was quickly taken back as the person finally turned around. it was in fact you...fully pregnant and opening up the window. you let out a piercing scream as Dick quickly covered your mouth, trying not to get caught. 

“can you shut the hell up?” he whisper screamed, “you’re going to get us caught!” he continued. you took his hand off your mouth, “do that shit again and you’ll be dead before you can even see your future self,” you threatened, “plus! that’s me! pregnant as fuck!” 

Dick tried not to laugh at your last statement but couldn’t, “if you’re pregnant, I wonder whose kid it is and why the hell you’re even at my place,” he wondered, “it’s probably yours,” you joked, making the both of you laugh quietly. 

you remained looking through the window, watching as you stood up and got different things from a box. you were whispered things you couldn’t exactly heart but one thing you did notice was the huge ring on your left finger. 

you whipped your head to look at Dick as his eyes widened. his future self had walked into the living room, giving you a peck on the cheek before bending down and kissing your stomach, “hey bubba! treating your creator well?” he asked. 

both you and Dick looked at each other speechless as you put two and two together. you were pregnant....with Dick’s child, “you better because your mom might kill me if you’re giving her a hard time,” he joked before placing a kiss on your lips, “we should eat before John gets hungry and your dad thinks we ditched out on the plans,” you mentioned. 

“John?” you whispered to yourself, wondering why the hell you named your future kid John, “John was my fathers name, you know, before he passed,” Dick confessed. your eyes widened, “oh, is it?” you murmured back, not knowing what to say. 

the two of you walked closer the door as you noticed your belly again. it was bigger than you realized as Dick had to help you down the stairs. you watched yourself get into Dick’s are as you were struggling to put the belt around you. eventually, Dick drove away and left the two of you alone again. 

the air was thick with silence as you had no idea what to say, “parents huh?” Dick asked with a chuckle of nervousness, “yup....and you’re the dad,” you added on. Dick nodded as you sat on the curb with your hands on your knees, “and you’re the mom,” he replied. 

you let out a laugh of disbelief as you couldn’t make up anything to say, “crazy right? I think we’re married too,” you finally looked at Dick as he stared at you, almost lovingly, “is there an issue with that?” he asked as seriously as possible. you shook your head no, “nope. just weird that we were the ones that ended up married and having kids together,” you said. 

Dick slowly grabbed your hand and held it softly. 

“I mean it could be weirder...it could have been Jason or Tim,” he said out loud. you shrugged, “I mean, that would have weird too,” you played with Dick’s fingers and bit your lip, “I guess we should try and find our way back? we wouldn’t want to change the future,” you gave Dick a hopeful look. 

he nodded as he helped you up but without hesitation, he pulled you in for a searing kiss, “I’ve been meaning to do that for a while now,” he whispered as he put his hand on your cheek and caressed it softly with his thumb. 

a few seconds later, both of you saw a portal opening with Damian screeching from the other side of it, “COME ON YOU BUNCH OF IDIOTS!” he yelled dramatically. you laughed, looking to Dick, “you heard the boy, let’s get the future started,” Dick nodded grabbing your hand and stepping into the portal. 

[jostenjorts]

Nathan Wesninski and Mary Hatford HC because suddenly I’m obsessed with them? AU though bc canon them are fucked

The Hatford and Moriyama families are old blood, they go back generations and can be found all over the world with connections in high and low places

So they’re bound to have shared territories that they never bothered to fight over since they were small and irrelevant

That was until multiple targets discover said territories, are made aware that the Hatford’s and Moriyama’s barely touch the ground any longer and overlook it which in turn they make it their safe haven until shit dies down

Only for the Butcher of Baltimore to find out about it and is given orders to go clear out the place

However, due to a rule agreed upon decades ago, a Hatford must accompany him to ensure it was just for a clean up and not to do anything fishy

Which ends with Mary Hatford being selected, as she had the medical knowledge that could be used if needed and had a lot of pent up frustration and anger that needed to be released

Nathan hates that he has to bring along a Hatford, despises how long he had to wait before she showed up and okay maybe his okay with the wait because she’s attractive

He’d heard of Mary Hatford before, how she and her brother Stuart were forces to be reckoned with along with being the current heads children. Nathan was almost sure that he’d met her in passing but only briefly.

Mary only spared him a glance before telling him to hurry up and move his ass along before the targets get word about them coming for them

She knew him, had heard of his talent with knives and had wondered once if he was good in the kitchen

Had wondered if he was good with his hands

It wasn’t until much later when they both got to work, Mary choosing to go round the back and be stealthy about it, taking out all the extra men and women and Nathan making a big show with his entrance to draw attention solely on him

That Mary really looked at him, watched as he grinned when several men dropped to the ground around him, couldn’t help but want to touch him when she took notice of the blood staining his clothes and hair

When she went back to work, she just missed Nathan turning to watch her gut a man, just missed him almost get hit with a bullet because he was too distracted by her

Later, when they were finished up and both covered in blood, compliments were shared between the two as they found themselves in a hotel and washing up

Taking turns using the bathroom but neither bothered closing the door because they were more concerned with washing blood out of their clothes and hair then they were about the other seeing them undressed

Mary ended up needing help with washing the blood out of her hair, since it had crusted over and all she had to work with was water that was barely warm and Nathan hadn’t hesitated to assist

Only if in return she washes his hair and she relented

This ended in them showering together, helping the other scrub at their heads to ensure all the blood was washed out and one thing lead to another

A month later, Mary Hatford was showing up on Nathan’s doorstep, to which he let her in and offered her a cup of tea while he told her to ignore the screams coming from his basement

She did, despite being curious and wanting to go down there and see what kind of creative torture was going on and if someone was down there doing it currently or if Nathan had heard her knocking and done something to leave whoever in pain while he busied himself with her

“Don’t mind them, Lola was bored and someone happened to annoy me. Letting her take out her boredom on him.”

“Whose Lola?”

“No one important. Anyway, what brings you here?”

“I have some news to share,”

Though Nathan was pleased to see Mary, after all it had been a month and since their sexual encounter all he thought of was her

How he wanted to run his fingers through her hair, wished to see her take her time killing someone, wanted to witness her be flustered over something he would say

Oh how he wished but she wasn’t his and unlike him, Mary is part of the main branch in her family, is the daughter of the current Head of the Hatford’s

Whereas Nathan was just the right hand man to the Head of the Moriyama’s.

However, hearing those words had him on edge, his heard them so many times in his lifetime and they’ve never meant good fortune on his behalf

“This should be lovely, whats the news?”

He had a drink of his tea, watching as Mary rubbed the side of her cup and flicked her eyes towards the basement door before they settled on him

“I’m pregnant, a month along at that and you’re the last man I slept with so-“

He was on her in an instant, claiming her lips with his own

Couldn’t help himself and went to pull away to apologise, only she returned the kiss and laughed, dropping her empty cup into her lap so that she could cup his face in her hands

“Glad to know you took the news well”

“Hm now all thats left to do now is to know if you’ll be mine”

“Well, I’m sure there’s nicer ways to asks but our first date was rather exciting.”

“Which part? the killing or the shower?”

“Both, shame a dinner wasn’t involved.”

He laughed, sitting besides her and trying to wrap his head around that he was going to be a father

“Would that be a yes then?”

“Yes, Nathan. I’ll be yours so long as you’ll be mine.”

“Of course I’ll be yours, Mary Hatford and hopefully one day to be Wesninski.”

[moonlightchn]

𝖂𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖋 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘 𝕽𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖘 🌗

He's fucked. Oh boy, does Chris know he's fucked. Chan's tense, worked up scent is filling the car; the way he grips onto the wheel, knuckles white for the strength applied is concerning, to say the least; even the speed he's driving at is unlike him. Chris knows that as soon as he dares open his mouth, the older boy will lash out at him. And, does he deserve it? Definitely. But does he want to hear it right now? Not really. Not like he has a choice, anyway.

See, Chan arrived about an hour later at the location, a really clean and well cared for neighborhood on the next town over. You know, trimmed grass, tall trees, heated sidewalks and porch lights. That kind. The kind that gave away just so much for him to know. And Chan knew where he was. And he hated being there. But you don't turn on your pack, that's the first rule he learned back in the day. You don't turn on your pack, so he doesn't turn on Chris. Ever. Not even when he deserves it. So there they were, two wolves on hunter territory. Wonderful, right? And Chris... He was just waiting on the sidewalk, ass on the floor and cigarette in hand, just casually sitting as if he wasn't surrounded by potential threats. As if he wasn't risking his life. Their lives.

"What happened." The blonde asks, eyes on the road as he focuses on staying on the right lane. The question is sudden, taking the black wolf by surprise. Chris certainly didn't expect Chan to talk first, or sound so calm. He clears his throat slightly, hand playing with his rings as he looks out the window, humming.

"I couldn't. I..." Sighing, Chris head lowers, what happened, uh? "They have families... They... They have families now. Kids, partners... I couldn't. Couldn't take from them what they took from me. Couldn't bring myself to" Couldn't? Or didn't want to? What was stopping him anyway, right? He was already there, came all the way. "I wouldn't have been able to. It didn'tfeel right. It was... Was not what I wanted... Y'know?" What would little Hannah and Lucas think of him if he had done it?

"Did they see you?" Its simple questions. Simple questions that he can't reply. Did they see him? Hell if he knows. Was he careful? As much as if wearing five maracas on his neck. Will they come after him? That was always a possibility anyway, wasn't it? The eldest sighs at the silence, head shaking and eyes not even looking for Chris once. "You worried a lot of people. Did not just put yourself on the line but everyone else too. Do you understand that? Could've gotten me killed for making me come here- Do not interrupt me." The black wolf looks away again, mouth closing and eyes focusing on the road. The blonde is right, anyway. What was he going to say? No?

"You keep doing the same bullshit, man. Over and over and over again. Do you not get it? Do you really not understand? Don't see how much we care for you? How much you mean? You think I would've come all the way here for you otherwise? You keep giving people hopes, you keep promising things, promising change, painting yourself a victim everyone has to love and understand and put up with and accept the way it is! That's not how it works, Christopher! You keep saying you're trying but you're not even doing the bare minimum!" The car stops abruptly, both boys bouncing slightly on their seats and Chan lays back a little, hands rubbing his face. He's frustrated, tired, mad. Worried. He is, overall, worried. And Chris can feel it. He can smell it. He can see it.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I know I haven't been the best... It's... It's just not easy. I want to be better but... What's the point? What do I have left? I keep thinking... I keep thinking maybe I should just go away. Disappear, y'know? Grab my stuff and let people move on, live their lives. I'm dead weight anyway, I just c-"

"Shut up!" Its not a scream, really. Not like the ones before, at least. This one is filled with pain, and hurt, and anger. The golden wolf shifts on his seat, hand reaching to grab onto the others face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "You don't get to do this! You dont get to victimize yourself with me and pity yourself. How many times do I need to go over this with you? I did not, and I repeat, I did NOT take you in for you to give up. You are NOT giving up. Do you hear me? You don't get to turn your back on me, on Channie, on Changbin and Irene and Jongho and Felix and Chungha and everyone who ever dared to give at least a cent for you. You don't have the right to walk away." Chan lets go, the other wolf's head slightly turning at the force as his eyes wander down, anywhere else but the boy in front of him. "So pull yourself together and find a reason. A motive. Whatever the fuck you need. This bullshit of yours ends here."

Not a single word is spoken after that, the remaining of the ride being spent in silence, the quietness of the night and the awkward tensions sitting in the backseat the only company for the boys. At home, that's what Chan calls it, home, awaits Channie with three cups of tea. At a night club on the other side of the city awaits a concerned black haired woman. Close to the suburbs awaits a short boy a new mixtape. At a shelter downtown awaits a cheetah hybrid, on the carnival at the other end a freckled boy...

Pull himself together. That's what he needs to do. For them and himself. No more running, right? No more hiding. He doesn't need revenge, or violence. He doesn't need to hold onto his past. Pull himself together and let go.

It's not going to be easy, but what would he lose trying to get there?

Taggies uwu (ask for +/- -> general taglist)

❤@babie-chungha @blackdragons-cb @galaxy-ateez @cb-museclub @hybrid-ateez-straykids-nct @yandere-eunwoo @carnival-skteez

💜@shin-haneul @babie-sanie @illuminated-skz @ares-bc @bunny-woong

💙@song-mingi-cb @mafiaxnct127 @starsirah-oc @bloodlustbots

💚@mafia-chae @skz-cb @madmanwoodam @vampiremomo @fairy-yeji @deadly-skz-gods-cb @four-straykids-apocalypse @betrayerjongup @vitoria-oc @powerpuff-3ye-cb @urhexgirls @wolfyjulia

[maysbanks]

she moves in her own way. (jj maybank)

due to the ASTOUNDING response to my first jj fic which i have to say a huuuge thank you to everyone that liked, commented & reblogged, it honestly means the absolute world !! i couldn't wait much longer to start writing for my boy again, i have so many fic ideas and cannot wait to get them out to y'all. this one is shorter than the last, & the title is inspired from the song 'she moves in her own way' by the kooks (lol) but isn't necessarily based off of it, it's just something that i wrote up quickly bc i was in my feels™️ . also i feel very unoriginal with the whole plot and aspect of this but im gonna post it anyway bc i love jj lmao. anyway hope u enjoy !

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, drug use, violence, jj with a gun™️

summary: reader walks the fine line between either pogue or kook, though technically a kook, she ignores all social standings of the obx and jj maybank cannot stop himself from getting caught up in her whirlwind.

( gif isn’t mine! please let me know if it’s yours so i can credit you. )

Everyone seemed to have a different perspective of you, unsurprisingly. You weren't really much of a social butterfly, you kept yourself to yourself, really. Nobody in the Outer Banks knew much about you at all, other than what they had come up with in their heads. And while you tried your best to stay in the shadows, that only seemed to make you stand out more.

You were known for being the best of both worlds - not really a Pogue, but not really a Kook either. While your social status and family wealth suggested you to be a Kook, your free spirit and reckless behaviour fitted you better towards the Pogue style. If anyone were to ask you, you told them you were neither.

Why should a name define you anyway? You thought it was all bullshit, the stupid territorial arguments and the snide comments from both sides. You thought it was ridiculous, you weren't living in The Outsiders, for fuck sake.

You moved in your own way, simple as that. You wouldn't let anyone tell you what to do, where you can't or shouldn't be, it was a free country you'd say, middle finger salute ready to aim towards anyone who dared cross you. You were an enigma, wild and careless, unforgiving and unforgettable. You didn't necessarily like the attention, but you got it. And you knew it, and you played on it, too.

You had used your irresistible charm more than enough times to bail JJ Maybank out of trouble, despite your parents' protest. They didn't have a problem with the Pogues, persay, how could they when your dad been one half of his life before meeting your mom and marrying into the rich lifestyle; they just had a problem with JJ, as many of the parents on the island did. He was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, weed smoking, knuckles constantly torn, skin bruised, quick wit, sarcastic humour, daddy issues, you know the type. Kids loved him, parents hated him.

You were friends with JJ, you supposed. You spent your time with him talking about your days and smoking a joint, meaningful conversations turning into joking and general tomfoolery within seconds. With JJ, you were simply unapologetically you, and JJ never judged you. He never made you choose a side, seemingly content with the fact that you were a little bit of everything, though there was times when he teased you relentlessly about the Kook life, but that was just JJ.

And despite the social differences, him being a Pogue through and through, you technically a Kook, you were drawn to each other pretty easily. Not that you hung out all the time, but you loved every second when you did, usually joined by his group of best friends - John B, Pope, and Kiara. With Kiara a Kook herself but drawn more to the lifestyle of the Pogue's, she understood you more than anyone. You'd bonded a lot, and with each of them too.

JJ loved that you fitted in with them, like a missing puzzle piece. So perfectly, it shook him to its core. The pair of you were close, but he had no idea where he stood with you, like most people never when it came to you. You were like a rollercoaster, taking people for the most exciting ride of their lives that lasted a full three or so minutes before they returned back to solid ground. You'd given JJ a ride a number of times on your non-existent metaphorical rollercoaster, and he'd returned for another ride time and time again. You couldn't say no to that damned boy.

It was a blessing and a curse, the unspoken relationship you shared. A blessing because JJ was the best thing that happened to you, and a curse because that was your downfall. You never got attached to people, never given yourself the chance. But then JJ Maybank had come along, blonde hair and blue eyes, split lip and sharpened teeth, words cunning. You saw him as a challenge at first, the name Kook Princess haunting you as he spoke them, stood in front of you at the keg upon your first real meeting. He'd held a drink out towards you, smirk perfect on his pink lips.

You'd attended over a hundred kegger's in your lifetime, the Pogue parties more inviting than those of the Kook's. You danced and talked to anyone that came across your path, whether it be unknowing Tourons, unjudging Pogues, or unforgiving Kooks, you drew them all in. You didn't fit in with any of them, JJ had realised. You really did move in your own way, he thought. He liked that, he'd decided. And hey, you were pretty cute too.

On that particular night, he'd spoken to you directly for the first time in a long time. "Would the Kook Princess like a drink?" He'd asked, holding the red cup out towards you. You'd eyed the offended object, and subsequently him, too. He smirked at the attention. You had rolled your eyes.

"Don't call me that," you'd said simply, but taking the cup from his hands regardless. You took a sip, relieved to discover that he hadn't tampered with it in any way. You were still considered a Kook to most people, after all. You could never be too careful. "Thanks, Maybank."

And he'd blinked at you, lips suddenly raising to a sly smile as he shrugged, dimples winking at you as they appeared in his cheeks. "Anytime," and he'd spoken your name back to you and you couldn't get enough of the way it sounded coming from his mouth, and you realised hey, this guy is pretty cute, and the rest, as they, is history.

You were in the midst of another infamous Pogue kegger at the current, months after your first introduction to JJ Maybank and his friends, and you stood off to the side, listening to JJ intently as he ranted about the events of the day he'd endured. Starting from finding a Grady White sunken in the marsh, "A fucking Grady Marsh, they're like 500 G's man!", to discovering that the boat belonged to Scooter Grubbs, who had coincidentally been found dead that same day, to getting chased by two guys with a gun, to the finding of the motel key from the wreck and breaking in that same motel room, finding a safe full of money and a gun of all things, to their best attempt at laying low which, unsurprisingly, resulted in the kegger in the first place.

JJ was wild in his recite of the events, hands gesturing every which way as you watched him with your lips curled into your mouth, resisting a smile at his antics. When he finished he retelling, you raised an eyebrow and chuckled dryly. "So, complete and utter boring day for you, huh?"

JJ chuckled along with you, shaking his head as if he was still in disbelief from everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. "Man, it was crazy," he muttered. He looked at you then, eyes sincere. "I wish you were there with us. It was like something straight from a movie, I'm telling you. I feel like such a badass with that gun."

Your secret joy at his confession of that he wished you were was short lived, as the last of his words sunk in and you felt dread build in the pit of your stomach. You stared at him, him so excited that he hadn't even realised your face had dropped, before you reached out and grabbed his arm, effectively halting his movements and stopping the hurried flow of words that were leaving his mouth.

"JJ," you said carefully, eyes trained on his as he stared, clueless. "Please tell me you did not take that gun from the safe."

Your heart dropped as you saw him falter, his lips helplessly moving but no words coming out. He held a hand up, as if to hush you, though you hadn't started to speak again, and then his hand had dropped just as quick as it was raised, his teeth biting down on his chapped lip as the realisation dawned on you.

"JJ Fucking Maybank," you spat, hands slapping gently at his arms, because you could never really hurt him, you just wanted him to know you were pissed. "Do you realise how fucking careless that is? How much trouble you could get into, if anyone knew you had a gun-" your voice trailed off, your eyes closing as you exhaled. "JJ, please tell me you don't have it on you right now."

His lack of reply was the only answer you needed, and your stomach churned as you stepped back from his figure, suddenly feeling sick. He followed you, though, not letting you get too far as he took your arms in his hands and tried to drag you closer to him once more. You shook your head, arms slipping from his hold as you glared at him fiercely.

"That's so fucking stupid, JJ. You could get into serious trouble with this, trouble I won't be able to get you out of." You warned, because you knew it was true. Your charm and looks could get him out of some trouble to its extent, but it was more so your parents wealth and status that got the both of you out of shit when you managed to get into it, and you also knew your parents would literally throw a fit if you got involved in something like this - carrying a gun was no joking matter. You stepped back once more, hand finding its way to your forehead. "And from a crime scene, no less. Fucking hell."

JJ licked his lips, standing back roughly as you watched, his jaw clenching. "Well I'm not asking for your help here, Princess," he taunted, the nickname sending a wave of annoyance through you. JJ knew it would. "It's not like I ask you to help me, you're just there. Thinking I need help, like I'm some fucking charity case, a fucking doll you picked up from the thrift store that was gonna be thrown out the next day."

You tried to protest, but JJ didn't give you the chance. "I don't need your help all the fucking time. I don't need your pity. I get that you won't understand because why would you? You're a Kook, you get everything you want handed to you on a silver platter. And you can argue and fight me about it all you want, but I know you know it's true."

He sighed heavily, hands running down his face in a sign of defeat. You watched him all the while, thankful that you had ventured off the outskirts of the party so that hopefully nobody had heard JJ shouting at you, your heart wrenching as his blue eyes settled on you. "I'm sorry, JJ," you said finally. You refused to cry, though the desire to at the sight of him being so mad at you tore you apart. "I'm just trying to look out for you. With the gun thing, with everything that I help you with. And I know I'm a Kook, and I know that my parents could afford to buy half of this fucking island if they pleased, but that doesn't define me. I care, okay? And I know I care a lot more than a lot of people in your life."

It was probably a low blow, and you knew it. But JJ took it in, let the words sink into his brain where they stayed there, his fists clenching at his sides. You crossed your arms over your chest, defeated.

"I'm gonna go back to the party," you whispered. "I'll see you around, I guess." You eyed his pockets, unsure of where exactly he held the gun. "Be careful, okay."

And even when you were angry with him, you still tried to make sure he was okay, that he stayed safe. There was multiple occasions you'd showed up unannounced, simply asking how his day was, if he okay, if he had eaten that day, stayed hydrated. At first the attention startled him, he'd never really had anyone look out for him in that aspect, and yet there you were, like an angel sent from the gods themselves, smiling down at him.

You cared, he realised. You cared so much that sometimes he couldn't take it, because he didn't know how. The most family he'd ever gotten close to having in his life was the Pogues, after losing his mother and subsequently losing his father too as he turned into the monster that he was, cold and distant, fists always poised ready for an imaginary fight, and he knew that someday the Pogues would even slip through his fingers. He couldn't let that happen with you. He wouldn't.

He'd started off in your direction, truly, he had. But then John B was grabbing him and averting his attention to him, and he focused on his friend, promising only a minute of his time. You were in his sights, stood a bit away, and he recognised the couple you were talking to as Sarah Cameron and Topper Thorton, Kooks through and through. He held his distaste back, and even held a drink out to offer to Sarah as she and Topper made their way past where he and John B were standing. Big fucking mistake, he realised quickly.

It had all happened in a blur of events, each little bit leading to big finale - as he watched his best friend being held down in the water, powerless to Topper who kneeled over him, hands forcing John B to stay put in the sea. Sarah was screaming at Topper, Pope was holding JJ back with all his might, Kie beside them as she screamed along with Sarah to let John B go. And there you were, suddenly beside JJ, gripping his arm tightly as you took in the sight with a horrified glare. JJ didn't even hesitate; the gun had been pulled from his shorts and was directed at Topper's head in the blink of an eye.

The fury in his veins was red hot and ugly, tearing through every part of him like a vice. This was the Pogues land, their side of the island, and yet the Kooks still thought they could get away with anything and everything - including, apparently, attempting to drown his best friend.

"Your move, broski," JJ uttered through clenched teeth. He could hear the screams of the crowd behind him, and he pulled the gun away from Topper's head and into the direction of the sky, firing two shots towards it as the crowd of people quickly dispersed, screeches sounding from all over. "Now everybody needs to get the fuck off our side of the island!"

He was shoved to the side as Sarah rushed to her boyfriend, telling him he was fucking crazy or something like that, he wasn't really listening. The shots rang in his ears, and the adrenaline of the moment soured through him. Kie and Pope were screaming at him, he could hear their voices distantly. His blue eyes were unfocused for a second, before they looked up, and there you were.

Sent from the gods themselves, once again. You looked vibrant, so insanely alive, lips red and cheeks flushed, eyes bright. You let out a shaky breath as you watched him. JJ clenched his jaw.

"He was going to drown John B," he thought he'd said, but he wasn't sure. He didn't really know what to keep track of at that moment, Kie and Pope's obvious disapproval at him literally doing the one thing they swore not to do, Sarah and Topper stumbling away from the scene in the distance, John B getting up and muttering something along the lines of he wasn't going to drown me, or you, simply staring at him.

Before he knew what he was doing, JJ had made his way towards you. The gun was still held in his hands, and you swallowed thickly as you eyed it. "You should put that away," you muttered. JJ seemed confused, before he caught on to what you meant and he shoved the gun back to the spot of in between his shorts and his hip. "You literally did the one thing I said not to, you tool."

JJ cracked a smile, small and uncertain as he gazed at you. You stepped closer to him, eyes glancing over his shoulder. "You really pissed them off," you said, meaning his friends.

JJ shrugged, because he didn't care about their opinion, he cared about yours. And if you hated him now, hated the fact that he was just some dirty Pogue who held guns against people's heads now, apparently. "I don't care about what they think," he spoke softly. You looked at him confused. "I care about what you think."

You smiled softly, shrugging one shoulder. "Topper was going to drown John B," you replied, matter of fact. "If you hadn't stepped in when you did, who knew what could have happened. Nothing could have stopped him." You bit your lip, hand reaching out and touching his face gently, thumb soothing over the worried line between his brows. "You did the right thing, J. A fucking crazy and stupid thing, potientally dangerous, but the right thing nonetheless."

"Yeah, that's kind of my go-to, if you haven't already noticed," JJ smiled, tongue running over his bottom lip. You rolled your eyes, though playful. "Look, I'm sorry about before, okay. I was a dick. I know you care, but sometimes that's what scares me."

Your eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on your face as your hand dropped from his face to intertwine with his own hand, his gaze suddenly becoming fixed on your linked hands, his other absentmindedly playing with your fingers that held his hand.

"It's like, you're this untouchable thing. I mean, you don't belong to anyone, you refuse to go by anything other than your name, and you're like this perfect mix between Pogue and Kook even if you do hate it and everyone knows who are you and they make these stories up about you, like that's how popular you are," JJ chuckled. "And then you hang out with me, you look past all the dirty Pogue shit, see me for who I am, and you care. And you care so god dammed much that it fucking terrifies me because nobody's ever cared that much before about me, so why should you?"

His hand left yours to remove the hat from sitting atop his hair and then run his hand through the blonde locks. You could see his tongue running along the outsides of his bottom teeth, the action causing a bump beneath his skin. He looked nervous than you had ever seen him before, and you'd both gotten into enough nerve-wracking situations together to compare. You sighed as your hands reached for his face, gripping his cheeks and forcing his eyes to gaze down at yours.

"JJ Maybank," you started, grinning softly. "You listen to me while I tell you that you deserve the fucking world and more. All this shit that you're going through, all the crap you deal with on a daily basis, you carry it so well that nobody would even know. You fight through each day and I don't even know how you manage it half the time. I admire you so much, J. And I can't help but care about you, even if you don't want me to. I care about you so much, that you wanna know a secret? It scares me too."

JJ gazed down at you lovingly, his forehead moving to rest against yours. You welcomed the embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing you gently, as if reassuring himself that you were actually there.

"JJ," you whispered as you were stood in silence for a precise minute, neither of you daring to break the silence until you had. His blue eyes stared into yours, awaiting the next part of your speech. You swallowed your nerves down, figuring fuck it. "I'm so in love with you."

He grinned, his head swooping down before you knew it and his lips pressing against yours in a heated embrace that sent a sensation of butterflies to fly wildly in your stomach, bashing against your ribcage and taking your breath away. Shivers flew up your spine, and every hair on your body stood on edge as the kiss grew heavier, tongues brushing and teeth clattering, bodies pressed against each other as much as they could manage.

When JJ's lips left yours, you almost whined. JJ grinned cheekily, hands digging into your hips. "I love you," he breathed against the skin of your neck as he buried his head there, lips tickling the flesh. "I can't believe you just macked on me while I have a gun in my pocket."

You rolled your eyes and tugged gently on his hair, spurring a laugh from him as you shoved him away and grinned despite yourself. "Do not remind me, please," you warned him, allowing him to pull you into his side as you made your way down the beach. "I still can't believe you took that thing."

"I knew it'd come in handy though," he grinned, pulling you closer with the arm thrown over your shoulder. You wrapped yours around his waist, face squished in his chest as you shook your head.

"You're an idiot, Maybank."

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Interrogation

15/06/2020: Sooo, hi there. Me and @marshmallow--3​ were talking (once again) and we got to talking about how assassins would react while being interrogated. Naturally, I like my dark fics + my hurt/comfort fics, so this came out. It’s an experiment than unashamedly spans 4.5K words, but I enjoyed writing it and after a bit of convincing I decided to post it. I worked surprisingly hard on this. I also like putting my characters through their paces. This can also be considered as an ‘asshole writing 101′ course for me bc everyone knows I need it lmao. Okay, enough justification; just... here -- have Jacob needing a lot of hugs :) heed the warnings, friends -- you have been warned. Spoilers for the fic in the warnings, btw

Feedback is greatly appreciated :D

Also, mainly GN!Reader (apart from the first scene) :)

Italics are thoughts bt-dubs.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, beaten for information, abduction, sick mention, PTSD mention, Night terrors, naked mention (sfw we good)... Yeah I got a bit carried away here :3 (if I missed any please lmk)

----------

“Jacob, we need that intel.”

“Why does it have to be me? I prefer to have my weapons on my person, if you don’t mind.” Jacob was sitting at the desk everyone was talking around, feet crossed on the desk.

“Maybe it’s because it’s a Gentleman’s Club, and women don’t necessarily fit in; if they find a single blade on you, the entire mission is compromised.” Evie looked pointedly at her brother. 

He looked to you for help, but you held your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me; she’s got a point.”

Sighing, he rose to his feet, leaning against the wood and drumming his fingers against it. “Fine. Who am I tailing again?”

----------

“Weapons, please.” Evie stopped him before he could go anywhere.

“What weapons?” He smiled innocently at his sister, while you scoffed amusedly from behind her. 

She said nothing, and instead held her hand out expectantly. Obstinately, Jacob relented, pulling out his cane sword and giving her his thigh holster. “All of them.” 

His kukri came out of his waistcoat.

“All. Of. Them.”

His gauntlet was reluctantly confiscated. As was his revolver.

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fine!” He reached into his boot and pulled out another knife. “How did you know?”

“I saw you hide it.”

When they were finished, you walked up to him. “Be back by tonight. Alright?” You kissed him softly. He broke apart and gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” As the train came to a stop, you watched as he blended into the crowd at the station, disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

----------

The courier Jacob was supposed to tail wasn’t too hard to find. Bowler hat, stocky build, weird scar on his cheek… All he had to do was get close enough to hear the password, get in and get out. 

But first, he had to follow him there. In unfamiliar territory. No gangs, no Rooks.

Jacob left his top hat on the train, opting for using his hood as an added source of anonymity as he stalked his target. The streets were busy, and he lost eyes on the man’s bowler hat once or twice, but all in all, it was going smoothly. They were halfway down a street when the target crossed the road and went into an alleyway, sparse of people. 

Jacob looked both ways before crossing after him, walking through as naturally as possible, in case he runs into people he would rather avoid. The road took him into a clearing blocked in by buildings, but not a man in sight. His brows furrowed, confused at where his target could have gone. Looking around, he saw that there was only one exit, and that was behind him. There was no way the target could have circled back around without him noticing.

“Wait a second…” 

There were multiple small clicks, before multiple people came out of nowhere, all pointing firearms at him. Jacob raised his hands in surrender, taking small, calculated steps backwards. “Let’s just take it easy for a moment; I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Our boss wants you alive. I couldn’t really care. It’s best if you cooperate, Mr Frye; I’m thinking you’ll put up less of a fight dead.” The hammer was pulled down with a resounding ‘click’ for good measure. The more Jacob observed, the more Templar crosses he could find. 

Oh, for the love of--

Before he could react, two feet came into contact with the back of his knees, and he was forced face down to the ground. His shoulders were pinned as his arms were forced behind his back. He blindly managed to hit someone with his elbow, but it never released any pressure as he felt thick rope cinch around his wrist and knotted tightly, lest he manage to break free of them. “Are you certain we can’t come to some sort of agreement?” His words came out half mumbled, as his face was pushed against the mud.

All too suddenly he was pulled back up to his knees, a very gruff sounding “Get up,” mumbled in his ear. The one seemingly in charge of this whole operation stood in front of him. Sounds of an approaching carriage came closer. Assessing the distance between the two, Jacob smirked. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m spoken for.” 

The man standing over him didn’t react. “Do it,” he said to the people holding him. 

Jacob’s jaw was prised open before a rag was forced in, a bag coming over his head a moment after. He was pulled roughly to his feet and couldn’t get a stable footing before a force threw him backwards, landing on the floor of the carriage with his hands trapped under him. A noise escaped his throat. Jacob could only hope to use his sense of hearing as he shuffled backwards to lean against the door behind him, as multiple people entered the carriage and shut the door -- to supervise, no doubt. The wall was hit two times, and the horses began to trot.  

The journey was the only time he could hope to escape; who knows how they’d be keeping him once they arrived.

He couldn’t help cursing himself under his breath, but it was only comprehended as a random noise to the others in the cab. Jacob began to wiggle his fingers, digits searching the wall behind him for something sharp, like a nail or some splintered wood. His fidgeting must have been noticed, because someone lightly kicked his leg. “Don’t even think about it.” He felt something cold press against his temple, a click sounding in his left ear. He held an involuntary breath as light chuckles rippled around the carriage.

“Forgive me for not finding this funny…” he quipped inwardly.

The gun barrel mockingly shoved Jacob’s head to the side, a silent threat, before withdrawing. 

He had a three mile long argument to have with Evie after this.

He tried to swallow, pushing down the rising anxiety in his throat. Is there a way out of this that wouldn’t end with a bullet in his brain?

There must be.

His fists clench and unclench restlessly as he thinks. Or, tries to think.

All he could decipher was the carriage turning right, pressing him against the wall behind him, before stopping. There was a long moment of waiting, before the door he was leaning against opened. He fell to the ground, the air knocked out of him. Without giving him a moment to collect himself, hands grabbed his arms and pulled. His orientation was in shambles; he couldn’t figure out which way was where. 

There were momentary pauses as doors opened, and just as he had begun to breathe properly, he was shoved. His balance was thrown off, and wood bit into him as he rolled down an incline. He hit the floor ungracefully, half haphazardly dragging a knee up; he was pushed down some stairs. Stifled groans were muted by his gag as they yanked him up again, pushing him down onto a chair. Multiple people tightly bound his ankles to the legs and his wrists between the rungs, the pressure pinning him down causing his heart to skip a beat. 

He hated this feeling of restriction; of being exposed. He knew he had no control. He knew he was fucked.

His head began to throb, no doubt an injury from his tirade with the stairs. As the people around him left, he tested his bonds. There was no give whatsoever; the rope bound his wrists to the rungs behind him, pulling his shoulders taut. He tried lifting his leg; he could bounce them, but that was it. It was instinct; the restless energy needing a bigger outlet. His anxiety was palpable, and he found himself exhaling through his nose multiple times in an attempt to calm himself down. He tried to look around through the material over his head, increasingly desperate, though he knew his chances of escaping were low now that they had him exactly where they wanted him. He briefly wondered whether he’d ever see natural daylight again. 

… Shit.

He had no idea where he was; if he got out, then what? He’d have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

If he comes to it.

Resigning himself to wait, he sat straight, challenging his bonds every now and then, hoping that the next time would be different.

It didn’t take too much longer for the door to open again, but the fear inside him was painful, squeezing his heart in an iron fist. He strained his ears, and heard multiple light footsteps, followed by a distinct pair of slow and heavy ones. They screamed authority as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The bag was pulled harshly from his head, light blinding him as he squinted, trying to acquaint himself with the area around him. Jacob tried to swallow his anxiety as he took in the newcomer’s appearance; easily over six foot, and built of pure muscle. 

Bloody hell.

Someone came up to him and pulled the gag out of his mouth. He tried re-introducing saliva as the man came closer, his small entourage disbanding around the room behind him. 

“If this was so urgent, couldn’t you have booked a bloody appointment?” 

The man chuckled, though there was no humour in his tone. He rubbed his wrist before he swung at Jacob’s cheek, whipping his head to the side.

His jaw was seized and pulled to lock eyes with the six foot tall interrogator. “I won’t stand for that; understand?” His voice was low and rumbled maliciously. Jacob glared at him defiantly, heart pounding in his ears. He responded by spitting blood in his face. The man recoiled violently, wiping the substance out of his eyes. Jacob exhaled amusedly through his nose. 

Once the man recovered, he chuckled again. “Cute.” He walked over to Jacob, bending down to his eye level as he rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s start with an easy one; what’s your name?”

“Ethan.” He was met with a punch to the gut. 

“I forgot to tell you; these first few questions? I know the answers to them. I know when you’re giving me bullshit.” He grasped his hair and harshly pulled. “Let’s try again; your name.”

He said nothing and was considering lying again, until the man gave another rough tug, threatening to yank his hair right out of his scalp. “Jacob.” He relented through gritted teeth, seething in frustration. His hair was released.

“Nice to interrogate you, Jacob.” The man took a step back and leaned on a table a few feet away. “I’m the Boss around here. See how easy things are when you cooperate?”

The assassin rolled his eyes. 

“Now, I was told that you were, as you put it, ‘spoken for’.”

Jacob raised an unimpressed brow as he tried to hide the hitch in his breath.

“Who is it? A woman? A man?” Jacob left his expression unchanged. “I don’t judge!” The ‘Boss’ raised his hands. “I bet I can guess their name: Henry, Evie… Y/N, perhaps?” Jacob raised his chin and clenched his jaw, an involuntary defensive move as he listed his closest friend, his sister, and his lover all at once. 

“You see,” the Boss sighed, pushing himself off the table. “Even if you don’t say anything, you’re just as good to us as bait. If you speak now, you could be saving everyone a headache. Just remember that.

“Now; why were you tailing that courier?”

----------

The session ended with a condescending backhand. “We’ll pick this up again later.”

Jacob smiled mockingly. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Once he was finally alone, his defiant front dropped, and he allowed himself to feel the pain in his torso. He groaned as he shifted in his seat, his ribs aching from the inside. He knew he wouldn’t give them any information, no matter how hard they tried to extract it. He instinctively tried to hold his side, but to no avail. His tongue ran over the cut on his lip, busted open time and again. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been; hours or days. But he’s tired, thirsty, and in pain. He can barely keep his eyes open, but his anxiety has kept him awake; an insomnia he could never quite shake. He was too tired to expend any of it physically; it was brewing inside him like a bad cup of tea. He couldn’t stop thinking about the threat of you, Evie, and even Henry. Even so, unless he could be sure his information would be able to counteract that, he kept it to himself.

His chin rested on his chest, and he was on the verge of passing out when the door opened again, causing him to jump and tense at the sudden loud noise. “Sorry I’m late; this is the only time I could slip in.” 

The Boss took in Jacob’s tired eyes. “Did I wake you? Such a shame.” He laughed at his own quip. 

“It’s fine; my schedule was open.” Jacob tried to bite back.

“Seeing as you weren’t doing so well answering our earlier questions, I decided to start on some different ones, this time.” 

Jacob furrowed his brows. “What makes you think that I’d tell you anything?” 

The Boss revealed items he was hiding behind his back. “Are you thirsty?” 

Jacob tried to smirk at the jug and glasses, though it wasn't as wide as before. “Kind of you to offer.”

The Boss poured out all the water into a few glasses. “You can have as much as you want; just tell me what I want to know; what have you learnt about our current… agenda? Any heists being planned that we need to know about?”

There’s a few moments of silence, before Jacob spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “We’ve decided to go on holiday for a few weeks, actually.” 

The Boss huffed humorlessly. He grabbed a glass of water and brought it near to Jacob, before chucking it over his face. Trying not to react, Jacob only flinched. The liquid made the cuts on his face twinge. “That’s for lying.” Discarded on the table sat a pair of brass knuckles, spiked and gnarly. He picked them up, sliding them over his fingers before clenching a fist to test his comfort. 

“I’m going to ask you this one more time…”

----------

“You’re going to be here for a long time, Frye. Get comfortable.”

Not likely.

The last words spoken to him felt like hours ago. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his body forcing him to sleep by shutting down. Slumped forwards in his chair, his arms were the only thing holding him upright. His shoulders were numb. He tested his bonds again, as if they would magically loosen after all this time. Fingers stretching, he tried to get blood black in his hands. He rotated his wrists, wincing as the rope pinched his raw skin. His leg began to jump of its own accord once he was faced with his own hopelessness again. 

How long would they keep him alive for? How long until help comes? They must have realised that he was missing by now, right? 

He heaved unsteady breaths out of his lungs; keeping his composure was becoming increasingly difficult, and he was looking at the increased likelihood of coming face to face with his own mortality a lot sooner than he would have liked. 

The only reason why he hadn’t starved was because of someone who came to feed and water him once a day, though he can barely stomach solids. “It will get easier if you tell them the truth.” They kept saying the same things over and over again. 

“Stop it.” Jacob didn’t want to hear any more; his mind was conflicted -- whose side were they on?

“Just tell them what they want to hear; it will make it so much better for you.” 

Jacob clenched his jaw and remained silent. 

“Otherwise, they’ll keep beating you.” They prodded Jacob’s ribs, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, refusing to make a sound. They took off his coat a while ago, exposing his body for more beatings. “Food for thought,” they said as they left him in silence once again.

The only other time he would get contact with another human being is when they’d take him out of the room for a bathroom break; they’d undo the rope before rebinding his hands in front of him immediately, dragging him to the bathroom before he’s forced back into the same chair again, waiting for the cycle to repeat.

The familiar tell of nausea was growing, and his stomach had stopped holding down the food he’d been given. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. 

----------

He was awoken by a series of noises that blended into each other, incomprehensible from the next. 

The door opened, and the Boss walked down the stairs, a serious expression on his face. “You have visitors, Jacob.” A fist came into contact with his gut, and for the first time his pain was vocalised. Though still stifled, the noise was noticeable. “It’s a shame, really. We were getting somewhere with you. Hopefully those allies of yours won’t be as stubborn.” 

He grabbed a cloth and balled it up, being met with almost no resistance as it was pressed into Jacob’s mouth. “Not a sound.” He crossed the room at pace, unsheathing a knife as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

The aftershocks of the assault on his gut still had him wincing, but as he heard gunshots and cries above him, he began to panic.

People he cared about could die, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

With every bang that erupted above him, his heart rate increased. He tried to weakly pull at the ropes again, and made a hopeless noise through the fabric in his mouth as he got nowhere. He was frustrated, anxious, and scared. The future was completely out of his control. 

His body wouldn’t listen to his mind; it was slumped in the chair, all but exhausted. He couldn’t breathe. Fear clouded his mind, the adrenaline pushing him to his limits. It wasn’t until he tasted the salt in the gag that he realised that a few tears had escaped. He closed his eyes.

This wasn’t him. He needed to stay calm.

I’m not usually the praying type, but if anyone at all is up there, keep them safe…

Please…

“Please…” It sounded like a groan but he said it; he was never one to beg, but he’d do anything to know what the hell was going on up there.

Everything stopped when he heard it.

“Jacob?” 

He barely moved, his mind clouded, but his heart swelled in relief at the voice -- a relieved noise that became stifled in his throat. But then, he remembered what was said to him.

He was bait.

He flinched as the door was kicked down, fists weakly clenching behind him. Footsteps came down the stairs. 

 He heard someone kneel in front of him. “Jacob? Hey, it’s me.” His face was taken into gentle hands, and the fabric was taken out of his mouth. “Jesus… Can you open your eyes, Jacob?” Slowly, he did, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You were in front of him, visibly relieved at his responsiveness.

“No… Please, leave.” He tried to pull his face out of your hands.

“They’re dead, Jacob. We’re safe; you’re safe now.” 

The ropes around his wrists broke, and he gasped in pain as he fell forward into you, hands slowly coming up to grasp your arms. Evie had moved to Jacob’s ankles, quickly cutting his bonds. “We were given false intel from the beginning; it was always going to be a trap.”

You pulled back. “Can you walk?” 

Jacob nodded, the action dizzying him. You pulled his arm over your shoulders and pulled him to his feet, hissing in pain at the movement in his torso. You stood him up, but he began to crumple almost immediately. Evie half caught him, copying your movements. 

Slowly but surely, he was brought out into the open. It was overcast and miserable outside (not the greeting he was expecting). His vision swam with flecks of green. How you managed to bring Rooks out here, he didn’t know. 

Gang members helped him into a carriage that was parked out in front, and you followed, helping him onto the seat. You lowered him down so he was lying on his back, his head in your lap. “How did you find me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s a long story.” You pushed his hair out of his eyes, observing his wounds in worry. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner.”

Jacob smiled softly and grasped your hand, rocking with the gentle movement of the carriage. “You came; that’s what matters.”

The soothing motion of your thumb over the back of his hand finally convinced his brain to shut down, engulfing him in the comfort of sleep.

----------

He was back in the cellar. Except this time, he wasn’t alone. There was someone across from him, he couldn’t tell who it was, but they were familiar. And they were screaming. There was no way for him to get them to stop, even as he began to beg, to plead, to volunteer information if they would just stop hurting them…

He startled himself awake, gasping. His eyes were open and alert, with his skin covered in a sheet of sweat. 

He wasn’t in a cellar; he was in a bed. 

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Everything is fine...

He tried to sit up, but before he moved an inch a pained gasp left his lips. He clutched at his torso, as if holding it would stop the pain. Once it began to subside, he lifted the sheet off of his body. He was shirtless, and he was wearing clean breeches. He raised an eyebrow, but that was low on his list of priorities. Instead, he saw green, blue, and purple bruises saturating his skin. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his chest, no doubt securing a few broken ribs. He threw his legs over the side of the pain, pausing at the fresh wave of pain washing over his body. His eyes were closed as the door opened somewhere, causing him to jump slightly. “Jacob, you’re awake!” 

He looked up and smiled when he saw you come towards him. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Over a day. Um, did you call for me, just now?” You heard him scream for you, most likely in his sleep.

“No, why?” He furrowed his brows as he watched your expression.

You decided to not pry, and instead let him tell you of his own accord, whenever that may be. “No reason; I must have been hearing things. Listen, you need to rest for a bit longer. You’ve taken a lot of damage.”

“Nonsense; I’m fine now.” He went to stand up, but sat back down as his world began to spin. “I’m not staying here… wherever we are.”

“We’re in Lambeth Asylum. We took you straight to Florence Nightingale.”

“Where’s Evie?”

“I finally got her to rest; she hasn’t been able to sleep at all since…”

“Sounds like her.”

“What happened, Jacob? When you didn’t come back that night, I thought you went to the pub or something, but you still weren’t back by the next day. How did you end up outside London?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. One moment, I was following a man in a bowler hat, and the next I was ambushed by about fifty Templars.” Your lips quirked at the exaggeration. 

“I was so worried, Jacob. They almost killed you.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than fisticuffs to take me out.” 

You took his face in your hands. “While we’re here, you need a bath.”

“And here I thought you were going to be romantic.”

“Aha. Cute.”

The word echoed in Jacob’s mind as you prepared the hot water. Absently, his hand ran over his bandages, replaying the memories in his mind. 

“Jacob!” 

“Huh?” He didn’t realise he was staring off into space until you looked at him with concern. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, fine.” 

You went over to him and helped him up, supporting him over to the tub. “Get in.” 

“If you wanted to--”

“Don’t finish that sentence; we’ve seen each other naked enough times.” 

He chuckled, undressed and slowly sat in the warm water, with help from you. “What about the bandages?”

“I’ll replace them afterwards; they’re there to keep your ribs in place.”

As Jacob washed his lower half, albeit slowly, you got a clean rag and dipped it in the water before turning his face towards you. You wiped the grime away from the open wounds on his forehead and lip. “Ow.” He didn’t flinch, but he still voiced his pain in a deadpanned tone. 

“Sincerest apologies,” you teased, for a moment it was silent, with Jacob watching you intently, before he nudged your hand away, leaning in to kiss you. It was a kiss he never thought he’d give you so soon; the ‘I-thought-I’d-never-see-you-again’ kiss. You broke apart, knowing exactly what he was feeling. “It’s alright now,” you reassured, swapping the rag for hair oils. He returned the smile you gave him, allowing himself to breathe.

You poured water over his head as you tilted it back, shielding his face from the liquid. Then, you massaged his scalp, watching as he slowly became more relaxed. 

“What do I have to do to get this more often?” he murmured softly.

“Just ask,” you laughed. 

“What do I have to do... to do this for you?” You washed out the suds in his hair, sweeping it back. 

“Again, ask -- wait until you’ve healed though.”

“If I must.” 

----------

On the outside, Jacob was healing fine. 

On the inside, scarring was plentiful. 

He was back on the train after a few weeks, glad to be somewhere he could call home. Though his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. 

Walking around the carriages, he was mostly doing desk work; Evie’s way to keep him off the streets until his body was healed. 

Night terrors frequently plagued him. He’d bring you into his arms at the end of the day, but as he fell further into his subconscious, he began to heave out frightened breaths. You would sometimes wake up when it was at its height, but other times his cries for help, his begs and pleads and calls of your name as he startles, would sit you up straight. You’d wake him up as gently as you could, waiting patiently for him to realise where he was and who you were, the fright slowly dissipating. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” You’d hold him as tightly as he held you, as if you’d never hold each other again. “You’re safe; I’m safe. We’re okay.” These were the only times Jacob revealed just how hard the recent event had hit him, preferring to lock it away and pretending it wasn’t there instead of facing it for what it is.

Slowly, he’d recover.

Slowly, he’d heal.

Slowly, everything will return to normal.

[marvxlousqueen]

Warren Worthington- Dumbass

requested: Hey could you do a Warren x Reader where they don't get along (all that good angry flirtatious arguing energy) but they get stuck trapped somewhere when a mission goes wrong and he has a cut or something on his back and she has to like clean it or stitch it up or something but she keeps brushing her hands over his wings bc it's really close to them & he gets all ooh lala and then there's smut? Especially if it's all angry sexy time bc they don't like each other but then it's fluffy at the end?

A/N: hi so this is short but i have a lot of requests to do so pls bare w me :) ALSO this is bad bc i havent written in so long but itll get better (i hope ahha)

word count: 1000 exactly lmao

warnings: cussing, smut, choking if you squint, unprotected sex bc i’m too lazy to write in a condom

It took all of 30 seconds for the mission to go completely fucking sideways. They were supposed to be taking down an enemy plane, nice and easy, just like they had done in the past. But maybe... (Y/n) pushed a little too hard with the fire and accidentally caught Kurt’s tail on fire... and maybe Kurt panicked and bamfed out of there, leaving his station open.. which maybe left Warren unguarded while he was on look out... which maybe led to both (Y/n) and Warren to get captured while the rest of the crew barely got away. But she would never admit that. 

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t tried to take on three guys at once then you wouldn’t have blown up Kurt!” 

(Y/n) rolled her eyes from her corner, “It was not three guys! It was only two and I did NOT blow up Kurt! He bailed on the mission so it’s not my fault!”

“Either way, I got shot with burning hot metal from your end and attacked by dudes from Kurt’s end so I’m gonna blame you.”

“Fine then.”

“Fine.”

 They were currently sitting across from each other in a small cell on the enemy territory, waiting for the others to return and bust them out. 

“Actually, by the way-” (Y/n) wasn’t about to lose this argument against Warren of all people. She couldn’t stand the guy- his cocky attitude or his huge ego. God he was annoying as fuck.

“Just shut up, (Y/n).”

“No! You can’t blame this on me-”

“Shut up! You’re giving me a headache.”

“Make me, asshole.”

He opened his eyes and looked towards her, “make you?”

“Unless you’re scared, Worthington.”

“Fine, princess,” He stood up and walked towards her side of the cell.

“I hate when you call me that, you know.”

He smirked, “Sure you do.”

Suddenly, he went in for a kiss, grabbing her hips and pulling her towards him. (Y/n)’s eyes went wide at first, but slowly she relaxed into it. He bit her bottom lip, asking her to open her mouth. As soon as she did, his tongue entered, exploring her mouth. His hands moved from her hips to her ass, grabbing it.

He pulled out of the kiss, “Are you okay with this?”

Out of breath, she only nodded, grabbing his hair and pulling him back in. Without a bed in the cell, he had nowhere to move towards except the wall. She felt her back come in contact with the cold brick while her hands moved to slide up his shirt, tracing over his muscles. Warren pulled away and struggled to get his shirt off and over his wings, during which (Y/n) slipped off her shirt and pants. 

When he looked up again, she was just in her bra and underwear. 

“Jesus Christ.”

“Nope, it’s just me.”

Warren rolled his eyes while (Y/n) held back her laughs. “God, shut up. That was terrible.”

(Y/n) quickly came back into focus as Warren started on his belt. 

“Let me get that.”

She sunk to her knees, putting her clothes under her to make it more comfortable. Then her hands moved to unbuckle his belt and shimmy his pants down. Once they hit the floor, Warren let out a sigh of relief, no longer constrained against the tight material. 

(Y/n) worked on palming him through his boxers. Warren’s voice got caught in his throat the second her hand slipped under the thin fabric and ghosted along him. 

“F-fuck.”

She wrapped her hand around him and felt him grow harder in her grasp. (Y/n) used her thumb to spread the precum from his dripping tip and pump him a few times. Warren’s moans were like heaven. 

“O-oh fuck-(Y/n)”

She finally pulled his boxers all the way down, taking his tip in her mouth, sucking hard on it.

“God-fuck” Warren pulled her off by her hair, “As-fuck- as much as I love that, I don’t want to finish too early. How about your turn?”

(Y/n) stood back up and pulled Warren in for another kiss while his fingers wondered down towards her pussy. He used her slick to wet his fingers before slipping one in. His lips moved to her neck as he added another finger, thrusting in faster now. (Y/n) wasn’t sure what to focus on- his lips sucking a hickey on her neck or his long fingers rubbing against her sweet spot.

“Warren-please”

He pulled his fingers out, sucking them clean, “please what?”

“You know what.”

He pushed her against the wall once again, “I want to hear you say it, princess.”

“Please fuck me.” 

Warren lifted one of her legs up to his waist and swiped his tip over her entranced, lubing himself up with her natural juices. “You ready?”

She nodded and he pushed the tip in, “fuck,” they both said.

Warren let out a groan as he pushed all the way in, (Y/n) gasping when he was finally fully sheathed inside of her. 

Warren pulled his hips back and pushed forward slowly, making (Y/n)’s nails scrape down his back, hitting his sensitive spot between his wings.

“Shit-”

Warren began to snap his hips back and forth, groaning in (Y/n)’s ear as she moaned in his. He gained speed as he pistoned in and out of her quicker and quicker.

“Jesus-fuck Warren-”

With her nails scratching in just the right spot and the clenching of her walls, Warren knew he couldn’t last much longer. He moved a hand to her throat and squeezed, making (Y/n) scream out. 

After a few more thrusts Warren finished and dropped to his knees to finish off (Y/n). She came soon after, legs trembling as Warren’s tongue explored deep inside of her.

The two took a second to catch their breath before getting dressed again.

“so... can we do that again sometime?”

(Y/n) looked at Warren, eyes wide in shock after truly realizing what happened, “Fuck yes.”

taglist: @chocolatealmondmilkshake@thoughtlesspace@chxrrymoons@babebenhardy@rexorangecouny@cyndagoaway@killcomet@mcrmarvelloki@queen-turtle-boiii@hardlylo@ziggymay@onceuponadetectivedemigod @ixchel-9275@queen-baelin @radiob-l-a-hblah@kurt-nightcrawler@kellypenac@disaster-rose​

hmu to be added!

[earths-roots-grow-up]

This is a super long Headcanon about Austria’s and Hungary’s relationship. It’s connected to my Austria’s Sexual Preferences HC.

 WARNING for Austria being an ass, angst, toxic relationship patterns and some upsetting historical stuff like war and military dictatorships. If you love fluffy cute AusHun and hate that stuff, it may just not be your cup of tea :-).

A quick rundown of some Hungary/Austria history:

“In early stages (1500s) the lands that were ruled by the Habsburg Hungarian kings were regarded as both “the Kingdom of Hungary” and “Royal Hungary”. Royal Hungary (…) was de facto a Habsburg province.” (wiki)

“Rákóczi’s War of Independence (1703–11) was the first significant attempt to topple the rule of the Habsburgs over Hungary. The war was fought by a group of noblemen, wealthy and high-ranking progressives and was led by Francis II Rákóczi. The insurrection was unsuccessful, ending with the Treaty of Szatmár; however, the Hungarian nobility managed to partially satisfy Hungarian interests.” (wiki)

Later on Joseph II Habsburg (1765–1790), Holy Roman Emperor and the Archduke of Austria, abolished local governments in countries that were parts of the Habsburg empire, including Hungary. He established German as the official language of Hungary and divided the country into 10 parts, ignoring the historical divisions that existed until then. He unified Hungarian and Austrian administrations. All of this was met with opposition from some of the strongest groups in Hungary (like the magnates and the Magyar nobility), but they were ignored. Austro-Hungarian conflict was something that has been stewing in the background of the Habsburg empire for years and revolutions were not unheard of. All of this came to a head in 1848 when the Hungarian Revolution began and the Austro-Hungarian war followed.

The biggest event that kick-started the revolution was the illegal act of revoking Hungarian April Laws by the Austrian monarch. April laws were laws established by the Hungarian parliment and ratified by the last Hungarian king (bc even tho under Austrian rule, the Kingdom of Hungary still had some autonomy, such as the parliament). Their aim was to modernize Hungary into a parliamentary democracy. The new Austrian monarch, Francis Joseph, didn’t like that and revoked them. This was a completely illegal act, he had no right nor authority to overwrite the hungarian parliment - but he still did. This really crossed the line with the Hungarians, who - as mentioned above - already had some problems with the way Austria was domineering over Hungary and history of revolting. So it began: “Hungarians brought 12 demands to the Austrian leadership, among them freedom of the press, civil and religious equality, and a national bank. A bloodless revolution took place on March 15, 1848, and the first independent Hungarian government was formed with Lajos Batthyány as Prime Minister.” The revolution itself was bloodless, but the war that followed wasn’t. Austria got help from Russia and the combined Russian and Austrian armies ended up winning the conflict. Hungary was yet again under complete Habsburg control. After Hungary lost, it was put under brutal martial law by Austria and Hungarian generals and members of the parliament were executed, including Lajos Batthyány who - ironically - was trying to reach some kind of agreement with the Habsburg dynasty throughout the revolution. They thanked him with a firing squad. Stay classy, Roderich. Very heavy taxation was put on the Hungarian people as punishmen. All of this was a deciding factor in how the future Hungarian/Austrian relations looked like - the “Hungarian problem” became one of the hottest issues for the Hapsburg monarchy for years to come. The military dictatorship and absolutist rule that Austria introduced over Hungary lasted for 18 years and ended in ‘67 with the Austro-Hungarian Compromise, in which a dual monarchy of Austria-Hungary was established. “The territorial integrity of Kingdom of Hungary was restored. The Compromise partially re-established the former sovereignty of the Kingdom of Hungary, however being separate from, but no longer subject to the Austrian Empire. The agreement also restored the old historic constitution of the Kingdom of Hungary.” (wiki)

Why did Austria agreed to the compromise after almost 20 years of martrial law and terror? WELL “As a consequence of the Second Italian War of Independence and the Austro-Prussian War, the Habsburg Empire was on the verge of collapse in 1866, as these wars caused monumental state debt and a financial crisis. The Habsburgs were forced to reconcile with Hungary, to save their empire and dynasty.”

Headcanon: I personally HC that Austria and Hungary got married in 1570 as a direct result of the personal union between both countries. Until then, the Kingdom of Hungary was ruled by two kings: one Hungarian, and one Austrian, but in 1570s the Hungarian king abdicated in favor of the Austrian ruler. And ever since, until the Habsburg empire fell apart, the Austrian monarch was also crowned as the Hungarian king. So I consider this event the beginning of their marriage. (I’ll explain why I moved the marriage this early at the end of the post. Hint - for narration purposes :D to me a HC has to create a coherent story first and foremost)

They did love each other, and tho their marriage was mostly a political union, they were both happy to start a life together as husband and wife. But the relationship itself was unhealthy, especially for Hungary.

The simplest way I can explain how I see it is: a young, naivee woman in love marries a controlling man, who also loves her, but still wants to completely dominate her. She is shocked by the reality of mariage with him but tries to accept the new way things are now (still, the hungarian revolution of early 1700s shows that internally, she has a problem with the lack of equality).

She convinces herself that her rebellious tendencies are the real problem here, as this is what he tells her, and tries to become the Perfect Wife.

The marriage is a long one and deteriorates very slowly, from Happily In Love, through Disappointment and then Growing Resentment, into an open conflict and the escalation of toxicity. So a story as old as time.

Longer version: Austria was controlling and saw himself as the authority in their relationship: she was to listen to him, never argue with him, speak German to him, be proper and refined and play by HIS rules. She was to completely leave her old customs and ways of life behind (she was a free-spirited horse-riding warrior, he wanted a proper lady in a corset who only speaks about the weather, music and art. Austrian, preferably. She wanted to feel the wind in he hair, he though that was inappropriate. etc).

There was no place for equality here and there was no place for her true nature either. He only accepted her more wild self when he needed military help from her, but then she was to put on her (Austrian) gown again. This was a shock for an outspoken, independent and strong woman, but Hungary at first did believe that this was the best for her (’we’re stronger together’ etc).

Also, she was really in love. To the point of being willing to give up many of her freedoms and passions to be “the perfect mate” Austria expected her to be. She lost a lot of herself during those long years of trying to please him. After all, there was a lot about Austria she admired - he was artistic, subtle, refined, had this air of royalty about him. He could be such a gentleman - she was not used to being treated like a lady, as she was always “one of the guys”, and truly enjoyed it. She LOVED his music. He gave her expensive gifts and composed sonatas and poetry for her. Etc. But still - she wanted equality and to be seen for who she really is, and he was only willing to be the dashing gentleman when she played the role of the quiet, obedient SO. Resentment and anger rose in her and her romantic love and attraction for Austria began to rot away. The Perfect Wife role was at first something she got used to and though she could pull off, but with time, it got more and more frustrating.

When in 1848 the Austrian monarch decided to illegally overwrite her parliament - it was a boiling point for her. She saw red and grabbed her weapon. Tho the attempts of her leader, Lajos Batthyány, to work out a compromise with the Austrian monarch tell me that she did still want to make the marriage work and still hoped that they could become a better couple - just on different terms. But, of course, Austria was not into that. The total fallout of their relationship at this point might have seem unexpected to some, as they did pretend to be the Perfect Power Couple when in front of others, and she was discreet with her angst. But in reality this tension has been rising for years and the marriage has been an unhappy one for some time now.

And from Austria’s side, the sad reality was - he married a woman that was just too strong. That’s why he put such drastic measures in place after the Revolution failed - he wanted to dominate her once and for all and have his Perfect Marriage. He didn’t do it because he was vengeful or evil, he was just selfish and egocentric. In some messed up way, he thought she still could be happy with him, IF ONLY SHE DID WHAT HE TOLD HER TO.

The war and the brutal dictatorship that followed the Revolution were the darkest time in their relationship. It pretty much ended the intimacy they had. During this period they would get into loud arguments, throw things, he would then punish her by being even more controlling, she would take revenge in small ways like ruining his fav shirts by accident and started to think about a divorce. When Austria lost his wars with Prussia and Italy - she was on top of that, pretty much immediately demanding more rights. He had no strength to oppose her at this point. She even felt sorry for him, seeing how weak and wounded he was. Some old feelings resurfaced. The relationship abruptly got better, as she helped him heal while he began treating her better. He apologized for the way he treated her. He said that being at the brink of death made him realize the errors of his way. She was happy and agreed to re-new their vowes (the beggining of Dual Monarchy) - but she never forgot how ugly he could act. Things were never the same again. Something in the romantic relationship just died for her - most importantly, she never trusted him again. He could say all he wanted about how he’s sorry and would never do it again, the reality was - and she recognized it - that he only said those things when he was scared of death and desperately need her. When he was strong and felt well, he held her in an iron fist and forced martial law on her. The Dual Monarchy began, but the the romance was over. They still played the roles of hudband and wife in front of others, but slept in different beds.

This is tragic, because the love they had for each other was real. It was just totally ruined by Austria’s need to be in control of the relationship and inability to see her as an equal. They had totally incompatible ideas of how the relationship should look like.

When they divorced after WW1, Hungary did not suffer. To her, the divorce already happened - she mentally divorced him years ago, all that was left was a husk of the marriage and an old ring. For Austria, it was worse, as he still hoped they could rebuild and was forced to accept the rality that nope, its not happening. He took it badly.

Today they are exes that consider each other friends but Hungary would never want to return to a romantic relationship with him, as she believes that even tho Austria seems more chill nowadays, he would not be able to keep his controlling tendencies in check. This whole thing taught her that she never wants to change for a man.

The relationship between them is very complex and runs deep - tho they had their share of conflicts and toxicity, that does not mean good things never happened. They also know each other incredibly well and there is closeness there that neither of them wants to let go of.

Explanation: I moved their wedding from the birth of Austro-Hungary to an earlier date, because to me personally it makes more sense narration-wise. I don’t think Hungary would ever agree to marry him if the Revolution of 1848 and the bloody martial law already happened - this, to me at least, reads more like a dramatic conclusion to a long, difficult relationship that is becoming more toxic with time and then implodes, not something that happened before the marriage starts. So sorry for it not being very canon-friendly, but to me, it just creates a pretty coherent, emotional story of a downfall of a marriage that had potential, as there were honest feelings involved, but the dude was an ass.

This whole HC was born in baby form when I watched the episode in which Prussia wants Hungary to go hunting, mentions she used to like it, and she refuses and instead prefers to clean Austria’s house.  He then comments that she changed. It was played as lighthearted and funny and I do recognize that Hima probably wanted to show that she got more mature while Pru is still like a kid, but it actually made me really sad for her. Then I watched the show Freud on Netflix and got interested in the anti-austrian movements in Hungary (LOL sorry I know this sounds really silly! ^^’ it’s a good show tho). And it kinda fitted - she wanted to hunt, she was just putting herself in smaller and smaller boxes as the Perfect Wife bc Austria expected that and she still hoped it will make her dream of Lived Happily Ever After come true.

[bre-meister]

“Can I just give you another hickey?” / “Did you really have to give me so many hickeys?” and "This is outrageous. I demand more attention." Greens! i love love love your writing jsjsh

This got kind of out of hand ngl so I’ll add an under the cut. This was super fun to write so I hope you enjoy

“This is outrageous, I demand more attention!” Butch wined, acting more like the one third puppy dog in his genetic make-up than the whole ass man he was supposed to be.

“You know, if you’d just leave me alone for just five minutes I could get this done a lot faster, and then maybe I’ll give you the attention you want, you man-child.”

The man in question grunted, not very pleased with Buttercup’s answer but he moved off the couch where they had been sitting - well, more like her sitting and him all but sprawled in her lap.  He moved towards the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. Butch took a long sip from the bottle and leaned on the kitchen counter before asking his wife,

“So what’s it for this time again?” he nodded his head to indicate he was talking about the papers in her hands.

Whenever the Puffs or the Ruffs were asked to do interviews, they were always sent the questions in advance. Buttercup didn’t know if their red-headed leaders asked for it to be done or if the interviewers did it as a courtesy. Quite frankly, she didn’t care much. She knew that having the questions before meant she could prepare her best cookie-cutter answers before, which meant she could get done twice as fast. 

Read the questions, show up, look presentable, be nice.

Blossom always seemed to put emphasis on that last interview rule and it was always pointed specifically at the two greens. BC would be annoyed but, she knew the warning was warranted. 

“Hmm, not exactly sure. I kind of just show up and do what I’m told - keeps leader girl and cap boy off of both our asses and that’s all I really want right now.” She didn’t meet his eyes, she knew if she did he’d know she was keeping something from him. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal really - it wasn’t that big of a deal but knowing Butch he’d blow it out of proportion.

She could feel his eyes narrowing in on her, after all, they knew each other so well she should have known she wouldn’t have been able to keep anything like this from him. He hummed. There was silence and, for a blessed minute, she thought he’d dropped it. 

“Could have sworn Brick mentioned something about a magazine earlier today when we talked; Something about Bloss complaining about you complaining more than usual.” For a moment, Buttercup felt annoyance flow through her at the idea of Brick gossiping with his brothers, her husband no less, about her. She’d get little snitch. Hse was ripped out of her daydreams of what she’d do to Brick when Butch kept talking.

“Not exactly sure why you’d complain unless - I mean if Johnny was giving the interview, you’d tell me right?”

“You want the honest answer?” she tried to joke. The look on his face told her he wasn’t in a joking mood. BC sighed, exasperated.

“What did you expect me to do Butch. After the last interview, you threatened to castrate him. I didn’t even think you knew what castrate meant!”

“He’s lucky that’s all I’d do,” said Butch, ignoring the jab at his intelligence, “I should kill him for talking to you the way he did.”

Her last interview with Johnny had been...inappropriate to say the least. As time went on, the question had taken on more of a flirtatious manner. At first, Buttercup didn’t mind. She was annoyed yes, but she was used to this kind of unwanted attention due to her hero status. But then the question started to veer into an almost sexual territory and she ended the interview right then and there. She hadn’t told her sister about it - she didn’t want to make a fuss. She figured from now on she’d just insist they did these particular interviews together and not separately like usual. She had however told Butch. It was safe to say that Butch had not taken kindly to the news that some sleazy reporter was hitting on his wife.

She could tell he was angry, he only ever spoke this calmly when it got serious. She understood where he was coming from, truly she did, but she was in no mood to put up with his alpha male posturing bullshit. She was a grown-ass woman with superpowers - she could take care of herself.

“Honestly Butch it’s not that big of a deal. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d do exactly what you’re doing right now. The girls are going to be with me the whole time and, besides, I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“I know you’re a big girl, but you’re also my girl.” At that, he stalked off upstairs, assumedly to their bedroom. 

Buttercup sighed. Butch was devoted and loyal to a fault. When it came to emotions, just like everything in life, he never did anything halfway. As a result, he was a mean jealousy streak. So, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised when the following day he pinned her against the door right before she was set to leave - all dolled up to her sister’s specifications for this dumb interview that was causing her so much grief.

He kissed her passionately, all tongue and teeth. He grabbed at her body with his hands, pulling her closer and closer still until it almost seemed like she was going to melt into him. She was so lost in the sensations she didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late.

She pushed him off of her and zipped to the bathroom to examine the damage. She had giant, purple bruises all over her neck and upper chest. She could tell he had taken great care to make them visible. She groaned.

He had joined her in the bathroom, leaning against the door jamb looking very satisfied with himself. They hadn’t spoken much since their fight last night and he’d used that to his advantage to get the jump on her. 

Buttercup reached into her purse and pulled out her emergency compact she kept there - something done to placate Bubbles who insisted it was a necessity. Right now, she was thanking her lucky stars Bubbles had convinced her to.

Butch was at her side in an instant, covering her hand and forcing the compact down and away from her. She spun around, ready to give him a piece of her mind but he backed her into the sink instead.

“Don’t cover them up. I want everyone to see them especially Johnny. I want him to know you’re mine.” Buttercup would never admit it, but that primal, possessive growl sent a shiver down the spine of the toughest fighter - something only Butch could do. She both hated and loved him for it.

“You don’t have the time to anyway, even if you fly at top speeds you’ll still be late. You know how Blossom is when you’re late.” He chided. She checked her watched and cursed realizing he was right. 

Turning around to survey the damage one more time she let our a fruitless sigh, 

“Did you really have to give me so many hickeys?”

“Honest answer?” he was mocking her now from the day prior, “ I wish you would have let me give you more. Like I said,” Butch was mouthing at her neck again and it took everything within her to push him off, “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

She gave him a deep kiss - more to satisfy herself than him - before jetting out the door. She didn’t want to be late - considering the ratting out she was about to get from her older sister for the bruised neck, she didn’t need to add a lecture on timeliness to the list.

She was proud to report to Butch that night that his little trick had the desired effect, Johnny barely talked to her the entire interview - couldn’t even look at her more like it. Blossom seemed confused at first but she was a smart girl. She knew Butch, she knew Buttercup, and she could plainly see the look on their interviewers face; it didn’t take a genius to put all of those pieces together.

Butch, as expected, was very pleased with himself. Buttercup, as expected, was very pleased with the knowledge that, by morning, she’d have a minefield of new hickeys to replace the ones that had begun to fade - most of which were in places so intimate that no one would be able to see them except for Butch, and herself.

[ziracona]

This idea has been kicking around in my head for a long time, and I am finally writing it. Here’s the first chunk. (It’s fun but the second is more fun. Bc Joey :-) ) An offering to @platinumbered and my buddy Tyler, for (intentionally and unintentionally respectively) setting me on this path I cannot escape, and @speckeltail for enabling/encouraging me to keep going. It’s named after a Joy Division song for Quentin reasons. Hope you enjoy (whenever you get the chance to read, that is. ^u^ ).

New Dawn Fades (part 1)

.

.

“There’s been a lot recently, hasn’t there?” asked Quentin.

“Of new killers?” checked Dwight, turning and glancing back at him for a second. Quentin looked distracted. He was eyeing the terrain with curiosity, but he turned to Dwight at the sound of his voice and nodded.

“It…seems like it used to be longer…Didn’t it?” checked Quentin, speeding up for a second to be at his side again, “Like. I don’t know. I mean, I know I can’t really tell time here at all, but it used to feel like a year—or—I don’t know, maybe not a year, but half a year? A few months? It felt like longer, back when I was new.”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s just you getting adjusted,” agreed Dwight, holding a branch back for Quentin as they passed through a dense chunk of the woods, “I think you’re right. The Entity’s been…escalating. Which, unfortunately probably means it’s been-“

“-Getting stronger,” finished Quentin with him, looking as not thrilled about that as he felt.

“Yeah,” said Dwight. There wasn’t much else to say to that.

“So…what’s the end goal with it, do you think?” asked Quentin, pushing through a tangled copse of saplings in their way and having some trouble.

We should really just go around, but at this point, I’m too tired to do that too… Dwight forged after, fighting with the underbrush with as little tact as Quentin was. At least there was no one to see them getting their asses handed to them by shrubbery. God I’m tired, thought Dwight. They’d been walking around casing the area for hours now. It was a nice thing to do—useful, trying to monitor the changes in the woods ever since they’d figured out the areas shifted all the time, but it took forever recently. Now that they had, like Quentin had mention, so much more shit. More killers, more area, more ground to cover. More change. He was also pretty damn sure at this point that the Entity was also making the forest denser than it used to be, and a part of Dwight wondered if that was being done explicitly to deter them from doing exactly what they were doing now—to—to encourage them to stay close to home, to the campfire. Keep inside the safety of their cage. Well, now I just want to explore more, so I guess thanks for the motivation, you shitty spider god, thought Dwight, glancing up at the dark sky overhead. Weird that as long as he’d been living in the dim twilight of the realm, he thought of this kind of time as day. His idea of night and day really had nothing to do with the state of the sky at all anymore.

“I mean,” continued Quentin up ahead, finally breaking through into a more open section of the woods again and waiting for him, turning back and trying to help him through the last patch of tangled under brush, “Do you…think that if—like, does it want to kidnap everyone? The whole world? I don’t think it’s got the room to fit us all. A-and I know that like—what are there, like almost fifty of us now? However many, that that’s not even close to the population of a town, let alone a city or a country or the whole world or something, so I-I know it’s going wild with the assumptions to say something like that, but—”

“No, I get you,” agreed Dwight, brushing leaf and twig fragments off himself, “I don’t know either, but it is worrying. I definitely don’t think it could hold a couple billion people in here though, so world domination can’t be on the table, but that said, I don’t know what it does want. Other than to feed on us.”

Quentin nodded thoughtfully, and idly fiddled with his necklace for a second. “Maybe it’s just stockpiling,” he offered, “It’s probably had lean times before. I guess it’d make sense for any kind of creature that feeds to pile up food when it can, to be ready for a time it can’t.”

That made sense, and honestly, that would be like, a best-case scenario for them. “I hope you’re right,” said Dwight, giving him a tired smile, “That’s way less intimidating than the stuff I’ve been considering.”

“Yeah?” asked Quentin, moving to keep pace as they started off again, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s greedy,” said Dwight, glancing over at him, “Or. Gluttonous. Both. Not sure which applies here, if we’re food. Whichever. I think probably it’s just gotten more powerful slowly, and now that it’s got more strength, it just wants more and more to snack on, so it’s been taking more and more people. Getting bolder. And it’ll keep doing that as much as it can.”

“Maybe it’ll do something stupid, then,” said Quentin hopefully, “Push itself too far. Even as powerful as this thing obvious is, there has to be a limit to what it can contain.”

“Yeah,” said Dwight, starting to grin a little conspiratorially, “I’ve kind of been hoping that too.”

“Oh!” Quentin hissed the warning in a whisper and shot out a hand, stopping him. Dwight paused and looked the direction he was looking and could just barely make out a change in light up ahead. Deathslinger.

“You see it?” mouthed Quentin.

Dwight nodded and took out the little notebook they’d been keeping track of nearby realms in and marked it on his poor attempt at map. Deathslinger was new. They’d only had him in the realms for maybe a month now—no, probably not even quite that. And he was especially dangerous, because like the Huntress, he could hit you from a distance.

“What now?” mouthed Quentin after a second, looking from him to the book questioningly.

“Let’s circle it carefully,” whispered Dwight, “If we go all the way back into the woods, we might miss the next area.”

Quentin nodded, and much slower than before and keeping low now too, the two of them kept going, edging along the border to the Deathslinger’s land. The border was clear, so it was easy to see where the line of danger was drawn. The area was lower than the forest, with a small embankment dropping down to his territory and marking where forest ended and prairie started, the yellowed grass springing up at the base of it a clear and stark contrast to the cold, dim green woods around them. It was so hard not to be fascinated though, as they went, by the town laid out before them. A frozen snapshot of the old American west. A ghost town, in maybe the truest sense of the phrase Dwight had ever seen: an old saloon, a stagecoach, rickety wood buildings along the sides of a dusty old street, leading to a grim gallows at the end of it, nooses still up and swinging idly in the wind, and nothing but rotting corpses and the knowledge that somewhere, out of sight but not out of mind, would be the single living inhabitant of that ghost town, if you could call him living. Dangerous and deadly no matter what the truth of that questions was. But as fascinating as the ghost town was, or even the Deathslinger himself, that wasn’t why it was hard not to stare at it. It was because the Deathslinger, for some unknown reason Dwight would never understand but couldn’t have been more thankful for, had been gifted the sun.

It didn’t even matter that the ball of fire in the sky wasn’t real. God, it had been so, so long since he’d seen even a mockery of it. The sight of it again had almost killed him with heartbreak and nostalgia and desperation. The first time Dwight had had a trial with the Deathslinger, back the day he’d appeared, he’d been taken completely unawares and would have been shot through the back in the first twenty seconds of that trial if Claudette hadn’t been there to knock him over, because he’d just been staring at the sky. Lost in the wonder of seeing even the Entity’s too large, false reproduction of the burning orb he hadn’t seen for real in years. It was always sunset in the Deathslinger’s land, but that was still sun, and God. He had missed it. He had missed the light of day so much he didn’t even have words for it. For the feeling of seeing it again, even if it was just a cheap Hollywood painting set up against the backboards, a fake sunset, not a real sun at all. Still. Still, thought Dwight, emotion choking him up in his throat at the sight of it. He loved and hated ending up here in trials, because it always threw him off. And yet. And yet…

The sun…God. How can I miss you so much, thought Dwight painfully, creeping towards the far end of the Deathslinger’s area, maybe two thirds of the way to its edge now, You’re just a star. But I would cut off my right hand to be able to see you again for real and just…just actually feel true, real, honest to god sunlight on my skin again. How could a thing like that matter so much?

Forcing himself to refocus on the reality past the ache in his chest, Dwight kept moving, sliding along the edge of the Deathslinger’s place. They were up high, on the edge of the little maybe six foot slope leading down to the lowered area the Deathslinger was in. Which was weird, now that he’d moved on from the sun and was thinking about it—usually the borders were even, and you just had to depend on the change in plant like to know where the border was. But then, what wasn’t weird about the Deathslinger’s home turf? There was no sign of the man, though, and that was good. Honestly, they couldn’t be in too much danger, because the killers couldn’t get out—they probably could have stood up here and yelled at the guy and gotten nothing worse than some extra aggression next trial—but hey, it paid to be careful and it cost nothing. And the dude had a ranged weapon. No one had ever like, taken a pot-shot from a Huntress hatchet while chilling out in the woods, so they had no reason to think that could happen, but uh. At the same time they had no definite proof that they couldn’t, and uh, better sorry than really fucking dead, you know?

“I wonder if the birds are edible,” mumbled Quentin under his breath.

Dwight snapped out of his own convoluted line of thought and turned to give him a disbelieving look. “Quentin,” he hissed back, “You don’t want to eat a buzzard. I’m not kidding. Even if those were real birds, you know what they eat, and there’s only one type of carrion here, and I’ll give you a hint: it’s a large bipedal mammal.”

“Okay, okay,” agreed Quentin sheepishly, “I’m just curious.”

Dwight exhaled what was almost a laugh and turned back to the path ahead of him, and the dirt ledge beneath his foot gave out.

He screamed—only for a maybe a half a second before he’d choked it back as he realized how fucking bad an idea screaming was, and he heard something between a gasp and a cry from Quentin and saw his hand reach out for him as he went plummeting backwards, and then his head hit the ground, and he rolled, fast and hard against unforgiving, dry ground as solid as a rock, and then as quickly as it had started, he slammed into a box by the old stagecoach and everything stopped as he came to rest with his heart pounding and body aching, a big cloud of dust settling around him. And the second he had any motor control back, Dwight froze and went absolutely silent, breath held, just listening, straining for any hint of noise.

On the little ridge above him, he could see Quentin watching him, eyes enormous, panicked, looking out over the silent town and then back at him—trying to figure out if he should come down and help, Dwight was sure, from the only half-checked urge to rush in very evident in the lines of his frame, and Dwight dragged himself up to an elbow as quietly as he could and held up a hand towards Quentin. Don’t do it, he tried frantically to convey in silence, mouthing the words and locking eyes with his friend, It’s okay. There’s no sound. Just stay put. He kept a hand up towards his friend, praying it would deter him, and made it slowly to his knees, breathing shakily. Glancing back up the ridge, he shook his head at Quentin, then pointed to himself, made a motion with two fingers like walking, and pointed up to the ridge. Quentin nodded, still pale and on edge, but a little less desperate as the seconds ticked on and there was no motion from the ghost town to indicate the monster there had heard them.

Okay, thought Dwight, trying really, really hard to stay calm, Okay. No sound, no movement. He peeked out from behind the boxes for a second, scanning the town. Nothing. No sign of the man with the gun. He ducked down, took another long, steady breath, and checked again, but everything was completely still. Empty. Dwight felt his frantic heartbeat slow back down just a little. Okay. No Deathslinger. Oh my god I thought I was dead. Thank god—wow, is this actually happening to me? I got lucky for once?

Go figure. He probably owed Ace a drink or something for this much good fortune, especially when historically, uh, luck had it out for him with a hell hath no fury level on par with a woman scorned. Trying to believe things actually hadn’t turned out shitty for him for once, Dwight shakily pulled himself to his feet, still crouched in cover, and readied to spring up and run, picking out the easiest path back up the embankment. Quentin saw what he was doing and hurriedly closed a few feet between himself and a small tree, wrapped an arm around its trunk to make himself an anchor, and then held the leaned out over the embankment and held his other hand out. Ready to bring him back to safety with a sprint up the bank and jump to the waiting hand. Dwight smiled. I’m so glad it was Quentin. He’s reliable and he won’t give me crap about this and tell everyone once we get back to the fire. There were a lot of reasons he liked him so much, but the level of dependable and loyal was for sure one of them. Feeling a lot better, Dwight counted to three in his head, muscles tensing, and then rushed for the bank.

The second he was out of cover, Dwight heard the shot, and on impulse, he ducked. The old instinct to a gunshot still to ingrained in his DNA saved him, and as he went flat against the dirt, he heard metal whir and then snap above his head as the harpoon went where he had been, hit the end of its chain, and fell short. Seeing the world in bullet time, Dwight rolled onto his back, barely even thinking yet, just following instinct, and he saw him then. The Gunslinger had made the shot through an open window in the saloon, hidden, waiting for a clear shot at his prey under the guise of safety, but he wasn’t hiding anymore. He was up on his feet and he was coming. Dwight knew from trial experience that he had maybe three seconds before the man could reload and take a shot again and he heard Quentin shouting for him to run, and he did, rolling over and scrambling to his knees, and with everything he had he bolted for Quentin, tearing up the ledge, leaping the last foot, and his hand caught skin and he felt Quentin’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and closed his own around his friends, and then as he being pulled up to the border of safety that was just inches away, and he heard the shot. There was no way to hide this time. Nowhere to run, or to dodge. He just had time to realize what was going to happen, and then the metal barb was through his torso and out the other side, and the hooks opened and plunged into his stomach like a grapple gun, and he was being dragged back with force, and he screamed, and for a second everything was just pain and confusion, and then he was looking up into Quentin’s face and watching his friend trying desperately not to lose his hold on him, horrified, and calling his name, and Dwight realized looking up into his face that if he didn’t let go, they were both dead, and that no matter what happened, it was already too late for him, and so he let go.

Quentin tried to keep him. Shouted, “No! Please—Don’t!” almost crying, and struggling with all his might not to let go too and to bear enormous weight and force with the strength of one hand alone, and Dwight was afraid he would be desperate enough that he would lose his hold on the tree before he lost his grip on him, so he wrenched his wrist free, still looking up into the frantic, betrayed horror and fear on his best friend’s face, and then he fell, jerked hard backwards onto the unforgivingly stiff ground again, and felt the chain connected to the metal rod through him dragging him back and he couldn’t see Quentin anymore. This had hurt before—hurt in trials, but it was worse—he didn’t know if that was real, of if it was the fear of the potential finality of death this time, but it was more pain than he could even process right, and as he was pulled backwards, Dwight caught onto the wheel of the old stagecoach as he passed it and looked back up at Quentin, terrified to die but not really feeling that, too in shock for that to be real, too out of control for his brain to look at, because it had realized that there was no escaping it now, and so it was focused on his friend, who still had a chance.

“Stay there!” he shouted desperately, the second word melting into a scream of agony as the man behind him tugged hard on the reel in the mechanized gun, chuckling low and slow to himself somewhere behind Dwight, “Please! Quentin, go back! Tell them!” and he knew he’d meant to say something better, but the pain was too much then, and he lost his grip and was choking on dust, and then he was as the Deathslinger’s feet, barely processing that through the agony in his stomach. He felt the hooks release and the barbs slide free as the tall man in the leather duster placed a foot on his head, pinning him down, and freed his weapon. It came out of his torso with an awful shlick and a ripping sensation that was unbearable, and Dwight tried to scream, but it came out choked. His whole body was shaking, and for a second he thought he was going to lose consciousness, but he didn’t, which was worse. He could feel the blood starting to seep out of his stomach and pool around him.

“Please,” begged Dwight, voice raspy from the dust he’d inhaled, looking up at what little of the man above him he could see with a boot crushing his head against the ground, “I-I know you have to hunt us in trials. Please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to come into your home. I would never—I fell.” His cheek was bleeding from being dragged, and he could taste the blood running into his mouth. God, please, please care. The Deathslinger was new. He’d never done anything to give Dwight any hope he might show mercy, but he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t either—he hadn’t been especially cruel and sadistic, and he was new, he was an unknown. Maybe…Maybe.

The man above him grinned and raised his gun butt to ram down into Dwight’s head, and Dwight started to shut his eyes and brace, choking on despair, and then he heard a scream and he recognized the voice in time to open his eyes and catch a flash of movement as Quentin rammed into the man and knocked him off Dwight and sent them both flying back together in a heap. Dwight heard a massive crash and dragged himself shakily onto an arm in a really surreal mixture of dismay and incredible relief and a fragmented processing of time to see Quentin roll free of a broken water trough and lock eyes with him and scream, “RUN!”

Over by the saloon, that was all that Quentin had time to say before he lost sight of Dwight as the Deathslinger made it up too and came at him, relentless and angry. All he could do was pray that Dwight would—that he’d even have the strength to, and then he was dodging a swipe from the gun’s bayonet, and didn’t have the ability to think about anything but the man in front of him. He dodged left and avoided a second swipe, and then thought he’d moved in time to avoid a third, but the man twisted the blade horizontally when his thrust missed, extending the reach it had at its widest point, and he caught him in the outer arm with the edge of it, and Quentin felt the blade bite deep into his left arm by the shoulder and slice as the Deathslinger drew it back, and he cried out and fell back a step, trying to think frantically fast as he barely managed to duck out of the way of a swipe that came hard for him now that he was off balance and would have run him through the head if he’d been even a half-second slower. Fuck—I can’t keep this up for too long—he’s so much faster than I thought. W-what if Dwight can’t run? He couldn’t see him anymore—he’d tried to move to get him in view again, but the Deathslinger had pressed him the other way and forced him too far back, past too many piles of debris now to see at all, and the Deathslinger was still between them, and God, he’d been hurt, bad, and—

Too focused on fear for Dwight, Quentin dodged right too slow and took a slice to his side and struggled to refocused on the Deathslinger as best he could, terrified for the friend he couldn’t see, but needing to buy him time. Fuck. He couldn’t focus like this. He. Fuck-fuck-he was hurt so bad, what will we even do if we get him back to camp? Can we— Quentin ducked beneath a swipe meant for his head, only to be caught by a boot to the gut with tremendous force from the Deathslinger who had learned to anticipate his movements way too fast, and then he wasn’t thinking anything at all as he was flung backwards into a row of crates in the road not far from the stagecoach with a cry. He hit them hard, smacking his head against them with a crack, and stumbled to his knees, barely even enough time to look up before the Deathslinger was there, bringing the bayonet down on him, and he flung himself left with the little energy he had left, too slow, and too late, and he knew it as soon as he moved, and then somehow the shot went wide and missed him, and he heard a scream in a voice he knew was Dwight’s, and there he was. Leaping onto the man’s back just in time to save him, and locking his legs around the Deathslinger’s waist, his arm wrenched around the man’s throat, trying to strangle him, and Quentin was overcome with gratitude and relief, and then fear as he saw the Deathslinger angle the gun back to run the blade into Dwight’s side, and thinking as fast as he could, he followed the first impulse his frantic brain threw his way and shot forward and threw himself like a bowling ball into the man’s knees, no time to make it back to his feet. As he went, he ripped the shard of glass he’d taken to carrying to defend himself in trials at Laurie’s advice out of his pocket and buried it blindly into the side of the Deathslinger’s right knee on contact, and all three of them went flying. Quentin heard Dwight cry out, and the huge monster of a man yell as the glass went in and then grunt in pain as Quentin took out his legs and he slammed backwards into the wooden base of the saloon, and then Quentin had rolled past him and was frantically struggling up again, spotting Dwight a few feet back where he’d rolled.

“Run!” shouted Quentin again, taking off for Dwight, and ripping a big handful of dirt from the road as he came even with the Deathslinger, who was still on his knees. Quentin pivoted, shouted, “HEY!”, flung the mass of dirt and dust into the Deathslinger’s eyes when he looked up, and then tore off towards Dwight again as he heard the killer hacking and letting out an agitated yell behind him as he tried to get the shit out of his eyes and mouth.

Dwight was up by the time Quentin reached him, clutching his bleeding stomach with one hand, but running hard. Riding adrenaline past the mass of pain he had to be in. As they tore off for the border, Quentin realized that the little gulley wall ahead would be easy enough for him to jump, snag onto a tree or something, and struggle up, but Dwight was fucked, and he desperately looked for other options. Something—anything. There was a spot a little to the right of where they’d tried originally, with a small tree growing up in the gulley itself, and thinking fast, Quentin called for Dwight to follow and made a B-line for it.

Out of breath, Quentin checked over his shoulder as they neared it, and saw to his relief that the Deathslinger was only just now making it to his feet again, gun not ready yet to take another shot, and he realized that if he could just do this right, they were going to make it. Riding that hope like a drug, Quentin leapt the four-feet he had to to reach the lowest branch on the tree, braced his foot against the edge of the gulley wall, and reached out his free hand to Dwight.

“I got you! Come on!” shouted Quentin.

Dwight saw what he was going for and nodded, running hard and breathing raggedly, old white dress shirt streaked with blood. He made it the last three feet, jumped and caught Quentin’s hand, and Quentin, braced and ready, used himself as a fulcrum and swung Dwight up onto the safety of green grass and tall deciduous trees.

His friend landed painfully, on his side, but safely—about three feet from the edge. And he dragged himself up onto his arms and smiled in almost frantic relief at Quentin and started to call him to come too as Quentin shifted his weight to be able to shove off the trunk of the little tree and make it the last foot up himself, and then Dwight was gone, and Quentin’s smile froze and he felt shock overcome his system as the woods in front of his eyes changed.

No, Quentin realized, eyes wide, and feeling sick. The woods were shifting. The areas re-arranging. Now? Fuck! Of all the possible times for this to happen? How? Why-why now! The odds must have been incredibly low! This didn’t even happen every day—sometimes it wouldn’t happen for more than a week. But it had—it was. The killer areas, their own campfire. All the little microcosms that made up the world here in the Entity’s realm shuffling again to remain difficult to understand and travel, like a shell game made up of tiny worlds that the Entity played any time someone got too comfortable with understanding the layout of their little prison.

It didn’t matter, though. Fuck it! No matter what the woods became, Quentin had to make the jump and get out, or he was getting shot, and whoever the killer in the next area was, they wouldn’t know he was there immediately. He might be able to hide, to sneak through—anything was better than here. He still had decent odds of being okay, no matter where he ended up—fuck, even if the Deathslinger shouted for the person in there to come find him, he’d have time to run, and that could serve as much as a distraction for him as anything else. All he had to deal with was flesh wounds, and he’d be okay even if he couldn’t dress those for a couple hours. The only real, immediate, terrible danger was that Dwight was now injured badly out in the woods alone, and already trying to plan the fastest way to find him again, Quentin had committed to the motion to jump when the heavy fog around the area in front of him shifted as the change in locations became truly set, and he saw a building he knew, and he shot out a hand and caught a branch on the little tree and jerked himself to a frantic stop, frozen in horror. Because it was the Preschool.

It was the Preschool.

And he could never go in there. He would never. He would rather die burned at the stake or bled out for hours on a hook, or to a reverse beartrap—anything—anything death imaginable was better than setting foot in that place outside of a trial and being caught by Freddy, and…

The horror of that lightning-fast chain of thought and where it was leading hit him so hard that he stayed frozen for a full second. He didn’t make it from I can’t go there to I can’t stay here either nearly fast enough, and he realized that too late, and as he turned to locate the Deathslinger again and to try to regain movement and chase the miniscule chance he had of outrunning him and maybe making it to the far side of the area and another border and the possible freedom of whatever realm was there now, he heard a gunshot.

The barb slammed into his gut before he’d even seen where the Deathslinger had gone, and Quentin screamed in agony as he felt metal tear through his stomach and out his back, felt metal hooks open and embed there, and then the chain tugged.

He wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready to fight, and he lost his balance immediately and fell down the little incline and smacked his head against the hard earth, then tried desperately to make it to his knees, bloody hands clutching at the chain and trying to bear weight and lesson the agony in his gut each time it dragged him closer, struggling to break free as he went, or to fight back at least, to slow the process of being reeled in and killed. His heels dug frantically into the earth as even powered by overwhelming fear his strength wasn’t enough and he was dragged forward, each little yank sending waves of pain that almost completely destroyed his ability to think at all ripping through his entire body.

The Deathslinger was watching him with a grin and those glowing silver-white eyes, standing a little lopsided with Quentin’s chunk of glass still embedded in his knee, and in desperation, Quentin latched onto that tiny fragment of information as he was dragged closer.

You can’t die—you can’t die—Dwight needs you. Fuck—fuck. One shot, you have one shot—c-come on. Please, he prayed, and then he was there—so close he could have reached out and grabbed the man, and he felt the barbs in his back release and the bolt rip back out of him with so much intense agony it was everything he could do not to just collapse, and as the bolt came free, he saw the Deathslinger already drawing back a hit, going to plunge the bayonet into his chest, and in that half-second of free from the harpoon and not yet run through, Quentin put all his weight on his right leg and flung himself hard down and left, ramming his left foot against the piece of glass in the Deathslinger’s knee with enormous force. And somehow, it worked. He wanted to cry with relief. The undead looking man screamed, and the bayonet missed, and the Deathslinger went down, clutching his badly wounded leg, and Quentin hit the ground and rolled and came up all in one frantic motion, then tore off deeper into the ghost town, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

Everything was a blur, of pain and fear and desperation.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear the Deathslinger coming after him, but Quentin didn’t know where to go. He stumbled over old rotten floorboards and through the empty shell of a building to the left of the saloon, leaving streaks of bright red in his wake and unable to stop it, even knowing he was leaving such an easy trail. Th-there was just too much blood. It was going out his back and his stomach and his arm and side and he couldn’t staunch it and run at the same time—it was all he could do to slow the bleeding in his gut as he tore off unsteadily through the ghost town. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on. Come on—you can make it. You just have to get to the far side, and you’ve got a shot. He can’t follow you over the border, and you can hide in the brush somewhere, a-and stitch yourself up, and live—come on—I know I can do it. I know it.

God. Dwight. Fuck—fuck! Was he going to be okay? Quentin wasn’t even sure how badly he’d been hurt by the end of it. He can still run, right? He can make it back.

There was so much fear and adrenaline in his system, and the thought of Dwight fighting to make it to the campfire and failing made him choke impulsively on a sob, and he stumbled, the emotion cutting off the supply of oxygen he so desperately needed and fucking up his ability to breathe right. He saved himself from going all the way down by catching the edge of an old crate, aware of the bright red handprint he’d left on it clearly marking his path as he made it back up to his feet and kept going, but nothing at all he could do about it. He had to focus, he had to, but. God—it was so hard. There were thirty things pounding against his skull for precedence, but he couldn’t listen to any of them, he had to just run.

Up ahead, he could see the border again then, the far one. Dead ahead. He’d run diagonally, not thinking straight. If he’d run right down the road, he’d have hit another border faster, but he hadn’t been thinking about speed, he’d only been thinking about visible cover. Still. He hadn’t heard a shot from the gun, and when he risked a quick look over his shoulder, he didn’t see the Deathslinger at all, and that had to be good. Okay, okay. Almost out, he told himself, focusing through the pain in his gut that kept begging his mind to just shut off his legs and give in and let him collapse.

There, across the border—Houses. Quentin could see them now, past a few trees at the edge of the new killer area up ahead he was fast approaching, and for a second he had an unbearable flash of deja vu and fear, thinking some fucking way it was Badham again, but it wasn’t—it was Haddonfield. Quentin was terrified of the Shape, but right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Anywhere except Badham Preschool was better than here, and he’d run and hide and patch himself up, and he could take his chances with the silent masked giant. And then only ten feet from the border, so close to safety, and almost the moment that he’d thought those words, Quentin saw him.

The Shape. He was standing there, just almost completely behind a tree, watching Quentin run towards him. Quentin almost hadn’t seen him in time at all, and he skidded to a stop painfully four feet from the edge of Haddonfield, breathing raggedly and wanting to cry.

No.

He could try. The left edge of the area and whatever killer realm was on that side wasn’t so far. He might make that before the Deathslinger got him. He had a chance, maybe, if he tried. But he had been so close, so close to making it, and he choked on the despair of that reality for a second, staring up at the Shape, half-considering just going in anyway. The Shape killed you quick. In here, if he tried and didn’t make the third border, especially after wounding the Deathslinger, Quentin was pretty sure that wasn’t what was going to happen to him. At least if he took three more steps forward and let the man in the white mask kill him, it would be over almost as soon as it began. That really might be the only choice he had left to make. Quentin had died that way a lot of times, and it wasn’t so bad. Kitchen knife to the heart. Four seconds maybe? He usually went numb as soon as the knife was pulled back out. Maybe he should. Maybe that was the right choice. He was in so much pain, and even if he ran as hard as he could, he didn’t know what area was on the left, and what if it was worse? What if there was a killer waiting there too, watching, like the Shape had been, and the Deathslinger must have been long before they’d ever seen him at all? If he got there and had to make this split-second decision again, but between Deathslinger and Cannibal. Deathslinger and Doctor, or Pig. Fuck, even if he got lucky, the less cruel killers almost all hurt more than the Shape did to die by. The only one that would be more merciful to him was the Nurse, and those were such low odds.

The thought process had been almost instantaneous, and as he ran through it, the Shape met his gaze, and he could just barely make the outline of eyes beneath the shadow of the mask. Eyes fixed on his own. The man tilted his head to the side slowly, still studying Quentin.

“Please,” thought Quentin, wanting to cry and feeling blood leak past the hand pressed against his stomach as he held the towering shape of a man’s gaze longer than he should have, his mind begging him to say it out loud. He wouldn’t, though. There was no point. He had seen people beg the killers for mercy in trials, had seen Dwight try it less than three minutes ago with the Deathslinger. They didn’t care. They just liked to hear it.

The things that hunted them in the dark did not show mercy.

Fuck. Quentin turned left and ran.

That had always been what he’d been going to do, because he fought, and he tried, and he didn’t give up, even when maybe it would be less painful to, but he’d wasted too long considering an easier death, and as he turned, he saw those few seconds had cost him. The Deathslinger was in sight again, following the visible trail of blood and then looking up and seeing Quentin in the instant too—no longer needing the old trail to find him.

Without another look back and with everything that he had, Quentin tore for the left border fifteen yards away. He wasn’t even holding his wound anymore, he was pumping fists at his side, every ounce of focus and energy he had left just on running. Back in his first year swimming, his coach had taken the team aside early on and told them that speed-based sports weren’t about raw skill: they were about how much pain you were able to withstand. When you swam, you’d go faster the less you took breaths, the more you tore at your muscles and made yourself keep going and going and going when every part of you ached and your chest was pounding for breath and your head throbbing from the effort, muscles screaming with strain. Had told them that was how great athletes were made. Quentin hadn’t really thought about it much after, but he was thinking about it now, praying it was true, and that the agony ripping him apart would be enough to get him across the far border if he could just take it until then. That that price would be enough.

There was something behind him, a faint clink of metal as the Deathslinger went to take a shot, and Quentin recognized it and jumped a foot to the right, into Haddonfield, praying the impulse would work, and the harpoon slammed into the invisible barrier between realms that survivors could pass over and killers couldn’t an inch from his chest and pinged off, and Quentin flinched and jerked away from it on impulse, no time to recognize mentally that the shot had missed and his idea had worked. As soon as him mind had made the connection, though, he leapt back into the Deathslinger’s land, because he had no idea where the Shape was and if he was coming after him or not, but he wasn’t about to find out the hard way. Still not even risking a look over his shoulder, Quentin tore on towards the far border, only about four yards away now, and he recognized it without the ability to feel any emotion associated with the sight itself, only relief at the lack of another large person with a sharp object already visibly waiting just inside it to kill him.

It was Ormond. Snow, debris, and the ancient, rotting lodge. And Quentin dug deep and, in agony, made the last five feet faster than he’d ever run in his life, and then he was over. Feet crunching against the snow, breathing raggedly, and the second he was, he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, fighting for breath, unable to keep running now that he didn’t have to, ripples of pain running up his torso with every movement, and feeling nauseous and lightheaded and awful, but so sick with relief he wanted to laugh.

Barely thinking functionally at all, Quentin clutched an arm to the wound in his stomach, and looked over his shoulder now that he could, and saw both of the others, the Deathslinger and the Shape: the Deathslinger right at the edge of the border, as far as he could go, furious, glowing eyes burning with hatred and fixed on Quentin, the Shape a few feet back and into Haddonfield, near the end of one of the streets that went nowhere, just watching in silence.

Swallowing hard, Quentin made himself get to his feet again. The moment he did, black seeped into his vision and he almost collapsed, and he stumbled a half-foot left and caught onto a large boulder to keep himself upright. S-shit. I’m. I’m not doing so hot, he realized in a kind of disconnected way. That…that made sense. He’d lost a lot of blood. For all he knew, he could be bleeding internally too. Even if he could stop the bleeding in his gut and his back, he still might die before he could make it back to the campfire for help. But at least he—

Behind him, Quentin heard a low laugh, and he froze and then turned slowly to look, and saw the Deathslinger was grinning at him. The man glanced down at the wound seeping blood and then back up at Quentin’s face, still smiling. He must have realized it too. Quentin shot him a furious look. Fuck you. Even if I don’t make it out, you still didn’t get me. And I’m gonna be fine. I. I-I just have to—to stop the bleeding. And then I can sneak out and find whichever one of these stupid realms borders the campfire, and I can get safely back to the others.

“You better run.”

The words had been spoken low, almost a whisper, but not the kind that was worried about being overheard. Darker than that. And horror and shock washed over Quentin, and he looked up again, eyes wide, and the Deathslinger was still just standing there smiling at him, glowing eyes fixed, eternally broken jaw hanging just a little bit wrong.

The tall man met his eyes then, and held up his right hand. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the bright red staining his fingertips, and then he licked them, like he was tasting to see whose blood it had been and where they were hiding from him now. As he did, he met Quentin’s eyes again and held them, and his smile broadened just a little, and it wasn’t a good smile. It was hungry.

“We can all smell blood,” whispered the man.

No killer had ever spoken to him before—well—besides Krueger, which was different. They just—they didn’t. They never had. Never. And for an instant it petrified him, and then dread set in as the words hit home.

Fuck—fuck. He’s right. They all track us by how we bleed. And it’s worse than that—I have to move. He’ll want me to get caught even if it’s not by him—if I don’t get out of here, he’s going to start calling for the Legion and I’m fucked.

Quentin backed up, clutching at his stomach and staring at the Deathslinger in frozen horror, and then he turned, and with energy that had already been stretched far too thin, he ran.

Ran, or, tried to. He was so beyond exhausted though, it was practically a miracle he could move forward at all. He stumbled quickly through debris and snow, trying hard to go fast, and keep his footing, but after a few seconds, it was too hard to keep a pace like that going anymore. Ormond was different than the other realms too, like the Deathslinger’s ghost town. It was the only place with snow, and it was freezing here, and that wasn’t helping. Quentin was already shaking badly, and he didn’t know if it was temperature or blood loss or both, but God, he was so cold. He felt like the air itself was sucking the life out of him. H-had it—had it ever been this cold at Ormond in trials? He couldn’t remember, and he was having more and more trouble thinking right, and with no real idea anymore where he was going, Quentin plunged on through the snow in the darkness, towards the lodge, and then finally stopped, breathing hard, well out of sight of the border now and feeling a little safer for it, listening for sounds. There was nothing. No Deathslinger calling for the Legion, no shouts of the Legion noticing his presences. So. Maybe he’d made it. Maybe he was in the clear, and could hide now, and try to take care of the wounds.

…Only.

He realized it with a sinking heart, and slowly looked down at the snow behind himself, and there it was, plain as day. Footprints and a blood trail, leading back the way he’d come like a bright neon sign reading: “I’m already fucked up—Come kill me. It’ll be easy.” Even the worst killer at tracking in the world wasn’t going to miss something like that. If he’d been leaving an obvious trail before, back in the Deathslinger’s place, he was impossible to miss now. Bright red against crisp white snow. There was just. No way anyone would miss that.

“Fuck,” whispered Quentin out loud, trying hard to think, and having a harder and harder time doing it at all. He reached up with his left hand and found his necklace and held it in his fist, trying to draw some tiny modicum of comfort and reassurance from it, and he thought absently and with a twinge of pain in his chest like a muffled sob, how much his legs ached and his stomach was killing him, and how tired he was, and his legs gave out on their own at the thought like he’d asked them to, and no strength to resist that, Quentin slid down into the snow, back against some square hunk of metal he’d stopped by that must have had a mechanical purpose once that was lost on him now, out here in the ruins.

Everything was so impossible. And he was losing energy so fast that didn’t even scare him much anymore, and he knew that was bad—he knew it, but. Fuck. He still hadn’t even caught his breath after that last mad sprint, and he tried to do it now, huddled in the snow, shuddering. It was so cold.

C-come on, he tried to plead with his failing mind, You can figure this o-out. You made it. Just…just lie low, and stitch yourself up.

That had been the plan, right? Only. It wasn’t that simple now, he realized, looking up at what he could see of the dim, snow-covered terrain. There was no way he could stay awake long enough to fix himself up out here, and then just hunker down in a snowbank and wait to get his strength back. Every second, he was losing more and more of what little strength he had left, and with the blood loss and the cold both eating at that tiny reserve he still had, he’d never make it. Even if by some miracle he was wrong, and found a way to power through long enough to stitch himself shut, he’d freeze to death outside in a snowbank as weak as he was, which meant…

Quentin looked at the lodge, only about sixteen feet off now, maybe twenty. A big, empty, looming shape in the night, glowing oranges and yellows and reds leaking through cracks in boards and broken windows, promising warmth and safety inside. Promising shelter. But that was a lie, and he knew it, because that had to be where the Legion would be waiting.

Still, he considered, shuddering in the cold and keeping his arm firmly pressed to the hole in his gut. The lodge was big—two stories. It was a good place to hide, and creep around in trials, and that might still be true now. If he could make it upstairs, it would at least be warmer than outside, and the walls would protect him from the windchill. There were spots behind ancient couches and crates in some of the little rooms on the second story he might be able to get cover behind and not be discovered, even if he passed out. Plus, a blood trail would be harder to follow in there than out here in the snow. It was a shot, anyway. Better than any other option he had left.

Maybe, thought Quentin wearily, in a kind of disconnected way, feeling sick as he hooked his arm over the top of the square hunk of metal he’d slid down against and struggled to make it back to his feet, after…after all the bad luck I. …I just had back to back. Maybe Legion will be…in a trial, right now. Maybe I’ll have good luck, just once, and…

He tried to bear his weight on his legs alone and almost crumpled, and cursed under his breath, catching onto the hunk of metal with both arms shakily and dragging himself back up, then letting go more slowly. His vision felt fuzzy and off as he looked down at the spattering of red in the torn snow by his feet and the huge smear where he’d slid down along the old hunk of metal. Everything about it was wrong. It was like he was looking at the world through goggles that had fogged over. He tried blinking to refocus, but even after his third attempt he just…couldn’t focus right. He just couldn’t.

This is bad, thought Quentin, taking a step much more carefully and managing to stay upright this time, arm pressed against his abdomen again. He took another step, and then a third, focusing on breathing, trying to not think about how many more steps it was going to take just to make it inside the lodge. I’ve lost…lost too much…blood…and- He shut his eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath, then opened them.

Come on. No giving up. He could do this. He’d lost a lot of blood, but he was alive, and he was thinking…okay still, anyway. Thinking coherently enough, he was pretty sure. So he could make it. He still had a shot. Come on. You can’t give up. Quentin dug the fingers on the arm pressed against his wound into his palm until it hurt, trying to focus on something beside the cold and the real pain in his stomach and the way each step was harder then the last, and he kept going, slowly, but steadier and steadier as he went, and he made it shakily into the open doorway of the waiting lodge.

It was different inside the lodge than it had been in trials. There were pieces of cloth with words and symbols on them hung up in some places like ripped flags, boxes, furniture and paraphernalia in places it wasn’t set in his memory. But at least the layout was basically the same. Staircase leading up on the far left side of the room, bar on the right. Dead ahead there was a little lowered area with cushions around a big open wood stove warming the massive room, and he wanted nothing more than to go crawl over and collapse against it in the hope it could produce warmth for him when he very shortly lost his ability to make his own anymore, but he couldn’t. That was the most conspicuous spot in the whole lodge, by far. He’d be found in seconds.

Upstairs, he told himself, forcing his legs to move again, and then two steps into the room, he stopped, feeling dizzy and sick, remembering for the first time that there was more than one way upstairs in the lodge. Right. Two…t-three staircases? Several, anyway. So. He should—should probably go back into the snow, right? Circle around the outside instead. There was a staircase outside that led up from out there too, in trials, at least one—he was sure of it. He could find it if he circled the exterior wall long enough. So…he…he had to, didn’t he? If he took the indoor one, he’d be leaving smears of blood all across the room on his way.

Quentin turned to face the snow again, beyond utter exhaustion, and his right leg buckled on him at the first step. He cursed in pain as he went down, and he tried to catch himself with his left leg, but he fell wrong, and the leg he’d been hoping to catch himself with caught against the arm pressed to his stomach as he went down, ramming it back and slamming it hard against the wound, and he fell forward and barely muffled a scream of pain as the impact sent debilitating waves of agony along his torso. He dropped against the floor and curled up, huddled there shuddering in a little ball, fighting not to make noise and to weather the pain tearing through him in agonizing waves until it subsided enough to think again. It took so long. But when the spasms finally stopped after what felt like an eternity, Quentin forced himself to open his eyes again. It was hard, but he did it, very, very slowly, and he tried to focus his vision on the wood grain of the wall opposite him. He had been tired before—he had been beyond tired, beyond exhausted, beyond a lot of things, but God. He was so fucked up, and overwhelmed, and lost, and the heaviness and exhaustion in his bones was so insurmountably stiff and painful that he felt like there was no energy left in the whole world. I’ll never make it upstairs, thought Quentin without enough strength left to feel a stronger emotion to accompany the thought than sad, I can’t.

For a moment, he stayed there, huddled in a little ball about a foot into the ancient Ormond lodge.

God, please. Please help me. I need a miracle or I’m gonna die here. I’m gonna die here, and Dwight… Just. Just please. Please. Anything. Please.

It was such a desperate and lonely thought, because it was the only hope he still had, but he tried to believe in it, even though there had been nothing but unanswered prayers and silence for years now. He found his necklace with trembling fingers and held it in his fist for a moment, eyes shut, trying to regain a little strength, and then slowly he opened them again and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

Come on. Get up. Get up. I know you can. … Fuck.

He had known it would be bad, getting run through by a spear gun like this—he’d fucking know what it’d feel like exactly, because it had happened to him a bunch of times already in trials, even though the Deathslinger had only been here a couple weeks. But he’d had no idea how serious the wound would be. In trials, you felt everything at complete reality. If you got hit in the head with a sledgehammer, it would feel like fucking getting smashed in the head with a sledgehammer. A hook ripping through your torso to hang you like a piece of meat would feel exactly as awful and unthinkable as the act did in reality. But in a trial, rules were different. You could be unhooked, and run around with a huge fucking hole in your shoulder, and that would never kill you. Never make you pass out. The shock of having a chainsaw slam into your shoulder wouldn’t make you faint, and save you from the pain. Nothing would. Quentin had definitely lost more blood than humans had in their bodies in a lot of trials, but that was just how they went. You’d feel the real sledgehammer to head pain, but not the aftereffects of that. Just the impact. It would happen, and be fucking agony, but you could keep running, head not actually bashed in beyond repair. The Entity must have put really specific rules in place to balance what could and could not cause fatality, or when someone could bleed to death—because he’d definitely fucking bled to death on the ground a lot of times too. But not every time he damn well should have. It might have been hard to explain exactly where the cutoff was, but even if Quentin had no real idea what the rules for a trial would have looked like on paper, he had a pretty good instinctive grasp on it. And the debilitating pain from being shot through your stomach was exactly like what he was feeling now, but the blood loss and weakness and nausea were new. And fuck, fuck they were taking him down fast—way faster than he’d thought. Was he dying? Am I? Fuck—how—o-oh shit. Fuck. God, he really, really hoped Dwight was okay. Shit. If this was messing him up this badly so fast, did that mean…? B-but he’d been in their forest at least, right? A few minutes from camp at most, and—and even if he hadn’t had the strength to make it back, if he had shouted for help, someone would have heard him, right? Someone would have been able to come. He wasn’t dying in the woods. He wasn’t. …God. Fuck. “Please. Please let him make it,” he prayed in a desperate whisper, trying to power through the bottoming-out fear that came with that thought, and ashamed he hadn’t thought of it faster, digging his shaky fingers into the pocked of his coat for the needle and thread he always kept there as he did.

Okay. Okay I still have it. That’s…something. Wait. I. I should…should find something to sit up against first, he thought wearily, looking around at what was near him. Usually there was a big stack of boxes and junk piled up by this entrance, between the outside and the couch up above the fireplace and lowered area in the center of the room, but that had all been moved in this version of the lodge. The couch was still up, but the boxes had been pushed closer to the walls, and set in different places. He’d walked right in the middle of this opening, and it had been a huge entryway. To craw to the wall on either side would have meant dragging himself about five feet at minimum, but he’d gotten lucky, and someone had left a couple of the big boxes from the wall that had been up here at one point, and the closest one was only about two and a half feet further into the room, and it looked pretty solid, and that, he thought, he could make. Could try to make, anyway, and he did, dragging himself painfully across the wood floor on his side, teeth gritted and breathing hard, and when he reached it he gave himself a second to breathe, and then with intense effort pulled himself up so his back was against it and let out a shaky breath.

Okay. No Legion yet. That was a mercy. Maybe he would keep getting lucky. If I can’t make it upstairs, I can at least try and stitch myself up here. Stop the bleeding, bandage it a little. I don’t have much, but I’ve got a roll of thread, a needle, and some gauze, and that’s okay for now. If I’m still too weak to go upstairs once I’m done, I’ll go crawl into one of the cabinets under the bar or something. I-I think I could make that, even like this, and I’d probably have…okay odds, of holing up there  without getting found. Right? I know it’s a lot of blood, he added mentally, looking with shaky vision at the stain he’d left on the floor crawling to the box, But they won’t know to be looking for it, and they’re covered in blood all the time from killing us. Probably they have to track some in, right? Maybe that’ll…be…be enough, and…

Fingers trembling, he dug into his pocket again for the needle he already knew was there. It was okay. It would be. He could do this, he was sure of it. God, he hadn’t felt this awful in a long time though. For a moment he hesitated, and lifted the left arm he had pressed to the wound in his stomach away to try and get a look at the injury underneath. He couldn’t actually see the puncture at all though, through the fabric. Just blood. Fuck, I don’t even know how bad it is y—

“Hey!”

Quentin’s head shot up, a jolt of alarm shooting through him, and he looked across the room for the voice’s owner in horror. There was a hole in one of the walls caused by a cable car that had fallen and embedded there, and standing in the unintended entryway the old metal frame had created, stood the Legion.

Oh fuck.

Tall and menacing, elevated on the little platform, it loomed over him at a distance. The thing was one of the male ones, the one that wore all black. A hood up, thick belt slung over a shoulder, wickedly jagged and curved hunting knife in hand, white dripping skull painted on top of his cloth mask. The thing was staring at him like he couldn’t believe Quentin had had the audacity to exist in this space.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” snapped the Legion at him in a mixture of anger and disbelief, and Quentin was so shocked he just stared up at it in horror, not remembering to speak in time, or move, or do anything, and then the looming figure moved and it came for him, incensed and advancing in long strides with a violent purpose, knife ready in hand. “You think you can just sneak onto our turf?”

“Wait!” said Quentin, snapping out of the moment of frozen horror as adrenaline he hadn’t known he still had kicked in and ignited panic. He tried frantically to use the box like a brace for his arms to help drag himself back to his feet, but the strain was enormous, and he was failing. Fuck! “Wait, wait, wait!” shouted Quentin desperately as the thing kept coming, talking so fast his words ran together, “I-I didn’t sneak in!—I got chased—" and then the Legion was on top of him, and he saw the guy lunge for him with the knife, and he flinched and gave up on trying to make his feet or talk and just threw his arms up to shield his head and fell back a little against the floor, shutting his eyes and trying to brace. The knife didn’t connect with his arms like he’d anticipated, but the Legion didn’t stop either. It shoved his arms aside with a burst of anger, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him violently up. Quentin cried out in pain and opened his eyes as the rough movement sent a wave of agony along his body. He instinctively clutched his wound with his right arm, struggling to deal with the pain, and while the agony of the first motion was still too much for him to even really process what was happening through it, the Legion jerked him closer and he fell forward, so beat to shit already that it was all he could do to try to catch himself with his left arm to keep from landing on his stomach at the guy’s feet. He wouldn’t have really had the strength to keep himself propped up like that, but he didn’t have to bother; the Legion wasn’t about to let go of him. It had a firm grip on his shirt and was keeping him suspended with it, radiating fury, and while he was still off-balance, the masked killer yanked him towards its face by his collar and leaned in close, shoving its knife against his throat. Quentin blanched at the touch of metal biting into his skin and turned his head away a little, breathing raggedly and closing the eye closer to the knife on instinct while trying to watch Legion with the other, struggling to bear some little bit of his weight on his left arm to keep from being dragged forward any more. It hardly mattered. It would take such little fucking effort for the thing grabbing him to drag the knife the three inches to the side it would take to slit his throat, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had already drawn blood, and he could feel a little droplet running down his throat from where the knife had cut in.

“You fucked up coming here,” growled the Legion threateningly, adjusting its grip a little, and Quentin tried very hard to stay absolutely still, because the knife was pressed in so deep against his throat now that it would only take a fraction more effort to slit it sideways through the vein it was pressed in very, very close to.

He’s going to kill me, thought Quentin, staring into the face of the thing with its knife to his neck and feeling sick and overwhelmed, breathing too fast and too shallow now to really be able to get enough air into his lungs and feeling the pressure of the knife and the pain of it cutting in against every breath he took as he was hit mercileslly with memory after memory of having his guts ripped open by the guy above him. F-fuck. No. I- His arms were shaking. I should fight back—I could—

“Think you’re hot shit, huh?” snapped the Legion jerking him and drawing a little more blood with the knife.

“It was an accident!” pleaded Quentin desperately, meeting the Legion’s eyes and hoping there might be some little bit of a person left inside this thing that hunted him and the people he loved endlessly in the fog, but all there was in the dark brown eyes looking back was anger, like he’d known there would be. Killers didn’t listen. They didn’t care. There was no hope to be found appealing to them, and there never would be. “I didn’t—” started Quentin, still trying even though he knew it would be futile, because it was all he had left, but he barely got the two words out before the Legion flung him backwards against the ground without warning and with so much force that for a second after impact he couldn’t breathe at all.

“An accident?” the Legion gave a disbelieving almost laugh, tone still violent and full of fury, but his voice sounded distorted to Quentin’s hearing now, and he barely took the words in at all. The impact had stung, and his head swam from it, throbbing pain running down his backbone and ribs as he lay on his side where he’d fallen. He needed to get back up. Needed to fight, or to run, but he didn’t have the energy to do either. Come on—fuck it! Please! Please try! You can’t give up like this! Just try! Please. Please try.

Quentin gritted his teeth, beating down his body’s urge to cry at the pain it was feeling, and dug his fingernails into the wood grain of the floor. Fighting desperately with everything he had left to focus, to find some way to move. You can’t pass out. You can’t. Please. Come on. Try. Come on!

Above him, he was aware of the Legion straightening up and moving beside him, talking as it did, but its voice still sounded muffled and off. Quentin couldn’t make it off his side, so he turned his head to look up at the killer, breaking raggedly. Struggling to make out words.

“Now you’re gonna pay,” said the Legion darkly, and he kicked him.

Quentin realized what would happen and tried to shout something, but it turned into a scream of anguish as the shoe collided with the injury in his gut. Debilitating pain shot through him on impact, and he jerked, and his vision went white, and then all that there was was intense agony and unbelievable suffering. So awful, so overwhelming, so much of it, that for a second, he thought it had killed him.

But it hadn’t. He was still awake, still aware. Somehow. Somehow the pain wasn’t enough for his body to be willing to give in, even now. And then he felt himself convulse, but it was different—it wasn’t like that motion had ever felt before. It was barely like he was in his body at all anymore, and the pain was gone then, mostly, with the convulsion, and he just felt exhausted and absent and disconnected and sick. His vision came back blurry, and he felt himself tremble and shudder violently again, and then again, more weakly, and he realized what that was, and just stared emptily at nothing on the far side of the room as he faintly felt the sensation of blood seeping out of his stomach and against his limbs as it started to puddle around him.

It did kill me, thought Quentin hollowly, feeling sick, and heartbroken, and distressed over the fact that he couldn’t feel even those things very strongly. That there was no one to say goodbye to, or to ask to tell Dwight none of it had been his fault and that he was just glad he’d made it. …If …if he’d made it…

But there was no one to say that to. And Quentin knew what it was that was happening to him, because he had seen it happen to animals when they died. Jerking like this. There was a name for it he couldn’t remember. He didn’t have the energy. Not for that, or for anything anymore.

God, it was lonely. It was so lonely. It was scary in a way he had never thought about before and couldn’t even really understand because there wasn’t time to. But he was afraid of the loneliness, he just. He wished there could have been. People. Friends. Any of them. When…

Seeking the only comfort he had left, Quentin tried to move his hand up to find his necklace, and couldn’t.

Something touched him then, and flipped him over onto his back, and he looked up with blurry, failing vision as his body shuddered again, and he watched the Legion stare down at him in an almost frozen shock. It bent quickly and tugged up the bottom of his shirt and took in the wound, and it said something he couldn’t really hear.

At least the…pain stopped…

Quentin took an agonizingly shaky breath, and struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to die. To. To just…give in. But it. It was hard. His eyes kept shutting on their own and he could only force them up for little fragments of time before he’d lose to the weariness that had overcome him and they would shut again. He felt another shudder run along his body, but it was different this time. His vision started to go dark with it, and it didn’t come all the way back this time when he opened his eyes again. He felt like since he knew he was dying, he should do something—say something. He wanted to—he needed to. But. He. …he didn’t…didn’t know what...to...and...he was…alone…no one left to…

Above him, the Legion said something again, but he couldn’t hear it at all this time. Could barely even make out its lips moving. It put a hand on his gut and he faintly felt a dull ache at the touch, and the black-clad figure tugged off its mask, and he couldn’t understand why it would have done that, but for just a second he was seeing a guy, maybe…maybe eighteen or something? Looking down at him, with an expression that was hard to place. And the Legion said something kind of frantically, but there was no sound Quentin could make out to accompany the blurry visual. He felt his body giving up and tried to fight against it, desperately wanting to live, but the exhaustion overcame him then and his eyes shut and wouldn’t open again this time, and his consciousness faded with it only a few seconds after, and Quentin blacked out, dying in a pool of blood in Ormond at the feet of the person who’d killed him.

.

.

[part 2]

[camimcndcs]

i’ll look after you

TAGGING: KJ @itskjapa​, Cami.

LOCATION: Vancouver, BC.

TIMEFRAME: November 4th, 2020.

NOTES: KJ and Camila come together for the sake of their daughter after she comes down with a fever.

Cami: The past week had been a complete rollercoaster for both Camila and KJ. They hadn’t been communicating well and it had taken it’s toll. Overnight it seemed their relationship went from being about them to being solely about Talia. Speaking of their infant daughter, she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and when Camila had gotten her up this morning she was fussy and crying. KJ had been gone when Camila woke up, but he had an early call time which was expected. She was supposed to be on set later this afternoon, but Talia was really starting to worry her. Their daughter had hardly stopped crying in the last hour and Camila was reaching her limit. Reaching for her phone, the raven-haired girl called her mother in a panic when she noticed her daughter felt unreasonably warm. Gisel had tried her best to calm Camila down, trying to not make her freak out as she calmly explained that the baby probably had a fever brought on by a cold. The best thing to do would be to take the baby to the hospital and contact KJ on the way. Camila thanked her mother with a panicked smile as she rushed around the apartment grabbing anything she might need for Talia at the hospital. She called Lisa and asked for a ride to the hospital, explaining that she would inform KJ on the way and he could meet them there. The drive from the set was about 40 minutes so she made sure to call her fiancé as soon as she got into Lisa’s car. It felt like it had been ringing for forever when he finally picked up and before he could even get a word out she was rambling on. “Babe? Hi, um, Lisa and I are taking Talia to the hospital because she hasn’t stopped crying since she woke up an hour ago and she’s really warm, my mom said it’s probably a fever, please, just meet us at the hospital, okay?” she spit out in just a couple of minutes, hoping he was already on his way to finding a ride to the hospital. “Try not to worry too much, she’s going to be okay…” she whispered, holding back her own tears. Camila knew that not being able to be here with them now was probably killing him. “I’ll text you updates, we love you,” she whispered, the words already feeling somewhat foreign on her tongue which she hated.

KJ: Just as easily as autumn had settled over Vancouver, things behind closed doors had drastically changed. KJ had pondered on the situation enough to get headaches, but he was still as dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events regarding his relationship with Camila. It was as if one day she had decided to shut him out; their only common ground being their daughter. Although he was doing his best to keep a positive outlook, telling himself it was something most mothers went through the first weeks after birth, he was slowly losing such battle. Keeping up a good front was becoming harder, but there was nothing else he could do without fearing of worsening their fragile bond. Every day was a new prayer that she would find it in herself to grab the hand he desperately kept extending her way. His break between takes was spent as he usually did lately, looking at pictures of the two of them. Better times he kept longing for. It constantly brought this spurt of courage that died down as soon as he crossed the threshold of their apartment without any greetings from his fiancée -- unless she needed him to run to the store for diapers. The redhead was thrown off his walk down memory lane when her face appeared on the left corner of the screen, his thumb immediately brushing against the green button on the other side. "Hey--" he started, cut off by Camila who explained the emergency currently happening. Without missing a beat, he jumped from his chair, looking at Lili on his way out of the tent; who thankfully understood he needed to leave and went to warn the crew. "I'm not worried. You shouldn't be too, she's totally going to be okay." He breathed out heavily while racing to where his car was parked, door flung open before he quickly settled in. Phone still in hand as he reached out for the keys hidden in the sun visor. The next words she uttered made him pause and for a brief moment KJ thought he was probably dreaming them. Though his heart wouldn't be soaring for any other reason. "I love you too, Cami." he quietly replied, eyes brimming with tears as the emotions he couldn't contain washed over him. "I'll be there soon." All he left behind him was a cloud of dust as he sped away from the studio. Inclined to keep his word and be with them as quick as possible.

Cami: Hearing her fiancé on the other line brought a surge of hope to Camila's spirit. She knew that Talia would be fine, but bringing their tiny baby to the hospital was still scary. It was every mother's nightmare for their child to get sick. The raven-haired girl brought her free hand up to caress Talia's face as she continued to fuss in her car seat. "Drive safely," she whispered to KJ on the phone before hanging up, feeling some sort of relief when she saw the hospital come into view just a few minutes later. Lisa dropped the mother-daughter pair off at the front door to the emergency room, promising to be in as soon as she had parked. Camila took a deep breath before walking into the building, finding someone to speak with immediately to get Talia checked in. Lisa was entering the building when a nurse took Camila and Talia back for a physical exam to measure her weight, heart rate, temperature, and oxygen level.  The minutes seemed to pass like hours as the nurse tended to Talia before she informed them that they'd be put in a private room to wait for a physician. Camila sent a quick text to KJ to update him before taking Talia in her arms as Lisa grabbed the car seat to follow them into a more private area. She told the nurse that her fiancé would be joining them soon and the nurse promised to get him to their room as soon as possible. Again, the minutes seemed to pass slowly before the physician entered the room and Talia had gone back to inconsolable crying which was making it hard for Camila to stay calm. Taking a few deep breaths, she explained to the physician what was going on, and the doctor explained that they would have to do some tests on Talia to see what was really wrong. It could be something as simple as a cold or something more serious. Camila nodded her head in response, tears filling her eyes as she looked down at the little girl in her arms, hoping and praying she would be okay.

KJ: Drive Safely, Camila had uttered before ending their phone call, but KJ had been anything but safe while on the road. Wanting to be by her side and Talia's as soon as humanly possible. The traffic was busy as usual, but not enough to prevent him from reaching the hospital in record time. As if God had led the path himself and made sure there would be no obstacles on the way. As he rushed inside the building, he couldn't help but be reminded of the last time a similar scenario had happened -- except the circumstances had been more joyful. Yet still as nerve-racking considering they were both treading into new territory. This time, there was no one to greet him or lead the way, at least no one familiar, and although words rapidly fell from his lips in what he deemed as quite incoherent, a nurse seemed to understand him nonetheless. She was quick to reassure him as they walked down the hallway, believing their baby had surely caught a cold and would be alright. It's always frightening when it's your first, but you'll learn with time. He held onto those words and hoped she was right. "Thank you." he nodded at the older woman before stepping inside the room, his brown eyes settling on his fiancée as soon. Not wasting any time, he separated the distance between them and wrapped an arm around her frame while simultaneously caressing their daughter's face. Feeling for himself just how warm she appeared to be. "Hey, I'm here. Anything new? Did you talk to the doc?" he asked, pressing his lips against Talia's forehead. The fingers resting against Camila's hip digging slightly into the clothes she was wearing, resisting the urge to drive her closer next to him. They were both worried in that moment and she had whispered those three words he had failed to hear for a while; but he knew better than to assume anything. He would make himself available, but wouldn't force more than the current touch he was bestowing upon her as they both watched over Talia.

Cami: Despite the noise in the hospital, Camila could hear the sound of her fiancé's voice which caused her to look up, feeling a sense of relief wash over her as he quickly made his way over to her and Talia. "Hi," she whispered, the tears that had welled up in her eyes falling as he wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned down to press a kiss to Talia's forehead. "Yeah, um, they need to do a urine test and a blood test to see what's going on," she replied her voice shaky as she relayed the information she had from the doctor. Once it looked like the little family was settled, Lisa stood up and excused herself, letting the couple know she would be thinking of them and praying for a speedy recovery. Camila promised to update her as they got more news and then it was just the three of them, waiting for the doctor to come back to run the tests. Taking a deep breath, Camila handed Talia to KJ and then wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his bicep as she began to cry. She hadn't wanted to cry earlier because she had needed to pay attention to everything the doctor was saying, but now that it was just the three of them she felt like she could finally let go a little bit. Camila had been holding in a lot of tears and she knew things were off between them, but she also knew that they needed each other right now to be strong for their daughter. "I hate being here, I know it's probably just a cold, but I hate being here and I hate that they're going to run tests on her, she's so small," she whispered into his sweatshirt clad arm. At least Talia had finally seemed to calm down in her father's arms, Camila was thankful for that, but she was certain the tears would come again when they needed to get a blood and urine sample from their baby girl. "How was work? Were you busy?" she asked, hoping to distract herself from the reason they were in this hospital to begin with.

KJ: There was no denying the anxiousness she was exuding in that moment — the slight tremor in her voice as she explained what would unfold gripping his fragile heart and squeezing tight. No matter how frightened KJ was as well, despite the encouraging words the nurse had shared previously, he knew he needed to be the strong one. The shoulder she could lean on and be her vulnerable self around; like a rock that wouldn’t falter. “It’s gonna be fine.“ he reassured Camila as his gaze ventured to her face. The long strands of hair in the way not being able to fully hide the tears that were clearly rolling down her cheeks. The redhead had been too preoccupied to even acknowledge Lisa in the first place, though he gave her a small nod when she offered to keep Talia in her prayers. Thankful for the alone time they would get as a family during this situation. “Hi, baby.“ He was taken aback when Talia found place in his arms, but not as much as when Camila used the opportunity to fling herself at him. Her warm breath tingling all of his senses. How he had missed having her this close — the warmth radiating from her body enveloping him whole. “I know, Cami. Me too... I wish things could be different. But we gotta see the positive in this. Once those tests are done, at least we’ll be sure. And we won’t worry as much.“ he whispered in the crown of her head, pressing his lips against her hair while the hand that was resting on the small of her back kept her close to him. A handful of minutes passed before she tried to make small talk, something he wasn’t truly inclined to but humored her with anyway while they waited. “Just the usual, aye. I was finishing a scene when you called... nothing that I can’t reshoot later though.“ Standing in the middle of the room, he almost forgot for a second about the circumstances surrounding them; simply basking in the two most precious people in his life. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home with you. But I ain’t going anywhere now.“

Cami: The tears continued to flow from Camila’s eyes as KJ did his best to reassure her. “But what if it’s not just a cold? What if she’s really sick?” she whimpered a bit, closing her eyes and trying her best to take deep breaths. She knew that she shouldn’t be thinking like that, but being here was making her anxious and Talia had never been so cranky and upset before. Camila knew that it was the only way their daughter could show that she was in pain or didn’t feel well, but it was still scary. “You’re right, you’re right,” she finally breathed out, smiling softly as his lips pressed against her hair at the crown of her head. “Your daddy’s got you, T, you’re in good hands,” she whispered to the baby, reaching out one hand to caress the little girls cheek. “Well, that’s good. Anything exciting?” she asked with a smile, trying her best to distract herself. “That’s okay, babe, you were working to provide for your family, I can’t be mad at that, you’re here now, that’s what matters,” she whispered, reaching up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. It was at that moment that the doctor stepped back in to administer some tests. She asked that one of them hold Talia during the process, because it would provide some sort of comfort to her. Once they’d done the tests, they would get her into a crib and hook her up to some medicine to at least calm her fever down. The doctor informed them that if things started to look better in the next few hours they’d let them go home with some more medicine they could administer on their own since the tests wouldn’t come back for a day or two. Camila pulled away from KJ and offered him the chair in the room, wanting him to be the one to keep Talia safe through this because she didn’t know if she was currently strong enough to. Moving behind the chair, the raven-haired girl placed her hands on her fiancé’s shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze, watching as he listened to the doctors instructions for how to hold Talia during the different tests.

KJ: All KJ could do was hold Camila tighter against him, providing the comfort she was seeking while trying his best to prevent himself from following right along the negative thoughts she had voiced aloud. They were in the back of his mind, whispering softly but he refused to give in; instead keeping his brown eyes on their daughter as they both surrounded her with what he hoped was a sense of safety. Your daddy's got you. He wanted to tell his fiancée he was there for her just as much but swallowed the lump in his throat, afraid that if he pushed his luck in this moment, the spell would break. And then she would take her distance once more, leaving him feeling like an empty shell. Yet she surprised him on her own by being so kind and understanding regarding his absence -- something she had blamed him for days ago -- and as her lips came in contact with his cheek; a shaky breath flew past his own. The gesture so familiar and foreign all at once. One that didn't last as long as he would have liked it to and clearing his throat, he tried to get himself back on track. Finally answering the casual question she had thrown his way. "Nothing very exciting, nah. Just the same old drama in Riverdale, aye." A quiet chuckle followed suit before they were interrupted by the doctor, who immediately got his undivided attention. The redhead lost count of the number of times he nodded along as she spoke and settled down on the chair Camila dragged toward him -- indicating he would be the one to hold Talia during the different tests she would endure. "Is this okay?" he asked while holding the fussy baby against his chest, making sure one of his limbs wasn't in the way. The weight of his fiancée's hands as she placed them on his shoulders keeping him focused. Heavy and soothing; clearly still looking for the strength he had been supplying from the beginning while also sharing some of her own. They always worked best as a team.

Cami: Keeping her hands steady against her fiancé’s shoulders, Camila listened as the doctor explained that they would draw some blood from the babies heel and then put an absorbent pad into her diaper and wait a few minutes for her to pee. She spoke up to let the doctor know Talia hadn’t really eaten much this morning, so a feeding would most likely have to happen before they got her urine sample. Watching as KJ held their daughter against his chest, the doctor wiped Talia’s foot to clean it and then pricked her heel with a needle which caused her to scream out. Camila couldn’t bare to see her little girls face become red with tears, so she gave the redheads shoulders a squeeze and closed her eyes, willing the tears to not come. The doctor placed a bandaid on her heel and KJ turned the little girl in his arms to try and comfort her. At that point, Camila had sat herself next to them in a chair, ready to feed their daughter. The doctor instructed her fiancé on applying the absorbent pad to their daughters diaper which he did carefully as Talia squirmed on the table. When everything was secure, he handed their daughter over to Camila who undid her shirt, silently praying Talia would latch on and actually eat something or else they’d be hooking her up to more than just an IV for medicine. The thought of her baby laying in a hospital crib, hooked up to machines did not sit well with her, so she needed Talia to eat this way. As she felt their little girl latch on to her breast, Camila almost let out a cry, tearing up slightly at this tiny victory. “She’s doing it, babe,” she whispered, looking over at KJ and reaching out to squeeze his hand. There was finally a comfortable moment of silence between them as the only sound came from their daughter suckling from her mother’s breast. Hopefully she’d have a full diaper in just a few minutes and then they could get her hooked up to some medicine to slow her fever down.

KJ: Everything that was coming out of the doctor's mouth seemed way too complicated to understand the more she explained herself. At least on KJ's side, despite how much he relentlessly nodded along whenever her gaze would find him. Which is why he was quite relieved to see Camila interacting so easily with her, appearing to be very in tune with the process Talia would be put through -- although the grip on his shoulders was a reminder that she was trying her hardest to keep her composure. For once in what had seemed like an eternity, they were finally on the same page about something. His heart broke for the second time that day as his little angel cried harder than she had before, but all he could do was press her harder against his chest. Praying that the gesture alone would appease her in some way. The redhead had always been good at doing what he was told to and followed the instructions properly when he was asked to apply the pad; the confident motions a stark contrast to the expression crossing his features. There was only so many emotions he could prevent from taking over after all. "Roger, roger... we're landing on Cami's island. Happy boob, Miss T." he whispered under his breath as a small smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. The sound of his voice loud enough for their daughter to hear. He never ceased to come up with some idiotic sentences that he was certain would make her laugh one of these days. Watching intently when his fiancée offered the boob in question so she could latch onto it, a bright grin broke on his face as she did so -- the look on Camila's making it hard to do anything but smile. A beautiful sight that had been rare to witness lately. After a handful of minutes and two hands that had been unable to let go of one another, KJ was given the task to burp Talia. Which he did as soon, pacing the room slowly while his hand came in contact repeatedly with her small back. "You just watch, she'll have that pad filled out like a pro.”

Cami: The laugh that fell from Camila’s lips at KJ’s whispering as he placed their daughter into her arms was the first time she had laughed in a couple of days. “Yes, happy boob indeed,” she giggled, keeping his hand held tight in hers. When Talia finished eating, Camila handed her back to KJ to burp her. Watching as he slowly paced the room, gently patting her back to get her to burp. His confidence in their daughter and his more positive outlook on the current situation was good for Camila. Once Talia had let out a burp, she watched as her fiancé laid the little girl down to change her. The doctor had returned in that moment from dropping off her blood sample and was ready to take a sample of her urine if their little girl had actually gone the bathroom. Camila stood, standing by KJ’s side, caressing Talia’s cheek as the redhead checked she diaper. To their relief, it was full and Camila let out a little cheer, leaning in to press a kiss to Talia’s forehead. She still felt so warm which worried Camila, but she knew they were now on track to getting her better. Their doctor took the sample and then explained that a nurse would be in soon to hook their daughter up to an IV to slow down her fever with some medicine. Scooping Talia back up into her arms, the raven-haired girl stood waiting for KJ to wrap his arms around her from behind and keep them both safe in his strong arms. “Will you hold us?” she asked in a whisper, knowing he had been staying back to give her space if she needed or wanted it. But space was the last thing she wanted right now. As his strong arms latched around her waist, Camila leaned into him, pressing her back against his chest. Looking down at Talia as their baby girl let out a yawn. “You can take a nap once they get some medicine into you, baby,” she whispered, feeling instantly calmer in KJ’s arms.

KJ: Just as he had predicted, Talia had filled out her pad as nicely as possible under such circumstances, and a part of him couldn't believe they were so happy to retrieve what ultimately could be deemed as a dirty diaper. Though it would determine whatever illness she was currently taken over with and that was quite enough for him to get on board with the idea -- a slight fist pump accompanying Camila's cheer. The obvious stress that had washed over them would only find rest once they would be able to go home, but being reassured regarding the current fever would lift a weight from their tired shoulders. As they were once again left on their own, KJ nervously licked his lips, his brown eyes drifting from the two most important people in his life and settling on the floor. Now that Talia was back in his fiancée's arms, he wasn't certain on what he was supposed to do. She had been very hands on from the start, but he didn't want to assume she was still looking to have him close. The question she suddenly uttered in a quiet and vulnerable voice caught him off guard, but he was quick to react -- moving forward and slowly wrapping his arms around them. The redhead allowed himself a brief moment to breathe her in, so tempted to kiss the patch of skin that was so near and seemed to call out his name. But a light kick from his daughter brought him back from the spell he had been put under. "She's gonna be okay. There's nothing that can get to her-- not while we're together." he whispered, so certain of such statement. The medicine would do the trick and they would watch over her like hawks nonetheless; barely get any sleep as they'd act like the protective parents they were. "T is strong like her mum. Ain't you, baby girl? All you need is a little cocktail and you'll be crying for food and that cute pacifier you love so much. It'll be like nothing's happened." He could only hope that would be the case for the tension between them.

Cami: With KJ's arms wrapped tightly around Camila's waist, she felt completely calm. Closing her eyes as she felt him breathe in her scent, the moment was interrupted of course by Talia, kicking at her father's arm, but they really couldn't be upset with her when she was sick. As he whispered encouragement to them, Camila nodded her head in agreement. Knowing they worked better as a team, but still unable to fully grasp why her hormones had taken such a toll on her mood. She couldn't help but giggle at his next comment, brushing her fingers against their daughters cheek and leaning down to kiss her forehead which was still warm to the touch. The doctor reentered the room again at that moment with a nurse right behind her, wheeling in a crib and prepping the IV for Talia's medicine. Stepping out of her fiancé's arms, Camila stripped their daughter of her clothes and gave her another kiss, offering her up to KJ so he could give her a kiss as well. Holding her close as they got the IV into her almost broke Camila as their daughters cries filled the room again. "It's okay, T, this is going to help you feel better, I promise, baby, please don't cry," she whispered, trying to soothe the little girl as best she could. Once her IV was in, Camila gently placed her into the crib and turned towards KJ, falling into his arms as sobs wracked her body. Deep down she knew that this was good for their daughter and she was going to be okay, but the sound of her crying just broke her heart into a million pieces. It was also scary to see their daughter hooked up to an IV with other wires surrounding her. Burying her face deeper into his chest, Camila tried to catch her breath as he held her. She was so thankful to have him by her side through all of this even though tensions had been high between them. He could've just been here for Talia, but instead he was here for both of them and it was just what she needed.

KJ: After agonizing hours waiting for things to get better, they had finally be allowed to leave the hospital with a sleepy Talia by their side. The results of the tests they had put her through wouldn't be available until the following day, but the doctor had felt quite confident in her diagnosis when the fever had dropped down -- giving them a handful of instructions regarding the medicine they were provided with. The ride home had been rather silent, though the tension was still nowhere to be found. Their interactions were slightly awkward at times, mostly on his side as he wasn't entirely sure how to react. KJ never failed to follow suit in the end and take whatever she was willing to offer him, especially under such stressful circumstances. Camila had found place with their daughter in the backseat, wanting to stay as close as humanly possible. Something he couldn't blame her for, quite the opposite. Glancing back yet again in the rearview mirror as he came to a stop at a red light, he was surprised to catch her looking at him instead of the baby who had been under her very watchful eye as soon as they had gotten in the car. The redhead mustered a small smile, one that was returned immediately and animated the butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Despite the anxious and tired look crossing her features, she was still just as beautiful and he wished he felt confident enough to utter such words in that moment -- ultimately, he wasn't. "Should we lay down in bed with her when we get home? Or do you prefer something else?" he questioned with a tilt of his head, brown eyes venturing back onto the road as he moved forward in the direction of their building. Although he couldn't find it in himself to compliment her, he was brave enough to include himself in the scenario that would unfold at home. She had been in his arms too much that day for him to think she would want the rest of their time to be different.

Cami: Sitting in the backseat with their daughter, Camila kept her eyes on the little girl in her car seat, glancing at her fiancé from time to time. When he caught her eye at a red light she couldn't help but return his smile, thankful to have him as her rock throughout all of this. "You look so handsome today," she whispered, blushing slightly as he looked at her. Glancing down again at their daughter she nodded her head in response to his question. "We should definitely lay in bed with her until she falls asleep and then see if she'll sleep in her own bed. You're not going back to work?" she asked, hoping he was going to stay with them, but understanding if he had to get back to work. Even though it frustrated her sometimes, she knew that it wasn't up to him when he worked. She was lucky to only have to work a few days a week, but he didn't have that luxury. Once they arrived back at their building, Camila got out of the car and let KJ carry Talia in her carrier up to their apartment. She was thankful to be home, with her family and out of that stuffy hospital room with their baby hooked up to different machines with wires. The raven-haired girl was quiet as they rode the elevator up to their floor, standing close to her fiancé and little girl as she waited for the elevator to stop. Once it did, she stepped out, grabbing her keys from her purse to let them into their home. "It's good to be home," she breathed out, setting her purse down and walking towards their room. Camila immediately changed into one of KJ's shirts and a pair of leggings, crawling into their bed waiting for her fiancé to join her as he changed Talia's diaper and stripped her of her onesie to keep her cooled down.

KJ: Just as if they were still on the same wavelength despite the rift between them, the compliment she uttered caught him off guard -- his gaze lingering in the rearview mirror until the car behind them loudly made its presence known as the next red light they had encountered turned green. "Shit." he cursed under his breath, pressing his foot on the pedal and turning right when they reached the underground parking of Shangri-La. Making a fool of himself wouldn't probably work in his favor, although Camila had always seemed to find it endearing. Alas, things hadn't been quite the same these days. "Yeah nah, I sent a text to Roberto. He understood I was needed at home. I can't really leave you both alone..." he trailed off as they came to a halt in the reserved space, eyes widening slightly before he quickly spoke again. Afraid she would take his words the wrong way. "I mean, I wanna be with you. It's been pretty tough seeing T this way." Before he could say something that would officially dig his grave, he led the way to their apartment; their daughter seemingly in better shape than previously as she quietly kept her brown eyes on the both of them. Instructions had been given on their way up and it was dutifully that the redhead changed Talia's diaper, leaving her practically bare. Once in the bedroom, he smiled at the sight of his fiancée wearing one of his shirts and kicked off his shoes -- gently laying down their baby in the middle of the bed and finding place beside them. "You look beautiful." he breathed out, his gaze trailing over the sheet before confidently finding Camila's. "I wanted to say so earlier, but..." A light scoff tumbled from his mouth and the little girl became the center of attention once more in an attempt to save himself from embarrassment. Small steps would perhaps allow them to find their way back to better times. They could meet each other halfway with simple gestures. "Someone's gonna have the best nap ever, aye. Can't get any better."

Cami: As the car remained stopped even as the light turned green, Camila couldn't help but laugh as the car behind them loudly made their presence known and KJ muttered under his breath. Thankfully, the honking didn't disturb Talia, who was too busy rubbing her gums against her mother's finger. If they had disturbed their daughter, Camila was certain her mood would've turned sour rather quickly. As her fiancé fumbled over his words, the raven-haired girl rested her free hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. "I get it, babe, it has been awful seeing our little girl this way, I'm glad you're staying," she whispered. Following KJ up into their building and then their apartment, she could hear him babbling to their baby girl as she changed her which brought a smile to her face as Camila waited for them to join her. Once Talia was laid in the middle of their bed, Camila threw her arm over their daughter's waist to keep her secure. She gently caressed the smooth skin of the little girl's stomach, as KJ joined them in the bed. A slight blush crept up on her cheeks as he complimented her, watching as he again fumbled over his words before focusing his attention on the little girl who had stolen both of their hearts. "Thank you, babe," she whispered in response, making sure to acknowledge his compliment. At his next comment, she watched as a yawn fell from their daughter's lips. She was thankful Talia had been able to calm down and was now feeling ready for a nap. It was a nice change of pace from the crazy morning. "I'll let her fall asleep here and then we can move her to her own bed, mommy and daddy deserve their own cuddle time," she whispered sweetly, reaching over to run her hands through the redhead's hair. Things had been tense between them, but right now, all she wanted was to be completely wrapped up in his strong arms. The events of the morning had really worn her out.

KJ: Like for most of the day ever since she had called him regarding Talia's feverish state, Camila's words rendered him speechless -- the surprise crossing his features undeniable as she mentioned cuddling with him once their little girl would be asleep. KJ couldn't quite recall the last time they had done this purposefully. He had woken up wrapped around her many mornings, but usually because they were both inclined to roll over during the night; thus finding themselves in close proximity. Her mood swings, that were more intense than the ones she had graced him with during her actual pregnancy, were in the way each evening when he came home. He never truly knew what to say or do in order to make it better, preferring to give her the space she needed and allowing her to come to him on her own terms. It was all so frustrating, but today was the first time there was a glimmer of hope for them to get back on the right track -- for their fun and loving side to take over again. "Yeah, we do." he breathed out as the look in his eyes softened, his own hand gliding between them and resting on the small of her back; drawing her closer against their daughter. Closer toward him. The ticking sound coming from his watch almost drove him crazy as the minutes passed them by, the anticipation of the moment bubbling inside his being. There was nothing that mattered more than Talia being safe and sound, but the thought of being close to his fiancée was at the forefront and had been ever since she had mentioned as such. When it became clear their baby was fast asleep, the redhead tried not to appear too eager while he moved her to her own bed -- carefully laying her down on the mattress and backing away just as quietly. Yet he couldn't conceal the excitement he was submerged with as he plopped down on the space he had previously occupied and waited for Camila to separate the distance. One arm folded behind his head and the other spread out; inviting her in his embrace.

Cami: Watching the look in KJ's eyes soften warmed the raven-haired girls heart. As his hand came between them before resting on the small of her back, drawing her closer to him she couldn't help but smile. It had been awhile since they'd been like this. Once Talia had finally settled down and was now fast asleep between them, Camila watched as her fiancé carefully moved her to her crib, being extra gentle after the long day their sweet baby had to endure. Once he came back to the bed, she immediately snuggled as close to him as possible. Camila pressed a kiss to his shirt-covered chest before nuzzling her head into it for maximum comfort against him and in his arms. The air in Vancouver was only getting colder and she was thankful for his body heat that always kept her warm. "I'm glad you're home with us," she whispered, truly meaning the sentiment she expressed. Sleep was soon to take over her body, the day had been exhausting and she was ready for a nap, but she was also just enjoying the feeling of being in KJ's embrace. Talia stirred and Camila turned her head for a second, hoping she wouldn't cry or need anything. Thankfully, she remained quiet after that and then the couple was free to allow sleep to take over their bodies. Camila hadn't felt this at peace in weeks which she knew was noticeable to those around her, but there was nothing she was truly doing about it. Being here right now with her fiancé was all that she cared about, the morning had been quite a scare, but now that Talia was alright, she felt so much better. A quiet late afternoon nap was hopefully going to be the rejuvenation they all needed. She could feel her eyelids closing as she lay with her head against KJ's chest and she fell asleep quickly to the rhythm of his heart beating in his chest.

[theshinsun]

1. as far as im concerned Kagami never left at the end of last game, that was an extended dream sequence... 2. i also totally agree with you that Kagami is prolly vers, if anything, and it was also MY PET PEEVE when people pinholed him into being a forever bottom at the peak of knb hype. 3. you keep teasing your long list of ships for Aomine PLEASE do him for the character thing lol. So far all your opinions are sending me into a realm of GOOD VALID VIBES

Omg thank you!! (I agree end of Last Game is not canon… or if it is he came right back the next year or smth I refuse to accept he just left forever. And I’m really glad to see the problem of Uke™ Kagami seems to be in decline these days… fewer people are writing for knb in general, but those that are seem to have an idea what a real gay relationship is or at least make him a fucking person and not a walking stereotype, and that’s encouraging to see). 

Also thanks so much for sending Aomine! …Strap in for this character essay tho I’ve been known to never shut up about this boy once you get me started.

How I feel about this character

I honestly… can’t even explain it anymore or even try to justify it but Aomine has had a bigger impact on me than, I think, any other character I’ve seen to date. I don’t even know what it is, I do relate to him (and project on him *cough*) but like, there are other characters out there that I have more in common with, and I like his whole arc and aesthetic but it’s nothing revolutionary, so… your guess is as good as mine. 

Whatever it is, I’ve been obsessed with this guy for over half a decade, and lately even as the KNB fandom falls into decline, my feelings are not they’re just getting stronger. His development over the course of the series is one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever seen, (that one bit at the end of the Touou/Seirin game with “I want to practice” and his later conversation with Kuroko hit me in the fucking chest every time), and I love how even though he’s portrayed as cold, uncaring and rude, it’s still understood (at least by anyone with some nuance) that that’s not what he’s supposed to be like, and underneath the distant, kind of dickish front, he’s hurting a lot. I’ve talked about the degree to which he cares about people before too, but I still have to give a mention to the ferocious level of protectiveness this guy has for his friends. I could go on about him for ages, tbh, and maybe someday I will write a for-real structured essay to try to get it out there, but the bottom line is I love this character, I have for a long time, and likely will continue to do so long into the future.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Okay here we go… I ship this guy extremely liberally, even with people he’s never interacted with (hell you could mention any random character and I could probably see my way clear to shipping them with him somehow, I’ll still try to explain my logic if I can). Prepare yourself.

Kagami (of course, AoKaga is the OTP and definitely the one I’ve devoted the most time to, they’re just the best together I’ll never get tired of seeing them figure their shit out over and over)

Kuroko (I may be AoKaga on main, but I’m still such a sucker for the tragic romance between these two, and sometimes it just hits me over the head like a sledgehammer how much I love their relationship. I’ve also got a lot of feelings for AoKagaKuro, they’re such a perfect trio and I need to invest more of my time in the OT3)

Kise (I was a bit late to the game on AoKise, but I definitely see it now. I love their dynamic and how imperfect their relationship would probably be, the complexity of it. sign me up)

Momoi (I don’t see a lot of AoMomo love anymore, but I’ve still got a soft spot for it, childhood friends are my weakness okay)

Midorima (they’re so different but that’s what makes it interesting, and I love the idea of neither of them knowing how to show/tell the other their feelings and being awkward stubborn shits together)

Murasakibara (they almost never interact but I just think they’d have such a soft cuddly relationship and be really chill together… lazy Sunday mornings sleeping in and hanging all over each other that kinda thing)

Akashi (kinda same as Akashi/Kagami, I think the difference between polished upper-class Akashi and scrappy city boy Aomine would be hella interesting… though I’ve also got some angst ideas for them as a couple, after how things went down at Teiko… abandonment and whatnot)

Imayoshi (I got pulled into this ship HARD by Lysapadin’s A Firm Hand series and now it’s no longer a guilty pleasure ship and is actually something I’ll talk about in the open, just… the power dynamic fuck me up)

Sakurai (I fuckin love the idea of an anxious Sakurai crushing hard on Aomine and not knowing how to tell him but when he finally plucks up the courage and prepares himself for imminent death Aomine’s actually pretty chill about it… plus they’d be adorable together tbh)

Wakamastu (you know it’s gotta be enemies to lovers. not just bc I’m intrigued by the love/hate relationship itself but if you look past the attitude issues these two would actually probably have a lot in common. also I’m really interested in how their dynamic might change with Wakamatsu being captain and all)

Susa (idk but there’s one throwaway line in season 3 where Imayoshi says about Aomine “actually maybe he likes you” and that’s enough for me. bring me the rarest rarepair my body is ready)

Kasamatsu (it wasn’t supposed to be SERIOUS but they got me. That moment in the Touou/Kaijo game where Aomine helps him up and “you’ve really done it now, senpai” is legit, plus these two would be such a good-looking couple, honestly.)

Mibuchi (give me the pretty boys. I have no excuse for this except maybe their interactions in my own damn fic again)

Nebuya (sometimes shipping can be as simple as hey I want them to bang right. also they’re both humongous dorks under their respective rough exteriors and I love them)

Moriyama (they bond over liking girls at first and then they’re simultaneously like wait a minute… more Touou/Kaijo ships pls)

Nijimura (I have this idea of them reuniting late into/after high school and Aomine still calls him captain out of habit and Nijimura’s like relieved and impressed to see how he’s developed since the mess at Teiko)

Himuro (they Never interact but they’d be so Petty and Snarky sign me up)

Haizaki (twisted, but I’m interested it’d be so unhealthy and awful bring it)

Hanamiya (even more twisted tbh but there is that moment where Aomine confronts him… and I’m here for hate sex just as much as your typical romance)

Inoue (who, you ask? I know he’s such a side character and no one remembers him, but he’s a big reason for Aomine’s downfall at Teiko and they seemed to be buddies before that, I’d be interested in some kind of reconciliation between them, or a romance, ya know whatever works)

And then we get into crossover territory… MOST of these are not my fault they’re just things I’ve seen and adopted for myself

Kuroo Tetsurou (someone made a moodboard for them, and now I can’t stop thinking about them in a relationship, like damn… it’d be such a beautiful mess I wanna see more of it)

Oikawa Tooru (I’ve seen art, and also the light. These two damaged angsty prodigies, one sharp as a whip the other dumb as bricks, but both of them sassy and nerdy as hell. I could see myself getting addicted to this ship if I took the time to write it out, and I just might)

Yamazaki Sousuke (can’t lie, they look good together. I’ve seen more than one art piece of them interacting and I have a Mighty Need.)

Matsuoka Rin (angry lonely talented boys finding solace in each other’s company? you know that’s my shit. also shark teeth and cop AUs hells yeah.) 

Tanaka Ryuunosuke (I don’t know where the fuck this idea came from but I thought of Tanaka trying to pick a fight with “shitty boi” Aomine while in Tokyo and then losing his shit and here we are)

Terushima Yuuji (this one is purely physical… they pretty, I have no other reason, but also this absolute fuckboy, these two would be such a train wreck and I’m here for it tbh)

Yachi Hitoka (okay picture this Giant Terrifying basketball player trying to be less giant and terrifying to tiny shy Yachi and tell me you don’t just want to see that happen. I get Legosi/Haru vibes.)

I’ll spare you the rest of the ideas I’ve tossed around, because past this point it becomes pure crack (if it hasn’t already) but you get the idea. Throw a character my way and I can probably talk myself into it that’s the power this guy has over me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

My non-romantic OTP for this character

K considering the List… it shouldn’t be surprising that I also consider this person a romantic candidate, but you know when it comes to non-romantic OTP it’s gotta be Momoi. Platonic or romantic, the way she’s stuck with him all those years and his obvious protectiveness and love for her and how (even though he claims to like big tits) he never even once starts to objectify her in any way, it’s so important to me. Momoi is Aomine’s redeeming factor when he’s at his worst, and she goes to bat for him even while he’s actively trying to shake her off and still tries to protect and help him when he refuses to accept it, even when it means they fight. (Also Kuroko saying “Aomine’s probably looking for you” after their argument puts to mind Aomine running through the rain calling Momoi’s name and that is just… pure). These two have the kind of unshakable long-standing friendship that’ll probably last them the rest of their lives, and no matter what context or form it takes, I can’t get enough of it. 

My unpopular opinion about this character

I’ve harped on enough about the fandom’s portrayal of Aomine as a one-note asshole who doesn’t care before, so let’s see if I can change gears a little bit here. 

I honestly don’t agree with… the persistent idea people seem to have of Aomine being a narcissist or obsessed with himself? Like yeah, he’s self-absorbed and egotistical, no question, this is not to say he hasn’t got those flaws and others besides… but that’s not the same as being like, physically attracted to yourself. Part of me suspects it was a “the only one who can fuck me is me” joke taken too far, so that now the idea of Aomine being in love with himself is just ingrained into the fanon culture, but if you look at the show itself, personally I don’t see it. If anything, I would think he’d have some self-loathing issues to work through (and that’s part of the reason he gave for skipping practice, he doesn’t want to be the way he is, and specifically says he doesn’t want to increase the difference between him and everyone else). But hey, that’s just my opinion. I’ll get off my soapbox now.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I mean he says he and Kagami are postponing their match, after their brief one-on-one when he gives him the shoes, and then we never get to see it… Tbh just more street ball with this guy would be great, since it’s what his whole style is based around. Even if he’s just playing by himself… or hell, maybe since he thinks no one at the high school level can beat him, we could get a scene of him trying to go up against adults. Maybe he still beats them and his despair worsens after that, but then it’d have more meaning, and at least we’ll have seen that he’s tried and is not just giving up before he’s seen all of what he could be up against in the future. Plus, picturing Aomine going five-on-one like Haizaki did against grown-ups and still slaughtering them is something I’d pay money to see. 

[flanelltees]

hey writer side of tumbler can you please critique this i need help bc it reads weird to me. its a section of a rough draft so keep that in mind. feel free to comment directly on the post or send me an IM or inbox msg. 

it is billy/steve from stranger tings

Eight beers in for the both of them, and they were falling into each other’s orbits over and over until meaningless teasing morphed into an interrogation. Steve’s whole face was warm, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol, or Billy prying deeper and deeper into his personal life with each new question he posed.

“So you are a queer?” 

Steve lunged forward to clap a hand over Billy’s mouth, eyebrows furrowed with all the control over his face he had left. 

“Alright, watch your fucking language, Hargrove. I don’t—” he cut himself off to rummage around in his brain for some dodgy answer that sounded even a little resolute. His train of thought was interrupted when Billy wrestled his hand away and gave him a full-bodied shove into the wall nearest the two of them. 

God, Steve should just stop trying to brute-force things with this guy. He kept coming out on the bottom. 

His head was swimming from the shove, but despite it practically knocking a few brain cells out of commission, the heat in his face persisted as Billy’s question remained hanging in the air. Steve pressed his palms against his eyes, thinking momentarily about one of the little shits, Will. Steve wanted to do right by him, if what Henderson said about which... team he played for was true. But admitting the truth to yourself had to be a little different when you hadn’t really known it for sure until you were nineteen years old and absolutely plastered, right? 

“I—” 

“And you wouldn’t have anything against fucking me?” 

Steve held a hand up, but all he could say was to stop being so fucking crude. 

“Listen, I-” 

“I told you what I’d do for you, Harrington. Nobody’s around. And I wouldn’t pussy out of this.”

It was baffling how quick Steve was losing his resolve. He pressed out a sigh.  

“... I—… just... didn’t think... you’d be part of this… equation.” 

Truthfully, confronting himself about the feelings that, in vague iterations, rolled in and out of his conscious, wasn’t something Steve was planning on involving Billy in. 

The two had been a very loose definition of friends for most of the summer, being in silent agreement that it was nothing too meaningful or involved, and that they would treat their routine converging as a means for neutral territory. Just somebody to talk to.

They were both nearly braindead from the monotony of their jobs, Steve had a big empty house and a lot of free beer, and the rest was practically history. And that should’ve been the end of it, if Steve had the goddamn foresight to know that Billy Hargrove would never make a good companion to somebody he just got done hating. 

So, of course, Billy was just being fucking Billy, wedging himself into Steve’s business at the first sign of an open door. And Steve had always been a painfully emotional guy.

If Steve wasn’t sure he had been trapped between Billy and the wall before, he was sure of it now. Billy was stepping closer, crowding him flat against the cool plaster until the only way out was the way he got in.

 With what defensive instinct he had left, Steve clumsily searched for cracks in the facade. If he caught one, it was for a split second and it made him falter, in an unrefined hesitance flashing across Billy’s expression. 

Steve wasn’t gonna fuck Billy, he firmly reassured himself. Billy wasn’t gonna fuck Steve either. Steve just didn’t have enough restraint left to stop mirroring the way Billy was starting to look at him. His stomach swooped but he didn’t feel anything coming up, so it had to have been his glance at Billy’s mouth coming closer, and the fact that Steve couldn’t find it in himself to want to draw away. 

If Steve was being honest, Billy was by no means a sight for sore eyes. When their lips finally touched, for a second the kiss wouldn’t have been half-bad. If only the entire situation hadn’t been riddled with a whole shitload of new rules Steve had no idea how to navigate. 

While Steve’s brain tried to logically supply that this kiss shouldn’t be any different from the dozens of others that came before, it also made his hands clammy and awkward in their approach at what to do with themselves. The heaviness from the alcohol didn’t do much for how ungracefully he decided to take Billy’s face into his hands. 

He was starting to really feel the ruthless hammer of his heart against his chest.  

When Billy began to tilt his head into the kiss, Steve felt his hands slip underneath his jacket, finding his hips. They rested there for a few moments, before Billy gave Steve a squeeze. At the movement, Steve flinched, then broke the contact with a jerk. 

“Okay, time. Just to put it out there, there’s a whole fuckload of—of emotional, internalized bullshit I’ve got running laps in my head right now. I mean, I—” he paused to briefly run his thumbs against the grain of Billy’s stubble. “I’ve never made out with a mustache before. It’s like I’m shooting at half-court with a fucking blind fold on—” 

“If you could make up your mind we might actually get to making out tonight, Harrington,” Billy cut in. 

“Look,” he said, releasing his grip on Steve, then taking a step back, netting Steve’s full attention. He watched as Billy went and pressed himself against the wall alongside him, the gesture seeming to spell out his surrender of control. But when Steve assumed he’d stand in front of Billy then, positioning himself across the way, Hargrove’s blue eyes had leveled on his. His pupils were blown wide open. They were gushing something balmy and fierce.

 It took the wetness right out of Steve’s mouth. 

“Are you in, or are you out?” 

All of a sudden this new formation they were in was falling a little more comfortably within Steve’s range. Didn’t Billy know how to get what he wanted.  

Steve’s hands found purchase on Billy’s waist, his stomach starting to churn. Billy’s middle was solid and thick, and filled out the whole palm of each hand. Steve pressed his fingers into corded meat through thin fabric, and oh man. He was starting to think Billy was a lot smarter than he gave him credit for. Something nameless flickered to life below Steve’s skin when he leaned over to find his way to Billy’s lips. 

Steve hadn’t ever felt the type of deep upheaval Billy started to kick up on the inside of him before. Billy met Steve’s parted lips with an open mouth, and it made Steve’s whole head red and heavy when Billy started working into it like he was born to kiss that good. The way Billy flexed his jaw made every little bit about his tongue and lips so much more stupefying. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut.

It was so, god damn hot in there, Steve thought. He figured that it had always been, all of Billy, his inside, his outside, but Steve never believed he’d ever touch it like this. Never really wanted to, that is, until he got the chance. All at once, the searing heat of him made Steve want to bask in it. 

Steve nearly tipped over as he started to get caught up in chasing after that mouth. His breath came out of his nose in short puffs when Billy started to pull on him, with his teeth then with his tongue. Steve licked back in answer, his jaw falling open wider to touch and slide more of his own tongue into Billy’s mouth. He turned his head down when Billy leaned back from him, breath ragged. 

Steve dove into Billy’s neck, sucking feverish kisses along the length of it. Sweat mixed with spit and Steve never remembered it tasting so good. When it felt like he couldn’t hold on to enough of him anymore, Steve dragged Billy closer to him by his middle to press their bodies flush and push his flattened hands into the dip in Billy’s lower back, then up to grope at the other hard muscles flexing under his skin.